Thraxas - The Complete Series

by Martin Scott

  “Deputy Consul, surely you cannot be serious! Horm the Dead coming here? To play cards?”

  It’s Praetor Capatius. He’s just heard the news and he’s not pleased. General Acarius joins in, declaring that he’s deeply shocked.

  “What is the reason for this?” demands the General.

  Cicerius won’t say. He simply informs the gathering that it’s for important reasons of state. It’s part of our bargain with Horm that the other players mustn’t know what’s going on. Otherwise Horm might suspect that they were ganging up on him. It’s reasonable. In his position, I’d have expected the same.

  “This is intolerable,” cries Capatius. “No decent man could put up with the company of that foul Orc.”

  “Why look,” cries Glixius. “There he is now, standing beside Thraxas.”

  Every eye turns towards us. I take a hasty step to the side.

  “Thraxas has bought him a glass of klee!” cries Praetor Capatius. “Cicerius, is the Investigator blackmailing you somehow? Tell us the truth and we’ll throw him from the city walls.”

  “Silence,” barks Cicerius. “Horm the Dead is not blackmailing me. I have allowed him to play for reasons which I cannot explain. Suffice to say it is important for the welfare of the city.”

  There are a lot of angry and suspicious looks as I walk towards the card table, followed all too closely by Horm.

  “Are you telling us that Horm’s presence has nothing to do with Thraxas?” demands Glixius.

  Cicerius is slightly troubled. He hesitates, and naturally everyone notices. By the time I reach the card table it’s firmly fixed in every mind that I’ve brought Horm the Dead to the Avenging Axe for reasons of my own, no doubt as the first part of a traitorous attempt to sell out the city.

  I can sense the Sorcerers at the nearby table expending all their energies in checking around them for unexpected Orcish sorcery, probing the air for spells, and all the while wondering if there is some way of removing the Ocean Storm from Horm. Horm no doubt senses it too, but remains calm. He greets everyone at the table quite politely, and sits in the vacant chair.

  “Are we ready to begin?” he asks.

  There’s a long pause, and a few uneasy expressions around the table. Finally General Acarius speaks.

  “Who is dealing the cards?”

  We don’t have a designated dealer at our games at the Axe.

  “We usually just deal ourselves,” says Grax.

  “I think a dealer might be better, in the circumstances,” says the General.

  “I assure you, I have no intention of cheating,” says Horm, smoothly.

  “I wasn’t referring to you,” growls the General, and looks straight in my direction.

  “Yes,” says Glixius, also looking in my direction. “A dealer might be better. There are some players whom one can never trust not to manipulate the cards in their favour.”

  “Are you calling me a cheat!” I roar, rising to my feet.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” says Glixius. “Although it has struck me as odd before now how every time Horm the Dead troubles our city, you’re involved in it somehow.”

  “Gentlemen, stop this,” roars Cicerius. “The game must proceed. Try and act like civilised Turanians. Glixius, I assure you that Thraxas’s continual involvement with Horm the Dead is nothing more than coincidence.”

  There seem to be a lot of eyes turned in my direction. I get the impression they’re judging how many men it will take to throw me from the city walls. Quite a few, probably, though I have lost a pound or two since the yam shortage began.

  “Who will deal?” says Cicerius, looking round.

  Moolifi rises to her feet.

  “I’ll do it,” she says. “I’ve dealt a lot of cards in my time.”

  I doubt if the music-hall singer would be Cicerius’s first choice, but he’s keen to get things underway. He nods, and asks if anyone has any objections. No one has, so Moolifi takes a seat at the table and picks up the cards. We’re finally ready to play.

  Chapter Twenty

  There are several varieties of rak. Tonight we’re playing palace rak, with the standard pack of forty-eight cards. Four suits, black, red, green and blue, cards numbered 1 to 8 followed by bishop, queen, king and dragon. Two cards are dealt to each player and if you like what you’ve got you make a bet. You get dealt another card and you can bet again. When your fourth and last card is dealt, if you still like what you’ve got, you can keep on betting. The highest hand you can have is four dragons. It doesn’t happen that often.

  The first two cards Moolifi deals me are a green three and a red eight. It’s a poor start and I fold immediately. The next five hands are no better and I don’t place a single bet. I’m not averse to bluffing when necessary, in fact I’m a master of the art, but I generally don’t like to do it too soon.

  There isn’t a lot of action from anyone in the early hands. Everyone is treading cautiously. There’s a long way to go and no one wants to find themselves financially crippled after only a few rounds. I sip my beer and study my opponents, looking, as always, for some telltale signs that might give me a clue as to their play.

  Moolifi deals the cards quickly and skilfully. She seems to have dressed up a little for the occasion. She’s wearing a long dress of dark red material, quite eyecatching in its way. It leaves her arms bare and I notice that though her limbs are slender, she’s quite taut and muscled, rather like Makri. She’s not soft, Moolifi. I’d guess she can take care of herself. As she deals out the next hand we’re suddenly interrupted by a fit of coughing. Old Grax the wine merchant splutters violently then slumps in his chair, perspiration running down his forehead. Praetor Capatius, sitting next to him, draws himself back quite suddenly.

  “He’s got the malady!”

  I’m already on my feet.

  “No need to panic,” I say. “There’s a lot of it around.”

  I help Grax out of his chair. Makri comes to assist and we carry him back to the store room behind the bar, while Dandelion looks on with concern.

  “You have more medicine?”

  Dandelion nods. We’re so used to this now that we take it in our stride. Grax is a tough old customer. A few days’ rest and a good dose of the medicine and I’ve no doubt he’ll be back on his feet.

  Before I return to the table I draw Makri to one side and whisper in her ear.

  “Moolifi is not quite what she says she is.”

  “What?”

  “There’s something not right about her. I don’t believe a Niojan chorus girl would be so good with a pack of cards.”

  Makri looks puzzled.

  “Why not?”

  “Just a feeling. I wonder if she might be a Niojan spy.”

  “So what do you want to do?” says Makri.

  “I don’t know. Nothing, probably. I’m just mentioning it in case anything happens.”

  Makri nods, and I return to the table and retake my chair. There are a few polite enquiries over Grax’s health.

  “He’ll be fine. There’s a healer giving him some medicine right now.”

  No one is really that concerned. It would be unlucky to have a player actually die at the table, but apart from that, everyone is keen to get on with the game. Matters proceed quietly enough apart from a brief moment of excitement when Ravenius takes a large pot, beating Casax’s three dragons with four sixes. Casax loses a lot on the hand but, like the cool gambler he is, he masks his disappointment.

  So far Moolifi has dealt me nothing worth gambling on. It means I haven’t made any serious losses but I haven’t been able to get into the game either. I’m just starting to feel slightly twitchy when she sends me two queens in the first deal, giving me some hope that I might finally be on to something. When everyone has their first two cards, Glixius pushes thirty gurans into the centre of the table. The bet is covered by Ravenius. I slide thirty gurans across too. Acarius and Capatius do likewise. I sip my beer.

  When the third card arrives it�
�s another queen. I now have three queens and that’s a good hand. I take a brief look at the archaically dressed ladies on the cards, put them back face down in front of me, and wait for Glixius to make his bet. He slides a hundred gurans across the table. I’m next to bet.

  “I’ll cover your hundred.”

  Ravenius considers for a few moments, then tosses his cards back to Moolifi, dropping out of the hand. General Acarius immediately folds as well. Praetor Capatius, however, confidently pushes forward his hundred gurans.

  There’s a lot of money riding on this hand and Horm isn’t even involved. So far he hasn’t made any sort of substantial wager. If I win this I’ll go well ahead of him. If I lose, I’ll be a long way behind.

  When my next card arrives it’s a nine. I’m disappointed, but three queens is still a good hand. It’s Glixius to bet. He muses on his cards briefly, then counts out another hundred gurans and places it firmly in the middle of the table. A little too firmly, maybe. I get the impression he might be bluffing.

  Ravenius shrugs. He hands his cards back to Moolifi, taking care not to let them turn over. Even when you’re dropping out of a hand, you don’t want your opponents to see what cards you were holding. It might give them some clues as to your strategy.

  I can either call Glixius, or raise him further. I’m fairly confident I’ve got the hand won and I’d like to raise him but I’m aware that I don’t have all that much room for error. Two hundred and thirty gurans is a hefty chunk out of my capital. I’d risk it for myself, but there’s Makri to think of. I utter a silent curse. Now I’m having to think about Makri it’s interfering with my normal aggressive style. I put in a hundred gurans and call Glixius, then lay down my three queens for all to see. Glixius turns over a run of 6, 7, 8, 9, all green. A straight flush which beats my three queens. And then he actually laughs, which is a very low-class thing to do at the card table.

  “My game, I believe,” he says, and scoops up his money like a man who’s never seen a few hundred gurans before.

  I’m seething inside though I don’t let it show.

  Cicerius approaches the table.

  “Time for a break, gentlemen,” he says. “There are refreshments at the bar.”

  General Acarius looks up sharply.

  “Time for a break? We’ve hardly got started.”

  The Deputy Consul shoots him a serious look.

  “It’s time for a break.”

  Acarius shrugs, and the players rise from the table. I attempt to follow them to the bar but I’m immediately surrounded by a gaggle of concerned Turanian citizens, demanding to know what I’m doing throwing my money away in such a rash manner.

  “You lost two hundred and thirty gurans in one hand!” hisses Cicerius. “It was far too adventurous. Have you forgotten what this game means to Turai?”

  “I had three queens,” I retort. “It was a reasonable gamble.”

  Cicerius snorts in derision, though I swear he doesn’t know one end of a pack of cards from the other. Meanwhile Lisutaris has hobbled up, still with her blanket round her shoulders, and she doesn’t waste any time expressing her concern.

  “Thraxas! If you keep on like this you’ll be out of the game in five minutes.”

  “I’m doing fine!” I insist. “Even the best card player gets the odd reverse. Look, Makri’s got more at stake than anyone and she’s not worried, is she?”

  “She was burying her face in her hands the last time I looked,” replies Lisutaris. “And I’m not surprised. Keep on the way you’re going and we’ll soon be buying her wedding presents.”

  “Could you try showing a little confidence in me?” I say trying to keep my voice somewhere below a bellow. “You can’t expect me to play cards when you’re on my back every five minutes.”

  Cicerius and Lisutaris both open their mouths. I’m guessing they’re not about to express confidence in me, so I break free and head for the bar, where Makri is serving drinks.

  “Nice going, Thraxas,” she says. “So, will you visit me in Yall?”

  “You’re not going to Yall.”

  “I should probably start packing. How long do you think I’ve got? Half an hour maybe?”

  “Just hand me a beer and save the sarcasm. Glixius got lucky. I’ll get him next time.”

  “Horm’s hardly bet a thing yet,” says Makri. “If you keep losing he doesn’t have to. He’ll beat you by default.”

  “He won’t beat me by anything. Give me the beer and stop worrying. I’m just warming up.”

  Hanama joins us at the bar, and I swear I’ve never seen the Assassin look so perturbed.

  “I knew this was a foolish venture,” she says. “I won’t let Horm take you off to Yall, Makri. The instant Thraxas loses I’m breaking you out of here.”

  “I’m not going to lose.”

  “How long do you think we have?” asks Hanama. “I estimate half an hour.”

  I shake my head, and grab my beer.

  “You shouldn’t be drinking,” says Hanama. “You need a clear head.”

  “Do I tell you how to assassinate people?”

  “No. But I’m good at that.”

  Not wishing to bandy more words with irritating Assassins, I head back to the table, avoiding the eyes of those who are staring at me with a marked lack of confidence; which is to say, everyone in the tavern.

  We’re all about to take our seats again when there’s a loud knocking at the front door. We’d ignore it, but someone shouts loudly for Casax. The Brotherhood boss sends Karlox to find out what’s going on. Karlox draws back the bolt, disappears briefly outside, then comes back to whisper in Casax’s ear.

  “Damn,” mutters Casax. “I’ll have to leave you gentlemen for a short while. A little trouble back at the Mermaid. Karlox will sit in for me.”

  There are a few nods and grunts round the table. It’s unusual for a player to leave the table mid-game, but not unheard of. Providing he has a friend who can take over his seat, it’s common practice in Turai to let him rejoin the game when he returns. Casax hurries off and Karlox takes his seat. Casax is shrewd. Karlox is dumb. It’s an excellent opportunity to remove some of the Brotherhood’s ill-gotten money.

  Unfortunately, it’s not me who does the removing. Moolifi keeps dealing me dreadful cards and I can’t get into the game. It’s dispiriting, particularly as Horm the Dead suddenly makes a move, sucking the hapless Karlox into an unwise gamble on two eights and two dragons. Horm beats him with three bishops, and rakes in several hundred gurans. I curse. Horm has suddenly leapt ahead of me. I’m down to about 750 gurans, and I’d guess he’s on around 1,500.

  Casax returns fairly quickly, having sorted out whatever criminal problem he was faced with at his own tavern. If he’s annoyed to see how much money Karlox has lost, he doesn’t show it. He retakes his seat, picks up his cards, and carries on playing. By now we’re deep into the night. The fire is crackling in the grate and the torches are burning brightly on the walls. The spectators keep their voices to low murmurs and the players huddle over their cards, deep in concentration. I lose another fifty gurans on a reckless bid which I don’t follow through, and I start to curse Moolifi for the cards she’s dealing me. Horm’s pile of money seems to be growing steadily while mine is shrinking slowly. General Acarius is the other big winner, while young Ravenius is doing badly, as he often does.

  Moolifi deals the next hand. She sends me a black dragon and a red dragon. Very promising. General Acarius puts in thirty gurans and I follow suit, along with several others. Before Moolifi can deal the third card, the General starts to cough, quite violently. Sweat pours down his face. Acarius has come down with the winter malady.

  “Another one?” says Ravenius. “This is strange.”

  It is strange, and not conducive to concentrating on the game. I look over at Horm.

  “Is this your doing? Are you making everyone sick so you can win?”

  “Nothing to do with me,” protests the Sorcerer.

  We haul the
General back into the store room, which is by now resembling a temporary hospital. Dandelion fusses around him with medicine, as brightly as she did her first patient. Personally I’m heartily sick of all invalids and wouldn’t much care if they died, but Dandelion seems to have taken happily to the role of nurse, and will probably keep them all alive. Makri arrives to see if we need any help. Dandelion shakes her head.

  “I can manage all the sick people.”

  Makri nods, and looks thoughtful.

  “You’re really good at this,” she says.

  “What?” says Dandelion.

  “Looking after all these people. I’d have given up long ago. But you’ve got it all in hand. You’re really efficient when you put your mind to it.”

  Dandelion looks surprised.

  “Am I?”

  I’m not arguing. Now Makri has pointed it out, it’s obviously true. Dandelion might be strangely dressed and have a bizarre aversion to shoes, but there’s no denying she’s kept the place running during the winter malady crisis.

  When the game is restarted my third card is a four, no help to my two dragons. Glixius raises the bet by a hundred gurans. It’s something of a risk for me to go along with this but I do. I have a good feeling about my fourth card. I send up a brief prayer to St Quatinius as Moolifi deals. My few moments of religious conviction have usually been at the card table.

  My next card is an eight. I now have two dragons, an eight and a four. It’s not a strong hand. Glixius raises another hundred gurans. I don’t know if he’s bluffing or not. I think about it for a while. I’d like to carry on betting, but if I do and I lose I’ll be out of the game. My funds are already low. I could stand the humiliation of losing to Glixius but I’ve got more on my mind. I curse Horm and his ridiculous passion for Makri. It’s ruining my game.

  I shake my head, and hand in my cards, meanwhile sending up a strong protest to St Quatinius for coming down on the side of the rich oppressors. Obviously all tales of the blessed saint helping the poor and needy are just lies.