by Martin Scott
"We have to do something about Quen. The Brotherhood is close. Astrath's got their Sorcerer baffled but if the Guards bring Old Hasius the Brilliant in on the case we're sunk."
"Are they still watching the place every night?"
I nod. "But we might be able to sneak her away somehow. Maybe Astrath could work an invisibility spell for us. It's a lot to ask, though. Astrath has his own life to lead. We can't expect him to move heaven, earth and the three moons to help some young woman he's never met, especially as he risks getting into trouble with the Brotherhood."
"If we do sneak her away," enquires Makri, "will she still be hidden by his bafflement spell?"
"No."
"Then we can't do it."
"What do you mean we can't do it?" I protest, getting angry. "She can't stay here forever."
"We can't just give her up to the Brotherhood."
I suppose we can't. Not that I've grown attached to Quen or anything—she's a surly young woman as far as I can tell—but it would go against the grain to give up anyone or anything to Casax. I'm left with nothing much to say, so I just give Makri some abuse for landing me in this situation.
I notice that Palax has fallen asleep over his plate of food at the next table. It's a hard life being a busker. But I also notice Kaby is looking madder than a Troll with a toothache, which generally means only one thing. Palax did promise her he'd give up dwa, I seem to remember. It's a hard thing to give up. I grab a beer and take it upstairs with me where I lie on my couch and think about monks and statues and drift off to sleep.
I am awakened by a gentle knocking at my door.
"Who's there?" I call.
"Soolanis," comes the reply.
I wondered where she'd disappeared to.
I go and open the door.
Soolanis is there. So is Sarin the Merciless, with a knife at her throat. Sarin shoves her inside and steps in after her.
"You could just have knocked."
"I never like the thought of being turned away," says Sarin, knife still in her hand.
Sarin the Merciless is a tall woman with her hair cut unusually short, rather austere in appearance apart from the many gold and silver rings in her ears. She wears a man's tunic. Her eyes are as black as Makri's but they lack that friendly twinkle. She stares at me, as if wondering whether to knife me on the spot. My hand is on my sword, just in case.
"I'm looking for a statue," she says.
"That's a popular pastime round here these days."
"Well? Where is it?"
"No idea. I presume you're talking about the statue that vanished when Drantaax was murdered? No one knows where it is."
"I figure you do."
"You figure wrong."
"I know you've been hired to find it."
"I'm puzzled, Sarin. What makes you think I'd discuss this with you?"
"I'll kill you if you don't."
Sarin never has been one for working out unnecessarily subtle plans.
"You want it for the Star Temple?"
"That's right."
I point out that Ixial the Seer will be dead soon.
"I think he'll live. And even if he doesn't, I'll help his followers."
I ask her why. She confirms my suspicion—she studied fighting and meditation under Ixial, so she owes her loyalty to him. But I very much doubt if Sarin the Merciless feels loyal to anyone.
"Did you kill Drantaax?"
"I didn't come here to answer your questions. I came for the statue."
"The statue weighed two tons. How could I have it?"
I study her face to see if she is aware of the magic purse, but Sarin is as cold as an Orc's heart and her face is impossible to read.
"Did you kill my father?" blurts out Soolanis.
"And who would that have been?"
"Thalius Green Eye."
"No. And don't interrupt me again."
Sarin turns to me. "I want that statue, otherwise I'll kill you."
"Well, thanks for the warning. I'm always happy to spend time with cheap killers. Which is what you are, skulking round corners with your crossbow. I'd run you in now if there was a reward on your head. Now get out."
Sarin shows no signs of anger at my insults. She simply departs. I turn to Soolanis, who looks shaken by the affair.
"That may well be the woman who killed your father and she wouldn't think twice about killing you. Don't go to any more taverns on your own," I warn her. "Go home to Thamlin."
"I don't want to go home," she says miserably.
"Then get drunk downstairs."
Needing no further encouragement she departs to do just that. I take the purse out of my pocket and stare at it. Inside this purse is a large statue which numerous people seem very keen to get hold of. Too keen, you might think. I mean, how fascinating can a statue be? I'm finding it increasingly hard to believe that the monasteries want it for their religious ceremonies. There must be easier ways of acquiring a statue, even at short notice. So why is everyone so eager to find it? It's only a lump of bronze. Bronze is moderately valuable, but not valuable enough to go around killing people for. By the time it was melted down and transported anywhere, it would hardly be worth the trouble.
All things considered, I'm starting to feel rather suspicious about this statue.
Chapter 12
"You're going to what?"
"I'm going to smash the statue. Bring me a sledgehammer."
Makri looks concerned. "I know you're in a tough spot but there's no need to take it out on the statue. Couldn't you just talk things over with someone?"
"I'm not taking anything out on the statue. I want to see what's inside it."
"Isn't it hollow?"
"Maybe. But I'm starting to have my doubts. Okay, it's a nice work of art. Okay, a monastery full of warrior monks needs a statue of Saint Quatinius or they can't show their faces at the monastery next door. And the Triple-Moon Conjunction is coming up soon. But why this statue? The True Church doesn't require anyone to observe their ceremonies in front of a particularly fine statue. Quite the opposite. They specifically say that worshippers can make do with virtually any old representation of the saint, which is why poor people everywhere observe the Triple-Moon Conjunction in front of cheap plaster artefacts. You can buy them in the market. You wouldn't expect that warrior monks, noted for their austerity, would absolutely have to have some fancy statue made by Turai's top sculptor. Doesn't make sense. As for Sarin the Merciless, she says she wants it for the Star Temple out of loyalty to Ixial. If you'll believe that you'll believe anything. That woman has about as much loyalty as a bokana snake."
"I fought a bokana snake bare-handed in the arena one time."
"Makri. Will you please stop this habit of reminiscing about the arena every time I mention some species of wildlife?"
"Sorry."
The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that this is no ordinary statue. I'm determined to take a closer look. And by doing so I will yet again be breaking the law, because it is heresy to interfere in any way with a statue of Saint Quatinius and if the True Church knew I was about to assault one with a sledgehammer they'd have me up before the special Religious Court and off to a prison galley in less time than it takes Bishop Gzekius to guzzle down his evening decanter of fine Elvish wine.
"We can't let anyone see us or there'll be trouble. You make sure Soolanis, Quen and Dandelion are out of the way and I'll find a suitable heavy tool."
Soolanis, Quen and Dandelion. Just saying the names makes me feel uncomfortable. How did I end up playing host to these three young women? And did they have to be a drunk, a whore and a freak of nature? Sometimes I don't know what the city is coming to.
"When I was young you'd have been locked up for walking round with flowers in your hair," I grumble, heading downstairs to the courtyard at the back of the tavern.
There's a shed here, in which Palax and Kaby stable their horse. Behind this is their caravan. The sight makes me shudder. Normal people have plain
wooden caravans painted white, with perhaps a little picture of Saint Quatinius in a yellow frame to bring them luck. Palax and Kaby's contraption is decorated with murals of God knows what in colours bright enough to sear the eyeball. With those young women upstairs and this pair of weirdos out here, I'm starting to feel annoyed. I marched through deserts and fought battles for these people. You think they might show some respect. Dress normally and get jobs, for instance.
I grab a weighty hammer from Gurd's tool collection and head back upstairs. I'm now thoroughly in a mood for smashing something. A large statue of the Blessed Saint Quatinius on horseback will do nicely.
Back in my room I carefully pull down the top of the purse. The head of the statue appears from out of the magic space. I have to be careful here, exposing enough of the statue for me to hit while keeping its base inside the magic space. If the statue were to appear fully in my room its weight might go right through the floor and kill half of the drinkers downstairs.
Makri is still dubious about the whole operation.
"It is a good statue," she points out. "Didn't you say it was an important work of art? Drantaax was a fine artist. I don't think it's right to destroy one of his works. Especially the last one he made before he was murdered."
I brush her objections aside. Five months studying at the Guild College and she thinks she's an art expert.
"Stand well back."
"You'll break your arm."
I hadn't considered this. I'm not backing down now. I let go at Saint Quatinius's head, aiming at the hardly visible point under the chin where bronze panels have been soldered together. I give it a mighty blow, putting all my weight into it (and that's enough weight for anyone).
There is an almighty clang. A small dent appears. I hit it again. The dent gets bigger. I let go with another furious blow and this time the bronze panel falls right off, landing with a great clatter on the floor. And there, staring out at us like an angel from heaven, is a beautifully moulded golden face.
I practically yell in triumph. "Gold! It's gold inside! That's what everybody's after."
I'm happy as a drunken mercenary at getting this one right. "This must be the missing gold, hijacked last month on the way from the mines to the King's treasuries. And I'm in a for a fat reward."
I look at the golden head. Underneath it, still covered in bronze, will be a golden body. I doubt if there's ever been so much gold in Twelve Seas before. Worth so much I couldn't even calculate it. And no one knows I've got it.
Makri and I study it thoughtfully.
"Never see that much gold again," I muse.
"Definitely not."
"The King has an awful lot of gold already."
"And they're digging more out of the ground all the time."
I sigh, and start pulling the edges of the purse over the statue. It's a tempting thought but someone would find out eventually. I'm too old for the life of a fugitive.
"I guess I wouldn't want to leave Turai right now," says Makri. "The city stinks, but it has the best university in the west."
The statue has now disappeared into the magic space. I put the purse back in my pocket.
"I suppose you could maybe just remove a finger before you give it back?"
"Absolutely not."
Actually, that's not such a bad idea. I'll see how the money situation is. Of course, I'm due a big, big reward now. The King is as mad as a dragon over the loss of his gold and the Palace has offered a thousand gurans for information leading to its recovery. I could take the purse to the Imperial Palace right this minute and demand payment, except I'm still working to clear Grosex and find Thalius's killer, which means I still need the statue.
"Do you think the Star Temple and the Cloud Temple know that the gold is inside?"
"Yes."
"Who put it there?"
"I'm not sure yet. Whoever it was, the monks want it badly. So does Sarin. So we can now expect all hell to break loose."
That's fine with Makri. And it's fine with me right now, when I'm feeling pleased with myself for solving part of the mystery. I pick up a knife, toss it in the air so that it spins, catch it by the handle, and slip it into its scabbard in one easy movement. Then I get out my grimoire and start memorising the sleep spell.
"If they want it they're going to have to come and get it off me. I'll soon show them who's number one chariot in these parts."
I take a bottle of klee from my table. It's empty. I seem to be going through it pretty quickly. I haul out another from my secret supply under the couch and share a couple of glasses with Makri. She shudders as it burns her throat.
"You're getting me into bad habits."
"What bad habits? Incidentally, what's so great about fighting a bokana snake? I killed plenty of bokana snakes when we marched through the jungle. They're not that scary."
"They grow much bigger in the Orc Lands. Deadlier poison as well."
"Naturally."
The sun's beating down and I'd be happy to spend the afternoon sleeping but I've work to do. As I strap on my sword and head on out, I remember I swore I wasn't going to work any more this summer. So much for that. If I pick up a nice reward for the stolen gold I'm going to spend the autumn and winter propping up Gurd's bar swapping war stories with anyone who cares to join me.
I notice two Brotherhood men in the area, still nosing around, looking for Quen. And someone else I recognise as an Investigator from uptown, probably hired by the Innkeepers Guild. I scowl. All I need now is for Sarin to pop out from behind a wall and start firing crossbow bolts at me.
The main law courts are close to the business area of Golden Crescent. It's an important part of town and the law court itself is a splendid building with thirty columns at the front and a portico of gleaming white marble. It's situated in a large public forum with a fountain and statues of assorted saints and past kings. The whole thing was built for the glorification of the city a couple of hundred years ago by King Sarius-Akan after he defeated Mattesh in battle and arrived home with a fair amount of booty to spare.
I used to come here often when I was Senior Investigator at the Palace. Any time I walked in, attendants would greet me politely and barristers from the Abode of Justice would rush to meet me to see what news I brought of my investigations. Those days are long past. If anyone here recognises me, they don't show it. There's no point in being polite to a man who's lost all social status, and you can't lose much more social status than I did when I was bounced out of the Palace for drunken misbehaviour.
I finally get to see Grosex, in the underground cells. He's sitting on a small wooden bunk and looks as if he hasn't slept or eaten for some time.
"How did the first day of the trial go?"
"Badly."
"How's your public defender?"
"Still reading up on the case."
Grosex is pale and noticeably thinner than he was a week ago when they arrested him. I can tell he's a man who's given up hope. I try and reassure him, telling him I'm following up a number of leads and so on.
"I expect to have the real killer soon."
"Soon enough to stop them from hanging me?"
"Of course."
That's close to a lie. The trial probably won't last more than another two days. If he's convicted he'll be executed soon after that. Turai's judiciary waste no time once they've found someone guilty. As a full citizen of Turai, Grosex will have the right of appeal to the King if sentenced to death, but the King never likes to buck public opinion by being too lenient. He's worried it'll give Senator Lodius's Populares a stick to beat him with, with crime being so bad in the city these days.
I question Grosex intensely for an hour and I don't learn anything. As far as he was concerned, it was just another day at the workshop till he found Drantaax with a knife sticking in him.
"When did you last use the knife?"
He doesn't remember exactly, but he used it at work frequently so it was bound to have his aura on it. I tell him not to worry.
"There's plenty of ways to fake a man's aura on a knife. I'll get to the bottom of it."
I wonder out loud if Calia might have killed her husband, but Grosex doesn't think this is likely. He knows she was bored, but she didn't hate him. On the contrary, she was rather grateful that she didn't have to live in Twelve Seas any more.
"You know anything about some illegal gold?"
He looks at me blankly. I don't tell him the full facts about the golden statue, but I let him know that Drantaax was mixed up in the gold heist somehow.