Thraxas - The Complete Series

by Martin Scott

  I’m now struggling to avoid abusing Lodius. I’ve taken his wife’s money. He’s my client. I make a final attempt.

  “Perhaps you could tell me some details of the matter of the will? The one which Galwinius was about to prosecute you for?”

  Lodius’s face hardens.

  “You will not investigate that matter.”

  “I’ll have to. It’s part of the case.”

  “I repeat. You will not investigate it.“

  “I have to. You’re facing a murder charge, Senator Lodius. If I’m going to get to the bottom of it I can’t miss out on parts of the story.”

  “No doubt the Deputy Consul will be pleased to hear all the details of my affairs you may learn from me,” sneers Lodius.

  I’m grossly insulted by the notion that I might be secretly working for the Deputy Consul.

  “Lodius, you’re a fool. You’re going to hang and I’m the one person in the city who might prevent it.”

  “What you are,” says Senator Lodius, “is a man who’s facing a charge of throwing away his shield and deserting the battlefield.”

  “What?”

  “Which would be an excellent reason for you to work for Cicerius. No doubt he has promised to drop the charges in return for spying on me.”

  I take three steps towards Lodius then push him, using all my weight. The Senator flies into the far wall and slumps to the ground. He’s on his feet quickly, an expression of fury on his face. “How dare you lay a hand on me!”

  “Consider yourself lucky. If you weren’t my client I’d have punched your head off.”

  I march out of the room and head for home. I’m madder than a mad dragon. When I find myself in dispute with a wool merchant over a landus in Moon and Stars Boulevard I bounce him out of the way without mercy. I can’t believe I’ve just been accused of such a vile piece of treachery. Lodius is fortunate I didn’t run him through. I pull my warm cloak around me and stare through the window of the landus. Snow is falling lightly. The wind’s blowing in from the east. For the first time I can almost sense the Orcish troops massing. My sorcerous powers were never great, but the training left me with my intuition enhanced, or so I like to think. I can feel the Orcs marshalling their armies.

  I wonder if there’s any equivalent to an Investigator in Prince Amrag’s kingdom, maybe tramping the streets trying to clear some Orcish aristocrat of murder. I doubt it. Makri, one of the only people in Turai with any real experience of Orcish society, claims their level of civilisation is not so primitive as we Humans like to think. Maybe she’s right. Even so, I’ve never heard of an Orcish Investigator. If such a creature does exist, he has my sympathy.

  “How were things with the Senator?” enquires Gurd, as I reach the bar and hold my hand out for a refreshing tankard of ale.

  “I knocked him over.”

  “No, I mean your client.”

  “That’s who I’m talking about.”

  Gurd looks puzzled.

  “I didn’t think you were meant to do that.”

  “Well, it’s not recommended,” I admit. “But some clients, you have to beat them into shape.”

  “We didn’t have Investigators in the north,” says Gurd. “But we didn’t have much crime. Maybe someone stole seal blubber from a neighbouring village every now and then.”

  Gurd sighs.

  “I don’t suppose I’ll ever see the old village again.”

  “Why not?”

  “Come on, Thraxas. What’re the chances of anyone surviving this war?”

  Makri appears in the bar wearing her normal garb, a man’s short tunic. She’s accompanied by Hanama and another woman I don’t recognise. They walk up the staircase without acknowledging us.

  “Were they being furtive?” I ask Gurd.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “They looked furtive to me. I don’t trust Hanama. Any time she’s with Makri something bad is going to happen.”

  “You mean an assassination?”

  I shake my head.

  “No. Hanama wouldn’t share her guild work with anyone. But something bad.”

  Gurd nods.

  “Where I come from, a woman like Hanama wouldn’t be running around assassinating people. She’d be at home, cooking seal blubber.”

  “And a good thing too. The city of Turai could learn a lot from your village, Gurd.”

  I wonder what Makri is up to. I know she isn’t teaching Hanama to read. The diminutive assassin is already an educated woman. Ever since the Senator’s wife Herminis was sentenced to death, Makri’s been acting strangely.

  “Do you think they might be collecting money for an appeal?”

  “Who?”

  “The Association of Gentlewomen.”

  The very mention of the name causes Gurd to frown.

  “She’d better not collect money for that organisation in this tavern.”

  Few men in Turai have any sympathy for the Association of Gentlewomen. The King doesn’t like them, the Consul doesn’t like them, and nor does the Senate. Tavern owners and Investigators likewise have very little sympathy.

  “Herminis killed her husband,” I point out. “What do they expect the city to do? Give her a medal?”

  “Scandalous,” agrees Gurd, shaking his head. “She deserves to be hanged.”

  “Of course she does.”

  “But only last month Senator Divanius was allowed to go into exile after he pushed his wife downstairs,” says Tanrose, appearing unexpectedly at our side.

  “That was completely different,” I say. “Divanius was a war hero.”

  “So?”

  “You can’t go executing war heroes. It’s bad for the city. Especially with the Orcs at the door.”

  “It’s shocking hypocrisy,” says Tanrose, transferring her gaze to Gurd.

  “That’s just what I was telling Thraxas,” agrees Gurd. “Back in my village, we treated women better.”

  I’m shocked, rendered speechless by Gurd’s base treachery. Tanrose puts her arm round his shoulders.

  “Thraxas, you should learn from Gurd. You’re too stuck in your old ways. The city’s changing.”

  Having had more than enough of this, I take my beer to the table in front of the fire and sit down to ruminate on my investigation. It’s a very comfortable chair. After some moments’ rumination, I drift off to sleep.

  Chapter Ten

  Two weeks later winter has the city in its grip. Snow is lying on the ground and the wind from the northeast is bitterly cold. It promises to be a hard season. This might not be such a bad thing. The Orcs certainly can’t march till it’s over, something that Lisutaris is apparently still concerned about. No other Sorcerer or politician believes this to be at all likely, or so I understand. Now that my services are no longer required on the Lesser War Council, I don’t hear all the latest talk. What snippets of sorcerous gossip I do hear come mainly from Astrath Triple Moon. My old friend Astrath is in permanent disgrace due to some indiscretions on his part when he was the official Sorcerer at the Stadium Superbius—Astrath not proving to be as incorruptible as the position demanded—but as he wasn’t actually expelled from the Sorcerers Guild he still hears some of the news.

  I think old Astrath might actually be looking forward to the war. He’s bound to be called into action and might well get the chance to redeem himself, if he can bring down a dragon or two. Sorcerers are too valuable in wartime for any to be left out. There’s even talk of Kemlath Orc Slayer being recalled. He’s in exile for murder at this moment, but he was a tremendous asset during the last war.

  According to Astrath, Lisutaris is out on a limb with her theory that Prince Amrag might march in the winter. Apparently it’s led to a lessening of her influence on the War Council. Ovinian the True has reported adversely on her performance to the King. Prince Dees-Akan, in overall command of the Council, has been heard to say in private that perhaps the head of the Sorcerers Guild is losing her grip.

  As for war preparations, the
y’re proceeding reasonably well. The entire west is in a state of alert and the response to the call hasn’t been as poor as the more pessimistic among us feared. Simnia, the large state to the west of Turai, will send an army as soon as winter breaks. The League of City States has managed to put aside some of its differences and each of the small member states is making preparations. The League will assemble an army under the control of the Abelasian General Hiffier, who’s respected far and wide for his endeavours in the last war. Troops from further west—Hadassa, Kamara and others—should be arriving not long after the Simnians. Even Nioj seems to be co-operating. The eastern borders of Nioj aren’t too far from the Orcish Lands but they’re protected by a mountainous barrier which no army can penetrate. However, if the Orcs march into Turai, there’s nothing to stop them from turning north and heading into Nioj from the south. That being the case, the Niojans would rather make a first defence on Turanian soil than their own.

  The Elves have sent word that they’ll sail up from the south as soon as the seas are calm enough. Turai has good relations with most of the Elvish nations and we can depend on them. All over the west and south, states are arming themselves for war. Which is good news for Turai. Turai is the natural focus of any attack from the east. Once through the narrow stretch of land which makes up the city state of Turai, the Orcs could flood into the rest of the west, which is why even the Simnians, who don’t like us, are prepared to defend the line here. Thanks to Lisutaris’s early warning, we might yet throw the enemy back.

  The standing army of the city state of Turai is very small. At times of national crisis all able-bodied men are obliged to enlist. If weather allows, there will be training in phalanx manoeuvring outside the city walls. This is something which has been unfortunately neglected in recent years, though most men in Turai have seen military service of some sort. Any man over thirty, no matter what his position now, will at one time have picked up his sword and spear and marched into battle. Most of them will have been expecting to do it again, some day.

  To bolster our forces, mercenaries are being recruited and the city’s population is starting to swell. Mostly they arrive either singly or in small companies, but the King has managed to hire a large contingent, several thousand strong, from Sumark, far to the north. They marched in before winter set in and are quartered at the Stadium Superbius, just outside the city walls.

  With so many mercenaries in the city, Makri is permanently busy at the tables, which prevents her from complaining too much about her college being closed for winter. Instead she complains about the mercenaries’ manners. After a few early skirmishes, they’ve now learned to respect her. The Avenging Axe is doing a fine trade. This pleases Gurd, as do his frequent encounters with old companions he’s fought with in the past. When they recognise their former comrade now employed as a landlord, they laugh, bang their fists on the tables and demand to know what an old soldier is doing serving beer for a living.

  “Doing well, you dogs,” bellows Gurd. “And don’t worry about me, when the Orcs arrive I’ll be cutting them down while you weaklings are still in your beds.”

  Gurd picks up his axe from behind the bar and brandishes it to show he’s lost none of his prowess. The mercenaries roar with laughter, drink heavily, and ogle Makri. Makri has a purse slung round her neck in which she puts her tips, and I’d say she was doing better than she has for a while. The war is good business, at least for the taverns and the brothels.

  Tanrose and Gurd seem to be reconciled. Maybe not in immediate danger of getting married but at least friendly again. As a result of this—and the upturn in business—Gurd ceases to be as miserable as a Niojan whore and once more becomes the cheerful Barbarian with whom I marched all over the world. It’s a welcome change. As is the return of Tanrose to the kitchen. For the first time in months I’m well fed. Facing extra demands for food, Tanrose has retained the services of Elsior and is teaching her the proper art of cooking. A commendable idea, as I point out to Makri. If Tanrose gets killed in the war I’ll still be able to get a decent plate of stew.

  “Are you going to be a troop commander or anything?” Makri enquires.

  “A commander? Me? I doubt it.”

  “But you’re a Tribune. You’re on the Lesser War Council. And you’ve got wartime experience.”

  “All good points,” I agree. “Except I got thrown off the Council. And the rest doesn’t count for much in this city. All the commanders come from the senatorial class. No one with ‘ax’ or ‘ox’ in his name ever got promoted in the Turanian army. Anyway, since I took on the defence of Senator Lodius I’ve been frozen out. I’m about as welcome as an Orc at an Elvish wedding up in Thamlin. I’ve spent three weeks investigating the case, and I’ve hardly learned a thing.”

  “Why are you still on the case? Lodius doesn’t want you.”

  “I was hired by his wife. I took her money. Lodius is my client whether he likes it or not.”

  That’s the theory anyway. In practice I’m making little progress. My investigation has been blocked on all sides. Any official I want to talk to is either busy or not available. The city authorities are keen to pin the murder on Lodius and it’s not hard to see why. Lodius has so much support from all parts of the disaffected population that they haven’t dared to move against him before. Now, with the Orcs practically at the gates and the population rallying round the flag, it’s the one really good opportunity the King and his party will get to put Lodius away. If the Traditionals had tried to pin a murder on Lodius at any other time, the city would’ve been torn apart by rioting. But now, they might just get away with it.

  “So let him hang,” says Makri.

  “I can’t. Not if he’s innocent.”

  Makri shrugs. Any time Makri suspects I might be following some sort of ethical code she laughs, and points out the numerous occasions on which I’ve acted with a notable lack of ethics. I don’t know if she means it. She’s an ethical woman herself, in her way.

  “You’re not really so bothered by that, are you? I mean, whether he’s innocent or not? You just hate to give up on a client.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I can understand that,” says Makri. “Sometimes in the arena they sent me in with a partner. I never liked it when they got killed. I used to protect them. Kill their opponents for them. Sometimes, anyway. But maybe that was just because I liked killing.”

  “You liked killing?”

  “Of course.”

  “You must be looking forward to the war.”

  “I am.”

  “We’re quite likely to get killed ourselves,” I point out.

  Makri shrugs. She doesn’t care about dying, as long as she has the opportunity to kill a lot of Orcs. Makri’s hatred for Orcs is very intense.

  I’m pondering my next step in the investigation. Thanks to Astrath Triple Moon, I’ve seen the best pictures available to the Sorcerers Guild when they tried looking into the past. We didn’t fare much better than Old Hasius the Brilliant. There are too many people around and nothing is really clear. Astrath is slightly puzzled. By his calculations, the alignments of the moons at the time of the crime should allow for better sorcerous examination.

  “Is something blocking it?”

  Astrath doesn’t think so.

  “The pictures aren’t as clear as I’d expect, but sometimes that just happens. Sorcerers can’t explain everything.”

  Astrath Triple Moon’s pictures do tell me more than Hansius did. Lodius spent some time hanging round in the corridor before the meeting, which looks bad for him. But there was plenty of movement in that corridor: Senators walking this way and that, engrossed in private discussions; Praetor Capatius engaged in some sort of debate with Prefect Drinius, and joined by Cicerius and Hansius; Consul Kalius and his assistant Bevarius talking to Rittius. There’s no sign of anything suspicious, however, and none of them entered the kitchen, as far as can be seen.

  With official avenues blocked, I’ve been visiting supporters of Lod
ius, trying to make some sort of breakthrough from a different angle, but even that’s proving difficult. Lodius’s supporters are themselves suspicious of me. They know that the Senator doesn’t trust me.

  I did manage to speak to the man responsible for cooking the pastry which killed Prefect Galwinius. And in some ways my visit to the consular kitchens was very rewarding. Erisox, the man in charge, is a master chef and not too stingy at dishing out samples. From the moment I first tasted his food I recognised him as great man and it was a pleasure to meet him. We talked of pastry, venison, fish, yams, and other items of interest. He enjoys all aspects of food, and just because he spends a lot of time making fancy little dishes for the Consul’s guests doesn’t mean he disregards the importance of a hearty bowl of stew in winter.

  Unfortunately, great man or not, he couldn’t tell me anything about the murder. He swore that no stranger had entered his kitchen. I questioned him fairly intensely on the matter but he was adamant. No one had disturbed him as he prepared the food and he hadn’t left the kitchen for any reason.

  I’m inclined to believe him. I trust a man with such a great talent for food preparation. But of course Erisox couldn’t see what happened to his pastries after they left the kitchen. The food was taken out on trolleys, some of which were left in the corridor for a space of time before being brought into the meeting room. I wish that Lodius hadn’t been hanging round in the corridor, without a good explanation for why he was there.

  I tried following up the carasin angle, attempting to find out who else might have brought some of the poison into the city, but the trail led nowhere. I’ve learned quite a lot about the manufacture of vellum, but other than that, nothing. It’s the sort of task which really requires the services of a large body like the Civil Guard, but that’s not going to happen. Guardsman Jevox, one of my few contacts in the force, told me at once that I was wasting my time nosing round the Guards. No Civil Guard is helping me on this one.