by Martin Scott
"Peaceful Dreams of Heaven,"
"I thought you might," I say. "It has a very nice name."
I glare hard at her. She glares right back at me. The race starts. As the long-awaited contest between the champion chariots of the Orcs and the Elves gets under way the Stadium Superbius explodes with excitement. By the time the chariots reach the first corner not a person is left in their seat. Everyone is up on their feet, screaming encouragement. Not only the ill-behaved masses are carried away. Up in the private enclosure the Senators, Sorcerers and city officials are caught up in the excitement. The Elvish supporters of Lord Lisith are up on their feet waving green banners and the Orcs are standing on their chairs shouting out encouragement in their jagged, guttural language.
For the first time Makri and I have backed the same chariot. Unfortunately it's the worst vehicle in the city. Round the first lap things don't look good. The Elvish Moonlit River has taken an early lead with Sarija's Storm the Citadel close behind. The Orcish Destroyer is going along easily in fourth place. Peaceful Dreams of Heaven is last. Things don't improve much in the second. I scream some abuse at the charioteer. Two chariots collide and another pulls up with a lamed leading horse, leaving Peaceful Dreams fifth out of five going into the third lap.
I can see the Elvish charioteer speaking to his horses, giving them encouragement. The Orcish rider uses his whip. Less kind, but effective, as he moves easily up into third place to lie in wait just behind Storm the Citadel.
The chariot behind the Orcish Destroyer tries to overtake but gets the worst of it when the Orcish charioteer lashes his whip into his opponent's face, sending him crashing into the central barrier. You have to hand it to the Orc, that's good technique. The crowd erupts in a frenzy. As the last lap begins, Moonlit River, Storm the Citadel and Destroyer are nose to tail and going well. The only other remaining chariot, Peaceful Dreams of Heaven, is almost a whole lap behind. I curse myself. I can't believe I put money on this collection of rusted metal and broken-down nags.
"Please send a mighty collision," I say, raising my eyes briefly to heaven.
Makri is gripped by the madness and seems close to losing control. She's screaming encouragement to Peaceful Dreams and waving her sword in the air, which is illegal in the Stadium, even when your chariot loses.
On the final straight Destroyer makes its move and glides past Storm the Citadel like it was standing still. It draws level with the Elf and they start jostling each other as they come round the bend. The Orcish charioteer lashes his whip at the Elf, who starts lashing him back. Sparks fly as their wheels grind together and the horses hurtle onwards at speeds never before seen in the Stadium. The volume is deafening. I've never seen such madness in a race crowd. Young Sorcerers' Apprentices with whole months' wages staked on the Elf wave their staffs in the air. I see Gurd up on his seat with sweat pouring in torrents down his mighty neck, screaming encouragement.
In the final straight the Elf is ahead by a nose but it seems to me that the Orc is finishing stronger.
"It's all over," I cry, and hang my head in despair. Suddenly their wheels lock. There is a spectacular collision and both chariots leave the ground. They land in a terrible jumble of Orcs, Elves, wood, metal and horses. Storm the Citadel, racing into the final straight, has no chance. The charioteer tries to pull up but there is no time and he too is thrown into the air as his chariot hits the wreckage and slews across the track.
Peaceful Dreams of Heaven, a long way behind, has plenty of time to slow down and pick its way carefully past the carnage. It trots over the line, the only chariot to complete the race, and the winner. There's a huge collective groan of despair from the crowd. Not in our corner of the crowd, however. Makri goes berserk, and so do I. I practically dance my way down to Honest Mox's to pick up my winnings. I'm as happy as a drunken mercenary. In fact, I'm happier. Eighteen gurans at fifty to one. Nine hundred gurans.
Near Mox's stall an irate mercenary is bemoaning his fate. He's lost all his money and is complaining that the race was fixed.
"Nonsense," I tell him brusquely. "Just one of those things. Take it like a man."
There are some more complaints about the way things have gone but after the incredible excitement of the final race the crowd seems stunned. Most people sit quietly as the race attendants clear away the ruined chariots and give the charioteers some medical attention.
Makri's winnings are almost beyond belief. She has thousands of gurans and has to buy a new bag to carry them. She pulls the coins out in handfuls just to look at them.
I ask her if she'll put it in the track vault for a while.
"What for?"
"I need your help before we go home."
Captain Rallee taps me on the shoulder. "Got your message. What's happening?" The Captain has lost all his money and isn't very pleased. "I'm not convinced this was all fair and square," he says. "What do you want?"
"More Civil Guards and a couple of powerful Sorcerers."
We walk down to the race track. Standing there are Lord Lisith-ar-Moh and Lord Rezaz Caseg, examining the remains of their chariots and checking on the health of their riders and horses. While not exactly friendly, they appear to have reached a truce.
"A fine race."
"A fine race indeed."
Sarija is also there. The Elf Lord compliments her politely on the form showed by Storm the Citadel. She replies politely in return, both to Lisith and Rezaz. Melus the Fair appears, along with Kalius and Cicerius. Everyone is polite to everyone else. If the outcome of the race left much to be desired for your average Turanian gambler, in diplomatic terms it was just fine. No one is about to declare war on Turai.
It's a rare moment of peace between Orcs, Elves and Humans. I hate to be the one to spoil the mood but I don't like to drag it out. I walk up to Kemlath Orc Slayer.
"An exciting day, Kemlath. I notice you're wearing your favourite ring. The ring you stole from Senator Mursius when you killed him."
Captain Rallee looks at me sharply. So do the Consul and the Deputy Consul.
"I suppose it meant something to you, Kemlath, but it was careless of you to take it." I turn to the Captain. "That ring belonged to Senator Mursius. And I can prove it. You can see it clearly in the painting of him done after the Orc Wars. It was presented to him by the Consul for bravery."
Sarija shakes her head, protesting. "It's Kemlath's ring. The Consul presented them to all the officers."
I shake my head. "Afraid not. Kemlath told you that to keep you from suspecting. But I checked the records in the Library. That was the only ring presented by the Consul. Kemlath took it from Mursius because he was jealous of his war record and jealous of you. I've been looking at that painting for days, but it never struck me till now. You know, Kemlath, I wondered why you were paying such close attention to this case. I thought for a while it was just because of your interest in Sarija. But there was more to it than that. You removed the stolen art from the warehouse, but the Society of Friends got there first and took a few items. One of these items was the painting. And you knew you were in trouble if that turned up and someone put two and two together. Like I just did.
"And even if no one connected the ring, the rest of the stolen goods might still incriminate you, because you hadn't had time to clean them all properly. It was smart, sticking close to me. Every time a piece of evidence appeared, like the bronze cup, you sorcerously cleaned all traces of the crime from it. No wonder I drew a blank everywhere I looked."
Flocks of black stals flop around the track, picking up scraps from the crowd. I never liked these birds.
"The sorcerous messages were going a bit far though. Glixius sent the first and you followed on. You were probably just amusing yourself. Incidentally, you remember that time you told me you detected Glixius's aura on one of them? You never met Glixius. You just made that up. It's funny, really, the way I kept blaming everything on Glixius, when it was you all along."
Kemlath remains calm. He neither blusters n
or protests.
"Why would I wish to kill my good friend Mursius?" he says.
"Because you were as jealous as hell of your good friend Mursius for stealing Sarija out from under your nose, that's why. I talked to the old landlady of the Mermaid. You both used to go there during the war when you were stationed on the walls at Twelve Seas. She remembers very well that you asked Sarija to marry you first, and she turned you down for Mursius. I think you've hated him ever since."
Unruffled, Kemlath continues to deny my accusations.
Captain Rallee is unsure of how to proceed. It's not as if I've produced a cast-iron case, and Kemlath is an important man, another war hero. He looks at Kalius for guidance. Kalius questions me.
"Is the ring all the evidence you have? It seems to me that the ring could have been transferred from Mursius to Kemlath at any time."
I turn to Sarija. "Well? Was it?"
She shakes her head. "Mursius was wearing it the day he disappeared."
Sarija is wide-eyed with horror. She believes me. There's a woman who'll be deep into her supply of dwa tonight, or maybe sooner. Kalius orders Kemlath's arrest, pending further investigations.
Afterwards Captain Rallee is still troubled. "Why did he wait twenty years to kill him?"
"I don't really know. Maybe he just brooded on it till it all became too much for him. It might never have happened if he hadn't found himself face to face with Mursius at the warehouse. That was unplanned. Mursius was part of the plot with the Society of Friends to dope the horses. I think Kemlath found out about it and decided to expose him. Unfortunately Sarija chose this time to sell a load of Mursius's art to Axilan, a minor Society of Friends figure, when he was up at the villa collecting the doping plants.
"Kemlath didn't like that. He didn't want anything at the warehouse that might lead to Sarija. If he exposed Mursius, he didn't want Sarija to be arrested as well. So he tried to remove the goods. Unfortunately his visit coincided with Mursius's. I figure Kemlath told Mursius he was going to inform the authorities about the doping and they got into a fight. Kemlath might not have meant to kill him, but that's what happened. It suited him fine anyway. Left him free to woo Sarija."
Captain Rallee is taking mental notes through all this. He has a powerful memory, the captain. I've never known him to forget anything.
"I think you're probably right, Thraxas. But I'm not at all sure we have enough evidence to make it stick in court. Why didn't you wait before denouncing him?"
"Because I was sick of it all, that's why. I've been arrested, made to look foolish and generally given a hard time by everyone. I'm fed up with Kemlath and fed up with the weather and I'm especially fed up with the way the races have gone. I've done my job, I found the killer. If you need more evidence, I'm sure the Guard can dig it up. And now I'm going home."
"One last thing, Thraxas—the Orcs you said you met down at Ferias, were they for real?"
"Of course! Do you think I'd make that up? They were part of Prince Kalazar's assassination force. Makeza the Thunderer was hiding them there until the race meeting. Probably picked Ferias because the weather was better."
I walk off. Makri follows me. As we pass Melus they studiously pretend not to know each other.
"Don't bother faking it," I mutter. "I know what was going on here today."
In the landus back to Twelve Seas, Makri plays with her bags of money. I have nine hundred gurans of my own, but now the euphoria of winning has faded I'm in a very bad mood.
"A very fortunate day's gambling," I say.
"It sure was," she says, brightly.
"Odd that all those unfancied chariots came in. Very odd. I won nine hundred on the last race. I backed Peaceful Dreams of Heaven even though it was the worst chariot in the race. You want to know why? Because I noticed Hanama betting on it, that's why."
Makri looks uncomfortable.
"How much of it do you get to keep?" I ask.
"What do you mean?"
"Do you get to spend any of it? Or did you promise to pay it all over to the Association of Gentlewomen?"
"Stop talking rubbish, Thraxas."
"I'm not talking rubbish. If you're going to tell me that the number three in the Assassins Guild puts on a summer robe and goes to the chariot races for pleasure, I'm not going to believe it. The whole meeting was fixed, Makri, as you well know. And it was nothing to do with the Society of Friends or the Brotherhood. These favourites didn't all break their axles and rear up in fright for no reason. There was sorcery at work there."
"You can't work sorcery at the Stadium Superbius," says Makri stubbornly.
"You can if you've recruited the Stadium Sorcerer. You should mention to Melus the Fair that if she wants to pull that scam again she better be a bit more discreet. I know the A.G. needs money in a hurry, but Lilac Paradise a winner? And Peaceful Dreams of Heaven? I figure she picked up some new racing magic on her trip to Samsarina that no one here was familiar with, but if she keeps doing it there will be serious trouble. If the male population of Turai ever finds out that our resident Stadium Sorcerer is casting spells to help win money for the Association of Gentlewomen, they'll tear you all to pieces. And I'll help them.
"I'm disgusted, Makri. I must have seen twenty A.G. supporters in the Stadium, all raking in the money. I wouldn't mind so much if you hadn't tried to throw me off the scent. All that standing around outside my room, talking about betting with Hanama in stage whispers. As if I would think she'd suddenly become interested in the sporting life. She'll end up with a dagger in her back if the Assassins Guild finds out she's spending time working for the Association of Gentlewomen."
"I guess she's responsible enough to work for who she likes."
"She's a disgusting killer. So that should suit you well enough. Who do you think you are, messing around with the races?"
"We need the money," protests Makri.
"So do all the poor wagon drivers, carpenters and sailors who thought that everything was honest. I tell you, Makri, I'm not pleased. The Stadium Sorcerer cheating the public. Melus the Fair, of all people! I only refrain from denouncing you all to The Renowned and Truthful Chronicle because you personally would be thrown off the city walls. The population's had enough of Orcs in the past month. They're not going to take kindly to another one cheating them."
Makri reacts furiously to this.
"Are you implying that I'm an Orc?"
"Well, you don't have Human values, that's for sure."
Makri sticks her head out of the landus, yells for the driver to stop, and then leaps out into the street.
"Never speak to me again, you obese drunkard!" she shouts.
"Cheating Orc!" I shout back. She storms off.
"And don't try robbing my room again, pointy ears!" I yell at her departing figure.
The sun is beating down. It's hot as Orcish hell. Even though I've won nine hundred gurans I'm as mad as a mad dragon. I can't stand it that the Association of Gentlewomen outsmarted everyone.
Chapter Twenty One
The city, overstimulated in the past month of discontent, starts to return to normal when the Turas and Triple-Moon Conjunction festivals get under way. The temperature starts to drop as autumn slides into winter.
There was great unhappiness after the race meeting, but surprisingly little suspicion. Everyone trusts Melus the Fair, bless her name. I understand that the Association of Gentlewomen have succeeded in moving their application for Guild status further up the ladder.
Cicerius is pleased with me. The race was run, the Elves still like us and Lord Rezaz will provide protection for the mining territory. If things keep on like this, I may get back to the Palace one day.
The Civil Guards dig more deeply into Kemlath's role in the death of Mursius and succeed in building a reasonable case against him. Even Captain Rallee admits that I was sharp as an Elf's ear on this one.
Kemlath doesn't come to trial however. Unless it's a case of high treason any citizen as important as Keml
ath, especially one who was a hero in the war, is usually given the opportunity to flee the city before going to court. A member of the aristocracy is most unlikely to face the scaffold, or a long spell in the prison galleys. Instead they retire into exile, which Kemlath does.
Sarija remains in the city, spending her inheritance on dwa. Glixius Dragon Killer sends me a message. He likes me even less than before and will kill me at the first opportunity. Given the way I mistakenly harried him over the Mursius case, I can't exactly blame him.
At least I picked up nine hundred gurans at the races, and won't have to work for a while. That's the only bright spot on the horizon. With winter around the corner I'd like to spend a few months just sitting in the warmth of the Avenging Axe with my feet up, drinking beer. Unfortunately Makri makes it impossible for me to relax.
"I've never seen her this mad," says Tanrose.
Gurd nods his agreement.
"Yesterday she damned near demolished the wall out the back with her axe. Said she was practising fighting, but I noticed she'd chalked a picture of you on it, Thraxas. Why did you call her an Orc?"
"We were arguing."
As no one else in Turai seems to realise that the Association of Gentlewomen fixed the races I've decided that I'm not going to be the one to expose them. Partly I'm concerned for Makri's safety. Also there might be attempts to take back the nine hundred gurans I won. But I'm still as mad as hell at Makri. She can chop down as many pictures of me as she likes, I refuse to apologise. Cheating at the Turas Memorial is despicable behaviour. Even Astrath Triple Moon confined his larceny to the minor meetings.
Makri appears from the street outside.
"Come for your evening shift?" says Gurd.
She shakes her head. "I'm leaving. I refuse to live in the same tavern as a fat useless drunk who called me an Orc." She storms upstairs.
"What are you looking at me for?" I demand. "How come I'm the one that always has to apologise around here? You heard what she called me."
"Come on, Thraxas. You know you should make up. You'd hate it if Makri really left. Who'll protect your back when you go up against these villains?"