Thraxas - The Complete Series

by Martin Scott

  Makri regards Tirini balefully as she exits.

  “I don’t think she’s the best person to protect Lisutaris. Anyway, I’m protecting her.”

  Before Hansius leaves he questions us about our encounter with the Orcish Assassin. I can’t tell him much more than I did in my message to the Deputy Consul, though I do my best to let Hansius know every detail I can remember. Turai’s security has been breached by Orcs before, but now, in time of war, with our defensive sorcery at maximum power, it’s far more serious. Old Hasius the Brilliant, Chief Sorcerer at the Abode of Justice, has been down at the harbour, checking on the scene of the fight, trying to pick up clues as to how the Orc Marizaz might have entered the city.

  With a final admonition to maintain our own security and look after Lisutaris, Hansius departs. Makri turns towards Sarin the Merciless.

  “I’m still going to kill her when she gets better.”

  “At least you have something to look forward to.”

  I step towards the bedroom.

  “Where are you going?” demands Makri.

  “Just checking on Lisutaris.”

  “Keep out of that room.”

  “What the hell do you mean, keep out? It’s my bedroom.”

  “You’re planning on asking her for money.”

  “Preposterous. I have a duty to look after her too, you know.”

  I slip into the bedroom, pursued by Makri.

  “I refuse to let you borrow money from a sick woman.”

  “I’m not going to borrow money. What’s it got to do with you anyway?”

  “I’m her bodyguard.”

  “So what? You’re meant to protect her from Orcish Assassins, not Investigators in need. Besides, I have some important questions regarding the Ocean Storm.”

  I stare at Makri.

  “Questions that need to be asked in private.”

  “Not a chance,” says Makri. “The minute I’m out that door you’ll be scrounging money.”

  “I order you to get out of my bedroom.”

  “You can’t order a Sorcerer’s bodyguard around,” states Makri, firmly. “I’m staying.”

  Lisutaris groans.

  “You see?” I say to Makri. “You’re upsetting her. She needs peace and quiet.”

  “She’s not going to get peace and quiet with you trying to get your hands on her money.”

  “What’s a few hundred gurans to Lisutaris? She’s rolling in money. Goddamn, it’s not like she’d be taking a risk.”

  “You just said you weren’t here to borrow money.”

  “I’m not. But if I was, I’d be doing Lisutaris a favour. She enjoys gambling.”

  “She’s got a city to defend!” yells Makri. “We’re meant to be getting her healthy so she can fight the Orcs! Have you forgotten that?”

  “Life doesn’t stop just because the Orcs are besieging the city!” I roar back. “All citizens have a duty to keep things going. It’s good for morale.”

  “Playing cards doesn’t count as keeping things going,” protests Makri.

  We’re interrupted by some movement on the bed. Lisutaris struggles to raise her head.

  “I’ll give you the money if you’ll just leave me in peace,” she whispers.

  “No, don’t—” says Makri.

  “I accept,” I say, butting in quickly. “Very sporting of you, Lisutaris, and I won’t forget you when I’m counting my winnings.”

  Makri looks furious. I hurry to Lisutaris’s bedside. The sorceress lifts her head a few inches.

  “How much do you need?”

  “Don’t give it to him,” says Makri.

  Lisutaris manages a thin smile.

  “Makri. Thraxas has been looking after me. Which is so against his nature, I think he deserves something for his trouble.”

  She motions for me to hand her a fancy embroidered bag, which I do, hastily. Lisutaris fumbles inside the bag. It takes some effort on her part and I start to worry that she might pass out before she finds her purse. If she does, I’ll probably have to engage Makri in combat before I can take possession.

  Lisutaris finds her purse, and opens it with an effort.

  “How much is there?”

  I look inside. There are seven coins. Seven silver fifty guran pieces. Not a common sight in Twelve Seas.

  “Three hundred and fifty gurans.”

  “Is that enough?”

  “Just about.”

  Lisutaris hands them to me. I’m deeply moved. Surely this is one of the finest citizens Turai has ever produced. I cram the coins into the pocket of my tunic.

  “Do you want anything?” I ask.

  “Some peace,” whispers Lisutaris.

  “Absolutely peace is what you need.”

  I rise swiftly and turn to Makri.

  “You heard her. Absolute peace. From now on, make sure no one disturbs Lisutaris.”

  I leave the room quickly, delighted after a successful operation. I now have 440 gurans and require only sixty more. Surely I can raise that in the next few hours. I’m just strapping on my sword when I am struck by an annoying piece of inspiration about the Ocean Storm. Right now I’m not looking for inspiration. I’m more concerned with raising the cash for tomorrow night’s gambling extravaganza. I hesitate. I could ignore it, or deal with it later. I head for the door, but turn back with a sigh. It’s no use. No matter how I try, I never seem to be able to ignore an investigation.

  I stride back into my bedroom. Makri is sitting beside Lisutaris’s bed, not actually mopping her brow but looking like she might do it any moment. She glares angrily at me as I reappear.

  “Need more money already?”

  I ignore her.

  “Lisutaris. I just had some sudden inspiration.”

  Lisutaris turns her face towards me. She’s still looking very unhealthy. The head of the Sorcerers Guild has really taken the malady badly. I’ve known far less healthy people than her recover from it quicker.

  “What inspiration?”

  “Yesterday we met an Orcish Assassin. No one knows how he could have got into the city without being detected. Have you had any thoughts on that?”

  The Sorcerer shakes her head.

  “We’re working on it,” she whispers.

  “Before we met him I passed some mourners, close to the harbour. A couple of men and a woman. Or I thought it was a woman. She was wearing a veil. But now I’m wondering if it might have been Deeziz the Unseen.”

  Lisutaris stares at me. She stares at me for so long I wonder if she might not be completely with us. Finally she manages the smallest of smiles.

  “Deeziz the Unseen? I thought I was the one who was sick. You must be hallucinating.”

  “I wasn’t hallucinating. I didn’t see anything strange. Just a standard Human mourner, in a veil. Deeziz is known for wearing a veil. So I’m wondering if it might have been him.”

  “But mourners often wear veils,” says Makri, which is true.

  “Did you sense sorcery?” asks Lisutaris.

  “No, nothing.”

  “Did you sense Orcs?” asks Makri.

  I admit I didn’t.

  “It’s just a feeling.”

  Lisutaris tries to raise herself on one elbow, but can’t quite make it, and sinks down again.

  “Deeziz the Unseen is on top of a mountain hundreds of miles away. We’d have detected him if he’d come anywhere near Turai. Cicerius’s intelligence service would have heard something about it.”

  “Maybe not,” I say. “It’s not unheard of for an Orcish Sorcerer to infiltrate the city. Makri ran into one only a few months ago when she rescued Herminis”—I break off to cast a dirty look at Makri, signifying my continuing disapproval—“and we both came across one at the races a year or so ago.”

  “True,” replies Lisutaris. “But every Sorcerer in the city has been on the highest alert since Amrag attacked. I think we’d have detected an intruder. And General Pomius doesn’t even think Deeziz has joined Prince Amrag.”<
br />
  Lisutaris motions to Makri for water, and Makri raises a beaker to her lips.

  “You don’t have any reason for thinking it was Deeziz the Unseen, do you? Apart from your intuition?”

  “No. I don’t. But I’ve made it a long way on my intuition. Now I think about it, isn’t it strange the way you’ve taken the malady so badly? You should have been starting to recover by now. What if it’s Deeziz attacking you with a spell? Sorcery can prolong an illness.”

  Lisutaris has already thought of this.

  “I checked. I’m not being affected by any spell.”

  “You think you’re not. What if you’re wrong?”

  “I’m not.”

  “I think you might be.”

  A hint of colour appears in Lisutaris’s cheeks. Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, does not appreciate anything which might be construed as criticism of her power.

  “I’m the head of the Sorcerers Guild.”

  “And I’m an Investigator who’s got you out of a few jams in the past. What if I’m right? What if the most powerful Orcish Sorcerer is wandering around in Turai? Who knows what new spells he might have brought with him?”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. No one can catch me unaware.”

  Lisutaris is angry.

  “I just gave you three hundred and fifty gurans to leave me in peace and now you’re bothering me with this foolishness. Makri, get rid of him so I can sleep.”

  “No,” says Makri.

  “What?” Lisutaris looks surprised. “But you’re my bodyguard.”

  “What if Thraxas is right?” says Makri.

  Lisutaris finds the strength to haul herself up into a sitting position.

  “I always thought you were the smart one.”

  “I am the smart one,” says Makri. “But Thraxas often succeeds in his investigating. I don’t think you should ignore him. Maybe Deeziz is here. Maybe he’s attacking you and you don’t know it.”

  “How many times do I have to repeat, I can’t be attacked without me knowing it,” insists Lisutaris. “I’ve had enough of this. What was Cicerius thinking, leaving me in this place? I need to be at home where I can recover without being surrounded by idiots.”

  Lisutaris makes an attempt to haul herself out of bed. Makri puts a hand on her shoulder and firmly pushes her back. Lisutaris’s eyes widen in amazement.

  “You can’t leave,” says Makri, firmly. “You have to rest and get better. Meanwhile Thraxas can investigate more.”

  “Would you like me to blast you with a spell?”

  “Well that wouldn’t be a very smart thing to do to your own bodyguard,” says Makri, logically.

  Lisutaris sinks back into the bed.

  “I need thazis,” she says.

  “You can’t have it,” says Makri. “The healer says it’s bad for you.”

  “To hell with the healer,” says Lisutaris. She waves her hand, summoning her bag. It rises from the floor but Makri intercepts it and throws it in a drawer.

  “No thazis till you’re better,” she says, sternly.

  Fearing that Lisutaris might actually carry out her threat to start blasting people with spells, I decide it’s time to go. As I leave the room Lisutaris is still complaining about not being allowed any thazis, and Makri is ignoring her.

  I need food. I head downstairs to see what’s on offer. Elsior the apprentice cook is standing behind the bar as I approach, with an apron round her waist, loading some pastries into a jar. I ask if there’s anything more substantial on offer. There are plenty of hungry dock workers who visit the tavern at lunchtime so the cooking generally starts early.

  “I’m a bit rushed,” says Elsior, apologetically. “But the first batch of stew will be ready soon.”

  She puts her hand to her forehead.

  “It’s hot in here today.”

  “Hot? I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Must be the heat in the kitchen getting to me,” says Elsior.

  I have a strong suspicion about what’s going to happen next. Elsior blinks a few times, and brushes perspiration from her forehead. Then she leans forward, clutches the bar for support, and sinks slowly to the floor. I look down at her.

  “So is the stew almost ready? Could I just take a bowl from the kitchen?”

  Elsior doesn’t reply. Makri appears from upstairs.

  “Another casualty?”

  “I’m afraid so. And the stew isn’t ready yet.”

  “Tough break,” says Makri.

  We look down at Elsior’s prone body.

  “I’m starting to get quite fed up with all this,” says Makri.

  “Me too.”

  “Do you think these people are really trying to get better? Palax and Kaby have been sick for ages. Shouldn’t they be healthy by now?”

  I shrug.

  “Difficult to say. Sometimes the malady’s like that. At least no one’s died yet.”

  “So where are we going to put her?”

  Hanama and Sarin are sick in my office and Lisutaris is in my bedroom. Palax and Kaby are in Makri’s room and Chiaraxi is lying ill in Tanrose’s room. Moolifi is in the only spare guest room.

  “Have to be Dandelion’s room, I’d say.”

  Dandelion sleeps in a small room at the back of the tavern, when she’s not down at the shore, talking to the dolphins. We pick Elsior up and start to carry her through the kitchen towards the back. As we do so we meet Dandelion bustling towards us.

  “Oh dear,” says Dandelion. Another one?”

  “We were going to put her in your room.”

  Dandelion accepts it with good grace.

  “You best tell Gurd,” I say. “He’s going to have a lot of hungry dockers and mercenaries here in a few hours and nothing to feed them.”

  Dandelion wrinkles her brow.

  “I’m not a very good cook.”

  She turns to Makri.

  “Can you cook?”

  Makri looks quite offended, and shakes her head.

  “Well, I’m off to investigate,” I say, and depart briskly. I’m not so bad at mixing up a stew on a campfire, but I’m not planning on pitching in and helping. The thought of me cooking for dockers and mercenaries is quite ridiculous, but the way things are going, I wouldn’t put it past someone to suggest it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I return to my office to pick up my sword and load up with a spell or two. I cram some thazis sticks and a flask of klee into a pocket. When I turn round I find Sarin the Merciless staring at me. I glare at her.

  “Aren’t you better yet?”

  She doesn’t reply. She’s huddled up in one of my blankets, as is Hanama. Hanama at least contrives to look innocent. Sarin just looks like a killer.

  “I’m off to find the Ocean Storm. No doubt you intended to find it and sell it to the Orcs. Well, you can forget it.”

  “I’d have it already if I hadn’t got sick,” she whispers.

  “No you wouldn’t.”

  “I’ve outwitted you in the past.”

  “So you claim. And here you are, sick on my couch. Try outwitting that.”

  “You’re not making sense,” sneers Sarin.

  “Not making sense? Try this. I work every day and I fight for my city. You’re a parasite who feeds off honest people. Does that make sense?”

  Sarin mops her brow. She’s bathed in perspiration, suffering badly from the disease.

  “There’s no difference between us,” she says. “We’re both empty. I fill it up with crime. You fill it up with food and beer.”

  I blink. It’s an odd thing to say.

  “You’re rambling, Sarin. The malady does that. When you get healthy you’ll remember which one of us is the honest upright citizen. And you’re not going to be healthy for long once Makri’s done with you.”

  Sarin sneers.

  “If she had any sense she’d have done with me already. But at least her life isn’t empty like yours.”

  “Oh no?”

&
nbsp; “No.”

  “She works as a barmaid and wastes her time listening to Samanatius the phoney philosopher.”

  “You don’t like Samanatius?” says Sarin.

  “I don’t.”

  “That shows what a fool you are.”

  Not willing to engage in further conversation with a woman who is clearly delirious, I leave through the outside door, place the locking spell on it, and hurry down the steps into Quintessence Street. As soon as I hit the cold thoroughfare it strikes me that I don’t really know what I’m looking for. Whales, maybe, but I’ve already checked Twelve Seas quite thoroughly, and I’d swear there wasn’t one lurking in the shadows. As for the Ocean Storm, who knows where that might be? As far as I can gather, it was gone from Borinbax’s house before Sarin killed him. If it hadn’t been she’d have it by now, and wouldn’t be troubling me.

  A squadron of troops marches by, on their way to bolster the harbour defences. Each man has a long spear and a shield over his shoulder. By this time the city is awash with rumours that the Orcs are going to batter down the sea wall, and the area is continually being reinforced. As well as additional soldiers, Cicerius has assigned more Sorcerers to the sea defences. Even Kemlath Orc Slayer is down there, in charge of one section of wall. Kemlath was banished for his crimes, crimes which I detected, but he’s been recalled for the duration of the war. I’m not objecting. The city needs the services of everyone who can wield a spell.

  I find myself in the narrow street where Makri and I met Marizaz, Orcish Assassin. What a strange affair that was. One that I really should have looked into further. I would have had my mind not been preoccupied with raising money, and looking after the sick. I can hardly be blamed for some neglect when it comes to investigating. The way the Avenging Axe is bulging with ailing people just now is enough to put anyone off. Once more I find myself wondering if there might be some sorcery behind it. Lisutaris can insist all she wants that no magic is involved, but I still say it’s unnatural the way no one can set foot in my office without catching the malady. It goes against all reason.