by Martin Scott
"We will. The Orcs will be sorry they showed their faces. You don't take on Thraxas, Gurd and Rallee without regretting it quickly enough."
Gurd suddenly frowns.
"This game tonight. With Horm. Don't lose Makri. And don't let anything happen to the tavern."
"I won't."
I leave Gurd to sleep. Upstairs my office is still full of people. Sitting around my desk are Cicerius, Hansius, Lisutaris, Coranius, Tirini, Anumaris, Hanama, Makri, and Samanatius. Lisutaris still has a blanket draped round her shoulders, though Hanama appears to be well on the way to recovery. A hearty fire is burning in the hearth. There's a bottle on the table and each of them has a small silver cup in front of them.
"Thraxas. Join us for a drink."
I stare at the bottle suspiciously.
"The Abbot's Special Distillation? Makri, have you been stealing drink from my supply?"
"Certainly not," declares Makri. "Although as I'm about to be gambled away as bride of Horm, I wouldn't have thought you'd begrudge me it."
"I took it," says Lisutaris. "You should know it's no use trying to hide alcohol from a Turanian Sorcerer. We were just about to drink to your success tonight."
"Really?" I feel quite flattered. It's not every day the Deputy Consul drinks to my success.
The inside door opens, revealing Captain Rallee and Moolifi.
"Moolifi told me what's going on. You're gambling with Makri?"
"Yes," says Cicerius. "We're drinking to Thraxas's good fortune."
The Captain walks over and parks himself at the desk, squeezing himself and Moolifi in at the corner.
"He'll need it. There's a lot of good players coming here tonight."
It's true, there are. I'm expecting to vanquish them all, but in terms of my bargain with Horm, I don't need to. I just need to beat him. Whichever one of us lasts longest at the table wins our bet. It's quite possible that after I've taken all Horm's money, forcing him out of the game, I could then lose to Praetor Capatius, or General Acarius, but even if that happens, it won't affect the deal regarding Makri and the Ocean Storm.
Captain Rallee raises his glass.
"Good luck," he says, and we drink.
"I'm still working on some way to get the Ocean Storm out of Horm's hands," says Lisutaris. "He's got a lot of magic protecting it, but I'm sure we can come up with something."
"So try not to lose too quickly," says Coranius.
"I'm not going to lose at all."
I brandish my illuminated staff.
"You see this? I won it from an Elf lord, on a boat in the middle of the ocean while I was sharing a cabin with Makri. About as stressful a situation as a man could face, and I still came out on top."
At that moment Dandelion arrives, with potion. She's concerned to find Lisutaris and Hanama drinking klee.
"Stop fussing," says Lisutaris. "We're getting better. But thanks for looking after us."
"Indeed," says Hanama. "Thank you."
I'm quite startled to hear the Assassin saying thanks. Maybe the bout of the malady has brought her a little humility. No bad thing, though she'll probably be back to killing people in a day or two.
The door bursts open again. There was a time when my office was a private place. Now it's busier than the senate. It's Sarin the Merciless. She's not looking healthy, and she's not displaying any humility either, though at least she's not pointing a crossbow at anyone.
"What's this I hear about Thraxas playing cards with Horm for the Ocean Storm?" she demands.
"I'm about to win it for the city," I reply.
"It's not Horm's to gamble," says Sarin. "He took it from me."
I shake my head. The woman is still crazy from the malady. She's faced with the city's Deputy Consul, the head of the Sorcerers Guild, and a captain of the Guards, and she's trying to insist on her rights to a stolen item.
"The Ocean Storm is nothing to do with you," says Cicerius. "You should concern yourself with your defence in court. As soon as the malady passes I'm taking you into custody."
"I'll kill Horm," says Sarin. "And you. And anyone else who tries to rob me."
She shivers, and looks unsteady on her feet.
"It's time for your medicine," says Dandelion, brightly.
"Damn your medicine," says Sarin, and spins on her heel, marching out of the room.
I suggest to Cicerius that he might take Sarin into custody now.
"She can't leave the tavern," replies the Deputy Consul. "It's ringed with my men. We'll take her away tomorrow, if she's fully recovered."
"You really believe in this hospitality-to-sick-guests thing, don't you?"
"Of course," says Cicerius. "It's one of our oldest traditions. Our city is founded on its traditions."
"Even if those traditions are foolish?"
"None of them are foolish," counters the Deputy Consul.
Immediately a discussions starts up about the value of traditions in the life of the city. Lisutaris and Samanatius weigh in, as does Coranius. Everyone seems to have an opinion apart from Tirini Snake Smiter, who looks bored, and busies herself in front of a small mirror. Makri wades into the conversation, arguing quite spiritedly with Samanatius over some point of history. Samanatius listens, then counters her argument. Lisutaris puts forward a different point of view and Cicerius tells them they're all wrong. In no time at all facts and opinions are flying round the table covering everything from the traditions of hospitality in far-away Samsarina to the ancient ethics of the Orcish warrior class.
I'm not much of a man for these sort of discussions. I fill up my glass with the Abbot's excellent klee, drain the glass, then head downstairs, ready to play cards.
Chapter Nineteen
I'm sitting at the largest table in the tavern. Young Ravenius is on my left and General Acarius is on my right. Next to him is Praetor Capatius and then Casax, the Brotherhood boss. Directly across from me is Glixius Dragon Killer. Beside him is old Grax the wine merchant. There's an empty seat between Grax and Ravenius.
The front door of the tavern is closed. The public isn't being admitted. Cicerius has decided that with so much at stake, and Horm on the premises, it would be best to keep everyone away.
If the rich card players find it peculiar to be playing in humble Twelve Seas, they haven't said so. Rather, they seem grateful to have the opportunity to gamble. General Acarius is quite effusive in his thanks. Since their friend Senator Kevarius had to close his house because of the malady, they've been searching for a good game, and if it means traipsing down to the poor part of town, they don't mind too much. Even Praetor Capatius isn't too objectionable. Like much of the senatorial class, he's very conscious of his status, but the prospect of an evening's gambling goes some way to making him forget about it. Indeed, with the people currently in the tavern, Capatius, Acarius and Glixius aren't as out of place as they might normally be. Some faces here are very well known to them. Deputy Consul Cicerius for one, who outranks everyone, and Lisutaris, one of our city's most famous residents. As for Grax the wine merchant, as a member of the Honourable Merchants Association, he's not unfamiliar with the city's aristocracy. He's a very wealthy man, and he's played with Acarius before. There's a good deal of surprised recognition and greetings when they all arrive. The Praetor wonders what the Deputy Consul is doing here, but Cicerius diverts the question.
Lisutaris, Coranius the Grinder, Tirini Snake Smiter and Anumaris Thunderbolt have all remained to watch the game. No surprise, given who's also due to attend. If it turns out that Horm the Dead is hatching some evil plot as yet unknown to us, the four Turanian Sorcerers should be able to take care of him. The Avenging Axe is now one of the best-protected buildings in the city. The whole area from here to the harbour is crammed full of soldiers and Sorcerers. If Prince Amrag is planning on sailing in tonight he's not going to find us unprepared.
Captain Rallee would normally play, but he's declared the stakes too rich for him, and is here merely to observe. The Captain puts a brav
e face on it but I know he'd rather be taking part in the game than sitting with Moolifi, no matter how much he likes her.
Karlox takes a seat close to his boss Casax, while Hanama and Samanatius both sit quietly at the edge of the room, observing the proceedings. As for Glixius, he greets Lisutaris politely, but he's his usual glowering self as he takes his place at the table.
"Who's the empty chair for?" he asks.
I slip away towards the bar for a beer. Makri frowns as I approach.
"You've already drunk a lot of klee," she says. "You need to keep your wits about you."
"I had one small glass of klee."
"You had four. I was counting."
"Makri, did we get married without me noticing? Since when are you keeping track of how much I drink?"
"Since I became the stake in your card game," says Makri.
I'm gripped by a moment of doubt.
"Do you want to back out? There's still time. I don't much like this."
"You seemed keen enough upstairs," says Makri.
"I got carried away when Cicerius offered me more money."
Makri laughs. I'm not feeling much like laughing myself. I've never sat down at a card table before without confidently expecting to win. But I was never gambling over a person's future before.
"What if Horm wins?"
"Then I'll be a fantastic Orc bride," says Makri. "And captain of the armies. You might see me outside the city walls one day, leading a phalanx."
"It's not funny. Tell Cicerius you've changed your mind. To hell with Horm. Let him keep the Ocean Storm. We'll beat the Orcs anyway."
Makri shakes her head.
"We won't. We'll all die. Anyway, this way I get to go to the university."
"We could think of another plan. You can get to the university some other way."
Makri raises her eyebrows.
"Haven't you spent the last three years telling me I have no chance whatsoever?"
"Yes. And now I've changed my mind. I don't want to play with you as the stake."
"Are you losing confidence again?" says Makri. "What's the matter with you? Just get in there and give them hell."
Makri pours me a beer and hands it over.
"Get confident."
Makri's dressed in her standard serving-wench attire, her chainmail bikini. It's still an impressive sight. Men look at her with lust and I'm sure I saw Tirini glaring at her physique jealously as she passed by. I drink the beer down in one gulp and hold out the tankard for another.
"I told you to get confident," says Makri. "Not hopelessly drunk."
"I'm a long way from hopelessly drunk."
"A glass of klee, please."
I recognise the voice. It's Horm, who's arrived as silently and mysteriously as ever. The collar of his cloak is raised, preventing anyone behind from recognising him.
Makri pauses briefly, then pours him a glass of klee. She hold out her hand for the money. Horm smiles, and drops a coin into her palm. The sight irritates me.
"Does Prince Amrag know you're gambling with the Ocean Storm?" I ask.
"Prince Amrag is no concern of yours," replies Horm.
"You're going to be in trouble when he finds out."
Horm raises an eyebrow.
"If you're trying to unsettle me before our game, you're wasting your time."
He smiles at Makri.
"My mountain kingdom is a wild and beautiful place. It will suit you perfectly."
Makri glares at him, and remains silent.
"She's never going to go there," I say. "I doubt you will either. Amrag will have you killed once he knows what you've been up to."
"Who is to tell him?"
Good point. I'm stuck for an answer.
"How about Deeziz the Unseen?"
"What? Deeziz? Deeziz is hundreds of miles away."
"Maybe not. I've an idea he might be close by."
For the briefest of moments, an expression of concern flickers over Horm's face.
"Absolute nonsense, Investigator. Deeziz the Unseen is not in Turai."
"Well you better hope you're right. Because if he tells Amrag what you've been up to, he'll be down on you like a bad spell and you can say goodbye to your mountain kingdom."
I'm pleased to have unsettled Horm. It's no bad thing to discomfort your opponent before you sit down at the card table. I'm working up a few more insults when we're interrupted by a lot of raised voices.
"Deputy Consul, surely you cannot be serious! Horm the Dead coming here? To play cards?"
It's Praetor Capatius. He's just heard the news and he's not pleased. General Acarius joins in, declaring that he's deeply shocked.
"What is the reason for this?" demands the General.
Cicerius won't say. He simply informs the gathering that it's for important reasons of state. It's part of our bargain with Horm that the other players mustn't know what's going on. Otherwise Horm might suspect that they were ganging up on him. It's reasonable. In his position, I'd have expected the same.
"This is intolerable," cries Capatius. "No decent man could put up with the company of that foul Orc."
"Why look," cries Glixius. "There he is now, standing beside Thraxas."
Every eye turns towards us. I take a hasty step to the side.
"Thraxas has bought him a glass of klee!" cries Praetor Capatius. "Cicerius, is the Investigator blackmailing you somehow? Tell us the truth and we'll throw him from the city walls."
"Silence," barks Cicerius. "Horm the Dead is not blackmailing me. I have allowed him to play for reasons which I cannot explain. Suffice to say it is important for the welfare of the city."
There are a lot of angry and suspicious looks as I walk towards the card table, followed all too closely by Horm.
"Are you telling us that Horm's presence has nothing to do with Thraxas?" demands Glixius.
Cicerius is slightly troubled. He hesitates, and naturally everyone notices. By the time I reach the card table it's firmly fixed in every mind that I've brought Horm the Dead to the Avenging Axe for reasons of my own, no doubt as the first part of a traitorous attempt to sell out the city.
I can sense the Sorcerers at the nearby table expending all their energies in checking around them for unexpected Orcish sorcery, probing the air for spells, and all the while wondering if there is some way of removing the Ocean Storm from Horm. Horm no doubt senses it too, but remains calm. He greets everyone at the table quite politely, and sits in the vacant chair.
"Are we ready to begin?" he asks.
There's a long pause, and a few uneasy expressions around the table. Finally General Acarius speaks.
"Who is dealing the cards?"
We don't have a designated dealer at our games at the Axe.
"We usually just deal ourselves," says Grax.
"I think a dealer might be better, in the circumstances," says the General.
"I assure you, I have no intention of cheating," says Horm, smoothly.
"I wasn't referring to you," growls the General, and looks straight in my direction.
"Yes," says Glixius, also looking in my direction. "A dealer might be better. There are some players whom one can never trust not to manipulate the cards in their favour."
"Are you calling me a cheat!" I roar, rising to my feet.
"I wouldn't dream of it," says Glixius. "Although it has struck me as odd before now how every time Horm the Dead troubles our city, you're involved in it somehow."
"Gentlemen, stop this," roars Cicerius. "The game must proceed. Try and act like civilised Turanians. Glixius, I assure you that Thraxas's continual involvement with Horm the Dead is nothing more than coincidence."
There seem to be a lot of eyes turned in my direction. I get the impression they're judging how many men it will take to throw me from the city walls. Quite a few, probably, though I have lost a pound or two since the yam shortage began.
"Who will deal?" says Cicerius, looking round.
Moolifi rises to her feet.<
br />
"I'll do it," she says. "I've dealt a lot of cards in my time."
I doubt if the music-hall singer would be Cicerius's first choice, but he's keen to get things underway. He nods, and asks if anyone has any objections. No one has, so Moolifi takes a seat at the table and picks up the cards. We're finally ready to play.
Chapter Twenty
There are several varieties of rak. Tonight we're playing palace rak, with the standard pack of forty-eight cards. Four suits, black, red, green and blue, cards numbered 1 to 8 followed by bishop, queen, king and dragon. Two cards are dealt to each player and if you like what you've got you make a bet. You get dealt another card and you can bet again. When your fourth and last card is dealt, if you still like what you've got, you can keep on betting. The highest hand you can have is four dragons. It doesn't happen that often.
The first two cards Moolifi deals me are a green three and a red eight. It's a poor start and I fold immediately. The next five hands are no better and I don't place a single bet. I'm not averse to bluffing when necessary, in fact I'm a master of the art, but I generally don't like to do it too soon.
There isn't a lot of action from anyone in the early hands. Everyone is treading cautiously. There's a long way to go and no one wants to find themselves financially crippled after only a few rounds. I sip my beer and study my opponents, looking, as always, for some telltale signs that might give me a clue as to their play.
Moolifi deals the cards quickly and skilfully. She seems to have dressed up a little for the occasion. She's wearing a long dress of dark red material, quite eyecatching in its way. It leaves her arms bare and I notice that though her limbs are slender, she's quite taut and muscled, rather like Makri. She's not soft, Moolifi. I'd guess she can take care of herself. As she deals out the next hand we're suddenly interrupted by a fit of coughing. Old Grax the wine merchant splutters violently then slumps in his chair, perspiration running down his forehead. Praetor Capatius, sitting next to him, draws himself back quite suddenly.
"He's got the malady!"
I'm already on my feet.
"No need to panic," I say. "There's a lot of it around."
I help Grax out of his chair. Makri comes to assist and we carry him back to the store room behind the bar, while Dandelion looks on with concern.