Thraxas - The Complete Series

by Martin Scott

  “Sounds like a useful item,” I say. “Particularly in this part of the world. How come it’s never used? We lose a lot of ships every year to the weather.”

  “It’s too important for that,” explains Lisutaris. “The Storm Calmer is part of our national defence, like the green jewel I use for far-seeing. It’s kept secret, for use only if a hostile Sorcerer tries to batter down our sea walls by conjuring up a storm.”

  “Last time you mentioned one of these important items of national security,” I say, “it had been lost. Has the Storm Calmer gone missing?”

  “No. It’s safe. But its brother has gone missing.”

  “The Storm Calmer has a brother?”

  “In a manner of speaking. No one knew about it till recently but apparently there’s another shell called the Ocean Storm. A Turanian captain came across it on the uninhabited isle of Evoli last autumn. Or so he claims. It hasn’t really been confirmed by anyone else. He sent a message to the Sorcerers Guild, saying he’d bought it from some ancient Elvish hermit.”

  “On the isle of Evoli?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So it’s not really uninhabited?”

  “It’s uninhabited apart from one hermit.”

  “No one else? A cook, maybe, or a maid?”

  Lisutaris looks annoyed.

  “What sort of hermit has a maid? Please stop making irrelevant comments.”

  “I’m an Investigator. I need the full facts.”

  “We don’t have the full facts. Just a story that a sorcerous artefact exists which is powerful enough to whip up a storm that would batter down Turai’s sea walls and let the Orcs sail in.”

  By now the Mistress of the Sky is rolling another thazis stick. She is inordinately fond of the substance.

  “The Ocean Storm was on its way to Turai last week. No ships sail in these weathers, but this one did.”

  “I saw it,” I say. “Limped in, just made it.”

  Lisutaris nods.

  “It was brought in by the first mate and the four remaining crew members, all experienced sailors, so I understand.”

  “And the captain?”

  “Captain Arex was nowhere to be seen. He had disappeared.”

  “Taking the Ocean Storm with him?”

  “Exactly. Which is a problem. We don’t really know if this item exists or not. None of the surviving crew had ever seen it. According to them they didn’t even know their captain had sent a message to the Sorcerers Guild. If it does exist, we can’t let it fall into anyone else’s hands. Which means that we’re now moving heaven, earth and the three moons to find something we’re not sure is even in the city. Or even ever existed.”

  I muse for a moment, and light a thazis stick of my own.

  “This all sounds unlikely to me.”

  “In what way?”

  “Every way. A powerful sorcerous item no one’s heard of before? You know better than me that these items don’t happen along every day of the week.”

  “True. But we can’t take the risk. If an Orcish Sorcerer starts trying to batter down our sea walls with a powerful new weapon, we’ll be in trouble.”

  “It wouldn’t be easy to use,” I point out.

  “True,” agrees Lisutaris. “You’d have to be a very powerful Sorcerer indeed to pick up a strange magical talisman and use it right away, particularly for controlling the weather.”

  She pauses, inhaling from her thazis stick.

  “But I could do it. If this Ocean Storm really exists, I could use it. A few others might be able to. The most powerful of the Orcish Sorcerers. Like Horm the Dead. Or Deeziz the Unseen.”

  I’m slightly surprised to hear the name. Deeziz is reputed to be the most powerful Sorcerer in all the Orcish lands, but he was last sighted somewhere in the mountains of Gzak and no one’s heard anything about him for a decade.

  “Deeziz? He’s not with Amrag’s army. No one’s seen him since the last war.”

  “He retreated to a mountaintop to seek wisdom, or so we heard. Some people say he was banished when the Orcs were defeated,” says Lisutaris. “Finding out anything about him is next to impossible. He’s cloaked himself with so many spells of hiding we can’t tell where he is. Even when he did used to appear, no one ever saw his face.”

  Deeziz always wore a veil. People generally assumed he must be horribly mutilated in some way, and given the brutal nature of Orcish sorcery, it’s not unlikely. I ask Lisutaris why she’s suddenly mentioned him.

  “Has there been news that he’s heading this way?”

  She shakes her head.

  “No news at all. But I thought of him when I heard about the Ocean Storm. He always was a master of the weather. If he suddenly appears outside the city with the Ocean Storm in his hand, we’ve got a problem. Anyway, it doesn’t have to be him. Horm could probably use it. We can’t let it fall into their hands.”

  “Probably it was just some piece of junk the captain was hoping to sell for a profit.”

  Lisutaris admits this is possible.

  “Though I don’t know how he’d have hoped to convince me it was real. You don’t get to be head of the Sorcerers Guild by buying fake sorcerous items.”

  “True, it wouldn’t have fooled you. But he might’ve had some idea of selling it to some other hapless member of the government. I’ve known senators get conned by stupider things than that.”

  “Can’t you use your own sorcery to tell if there’s a new sorcerous item in the city?” asks Makri, butting in with a question I was just about to ask myself.

  “I haven’t come up with anything,” replies Lisutaris. “But that’s not really conclusive. An unknown sorcerous artefact, inactivated, wouldn’t necessarily give out any signals that could be traced. There are a great many objects and people in this city who give off sorcerous vibrations. Picking up some unknown source isn’t easy.”

  “What do the ship’s crew say about the captain disappearing?”

  “Nothing. They don’t know what happened. They were so short-handed that each of the five sailors was at his post, bringing the ship in. And suddenly the captain wasn’t there.”

  “He probably fell overboard drunk,” I say. “If he’s anything like the other captains around here.”

  “It might all be nothing,” agrees Lisutaris. “But suppose it isn’t. Suppose the Ocean Storm is real and someone has stolen it. What would you think?”

  “Then I’d think it was serious. It might have fallen into the hands of someone who’d be happy to see the Orcs batter down the harbour walls with a tidal wave and sail their fleet in. Has Samilius found out anything?”

  “No.”

  “No surprise. Samilius is an idiot.”

  “I know. I’ve taken charge of the sorcerous part of the investigation and assigned several good Sorcerers to the hunt,” says Lisutaris. “I trust you don’t think I’m an idiot?”

  “I think you’re a woman who sent me an excellent gift. What do you want me to do?”

  “Help us search,” says Lisutaris. “When it comes to asking awkward questions and finding lost goods in strange places, you have some talents.”

  “I have. Are you sure there’s no money involved?”

  The Sorcerer looks frustrated.

  “Regard it as an extension of the battlefield, Thraxas. This is war.”

  “Of course. It’s my patriotic duty. But there is a matter of supreme importance occupying my attention just now, which really calls for a substantial sum of money. Do you think you could see your way to lending me five hundred gurans?”

  Lisutaris is suddenly overtaken by a fit of coughing. I use the opportunity to press my case.

  “I’m not asking you to take a risk. It’s money loaned at a guaranteed return.”

  Lisutaris attempts to rise, falters, then falls to the floor. I gaze down at her, perplexed. I didn’t think she’d be quite so shocked by a simple request for money.

  “Well, you know, maybe three hundred would be enough to ge
t me started—”

  “Thraxas, you idiot, can’t you see she’s sick?” yells Makri.

  “Sick?”

  Lisutaris’s face is turning red and her breath is coming in heavy gasps. Beads of sweat appear on her forehead.

  “She’s got the winter malady,” says Makri.

  “She can’t have. She’s head of the Sorcerers Guild.”

  I gaze down at her on the floor, cursing my luck. One of the richest women in Turai, right here in the Avenging Axe, and before she can listen to my business proposition she comes down with the malady. I’ve always felt that the gods had it in for me.

  “Get Chiaraxi,” says Makri. “I’ll put Lisutaris in your bed.”

  “I don’t think that’s really the best place for—”

  “Get the healer!” yells Makri.

  While I’m not at all pleased to have a sufferer from the winter malady dumped on my own bed, there doesn’t seem to be a better alternative. It’s a serious matter having the head of the Sorcerers Guild fall sick at a time like this.

  “If she comes round, ask her about lending me some money.”

  I depart. Before making my way along Quintessence Street to the home of Chiaraxi, I stop downstairs to appraise Gurd of current events. The brawny old Barbarian looks alarmed.

  “Lisutaris? Sick? Here? Can’t she go somewhere else?”

  “Not in her condition.”

  Gurd curses under his breath. It’s going to be difficult to keep this secret. A quarantine order is looking more and more likely. It’s unfortunate timing. The tavern is full of mercenaries and soldiers. Gurd’s business has never been so good. Provided the city doesn’t get destroyed by the Orcs, he’s in line for a healthy profit over the next few months. I leave him to his worries and hurry along to fetch Chiaraxi. Chiaraxi is alarmed as I barge into her office, possibly due to the fact that the last time I arrived here in a hurry was because Makri was about to die from a crossbow bolt, fired into her chest by Sarin the Merciless, one of the worst villains ever to blight Turai.

  “Makri? Is she—”

  “It’s Lisutaris. She’s come down with a bad case of the malady.”

  Chiaraxi frowns, and starts loading herbs into a bag.

  “How bad?”

  “Very bad, I’d say. Started coughing and then collapsed. I’d have thought such a powerful Sorcerer would have some protection against illness.”

  Chiaraxi shakes her head.

  “Sorcery’s no use against the winter malady. You can die just the same.”

  We hurry back towards the Avenging Axe. Chiaraxi asks me if it’s the first case there’s been. I admit it isn’t.

  “Palax and Kaby are sick with it.”

  “Has Gurd reported it to the Prefect?”

  I remain silent. Chiaraxi purses her lips, indicating disapproval. I take the healer up the outside staircase that leads directly into my office, not wanting the customers in the tavern downstairs to suspect what’s happening. Unfortunately my office isn’t empty. I left without placing a locking spell on the door, and Captain Rallee and his new lady friend Moolifi are sitting together on the couch. Makri is standing uncomfortably by the door into the only other room, where Lisutaris is lying sick.

  The Captain is around my age, but better preserved. His blond hair, long and tied at the back, is only just beginning to streak with grey, and his lifetime of pounding the streets has kept him in shape. We used to be friends. We fought together, a long time ago, and we worked together when I was an Investigator at the Palace and he had a far cushier job at Palace Security. Since I got sacked and the Captain got forced out by the endless politicking and favouritism that goes on there, we haven’t got on so well. The Captain doesn’t like the fact that he’s back on the beat, working a tough patch like Twelve Seas. From his point of view, private Investigators only get in the way.

  I’ve never seen Moolifi before, and know her only by reputation. They say she’s got a good voice. She has a lot of fair hair and a good figure, which probably helps things along. She looks quite a lot younger than the Captain. I get the impression he’s not displeased to be here with her at his side. Puts him in a good light. A lot of people must have been vying for the singer’s attention and the Captain doesn’t mind it at all that he’s come out the winner.

  “Captain? What brings you here?”

  The Captain looks at Chiaraxi.

  “Who’s sick?”

  “Me,” I reply.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “That’s between me and Chiaraxi,” I reply.

  The Captain looks suspicious. I intimate that I’m in a hurry to get my medical problem attended to so could he please make it quick. It turns out he wants Moolifi to stay at the Avenging Axe for a few days.

  “She’s had some trouble up at the Golden Unicorn.”

  “What sort of trouble?”

  “Trouble with her manager. She had to leave in a hurry. I’d like you to keep an eye on her for a few days till she gets something sorted out.”

  Normally I could see reasons for objecting to this. If Moolifi is in trouble in her theatre in Kushni it probably means the Society of Friends is involved, because that criminal organisation runs the Golden Unicorn. I’d rather not offend the Society of Friends. Furthermore, I don’t owe the Captain any favours. However, with Lisutaris sick in the next room I’m keen to get the Captain out of here as quickly as possible. I don’t want to let the Civil Guards know that Gurd’s been hiding a case of the winter malady from the authorities. So I tell him it’s fine with me.

  “If Gurd has a spare room for her I’ll check she’s safe. Now if you’d let me get on with my examination?”

  As soon as they’re gone I take Chiaraxi through to the bedroom. Lisutaris looks bad. Paying no further attention to either Makri or me, Chiaraxi takes out her herbs and potions and gets to work.

  I tell Makri that we’ve got a problem.

  “Captain Rallee wants to put Moolifi in the guest room. We can’t let him find Palax and Kaby in there.”

  “So what are we going to do?”

  “Carry them into your room.”

  Makri’s face twitches.

  “I don’t want them in there.”

  “There’s nowhere else.”

  “Couldn’t they come here?”

  “I’ve already got one sick person. You want me to look after everyone?”

  Chiaraxi abruptly halts our argument by rising swiftly and issuing orders.

  “Lisutaris is very ill. I want her isolated. She can’t be moved and no one else is to come in here. If you have to move Palax and Kaby take them to Makri’s room.”

  “I don’t want them there,” protests Makri again.

  “I don’t want Lisutaris in my room,” I add.

  “I don’t care what you want,” says Chiaraxi. “Do as I tell you.”

  Makri looks nonplussed. She turns to me.

  “Can she order us around like this?”

  “Stop wasting time and do as I say,” says Chiaraxi.

  It’s difficult to argue with a healer when she’s engaged in ministering to the sick. Makri and I reluctantly comply with her instructions. We swiftly haul Palax and Kaby into Makri’s room.

  “This can’t be right,” complains Makri. “I’ve only got one small room. How come I have to take two sick people? How can I study when they’re here? What if I get the malady?”

  We only just get the moving of sickly bodies completed before Moolifi and Gurd arrive upstairs. Gurd looks at me questioningly. I give a slight nod to indicate that it’s safe to let her into the guest room. Moolifi thanks Gurd. Her voice is rather cool and gracious, less rough than I’d have expected a Kushni entertainer’s to be. She says she’s tired, and would like to lie down for a while.

  “This is bad,” says Gurd, after the singer departs.

  “You’re right it’s bad. The head of the Sorcerers Guild is about to die in my bed and God knows what The Renowned and Truthful Chronicle will say about th
at.”

  We return to my office. Chiaraxi appears from the bedroom, briskly efficient.

  “You must inform the authorities,” she says.

  “I can’t,” says Gurd. “They’ll shut me down.”

  “They’ll do a lot worse if they find you’re trying to conceal an outbreak of the malady,” points out the healer.

  “I won’t report it,” says Gurd, stubbornly.

  “Then I will,” replies Chiaraxi.

  “We can’t keep it secret anyway,” points out Makri. “People are going to notice if the head of the Sorcerers Guild isn’t around.”

  True, of course. Lisutaris is among the most important people in the city. She can’t just disappear. It’s our duty to let the authorities know what’s happened. It seems as if Gurd has no alternative but to report it all to the local prefect.

  There’s a very light tap on the inside door. Everyone looks towards it, suspiciously. I open it carefully. I’m confronted by a small, pale woman with dark hair who I’d take to be a worker in the local market if I didn’t recognise her as Hanama, number three in the Assassins Guild. I stare at her balefully.

  “What do you want?”

  “Makri.”

  Hanama is softly spoken. Listening to her talk, you’d never believe she’d killed so many people. I detest her, as I do all Assassins. A foul and murderous breed without whom the city would be far better off. I’m about to slam the door in her face when Makri hurries over.

  “What is it?” she asks.

  Hanama puts her mouth to Makri’s ear and whispers.

  “Stop having murderous Assassins’ conversations at my door,” I say, harshly.

  Hanama suddenly clutches at her throat and falls forward. A rather puzzling occurrence. She’s not the sort of woman to take an insult so badly.

  “She’s got the malady,” cries Makri.

  “She can’t have,” I yell. “Not her. Not in my office.”

  I turn towards Gurd.

  “This is getting out of hand. We have to get these sick people out of the tavern.”

  Chiaraxi bends over the Assassin.

  “Carry her to the couch,” she says.

  “I refuse to let a sick Assassin lie on my couch.”

  Chiaraxi and Makri ignore me. Hanama is laid on my couch. Sweat pours from her forehead and her breath comes in heavy gasps. I glare at Hanama.