Thraxas

by Martin Scott

  "Thraxas, you are a bungling fool. Why anyone would want you to investigate anything is beyond me. I didn't kill Thalius. Not that I wouldn't have had it been necessary. No one would miss him apart from that drink-sodden daughter of his. But there was no need to kill him. I merely stole his magic purse when he was unconscious with dwa. I knew where he kept it hidden and it was a simple matter. But since learning about the plans of the Star Temple, the Cloud Temple followed me around the city. I imagine that the Venerable Tresius killed Thalius Green Eye later the same night."

  "You expect me to believe that?"

  "I don't care if you believe it or not. But if you take a look in his robe you'll find something interesting."

  I keep my sword at Sarin's throat. Again I wonder why this killer, in her plain man's tunic and cropped hair, wears so many earrings. It seems inappropriate somehow. I use my toe to prise the yellow robe away from Tresius's chest. A bag tumbles out, flat but long and curved to the shape of the monk's chest. I stretch down carefully and examine it. It's full of white powder.

  "Dwa?"

  "That's right. Didn't you notice your client was a dwa addict?"

  "Not with the way he was leaping round and fighting, no."

  "Well, he was. Which is why Ixial took over the monastery and threw Tresius out. And why Tresius couldn't resist robbing old Thalius of his supply when he followed me there, killing him in the process."

  I stare down at Sarin. She's such a ruthless killer with such a total lack of remorse for her actions that it seems unlikely to me that she'd bother lying about them. But I don't like the ramifications of this at all. Yesterday I had three clients. Today one of them is going to be hanged and another of them turns out to have killed the third one's father. The curse of Thraxas. If word gets out, my business will suffer a hell of a slump. At least it throws some light on Sarin's actions.

  "You knew Tresius had a load of dwa. Easy to sell. Make up for missing out on the gold. No doubt that's why you killed him, rather than to avenge Ixial."

  "The two things happily coincided."

  What a mess. Dwa, gold, warrior monks and Sarin the Merciless. I'll probably never sort it out entirely. Sarin is waiting for an opportunity to get out from under my sword but I'm careful not to give her one.

  "You almost killed Makri."

  "The bolt was meant for you. It would have killed you if your personal protection charm hadn't deflected it."

  I don't tell her that I don't carry a personal protection charm and only avoided the bolt by luck. Sarin stares up from the ground at me defiantly. I think I catch a slight trace of mockery in her eyes. She knows I'm not going to kill her in cold blood. I can't. I'm sick of it all. I sheath my sword. Sarin springs nimbly to her feet.

  "You are a fool," she says.

  "So I'm told."

  "If you get in my way again I'll kill you."

  "People often tell me that as well."

  "Is Makri dead?" asks Sarin.

  "No."

  She might even be pleased to hear this. It's hard to tell. She picks up her crossbow. Then she picks up the dwa.

  "Thanks to you, Investigator, I'm not going to be rich on the King's gold. This'll do for now."

  I make no attempt to prevent her. She slips through the door and disappears.

  I glance at Tresius's body. "Did you really kill Thalius?" I demand, but there is of course no reply. "It was a bad idea to hire the Assassins to kill Ixial," I continue, talking to the corpse. "It's always a bad idea to hire the Assassins. They kill your enemy but it never stops there. Someone is always left wanting revenge."

  A crossbow bolt is buried deep in his chest. Despite this his aged face is serene in death. I wonder if I should search the place. I decide not to. Let someone else sort it out.

  My optimism has vanished. Dead Body Thraxas strikes again. It seems I can't move in this city without finding a corpse. It wouldn't be so bad if they weren't all people I was involved with in one way or another. Grosex will hang soon. Ixial and Tresius are dead. Tresius killed Soolanis's father, more likely than not. I sigh, and head on home. It's hot as Orcish hell. Why did anyone ever build a city here anyway? A beggar holds out a withered arm. I drop a small coin in it. I send an anonymous note at a Messengers Guild post, informing Captain Rallee about the whereabouts of Tresius's corpse

  I probably should've killed Sarin when I had the chance. Now I'll run up against her in some other case and in all probability she'll put a crossbow bolt into my belly. I grin wryly. At least she still thinks I carry a personal protection charm. Everybody thinks that. After all, I am a sorcerous Investigator, or meant to be. But I don't have the energy to carry that spell around in my mind all day any more.

  I couldn't just kill her though. Not in cold blood, just sticking my sword through her throat. I've seen enough corpses these past few days.

  I call in at the baths and clean myself up, then struggle past the building works in Quintessence Street. Stonemasons curse their apprentices as they strain to winch the heavy blocks up the scaffolding, and foremen yell angrily at carpenters and plumbers as they struggle with their work in the heat. It's a relief to get home.

  Makri is cleaning the tables.

  "Hey, Makri, did you hear the one about the Elf Lord and the two Niojan whores?"

  Makri glares at me with loathing and stalks off angrily.

  Damn. I'd forgotten about the argument. It comes back in a sudden rush. Did I really call her a pointy-eared dwa addict? I sigh. Now I won't even be able to have a beer in peace to get me over my woes.

  Dandelion appears. The one person I don't want to see.

  She smiles at me very sweetly and hands me a small purse made of cheap cloth. She's embroidered my name on it.

  "It's from the dolphins," she explains. "Well, the purse is from me, but what's inside is from the dolphins. It's to say thank you for recovering their healing stone."

  I open the purse. Inside are five antique gold coins tarnished from a long spell under water and a small green jewel. I remove one of the coins. It's a King Ferzius. You don't see many of them round these days, particularly in Twelve Seas. It's worth about fifty gurans. Five of them. Two hundred and fifty gurans. That's a good rate of pay in my line of work. My standard retainer is only thirty. A jewel as well. I'll get it valued by Priso at the pawnbroker's.

  "Thank the dolphins for me," I tell Dandelion. "Tell them it's a generous payment."

  "I knew you were the right man to help them," says Dandelion. She witters on about how I have some star lines in sympathetic alignment with the dolphins. I'm too drained to insult her so I just take my leave politely and head upstairs to my room, where I sit at my desk and stare into space. I realise I'm hungry. I need some of Tanrose's stew. If I go downstairs Makri will probably skewer me with her mop. I think it's time for her rhetoric class. I decide to risk it.

  Tanrose ladles me a goodly portion of stew and a plate of pancakes to mop it up, but she gives me a funny look when I'm picking out four or five pastries to finish the meal.

  "Makri is upset."

  "I noticed."

  "Why did you accuse her of being a dwa addict?"

  "I was in a bad mood."

  This seems to me like an entirely adequate explanation but Tanrose doesn't think so.

  "No wonder she was insulted. And as for accusing her of passing information to the Assassins Guild! You know how loyal Makri is."

  I raise my hands helplessly. "I didn't accuse her of passing on information. I merely insinuated it. It was in the heat of the moment. I'd just sent a client off to the gallows. What did she expect me to do—stand around cheering? Anyway, she insulted me plenty."

  "Well, you're all grown-up, Thraxas," says Tanrose. "And you know half the people in Turai. There's plenty of places you can go to forget your troubles. I figure you can stand a few insults. Makri's young and she's still a stranger and she has plenty of aggravation about her Orc blood. She probably relies on you."

  "Relies on me? What about
all those rich ladies in the Association of Gentlewomen."

  "I doubt she could count them as friends."

  "Fine. So now I'm feeling guilty as well. What do you suggest I do?"

  "Take her some flowers," says Tanrose immediately.

  I scoff at this. "Tanrose, you place far too much belief in the healing power of a bunch of flowers. I admit that the last time Makri was upset it worked like a charm but that was strictly a one-off."

  I had accidentally put her to sleep with a spell causing her to collapse in front of an opponent and naturally a woman as keen on fighting as Makri was enormously upset by this. So I followed Tanrose's suggestion and, to my amazement, Makri, on receipt of one not very large bunch of flowers, threw her arms round me, burst into tears and ran out of the room, actions which Tanrose later interpreted as meaning everything was okay. But that was only because no one had ever given her flowers before. She's not dumb enough to fall for it twice.

  "Try it," says Tanrose.

  I sigh. If Tanrose can't come up with anything better than that then the situation is probably hopeless.

  Makri bursts through the front door.

  "Great rhetoric class," she exclaims to the cook, then sees me at the bar. She walks past muttering about needing to air the place to get rid of the bad smell.

  "To hell with this," I grunt, and storm out the front entrance, none too pleased at the task in front of me. Baxos the flower seller has plied his trade on the corner of Quintessence Street for thirty years without benefit of custom from me. When I rolled up a few months ago looking for flowers for Makri, it practically caused a riot. This time it's just as bad.

  "Hey, Rox," he calls over to the fish vendor. "Thraxas is buying flowers again."

  "Still got his lady friend, has he?" yells back Rox, loud enough for the entire street to hear.

  "That's the way to do it, Thraxas!" screams Birix, one of Twelve Seas' busiest prostitutes.

  "He's a real gentleman!" screams her companion, to the amusement of the workers atop the nearest building, who start adding a few ripe comments of their own.

  I hurry home. I know this isn't going to work again. I will have some harsh words for Tanrose when Makri tries to stuff the flowers down my throat. I storm into the Avenging Axe where Makri is telling Tanrose about her class. I ram the flowers into her hand without saying anything and march around the bar where I bang my fist on the counter and shout for a beer and a large glass of klee. As an apology I admit it lacks a certain grace.

  Almost immediately I am tapped on the shoulder. It's Makri. She embraces me, bursts into tears, then runs out of the room. Remembering events last time I'm fairly sure this is a good sign, but I check with Tanrose just in case.

  "Does that mean it's all right now?"

  "Of course."

  It all seems very strange to me.

  "You know, Tanrose, I find this very peculiar. What the hell is so great about a bunch of flowers?"

  "Lots of things, if you spent a large chunk of your life in an Orcish gladiator slave pit. Not many flowers there, I imagine. Makri's probably never been given a present before."

  I suppose not.

  "You think it would've worked with my wife?"

  "It certainly wouldn't have hurt. Didn't you ever give her flowers?"

  "Of course not. I didn't know I was supposed to. I wish I'd known you when I was younger, Tanrose. Might have made everything a lot easier."

  I take my beer and a fresh portion of stew and slump at my favourite table, wondering about the mysterious ways of women. I reckon it's not really my fault I was never any good with them. They never taught us anything about the subject at Sorcerer's school.

  Chapter 19

  Things return to normal, which is to say it carries on being hot. The street outside is full of building workers and I abandon all thoughts of work for the rest of the summer. The Renowned and Truthful Chronicle of All the World's Events carries story after story about the affair of the gold-filled statue and I get treated generously enough in the coverage, which is always good for business.

  I manage to grab a piece of the reward for the recovery of the King's gold, though it's far from my fair share. By the time the Guards, lawyers, Praetor's clerks and sundry other city officials have taken their cut, there's not much left for the man who actually located it. I have to make a strong plea to Deputy Consul Cicerius to get even that.

  We're sitting in the back yard where Palax and Kaby are playing a flute and a mandolin. The tavern has now emptied of visitors. Dandelion has gone back to live on the beach and Soolanis has returned to Thamlin, drinking less and organising a rich persons' branch of the Association of Gentlewomen, according to Makri.

  "Was it Ixial or Tresius who started the whole thing off?"

  "I don't really know. Once it was all over it was hard to say. Hard to say who did what, or who was worse. When I started off as an Investigator I thought every case would have a crime at the beginning and a solution at the end, but often it doesn't seem to be like that. Just a bunch of people going around, all behaving worse than each other, so in the end even they don't know exactly who did what. Still, I'd say they all got what was coming to them, especially Grosex."

  He was hanged last week. I didn't bother attending. Calia is back in Pashish, missing Ixial more than Drantaax, I expect. At least she has Drantaax's valuable statues to see her through her old age.

  "You know, I didn't even get paid by any of these people? Apart from the dolphins, of course. All that chasing round in the magic space and risking death at the hands of Sarin the Merciless for no remuneration. I must be slipping. I'll never get out of Twelve Seas at this rate."

  "This'll help," says Makri, taking something out of the purse round her neck. It's a golden finger. "I broke it off the statue when we came back from the magic space," she explains. "I thought we were due some sort of reward. I'll halve it with you."

  "Smart thinking."

  I look at the golden finger. Half of that will make a nice packet of gurans. I'm not doing so badly really. A few nice cases over the winter, maybe some lucrative work from the Transport Guild or even the Honourable Association of Merchants, and I might yet make it out of Twelve Seas. If summer here is hell, winter's not much better. And in the Hot Rainy Season, which comes up in about a month, the streets turn to rivers and beggars drown in front of your eyes. I can hardly bear to think about it.

  I don't have to think about it right now. I pick up a "Happy Guildsman" jumbo-sized tankard of ale from the bar and lie back in the shade. Listening to Palax and Kaby playing music, I forget all about monks, killers and gangsters, and go to sleep.

  THE END

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