by Martin Scott
“Not at all.”
“You were implying it.”
“So what?”
Makri looks angry.
“Why don’t you just admit you think one day my Orc blood is going to take over and I’ll start slaughtering Humans?”
I shake my head.
“You see, Makri, this is why I never bring you on cases. The slightest thing and you start getting upset and waving your swords about.”
“I’m not waving my swords.”
“You’re close to it. Just calm down.”
“Calm down?” shouts Makri. “I’m just minding my own business and you suddenly start accusing me of singing Orcish hymns. I don’t know any Orcish hymns. Well, maybe one or two. But that’s not the point.”
“Will you stop shouting? I bring you to a Senator’s house and you just don’t know how to act civilised.”
“Civilised? You’re taking this woman’s money and you said you hate the Senator and everyone like him, you cusux!”
“You see? Orcish curses just come naturally to you. I knew you couldn’t get through Human prayers without reverting to type. We’ll be lucky if you don’t sacrifice someone.”
Ivaris coughs gently. We turn round to find about twenty or so members of the household looking at us rather nervously. A few of the brawnier servants seem to be preparing to defend their mistress.
“It’s time for prayers,” says Ivaris, calmly.
“We’re ready,” I mutter, and we troop shamefacedly into the courtyard temple.
I can’t remember when I was last in a place like this. Probably not since I burgled the Niojan attaché’s house. It’s clean, white and peaceful. Ivy climbs the walls. A wisp of smoke from an incense burner trails lazily towards the sky, just enough to provide a delicate aroma in the open-air space. The evening is still warm. It’s so quiet in here you could forget you were in the city. Stick a decent-sized couch down somewhere and it would be the perfect place for an after-dinner sleep.
The family has its own Pontifex to lead them in their prayers, an old, grey-haired man who’s probably retired from his official church duties. As he intones the words I have to struggle to stay awake. Kneeling beside me, Makri is fidgeting. She’s probably worried that they might go on for hours. I’m feeling quite peaceful. I forget about the Orcish hordes gathering to attack us. I’m almost sorry when the prayers end.
I haul myself to my feet. The household disperses. Ivaris thanks the Pontifex. Makri backs out of the shrine as quickly as she can but I wait to say a polite farewell to the Senator’s wife. I’d like to thank her for inviting us to share the family prayers but I can’t quite find the words to do it. I look at her awkwardly.
“I’ll clear your husband’s name,” I say, eventually, and turn round smartly, picking up Makri on my way to the door. Our landus is waiting outside. Makri complains for a while about my rudeness towards her then falls silent as we continue towards the Abode of Justice. On arrival we’re intercepted by Cicerius’s assistant Hansius.
“The Deputy Consul has been expecting you.”
We’re taken along a corridor and dumped in some sort of waiting room.
“Trouble already,” I mutter to Makri. “The authorities are not going to like it that I’ve taken on Lodius as a client.”
I’m already feeling uncomfortable because I know that the decision to prosecute Lodius must have come from the top, which means the Palace. I really could be walking into a lot of trouble here. Damn Lodius’s wife for being so polite and hospitable.
Cicerius—thin, grey and even more austere-looking than usual—enters briskly. As ever, he’s clad in his green-rimmed toga, the mark of his rank. Our Deputy Consul is an unusual mixture of honesty, hard work, and overwhelming vanity. He’s been strutting round all summer trying not to look too pleased at the new statue of himself that’s just been erected outside the Senate, “In appreciation of his sterling service to the city,” as the Consul said at the unveiling ceremony. Cicerius, while publicly deploring the use of public funds for such a reason, is in reality as pleased as a man can be. It’s rumoured he instigated the campaign to have the statue erected in the first place. On the plinth there’s a quotation from one of his speeches: “The true mark of a man is not what he achieves, but what he strives for.” Good advice, maybe. Cicerius has been striving for that statue for a long time.
“You are investigating on behalf of Senator Lodius?”
I nod. Cicerius looks thoughtful, and remains silent for a long time.
“The King himself has authorised the prosecution,” he says, eventually.
“I imagined that was the case.”
“It means you’ll find a lot of difficulties put in your way. The King and Consul Kalius both wish to see justice done swiftly. No official in Turai is going to offer any help.”
“They never do,” I say. “If you’re trying to put me off, Cicerius, you’re wasting your time.”
“I am not trying to put you off. It was I who recommended you to the Senator’s wife.”
“I’d have expected you to be cheering on the prosecution, not helping with the defence.”
“I do not intend to help with the defence,” says Cicerius, sharply. “But I wish to ensure that the matter is properly investigated.”
“Are you telling me that Lodius is facing a phoney charge and your conscience is bothering you?”
Cicerius glares at me. He’s seconds away from giving me a lecture about my manners but he restrains himself, probably because he has more important things to be getting on with.
“No. There is some evidence against the Senator. How strong it is, I’m not certain. If he’s guilty I won’t be displeased to be rid of him. Senator Lodius is a disgrace to the city and has caused us great harm over the years. Now, with the enemy practically at the gates, he’s a disruptive force we could well do without. Yet…”
Cicerius lets the next sentence hang in the air. I catch his drift. The Deputy Consul is one of the few politicians in the city with any real integrity. He might be rather too keen to see himself publicly honoured, but he’s never taken a bribe. Even though it would suit him to have Lodius out of the way, he can’t bring himself to see an injustice done.
“My assistant Hansius will appraise you of the details. After which you will be permitted to visit Senator Lodius. Meanwhile, I think it best if you step down from the Lesser War Council. Everyone is appalled at the tragic events of the last meeting. It may be awkward if one of the members were to be involved in defending the perpetrator of the crime.”
“Alleged perpetrator.”
“As you say. Alleged perpetrator.”
Cicerius nods, and strides out of the room. Off to admire his new statue, I expect. He doesn’t wish me luck.
Chapter Nine
The evidence against Senator Lodius isn’t especially strong but it might be strong enough to hang him if a better suspect doesn’t come along. According to Hansius, information from the government’s Sorcerers is inconclusive. The alignment of the moons has allowed them to look back in time but the results are murky. There were just too many people around to allow for a clear sight of every action. No one can say for sure if Lodius put poison in the food. Old Hasius the Brilliant is a master of examining the past but even his best efforts haven’t managed to locate the precise moment when the pastry was poisoned. Too many people passed by the food and even the best sorcery can’t pick up every detail of every movement by every person in a crowded room. If Lodius did slip something into the pastry it can’t be proved by sorcery.
Hasius has examined the remains of the pastry. Of course he’s picked up the aura of Lodius from it but that doesn’t prove anything. Lodius isn’t claiming he never touched the poisoned food. He admits handing it to Prefect Galwinius, but claims he simply picked it up from the food trolley, not knowing it was poisoned. Also on the pastry were the auras of the kitchen staff, Lodius’s assistant, Galwinius, a Senator who picked up the pastry before changing his mind and p
utting it back on the trolley, and various others who have not yet been identified. It’s surprising how many people touched that pastry before it was eaten. Given the enthusiastic way I attacked the food trolleys, it’s fortunate I didn’t pick it up myself.
According to Hansius, no one at the Abode of Justice believes that Lodius picked up the pastry by chance. If that were true it would seem to imply that an item of food was randomly poisoned and left on the food trolley for anyone to take. This doesn’t make sense, unless the kitchen staff were feeling particularly murderous that day, but then these things generally don’t make sense until you dig a little deeper. Just because there isn’t another good suspect in view doesn’t mean my client is guilty.
I point out to Hansius that the natural conclusion a person might draw from Senator Lodius ending up with a poisoned pastry on his plate is that someone was trying to poison the Senator. Hansius is shocked, or pretends to be.
“The Traditionals do not poison their political opponents.”
That’s true, as far as I know, though I wouldn’t swear they haven’t had a few of them assassinated by other means.
The poison used was carasin, which is rare in these parts. It comes from a plant that grows far south of here, and ingestion is always fatal. It only has one other use, as far as anyone knows, which is as a binding agent in the manufacture of coloured vellum, the sort of thing ladies might use for writing fancy messages to their lovers.
“That looks very bad for Senator Lodius.”
“Why?”
“Because he owns the only workshop in Turai which manufactures coloured vellum. It is the source of much of his wealth.”
“So? Anyone could have got hold of carasin.”
Hansius doesn’t think so. Senator Lodius’s family holds the exclusive licence for the import of the substance. The licence was granted to Lodius’s father back in the days when the family hadn’t taken sides against the Traditionals. Hansius is impressed with this as evidence. I’m not.
“So Lodius is the only legal importer of carasin into Turai. A pastry poisoned with carasin ends up killing Galwinius. That sounds like someone is trying to frame my client.”
“Your client handed over the pastry. And he’s the only importer.”
“Then it’s a good frame. But it isn’t proof of his guilt. What’s his motive?”
“The enormous law suit Galwinius was bringing against him,” says Hansius, quite smugly.
I purse my lips. There is, of course, the enormous law suit.
“You are familiar with the details?” asks Hansius.
“Run it by me again.”
“Prefect Galwinius was about to prosecute Senator Lodius for forging a will. The deceased, Comosius, died in Abelasi last year, leaving a large fortune. Comosius was a cousin of Prefect Galwinius, and as he died without issue the Prefect, as head of the family, had expected to inherit the estate. However, Senator Lodius produced a will which purported to show that Comosius left his entire estate to him. The Prefect alleged the will was a forgery, made in Abelasi at the behest of Senator Lodius. The case was about to be put to the courts and in the mean time the money has been frozen. The court case ends with the death of Galwinius, which means that Lodius now inherits the money. You must admit that this is a strong motive and gives credence to the charge of murder.”
I admit it’s a motive of sorts. The forging of wills, particularly of people who die abroad, is a long-standing problem. Prefect Galwinius wouldn’t have been the first one to have been cheated out of money in this manner. But it seems unlikely to me that Senator Lodius would involve himself in an affair like this. He must know that the authorities have it in for him. Why run the risk? He’s a wealthy man.
“Senator Lodius’s political campaigns have eaten deep into his family fortune in the past years,“ says Hansius. “And investigations by the Abode of Justice reveal him to be short of the money he needs to carry on.”
I leave with a lot to think about. Makri meets me at the gate and we climb back into the landus. She doesn’t seem to mind that she’s been waiting. She’s been studying the architecture around her.
“Vaulted arches?”
“A few. And a lot of other things. It’s strange how the palace and all the buildings around it are so fine and Twelve Seas is such a dump. Why does the population still like the King?”
“That’s a hard question to answer. Because they always have, I suppose. And he’s a symbol of the nation.”
“He keeps himself very comfortable.”
“That’s what kings do.”
“What did you learn from Hansius?”
“Sorcerous evidence is inconclusive but Prefect Galwinius was killed with a poison which only Lodius imports into Turai. Galwinius was about to prosecute Lodius for forging a will to get his hands on a lot of money. Lodius needs the money because he’s broke. Now Galwinius is dead he gets to keep the money.”
“Strong motives,” says Makri.
“Maybe.”
“You think he’s innocent?”
“Of course he’s innocent. He’s my client.”
Makri says there’s some backwards logic going on here. I ignore this. Logic is for her philosophy classes. When it comes to a client, I go on my intuition.
“And my intuition is telling me Lodius is innocent.”
Makri looks me in the eyes.
“You’re lying.”
I’m shocked. Makri isn’t sophisticated enough to know when I’m lying.
“I am not lying.”
“You are. After careful observation I can read the signs.”
“Rubbish. You’ve a lot to learn about lying in the civilised world. My intuition tells me that Lodius is innocent.”
Makri shrugs.
“Okay.”
My intuition isn’t telling me a thing. For all I know, Lodius could have packed the pastry with carasin and fed it to Galwinius with a smile on his face. I hope he didn’t. I hate it when my clients turn out to be murderers. It makes things awkward.
On the journey home the air is noticeably colder. I shiver and draw my cloak around me. As I climb the stairs to my office, the first flake of snow settles gently on my sleeve. Winter is here. Tomorrow I’ll have to put a warming spell on my cloak before I visit Senator Lodius.
In deference to his rank, the Senator will not be held in jail while he awaits trial. He’s been placed under house arrest. Humiliating for a man of his class, but not as bad as languishing for months in a cell with common criminals. Justice in Turai can move painfully slowly and there’s little prospect of Lodius coming in front of a judge before the winter is over. The preliminary hearings normally wouldn’t start till the weather improved. It’s possible, I suppose, that the Consul might call a special session earlier in an attempt to get the matter over with quickly. Lodius has a lot of support in Turai and his party aren’t going to take kindly to these events. The Consul will be hoping that the oncoming bad weather and the impending attack by the Orcs will keep the lid on any civil unrest, but he can’t be sure of it.
Reflecting that, in the circumstances, an early trial isn’t that unlikely, I drag myself out of bed the next morning a good deal earlier than I’d like to. I set about placing the warming spell on my cloak. This is one of the few sorcerous acts I’m still able to perform, and with the Turanian winter being so grim, it’s proved to be a life-saver in recent years. Then I head out into the first day of winter to clear the name of Senator Lodius, archenemy of the Consul.
At such an early hour there’s no sign of a landus and I have to walk a long way up Moon and Stars Boulevard before I can find anyone to take me to Thamlin. The streets are busy with early activity as the city’s traders try to make the best of the last few weeks in which they can trade. When winter really sets in, little business can be done. Ships are already hurrying into the docks, their captains relieved to have made it home safely before the storms arrive. The last wagons carrying goods from the south will soon be rolling in through the c
ity gates. Both land and sea around Turai will soon be impassable. If the weather is particularly severe, the city itself is difficult to move around in. It’s my ambition every winter to have enough money saved to enable me to avoid work completely, spending my time in front of the roaring fire at the Avenging Axe with a beer in one hand and a tray of food in the other. It rarely works out that way.
For someone facing a charge of murder, Senator Lodius doesn’t seem particularly pleased to see the man who’s about to investigate on his behalf. He’s far less hospitable than his wife, and informs me that he’s not certain I’m the right man for the job.
“This matter is obviously part of some plot by the Traditionals to discredit me and you don’t have the right connections among the senatorial classes to investigate it properly. Furthermore, I do not approve of you bringing a woman with Orcish blood into this house. My shrine is at this moment being purified as a result of her presence.”
Like many of Turai’s democratic politicians, Lodius is a terrible snob. With his short grey hair and perfectly folded toga he’s every inch the Senator, and his manner strongly suggests that he’d rather not be spending his time in my company.
“I didn’t approve of you blackmailing me last winter. So we’re even. Maybe you want to tell me some facts about the case?”
“I understand you were recommended to my wife by Deputy Consul Cicerius? Hardly a recommendation she should have taken, one would have thought, given the man’s antipathy towards me. Are you in his pay?”
I’m rapidly becoming annoyed by his attitude. I don’t expect my clients to love me, but no Investigator likes being branded a spy. Remembering that his wife was very polite to me, I persevere.
“No.”
“So you say.”
“What are you insinuating?”
“That the Deputy Consul would be pleased to have an informer in my household as he prepares his case against me.”
“Senator Lodius, no amount of money would induce me to spy on a client.”
“You are claiming to be an honest man?“ The Senator chuckles. “And yet when I needed your services last winter, it did not seem so difficult to make you do as I wished.”