by Martin Scott
Tresius does something that is not humanly possible. He seizes the bolt out of the air before it hits him. I gasp in astonishment. A bolt from a crossbow has enough power at close range to go in through one wall and out through another. It's not possible to grab it out of the air in mid-flight. You can't even see it. And yet Tresius just did.
His followers reach the bushes. I step further back into the shadows. Sarin calmly fires a final bolt into the nearest of her attackers then engages the rest with an unarmed combat technique which matches theirs. Her boast that she'd spent four years studying in a monastery must have been true. She's up against three opponents and acquitting herself well, sending one spinning backwards, then circling round the other two, denying them an opportunity to attack.
Whistles sound in the distance. The Civil Guard has been alerted. You can't stage a large battle in Thamlin without the neighbours complaining, and when the neighbours complain in Thamlin, the Guards take notice. There are screams and yells and whistles and the sounds of horse-drawn wagons arriving at the front of the house. Seconds later men wearing the black tunics of the Civil Guard are swarming into the garden.
"Time to go."
We depart swiftly, finding ourselves running towards the far wall in the company of various monks. I think I notice another figure in the shadows, a small figure, not a monk. Reminds me of someone, but I can't think who. By the time we're across the wall and into the park we're on our own.
"That was quite a night."
"Great fight."
We hurry away from the scene. Having once lived here I know my way around even in the dark. I lead us down a little-used lane between two villas till the sound of the uproar fades away. We now face a long walk home. Horse travel is forbidden in Turai at night. The night is still too hot to walk comfortably, and I realise I haven't eaten or drunk for some time.
"Did you learn enough to clear Grosex?" Makri enquires.
"I'm not sure. I'll need a while to sort it all out. Right now I need a beer. Why don't they have more taverns up here? First one we reach, I'm going in."
It's well past midnight. As nightlife in this district is not particularly raucous, we don't find a tavern open until we're almost out of Thamlin and into Jade Temple Fields, which is a fraction more lively. Jade Temple Fields takes its name, naturally enough, from the old temple with jade columns built as a present from the Elves three hundred years ago after we helped them in a war with the Orcs. Turai sent the biggest contingent of ships with the fleet of the League of City-States and we crushed the Orcish Armada at the famous Battle of Dead Dragon Island. That put an end to Orcish sea power for a long time. Turai's great Navy was formidable in those days, despite our relatively small size. Not any more. We used to be an important member of the League of City-States. We still are in theory, but everyone knows the Army and Navy are not what they were.
The League isn't what it was, either. It's protected smaller city-states from the aggression of our larger neighbours like Nioj for the last four centuries but it's been falling apart for the past twenty years. Now we're in a permanent state of alert over the silver mines that border on our supposed ally Mattesh in the south. If we end up at war with them the League will disintegrate and Nioj will eat us all for breakfast.
Jade Temple Fields is home to government workers, lesser civil servants and the like. We finally find a tavern where the lights are still on. Makri looks at it suspiciously.
"It'll be fine," I reassure her, and march in.
We're confronted at the door by a large individual wearing a green tunic signifying him as a member of the Securitus Guild, hired to keep out undesirables. Not like the Avenging Axe. Gurd will let anyone in.
The doorway is illuminated by a flaming torch. In the flickering firelight Makri's skin looks even redder than usual. The Guard is a mountainous individual. He stretches his arm out, preventing us from entering.
"No swords in here," he grunts, looking at Makri. "And no Orcs."
So Makri, without any hesitation whatsoever, hauls off and punches him in the face. He crumples to the ground.
I stare at her. "Couldn't we even have discussed it first?"
"What's to discuss? He insulted me."
True enough. But I badly wanted a beer.
"We'll find another tavern," says Makri.
The Guard is lying unconscious in the doorway. I'm tempted to hurdle the body and rush inside for a quick flagon of ale anyway, but decide against it. It'll only lead to trouble if he wakes up while I'm at the bar.
We trudge on through the hot night.
"I really think you ought to work on controlling your temper, Makri."
"I'll start on it tomorrow. Good punch, wasn't it?"
Makri has cheered up and is no longer looking as miserable as a Niojan whore, which she has been ever since the monk kicked her. Which is quite probably why she punched the doorman. Just keen to have some unarmed combat practice in case she meets them again.
Chapter 11
Next day I sleep late and wake up with sore legs and a nasty hangover. I struggle out of bed and make straight for my small store of lesada leaves. These come from the Elvish Islands and are very effective against hangovers. I acquired them from an Elf who hired me a couple of months ago. He turned out to be a treacherous criminal and ended up dead, but at least he left something useful behind.
Hanama the Assassin killed him and his companion, and the thought jogs my memory. That small dark figure I glimpsed in the gardens last night reminded me of Hanama. That would be all I need, the Assassins Guild mixing itself up in things.
The lesada leaf quickly starts to take effect. As the hangover recedes I realise I'm stiff all over. It was a long walk home last night, interrupted by a lengthy stay in a tavern in Kushni. No problems for Makri there. The tavern was so disreputable I doubt they'd have turned away the King of the Orcs provided he had a few gurans in his pocket.
The Kushni quarter in the centre of town is a crime-ridden, dwa-soaked collection of taverns, brothels and gambling dens run by and fought over by the Brotherhood and the Society of Friends and habituated by the assembled lowlife of Turai. I come here often in the course of my work. Makri, who doesn't have much spare time for socialising, isn't quite so familiar with it. I suspect she was taken by surprise by the potency of the alcohol served. She claimed she wasn't drunk but I swear it took her fifteen minutes to climb the outside stairs when we arrived home and she wouldn't have made it at all if I hadn't hauled her up the last flight myself.
So I'm slightly gratified when Makri crawls into my room about lunchtime and begs a lesada leaf from me. She's wrapped in an old blanket and looks like she has a bad dose of the plague. I don't mind Makri being number one chariot when it comes to fighting and she can be as sharp as an Elf's ear with her studies in philosophy and rhetoric, but I'd really take offence if she started outdrinking me.
Her hand shakes as she raises a goblet of water to her lips.
"You're looking as green as the leaf," I comment cheerfully. "I told you that mountain klee was too powerful for you. Needs a strong stomach like mine to take that beverage in."
"What the hell was it made of?" groans Makri.
"Oh, grapes, yams, corn . . . Who knows? Up in the mountains they just distil whatever comes to hand."
She shudders. "Don't you feel bad?"
"Of course not. Take more than a couple of bottles of mountain klee to affect me. I was up bright and early for morning prayers."
"Nonsense," says Makri, wincing with the effort of speaking. "You just got to the lesada leaves first."
Makri washes her leaf down with some difficulty then lies back on the couch with her arm covering her eyes.
"I don't think I can make that morning theology class."
I clear some junk off my table. Makri uncovers her eyes and looks at me with some ire.
"Stop bustling around. I know you're just trying to show the drink didn't affect you. I'm going to kill Dandelion."
"Wh
at?"
"I'm going to kill her. As soon as I feel better I'll run her through with my Orcish blade."
Dandelion has apparently been droning on about the dolphins again. Makri, normally sympathetic, found it hard to take in her weakened state.
"Though I could do with the healing stone right now. I'm never going drinking in Kushni again."
She lapses into mordant silence and waits for the leaf to do its work. Despite the heat of the morning she huddles miserably in her blanket and continues to look green. Poor Makri. I decide not to remind her that she actually sat on the lap of a young dwa dealer and attempted to kiss him before being thrown out the tavern. I'll save that one till she's stronger.
Downstairs Gurd and Tanrose are already at work. I study Tanrose's menu, selecting a few items for a hearty breakfast. I choose the fish. Tanrose cooks a fine plate of fish. I notice Gurd stiffening slightly as I order. Fish always puts him in a bad mood. The local fishmonger, quite a prosperous man by the standards of the neighbourhood, has had his eye on Tanrose for some time, and always gives her a good deal when it comes to buying his wares. This makes Gurd jealous. Poor old Barbarian. Having spent most of his life marching round the world fighting for anyone willing to pay him, he still can't get to grips with the idea of romance. He has got a crush on Tanrose that isn't getting any better. She doesn't mind this at all, but Gurd unfortunately can't quite bring himself to do anything about it. Too used to being a bachelor. Meanwhile he suffers like crazy whenever the fishmonger comes around and starts giving Tanrose big discounts.
By the time I've finished my breakfast Makri has appeared downstairs, bright-eyed and healthy.
"The leaves of the lesada tree," she states, "have miraculous powers. How many more do you have?"
"Not many. And they're almost impossible to get hold of in Turai. Next time I have an Elf for a client I'll ask for some in payment again."
Makri points out that these weren't actually part of my payment from the last Elf.
"You just helped yourself after we found him dead."
"Much the same thing."
"I'm a bit hazy on the details of last night. Did we meet Sarin, or did I imagine it?"
"We met her. And she killed some monks with her crossbow. I've been trying to figure out what it all means. She's obviously on the side of the Star Temple. I presume she once trained under the tutelage of Ixial. I wonder if she killed Drantaax? It would be hard to prove because she's too smart to leave evidence lying around. Grosex goes on trial today. I finally got permission to see him, for what it's worth."
"How come?"
"Deputy Consul Cicerius came back into town at last. He arranged it for me."
I helped Cicerius's son out of trouble a few months back.
"That turned out to be a smart move," says Makri. "He's the first friend in a high place you've had in a long time."
"That's true. Though I wouldn't count him a friend. Cicerius is too austere to actually have friends. Also, he probably remembers that I insulted him when I was drunk. But at least he'll ensure that my legal rights are upheld when it comes to court matters. And Grosex sure needs some help from somewhere. He's been assigned a public defendant, so if I don't dig something up they might as well take him out and hang him now."
Makri gets herself outside of some fish. I take a lunchtime beer and consider the situation. I can't exactly interpret what's going on with the monks. Obviously the Venerable Tresius wasn't entirely straight with me. He neglected to mention that his followers had mortally wounded Ixial the Seer for one thing. So where does that leave me? I still have the purse with the statue in it. Tresius has hired me to find it. Maybe it doesn't matter exactly who did what to whom as far as the monks are concerned. I guess I'll pick up the fee for that anyway.
I'm troubled by meeting Sarin, though. She is a dangerous woman, and no mistake. If Ixial dies I imagine the Star Temple will disband and the monks will go over to the Cloud Temple. But if that doesn't happen and the red monks come looking for the statue again, I'll have Sarin to deal with as well. And then there's Thalius Green Eye. Who killed him? He was murdered with a crossbow which makes Sarin the obvious suspect, but it's not impossible that someone else might be trying to cover their tracks.
"Well, I reckon I've narrowed down the suspects for killing Drantaax to the monks of the Star Temple, the monks of the Cloud Temple, his wife Calia, Sarin the Merciless, and the domestic staff. Maybe a hundred people all told. If Grosex can keep from getting hanged for another year or two, I might whittle it down to single figures."
Palax and Kaby have been out early busking with a mandolin and a flute. They look as peculiar as ever. Not only do they wear the strangest collection of bright and ragged clothes ever seen in Turai, their hair practically defies description. They grow it long and thick and dye it with food colouring and herbs into bright colours quite unsuitable for a person's head. To make things worse they're also well advanced in the matter of piercings. Many people in Turai sport pierced ears—in some guilds it's a mark of rank—but young Palax and Kaby, for some unfathomable reason, have rings through their noses and lips. Most shockingly, they wear rings through their eyebrows too, a style never before seen in the lands of Humans, and possibly too bizarre even for an Orcish whorehouse. I suppose street entertainers are allowed to be a little odd. Having grown up in an Orcish slave pen, Makri is lacking in public decorum, and asked them to pierce her nose a few months ago. Appalling behaviour, as I immediately pointed out to her, and hardly the sort of attitude she should adopt if she ever wants to get into the Imperial University. As the University already has enough reasons not to accept her, there seems no reason to provide them with another one. But Makri likes the ring through her nose, and figures the University will be able to get used to it.
The young musicians sit down wearily at a table.
"There's a Sorcerer outside," says Kaby.
"Doing what?"
"Looking puzzled."
"He's with that new Brotherhood boss, Casax."
Bad news. I go to the door and look. As reported, there is a Sorcerer outside, looking puzzled. He's young, and while his rainbow cloak distinguishes him as a fully qualified Sorcerer, I don't recognise him so he probably hasn't been qualified for long. Beside him are Casax, Karlox and a few other Brotherhood men, all looking expectantly at the Sorcerer.
Casax spots me and strides across the dusty road towards me.
I greet him civilly. He greets me with an icy stare.
"We're looking for Quen."
"Who?"
"The whore that burned down the Boar's Head."
"I expect she's left the city by now."
"Not according to Orius Fire Tamer, she hasn't. He reckons she's still around here somewhere."
I study the young Sorcerer.
"Orius Fire Tamer? He's new, isn't he? Must've qualified recently. You know, Casax, you can't really trust such a young Sorcerer. He comes fresh out of his apprenticeship thinking he knows everything, but it takes a while to adjust to the ways of a city like Turai. Sure, he's followed Quen's aura this far, but so what? Everyone knows she was around here somewhere. When everyone's talking about someone it can create a false aura. Enough to confuse a young man just starting out in business. Quen is long gone by now. If you want to trace her you'll have to hire a more experienced man. Or woman. Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, is very good, so I hear."
Casax isn't given to blustering. He looks at me quite coolly and informs me that the Brotherhood only tolerate my presence in the area because I never really get in their way. But if he finds I've got anything to do with hiding Quen then he'll be down on me like a bad spell.
"You'd better make sure you have another city to go to, and get there fast."
"I'll bear it in mind. Maybe Deputy Consul Cicerius could suggest somewhere." By which I mean I am not without powerful friends in this city.
"Maybe you better ask him quickly," replies Casax, by which he means that I'm not fooling anyone.
>
Young Orius Fire Tamer is still standing in the street looking puzzled. His powers have brought him this far but wily old Astrath Triple Moon's improved spell of bafflement is preventing him from precisely locating Quen. Casax returns to his side and speaks to him briefly. He's too important a man to spend his time hanging round in Quintessence Street, so after ordering his thugs to carry on the search he departs. Karlox scowls over at me, large, vicious and dumb as an Orc. There's nothing he'd like better than for Casax to order him to run me out of town. Let him try. I scowl back before shutting the door and rejoining Makri.