Thraxas - The Complete Series

by Martin Scott

  As we pass the large grain warehouses a voice calls out to us to halt. It’s Captain Rallee.

  “Captain. On duty tonight?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  I had the impression that Rallee spent every spare moment snuggling up to Moolifi, though I don’t want to come right out and say it.

  “Just looking round,” says the Captain. He lowers his voice. “Would you say there’s anything in this area that might be described as a whale?”

  I look at him sternly.

  “Have you been drinking, Captain? No whales around these parts.”

  “Well it might not be a real whale,” says Rallee. “Maybe something else that could be described as one?”

  The Captain looks at Makri.

  “Any ideas? Any old Elvish words spring to mind?”

  Makri shakes her head.

  “They rarely talked about whales. Almost never, in fact. It’s quite strange how few references there are to whales in Elvish poetry.”

  Captain Rallee looks at her suspiciously.

  “Have you been studying the subject?”

  “Certainly not. Thraxas, have I ever studied whales or whale-related topics?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “What are you doing out at this time of night?” asks the Captain.

  “Just taking a walk,” says Makri. “Nothing to do with whales. Whales didn’t even feature in our conversation. Until you mentioned them. But even then, nothing about whales really springs to mind.”

  I bid the captain a hasty goodnight and drag Makri off.

  “Damn it, Makri, do you practise being such a bad liar?”

  “What do you mean, bad liar? I thought I was very convincing.”

  I shake my head in disgust. Damn Tanrose’s mother’s servant. She’s obviously been blabbing to everybody. Soon the whole city will be down here looking for gold.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It’s deep into the morning by the time we trudge back into the Avenging Axe. Makri goes straight up the stairs to check on Lisutaris but I take a walk through to the back of the tavern to check on Gurd. Though I try to remain silent, the slight noise of my entrance brings him round.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  Gurd manages a weak grin. That’s more than any of the other malady sufferers have managed. Gurd was always strong, and I don’t doubt he’ll be up on his feet in a day or two.

  “Just had to lie down for a while,” he says. “Be better soon.”

  “You will be.”

  I marched all over the world with Gurd. I’d have been killed in battle long ago if he hadn’t been by my side.

  “The tavern … is everything all right?”

  I reassure him.

  “I’ve got it under control.”

  “What about Tanrose?”

  “Also all right. She’ll be better in a day or two. Don’t worry, I can keep things going.”

  Gurd nods. I’ve never seen the old Barbarian looking so pale.

  “Big card game tonight,” whispers Gurd. “Sorry I can’t play.”

  “It’ll save you money. I’m on good form.”

  Gurd grins again, but his eyelids droop, and I leave him to sleep.

  The scene in my office is not as riotous as I feared. Sorcerers are notoriously intemperate and I wouldn’t have been surprised to find them all lying drunk on the carpet. They’ve remained sober. A sign of how serious things are, perhaps. Coranius the Grinder is sitting behind my desk. Tirini Snake Smiter is in my armchair. And Hanama, to my surprise, is sitting up. The malady is passing. She’s still deathly pale but she no longer has the haggard look that comes with the illness.

  “Feeling better?” I grunt.

  She nods.

  “I’ll leave tomorrow.”

  I should be delighted. I realise I don’t really care.

  I shrug.

  “Have you any information about the Ocean Storm?” asks Coranius.

  “None at all. How about the Sorcerers Guild?”

  Coranius shakes his head. The artefact has vanished from sight. No one has the slightest idea where it is.

  “We’ve been discussing it with Lisutaris. It’s a worrying situation.”

  It has to be worrying if he’s talking to me about it.

  “What about this woman Sarin?” asks Coranius. “Does she have information?”

  “I don’t know for sure. I don’t think so. I think she killed a thief called Borinbax who had it, but it was gone by then.”

  “We must question her as soon as she recovers.”

  “She doesn’t know where it is,” says Hanama.

  “How do you know?”

  “I asked her.”

  “And you believe her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I know Sarin much better than you realise,” says Hanama. “She doesn’t know where it is. She came here thinking you did.”

  I notice that the killer in question isn’t in my office.

  “Where is she?”

  “She dragged herself downstairs,” says Hanama. “She said she’d rather lie ill in a store room than stay here any longer.”

  Sarin has gone. It’s good news, though once again I find that I don’t much care. I ask Coranius a question.

  “So many people have fallen sick here. And it’s taking them a long time to get better. Especially Lisutaris. Is there something sorcerous about it?”

  “Lisutaris thinks not,” replies Coranius.

  “What do you think?”

  Coranius shrugs. He’s a man of medium size. Sandy-haired, not imposing in any way. But he’s one of our strongest Sorcerers, not far behind Lisutaris in terms of raw power.

  “I can’t find any trace of sorcery. But you’re right, it is taking her a long time to recover…”

  Coranius looks troubled.

  “People fall sick in clusters all the time,” says Tirini. “That’s what the malady’s like. I don’t think there’s any sorcery at work. We’d be able to detect it.”

  “We can’t detect the Ocean Storm,” says Coranius.

  “We don’t even know if the Ocean Storm really exists.”

  I sit down on the couch, keeping a fair distance between myself and Hanama. It’s a little strange to hear matters of state security discussed in front of an Assassin. There again, she’s number three in the Assassins Guild, and the Assassins Guild is an officially recognised body in Turai. In some ways she outranks me.

  “I think it exists,” says Coranius. “And if we haven’t found a trace of it, we’ve found plenty of traces of Orcish activity around the south of the city. Incursions by an Assassin, ships sighted off the coast, traces of spells of spying.”

  I remember what Dandelion said to me on the beach. The Orcs are already in the Avenging Axe. I tell Coranius. He frowns, very deeply.

  “Who is this Dandelion?”

  “A strange young woman with seaweed in her hair.”

  “Seaweed? Why seaweed?”

  “I don’t really know. Usually it’s flowers. She has astrological signs on her skirt and she talks to the dolphins.”

  I’m expecting Coranius to laugh. He doesn’t. He looks grave.

  “The dolphins really said this?”

  “According to Dandelion. But she’s fairly crazy.”

  But Coranius isn’t listening. He’s already on his feet, heading for the bedroom. I follow along, and enter in time to find Lisutaris and Makri arguing fiercely.

  “Damn it, give me my thazis,” demands Lisutaris.

  “No,” says Makri. “The healer says you aren’t to have any.”

  “The healer got sick!”

  “So what? That doesn’t alter anything.”

  Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, motions with her hand and her bag once more floats up off the floor towards her. Makri intercepts it, grabbing it from the air and placing her foot on it.

  “Give me that ba
g!”

  “No.”

  “Give me the bag or I’ll blast you through the wall!” roars Lisutaris, then coughs mightily with the exertion.

  “You can’t blast me,” says Makri. “I’m your bodyguard. Now calm down, it’s almost time for your medicine.”

  Lisutaris sinks back on her pillow, meanwhile casting the most evil of glances at Makri, which Makri calmly ignores. Coranius and Tirini are looking rather embarrassed to see the head of their guild so discomfited. Lisutaris glares at them.

  “Can’t a sick woman have five minutes’ peace? What do you want?”

  “Thraxas reports that a woman of his acquaintance has talked to the dolphins. The dolphins say the Orcs are already in this tavern.”

  “Hey it’s only Dandelion,” I say. “I wouldn’t worry about—”

  “Be quiet,” snaps Coranius.

  “The dolphins said this?” says Lisutaris. “What were their exact words?”

  I’m angry at Coranius ordering me to be quiet. I’m about to tell them they can go and talk to the dolphins themselves if they’re so interested, but Makri spoils it by repeating Dandelion’s words.

  “You were there as well?”

  Makri nods.

  “Can this woman Dandelion really communicate with them?”

  Makri shrugs her shoulders.

  “Maybe. She did it before.”

  “Why were we not informed of this earlier?” demands Coranius. “The gift of talking to the dolphins is very rare, even among Sorcerers.”

  He looks at me accusingly.

  “No one ever asked. And Dandelion is a strange woman. She thinks there’s a dragon line running up from the dolphins’ cave through the Avenging Axe.”

  Tirini laughs.

  “Oh please. Not the dragon lines again.”

  “Do they exist?” asks Makri.

  “No,” says Tirini.

  “Possibly,” says Coranius.

  “We don’t know,” says Lisutaris.

  I’m feeling very dissatisfied with all this.

  “Since when did the dolphins become so important? All they do is swim around eating fish.”

  Everyone ignores me.

  “Makri,” says Lisutaris. “Please fetch Samanatius. I need to consult with him about this.”

  Makri nods. She puts on her cloak then slings Lisutaris’s bag round her shoulders.

  “Leave my bag here!” says Lisutaris.

  “No. You can’t have any thazis.” says Makri, then departs.

  Lisutaris scowls after her.

  “That woman is the nurse from hell.”

  Lisutaris takes a scrap of paper from the small table beside the bed, scribbles a message on it then mutters a brief spell, sealing the document.

  “Thraxas, please send this to Cicerius immediately. We need him here.”

  “This is a lot of fuss about a few dolphins.”

  “Do as Lisutaris says,” barks Coranius.

  I walk right up to the Sorcerer and put my face close to his.

  “No one orders me around in my own room, and if you take that tone with me again I’ll pick you up and throw you down the stairs.”

  Coranius growls.

  “Are you asking to die?”

  “No. I’m asking you to mind your manners, and if you try using a spell I’ll knock your ugly head off before you can get the words out.”

  It looks like I may have to do just that because Coranius isn’t a man to back down, but before he can speak Lisutaris interrupts him.

  “Coranius, desist. Thraxas is quite right. We’re his guests and I’ve been taking up his bedroom for a week. He deserves our thanks. Thraxas, please send the message, it is rather urgent.”

  I nod at Lisutaris, then march from the room, still angry. Behind me Tirini Snake Smiter is complaining that her shoes are dirty because the place has never been properly cleaned. Sorcerers. I detest them. Apart from Lisutaris, possibly.

  Before taking Lisutaris’s message to the nearby Messengers Guild outpost, I answer the door to Moolifi. The Niojan singer is looking a little less glamorous than usual. Her hair is slightly dishevelled and she’s not wearing any jewellery. She’s holding a tray with a beaker of steaming liquid on it.

  “I’ve just come from the kitchen. Dandelion asked me to bring this to Lisutaris.”

  I nod. Dandelion is caring for a lot of patients, and it’s decent enough of Moolifi, who’s a paying guest in the tavern, to lend a hand. I show her to the bedroom. I notice that underneath her gown—blue, well tailored, and more expensive than your standard Twelve Seas resident could afford—she’s wearing a pair of high-heeled shoes, yellow with pink embroidery. Very like Tirini’s, and quite similar to those worn by Anumaris Thunderbolt. The pink threads I found were a great clue. Narrowed it down to only every fashionable woman in the city.

  As I walk along Quintessence Street I find my self humming “Love Me Through the Winter,” Moolifi’s most popular song. She’s sung it once or twice more in the tavern, and it’s still a great favourite. She’s a good singer, no matter what Makri thinks. I shake my head at the thought of Captain Rallee pounding round the harbour, looking for buried gold. No wonder. He’ll need a lot more money than he can earn if he’s to keep hold of Moolifi.

  After sending the message to Cicerius I wonder what to do. Tonight Glixius Dragon Killer, General Acarius and Praetor Capatius are meant to be arriving at the Avenging Axe to play cards. I hardly have enough money to sit at the table with them, and despite my best efforts it doesn’t look like I’ll be raising any more. With the money I’ve borrowed from Lisutaris and Dandelion, plus my own meagre savings, I can scrape together around 440 gurans. Not enough, faced with the wealth of my opponents.

  I shake my head. Treasure and magical artefacts. I’ve been spending my days chasing phantoms. I should have stuck to some solid investigating. Small crimes, men cheating on their wives, petty thefts. That sort of thing. It suits me better, and I might have earned more.

  I walk down to the public baths, pay the admission fee, and wallow in the pool for a long time. Given the poverty that exists in Twelve Seas, we’re not so badly off for public baths. The King loosened his grip on the purse strings some years back and helped renovate several of the area’s old bathing houses. Even the poorest citizen can get himself a warm bath every now and then, and that’s not the case in every city by any means. Not everyone is as clean as the Turanians. We’re well known for it.

  I relax for the first time in a long time. By the time I leave the bathing house I’m feeling a little more like my old self. I call into Ginixa’s bakery and buy four pastries and eat them as I walk along the road. A street urchin stands right in front of me and holds out his hand. Feeling moderately benevolent, I break one of the pastries in half and give a piece to him. He thanks me and runs off. And then I have a sudden flash of inspiration. Perhaps it’s a reward from the gods for being charitable. Or perhaps the relaxation brought on by bathing. More likely it’s the pastries; I generally think better on a full stomach.

  Makri is in the back yard at the Avenging Axe, practising with her weapons.

  “St Quatinius once talked to a whale,” I say.

  “What?”

  “St Quatinius. Patron saint of this city. One of our most famous religious figures. He once talked to a whale.”

  “Why?” says Makri.

  “The whale was full of religious knowledge. So the story goes, anyway.”

  Makri eyes me.

  “And you’ve only just thought of this?”

  “My thoughts rarely venture into the realms of religious mystery. Anyway there’s a small fountain in the back streets off Quintessence Street. The statue in the middle is of St Quatinius talking to the whale.”

  “And you’ve only just thought of that?”

  “Do you want to come or are you just going to make sarcastic comments?”

  Makri sheathes her swords.

  “Number one chariot at investigating,” she mutters. “He jus
t remembers now there’s a whale fountain in Twelve Seas.”

  We set off once more along Quintessence Street.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t think of this earlier,” says Makri. “Like maybe before we tramped all over the entire city searching for anything that looked like a whale.”

  “Don’t exaggerate. Anyway, I told you. I have a mental blank on anything to do with religion.”

  “It’s a fountain. With a statue of a whale. How much more obvious could it be?”

  By now we’re close to the street with the fountain. We turn the corner to find a riot going on. A mob is attempting to reach the fountain and the Civil Guards are trying to hold them back. The mob is mostly made up of beggars, but I can see a few shopkeepers in there, and one or two craftsmen. We stand on the corner and watch the struggle.

  “It looks like other people were thinking the same thing,” says Makri.

  I nod. Apparently everyone wants to find out if there’s gold under the statue. The mob advances. The Civil Guards put away their batons and draw their swords. The crowd hesitates, but doesn’t retreat. Plenty of people in Twelve Seas are willing to risk a sword point for 14,000 gurans.

  Before battle can be fully joined, a carriage thunders into the street, flanked by a troop of soldiers. The door opens and Prefect Drinius steps out, elegant in his snow-white toga. He holds up his hand and the crowd goes quiet. Turai might have become a disorderly place in the past few years, but the sight of the local prefect is still enough to quieten the mob. Drinius looks around him quite disdainfully, then starts to lecture the crowd. He isn’t a bad speaker. Quite an effective orator in fact, given his total lack of talent at any other aspect of his job. Even the most useless of our senatorial aristocrats can often speak well in public. They learn the art at school, and later from private tutors. A man can’t succeed in politics in Turai unless he has some skill as an orator.

  The prefect castigates the crowd for their disorderly behaviour. He points out that at a time of crisis in the city, every man should be at his post, doing his duty, rather than scrabbling around for gold. He points out a few examples of heroic behaviour from Turai’s glorious past. Then he reminds them all of the sacrilegious act they’re about to commit, excavating under a statue of our city’s patron saint.