by Martin Scott
I take my standard thirty-guran retainer.
I ask him if he's come across any of the Star Temple monks since he's been in Turai. He says that he hasn't. Which is a lie, given that I saw them fighting.
"One last thing. Why is he called Ixial the Seer? Is he a prophet?"
"Not exactly. But he does see very far in all directions. There is very little that he does not know."
Tresius takes his leave. At the doorway he meets Dandelion.
"Nice robe," says Dandelion, looking admiringly at the yellow cloth.
Tresius smiles serenely and departs, his warrior monk training providing him with enough inner strength not to flinch at Dandelion. Myself, I stare at her bare feet and flowers with renewed disgust.
"Astrath Triple Moon said to tell you that he is sure he can help," she reports.
She liked Astrath. Particularly his rainbow cloak and the colourful hat he wears on special occasions.
"I'm not sure if he knows too much about the stars, though. He didn't believe me when I told him that everyone born under the sign of the dragon was going to have a lucky year. I promised I'd go back and talk to him about it."
Poor Astrath.
Dandelion starts rambling on about the dolphins. Apparently they are really suffering without their healing stone. She can't understand why I won't help.
"They are very upset that you won't help them."
"Oh yes? And how do you know that?"
"They told me, of course."
The dolphins can't really talk. It's just a story for children. I get a bleak mental image of Dandelion at the seashore, gibbering in the direction of some bemused-looking dolphins. Poor dolphins. I tell her I'm busy and banish her from my office. I've got things to think about.
Grabbing this rare moment of peace and quiet, I consult my book of spells and load the sleep spell into my mind. It is an unfortunate facet of magic that the spells don't stay in your memory, no matter how good you are. Once you use them, they're gone, and you have to learn them all over again.
Once I have the sleep spell learned I feel better. I have an uncomfortable feeling that before too long I am going to be involved with a lot of warrior monks and after seeing them flying through the air aiming kicks at each other's heads, I've no intention of getting involved in hand-to-hand combat. Anyone aiming a flying kick at me is going to find himself sleeping soundly before he lands.
Quen appears. I intimate that she's about as welcome in my room as an Orc at an Elvish wedding, and throw her out.
"Go and hide in Makri's room. If you're short of space in there then sit on Dandelion's shoulders. See if she can predict how you're going to escape the city."
I settle down with another beer, and think about things.
Chapter 8
When I tell Makri about Tresius she's impressed. "It's your ideal case, Thraxas. Someone hires you to find something you already have. I take it you'll be spinning it out for a few weeks so you can charge him more?"
"Very amusing, Makri. Guild College has improved your sarcasm tremendously. The reason I didn't tell him I had the statue is that I haven't finished with it yet. I'm still trying to clear Grosex, remember. This is evidence."
Makri is even more impressed when I show her the huge statue inside the small purse.
"I like the look of the magic space. Everything's purple. Can we go in?"
"Definitely not. Entering the magic space is a very bad thing to do. My old teacher forbade it."
"You think this Ixial the Seer did kill Drantaax?" I've been filling in Makri on the details.
"It looks like he might be behind it. Which is fine with me. If I can prove it I'll get Grosex out of jail and it'll be one in the eye for Prefect Tholius. But it doesn't explain why the statue is here, though. Why did it end up in that man's purse? If the thugs that tried to kill me were working for Ixial, why didn't they give him the statue?"
"Maybe they just couldn't wait to attack you."
"Possibly, I'm that kind of guy. But how come they had the purse with the statue?"
"Maybe just coincidence," suggests Makri. "They might have stolen it, or bought it in a tavern. After all, whoever took it from Thalius Green Eye might not have known what it was."
This is possible. Bit of a coincidence, but it's not that unlikely that my old adversary robbed Thalius and then headed for Twelve Seas to lay low for a while. I'm not convinced though. I figure that Soolanis is wide of the mark when she says that her father was killed over a dwa debt. I reckon the purse was the main reason. Which makes his killer a very ruthless person, if he was murdered merely to provide a means of exporting a statue from the city without anyone noticing.
"I'm dealing with a brutal killer here, Makri. Murdered a Sorcerer and the city's top sculptor. You know Thalius was killed with a crossbow?"
"I thought he was poisoned by a servant."
"Just a cover-up by the authorities. He was involved in dwa, probably taking it up to Prince Frisen-Akan at the palace. Consul Kalius won't want to reopen that scandal. It's only two months since the Prince's drug habit was nearly exposed to the population. Remember a ruthless killer with a fondness for crossbows?"
"Sure. Sarin the Merciless."
Sarin the Merciless. I ran her out of town years ago when she was all mouth and no action. She showed up recently in a far more deadly fashion, having honed her fighting skills for four years in a monastery with a group of warrior monks. I remind Makri of the warrior monk connection and she agrees that we could be dealing with Sarin once again.
"You keen to meet her again after last time?"
"What do you mean 'after last time'?" I demand.
"Didn't she win?"
I scoff at the suggestion. "Win? Against me? Please. I only let her go because I was busy with other things, like saving the city from destruction. If she shows her face around here again I'll be down on her like a bad spell. Anyway, freeing her was a smart move. Boost the reward money when I nail her this time. No cropped-haired, crossbow-wielding killer is going to get away from me twice."
Makri lights a thazis stick, inhales a few times and passes it to me. I pour us a little klee. Makri's eyes water as it burns her throat on the way down.
"Why do you drink this stuff?" she demands. "We'd have rioted in the slave pits if they tried serving it to us."
"This is top-quality klee. Another glass?"
"Okay."
There's a commotion outside as a stonemason gets into an argument with an architect. I hear that the master craftsmen have been complaining to their guilds that they're being provided with sub-standard materials, which wouldn't be a surprise. The King opened up the public purse to pay for many of the repairs to the city but by the time the Praetors, Prefects, clerks and Brotherhood take their cut I doubt there'll enough left to pay for superior stone or marble.
"You know, Makri, this whole thing stinks. According to the Venerable Tresius the statue is important to the Cloud Temple and the Star Temple because young monks regard an Abbot without a good statue of Saint Quatinius as about as much use as a eunuch in a brothel. But I'm not sure if I believe that. After all, why didn't Tresius think of that before he split off and set up his own temple?"
"Tresius said he commissioned his own statue from Drantaax. Ixial could have murdered Drantaax to prevent him from finishing the statue—or to steal it for himself."
I'd forgotten that. Still sounds dubious though. "I guess it might be true. But the Venerable Tresius lied about not meeting any other monks in the city. What if he's really after the statue for his own temple and is using me to locate it for him? Wouldn't be the first time some criminal tried to use me as a means of finding something. Wouldn't be the tenth time in fact."
"That's what you get for being good at finding things. Still, you have the statue so I don't have to worry too much about the details. Just make sure Tresius doesn't steal it. What are you doing about Grosex? I hear the trial starts in two days' time."
This makes me frown. I sud
denly notice the heat again, and the dry, choking air. Every summer this damned city is like this. You think it can't possibly get any hotter, then it does. Two stals flop down on the window sill outside, too exhausted to fly any further. I glare at them moodily. I'm not fond of them.
"I was hoping Astrath could pick up the killer's aura if I found the statue but now it's been in the magic space that won't work. Which brings me back to the mundane matter of looking for witnesses. I need to speak to Drantaax's wife. Whatever she knows might be enough to fit together with what Tresius says and provide evidence against Ixial the Seer."
It's puzzling that Calia hasn't appeared yet. It's not so easy for a person to hide in this city unless they are well versed in covering their tracks. I can't imagine that she would be. But with no relatives apart from her brother and no friends that anyone knows of, where would she go? Lodging houses cost money. Anyway, the Guards have been checking them.
"I must speak to her. Maybe she knows who the murderer was and she's scared to come forward."
"Maybe she knows who the murderer was so the murderer thought he'd better kill her as well," suggests Makri, which, I have to admit, is a possibility. But the picture in the kuriya pool gave me the impression she was alive. Alive in a white villa. There are a lot of white villas in Thamlin.
Whoever murdered Drantaax must have had the magic purse ready to put the statue in, which does make it fairly certain that they murdered Thalius first. My head starts to swim. I can feel myself getting involved in too many cases at once, a bad habit of mine.
"So don't ask me about the dolphins. I don't have time to even think about them. And keep Quen out of my sight. The Brotherhood are stepping up their search. We better just hope Astrath Triple Moon really can boost the bafflement spell and keep her hidden. We might be able to move her in a day or two when the heat's off."
Makri has heard that the Innkeepers Guild has been complaining in high places about the Guards' failure to locate the killer of the landlord.
"They're demanding that the Abode of Justice assigns a higher-grade Sorcerer to the case."
"Great. Where did you hear that?"
"Association of Gentlewomen. We have a member who works as a cook in the Abode of Justice."
I growl. Innkeepers don't have a particularly high social status in Turai but their guild is surprisingly well connected. Not so surprising, I guess. Even Praetors and Senators like to go out for a drink every now and then. And as the Innkeepers Guild shares various business interests with the Brotherhood and the Society of Friends, it's not really safe to meddle with them. If the Civil Guard gets going on this as well I'm in deep trouble.
Then there's the monks. Maybe Sarin the Merciless too. A lesser man might go to pieces. I go downstairs for a helping of Tanrose's stew and some more beer. If I'm going to find Drantaax's wife, I'll need plenty of energy.
Makri isn't due to work till this evening. She was planning to spend the afternoon practising a speech for her rhetoric class. This has been causing some mirth around the Avenging Axe, with heartless individuals, like me for instance, pointing out that while Makri's voice might be excellent for bellowing death threats across a gladiatorial arena, it doesn't seem all that suitable for the fine art of oratory. Makri ignores the mockery, but agrees to postpone her practice and come out with me, saying that she's been short of activity of late, and saving me from a band of deadly warrior monks might be good exercise.
I strap on my sword and stick a knife in the small scabbard concealed at the back of my waistband. Makri wears both her swords, more or less hidden under her cloak, and slips a long knife into each of her boots. As usual, she is not entirely comfortable without her axe, but it's too conspicuous. There is no legal reason why a woman can't walk around Turai carrying an axe, but it isn't exactly an everyday sight. A fully armed Makri—lithe, strong, and a blade sticking out in every direction—presents a very worrying sight for the Civil Guard. She tends to get stopped and questioned, which is inconvenient when we're on a case. Also, we get refused entry to high-class establishments.
She's still grumbling as we head out through the potholes, fish heads and assorted debris of Quintessence Street.
"You never know when you'll need your axe. Once, in the slave pits, I was fighting four Orcs and my first sword broke and then my other sword got stuck in the second Orc's rib cage. I had to finish off the other two with my knife and when I stabbed the last one my knife blade broke as well. I mean, bad luck, or what? Actually, it might have been sorcery because by this time I was supreme champion and some of the Orc Lords were getting jealous of my success and the way I kept killing their gladiators. So, right then, just when I didn't have a weapon, they threw in this enormous Troll carrying a nine-foot spear and a club the size of a Human. So that just goes to show."
"Goes to show what?"
"That you should never be without your axe."
"We'll just have to hope we don't meet a giant Troll at the end of Quintessence Street. What happened? Did you kill the Troll with your bare hands?"
"No. Trolls are too strong for that. I vaulted up the wall to the Orc Lord's gallery. His chief bodyguard ran in front of me so I took his sword off him, stabbed him with it, and leaped back into the arena. After all this the Troll was confused and I was able to hack him to pieces. By now the Orc Lord was angry I'd killed his chief bodyguard, so all the rest of his bodyguards started leaping down into the arena, eight of them, all in chainmail. It was a pretty close thing for a while, what with eight of them chasing me around and me with only one sword to defend myself. But after I disposed of a couple I managed to pick up another sword and once I had one in each hand I just mowed them down. Should have seen the crowd. They were going completely berserk. I had the longest standing ovation ever granted to a gladiator."
I glance sideways at Makri. When she arrived in Turai about a year ago one of her notable features was her inability to lie. But she's been learning recently, mainly from me.
"Is that story true? Or are you just practising for your speech at the rhetoric class?"
"Of course it's true. Why wouldn't it be? You think I can't defeat thirteen Orcs and a Troll? Now you mention it, though, it would make a good speech."
"What subject are you meant to be talking about?"
"Living peacefully in a violent world."
"Best of luck."
"I'll need it. Last rhetoric exam, I didn't do very well at all."
We take a landus up through town. The streets are hot as Orcish hell and as the day wears on it doesn't get any cooler. I call in on the small room in a tenement where Grosex lived on his own. No one in the building seems to know anything about him. The neighbours hardly saw him and don't think he's got any relations anywhere. The neighbours also hope that he'll be hanged. After all, he's just murdered our most famous artist.
I search his room, with no results. Nothing of interest, criminal or otherwise. Just a shabby little room for an apprentice who can't afford anything better. The floor boards are bare. The walls are stained with candle smoke. From upstairs come the screams of a misbehaving child and the hopeless shrieks of an enraged mother. I shudder.
"Lets get out of here. It's depressing me."
Poor Grosex. No friends or relations. Living in that miserable little room on his own. I can see he might have enjoyed some diversion in the shape of Drantaax's wife.
We head north. We're on our way to see Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky. Lisutaris is a powerful Sorcerer, and unconnected with any of the official bodies in Turai. She has a large independent income so she doesn't have to work at the Abode of Justice or the Palace, or draw up horoscopes and lucky charms for private citizens. This is just as well, as Lisutaris smokes raw thazis through a waterpipe all day and is permanently stoned.
I helped her out a few months ago so she might be willing to help me now though I'm not counting on it. Makri is more hopeful. They've met at a few Association of Gentlewomen meetings and the Sorcerer has appeared friendly enough,
unlike some other well-born women Makri could name. Even the Association of Gentlewomen is not without its share of prejudice against anyone with Orc blood. Several Senator's wives have refused to sit in the same room as her.
Our landus comes to a halt in a narrow street as a large cart full of vegetables stops in front of us. Our driver shouts some abuse to no effect. The other driver seems to have disappeared and the vegetable cart stays where it is. We look round as our driver considers the tricky option of reversing his horse and cart down the narrow street. Standing behind us are five red-robed monks who by this simple manoeuvre have now cornered us. They stare at us quite calmly. The one in front, a small individual with boyish features, waves his hand in greeting. Makri and I leap down from the landus to confront them.
"What do you want?" I demand.
"The statue of Saint Quatinius," says the small monk, quite placidly. I notice that he is not sweating in the heat, like the rest of the population.