Thraxas at War Read online

  Viriggax laughs.

  "Only eight? I thought there were more, else I'd have left you to it!"

  Chapter Thirteen

  A few beers later it's time to head up to my office. The fight took it out of me and I could do with some sleep. Dandelion is collecting tankards from the tables.

  "I heard some people in your office," she says.

  Viriggax glances over.

  “Are you expecting anyone?"

  I shake my head.

  Viriggax rises to his feet and motions to a few of his men. I don't protest. After being assaulted by eight armed thugs I don't mind an escort. If anyone is lying in wait for me they're in for an unpleasant shock.

  "I thought you might have gone soft in the city, Thraxas. But I see you still get in plenty of trouble!"

  I draw my sword as I put my ear to my office door. Inside I can hear faint noises. Dandelion was right. Uninvited visitors. I kick the door open and charge into the room, sword raised. Viriggax and his men follow with their axes aloft, ready to meet any danger. In my time as an Investigator I've confronted assassins, dragons and the worst scum the streets have to offer, so I'm prepared for anything. Even so, I have to admit I'm surprised to find that my office is full of women, who've tidied the place up and put a nice rug on the floor. There are flowers on the windowsill and sweet-smelling incense hangs in the air. A pot of deat, a herbal drink, is brewing gently in front of the fire.

  "Thraxas," says Makri, rising from the couch. "What are you doing here? You're meant to be investigating."

  I'm speechless. I look round at the twelve or so women gathered here. The powerful Sorcerers Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, and Melus the Fair sit next to Ginixa, manager of the local public baths, and Morixa, the young baker. Two women in the robes of the senatorial class, one grey-haired and the other much younger, are perched on the arms of a chair. Next to them are a few other market workers and another woman who I think I've seen driving a wagon down by the docks. Sitting in the far corner is Hanama, Assassin.

  I regain my voice.

  "What the hell is going on here?"

  "We're having a meeting," says Makri.

  I find myself blinking in bewilderment.

  “A meeting?"

  Viriggax lowers his axe and gives me an odd look.

  "You have women's meetings in your room?"

  "No!"

  "I'm sorry about this," says Makri, to her companions. "I thought we wouldn't be disturbed."

  "It's all right," replies Lisutaris. "I'm sure Thraxas won't mind leaving us in peace for a little longer."

  I glare at the head of the Sorcerers Guild.

  "Is that so? Well, I'm not sure about that at all. Since when did my office become a meeting place for ... for ..." I struggle to find the word. "For women," I conclude, lamely. And what are you doing here anyway?"

  "Reading group."

  "Reading group? Are you telling me that Melus the Fair doesn't know how, to read?"

  "We were discussing ways of broadening the programme," says Melus. "Many women around the Stadium Superbius wish to join."

  "Then go to the stadium and recruit them," I counter.

  "We did," says Lisutaris. "But you interrupted us in Samilius's carriage."

  "I still don't see why you're all gathering in Twelve Seas. What is it about my office that's so attractive?"

  "I invited them to my room," explains Makri. "But it was too small."

  "You didn't think of that earlier?"

  "Could these people leave and let us go about our business?" says the wagon driver.

  Throughout all this I'm distracted by the amused looks on the faces of Viriggax's mercenaries, who, I can tell, are rapidly revising their opinion of Thraxas, legendary warrior. Trying to prevent my status from plummeting further, I demand that everyone leaves.

  "Really, Thraxas," drawls Lisutaris, her voice suggesting that she's well up on her intake of thazis. "Didn't you invade my house recently? Uninvited, as I recall. And don't you frequent the Stadium, as protected by my good friend Melus?"

  "You eat at my bakery every day," says Morixa.

  “And he sometimes visits Ginixa's public baths," adds Makri, helpfully. "Maybe not that often."

  "So really, you can lend us your office for a little while longer."

  "But it's my office! It's not a meeting place for—' I break off before finishing the sentence, too ashamed to pronounce the words Association of Gentlewomen' in front of Viriggax.

  "This wouldn't have happened if Makri had a bigger room," points out Iisutaris.

  "Don't you think she should have a larger living space?" says Ginixa.

  "Well, possibly, but - that's not the point! The point is—'

  "I have to work long shifts every day serving beer in a chainmail bikini and then study at college in my spare time," says Makri, pathetically. Everyone looks sympathetically at her before turning their gazes accusingly on me.

  "You make her wear a chainmail bikini?" says one of the Senator's wives, sounding quite outraged.

  "She doesn't have to wear anything!"

  There's a shocked intake of breath from the assembled harridans.

  "You would prefer her to be naked?" asks Melus, incredulously.

  "That's not what I meant—“

  "Things are worse than we feared," says the Senator's wife. "Even from a man like this I did not expect to hear such a thing."

  Viriggax, probably imagining he's making a quiet comment to his comrades, loudly informs the entire room that he does recall that 'the old dog Thraxas was always keen on the dancing girls'.

  "Paid a lot of money to that red-haired wench down in Juval. I remember the way she used to take off—'

  I interrupt him hastily.

  "Could we stick to the subject? My office has been invaded by Sorcerers, Assassins, and assorted women from hell and I'd like it back. Makri, get rid of these people. And also the rug. Why is there a new rug?"

  "I just made the place look a bit better."

  "You used my flowers," says a large young mercenary, Toraggax, Viriggax's nephew.

  "They lend a nice splash of colour," says Makri.

  Toraggax looks pleased.

  "I could bring more."

  "Everybody get out of my office!" I roar.

  "My poor Makri," says Lisutaris, and pats her on the arm. "I never fully appreciated how unpleasant your life here must be."

  Before I can fire off an angry retort there's a knock on my outside door. I march over and haul it open, expecting it to be some latecomer to the meeting who I fully intend to send away with a stinging reminder that this is a private place of work, not a gathering point for the city's female malcontents. Unfortunately I find Captain Rallee on the doorstep.

  "I need to talk to—' he begins, then halts as he catches sight of the assortment of women in my office.

  "What's going on here?"

  I'm stuck for a good reply. The Captain steps past me into my office.

  Association of Gentlewomen? Here?"

  Captain Rallee sounds very suspicious. The association is a legal body but not one that's popular with the city authorities. He turns towards Lisutaris.

  "What's this about?"

  "It does not concern you, Captain Rallee."

  "This is my beat. Everything that goes on here concerns me."

  "No," repeats Lisutaris. "It does not concern you."

  Lisutaris is using a spell. It's probably not noticeable to anyone else except Melus the Fair, but with my sor-cerous background I can sense it. Captain Rallee appears momentarily confused.

  "You're right. It doesn't concern me."

  “And you will forget all about it," says Lisutaris.

  "I'll forget all about it," repeats the Captain.

  He withdraws, closing the door behind him.

  "Well that's fantastic," I growl. "Now you've used sorcery on a Captain of the Civil Guards right here in my office. That's illegal. If the authorities hear about this they'll be d
own on me like a bad spell.

  "But they won't get to hear of it," says Lisutaris.

  "Don't try using a spell on me."

  "I wouldn't dream of it," says Lisutaris. After all, we are using your office. But we would appreciate it if you would keep this quiet, and leave us alone for a little while longer."

  "That sounds like a good idea," says Viriggax, in an unusually soft voice. He leads his men out of the room.

  "Did you use a spell on them?" I demand. "You can't just come into my office and start throwing spells around."

  "Thraxas," says Makri. "Could you just stop asking questions and get the hell out of here? I've saved your damned life enough times that you can do me one small favour."

  "One small favour? I can't move in this city without trampling over you and your friends. How many times is this going to happen?"

  "Even the northern mercenaries treat her better," says the wagon driver to Hanama. "They brought her flowers."

  "He has a very violent temper," replies Hanama. Any act of kindness would be quite beyond him."

  I find myself again confronted by twelve sets of accusing eyes. Suddenly feeling very isolated, I back towards the inner door.

  "Fine. But you haven't heard the last of this. And stay away from my klee."

  "We already drank it," says Makri, who never knows when it's a good time not to tell the truth.

  "We'll buy you another bottle," adds Melus the Fair.

  An angry rejoinder springs readily to mind. But somehow, with so many women staring at me, my spirit seems to quail. There's something unnerving about it. Maybe it's the new rug. It's very disconcerting. I withdraw with what dignity I can muster and head downstairs for the bar.

  Viriggax and his men are drinking heartily in the corner. They have no memory of the incident. Lisutaris has erased it. I march angrily to the bar, glare at Dandelion and in my roughest voice demand a beer. Dandelion, fool that she is, isn't aware that I'm angry and hands it over with a smile. Realising there's no point in trying to annoy her, I move along the bar to where Tanrose is ladling out the stew.

  "Tanrose, do I look like a man with progressive political views?"

  "No," replies Tanrose. "You don't."

  "Not the sort of man to encourage new ways of thinking in western society?"

  "Definitely not."

  "I didn't think so. So why does Makri think it's okay to bring her foul Association of Gentlewomen friends into my office? Don't they have houses of their own?"

  "It's always awkward for them to find a meeting place," saysTanrose. "The Senators don't like it, Morixa's staff at the bakery get in the way, that sort of thing."

  "You seem to know a lot about it."

  Tanrose shrugs.

  "I expect Makri's room was just the most convenient place they could find in a hurry'

  "They're not in Makri's room. They're in my office."

  "Well, Makri's room is very small," points out Tanrose. "I suppose they needed more space."

  I seem to have been in this conversation before. Realising that the city is descending into pre-war madness and there's probably nothing I can do about it except go down fighting, I take my beer to a table in front of the fire and look forward to the arrival of the Orcs. At least a man knows where he is when the dragons are swooping from the skies.

  Outside the temperature is falling. Soon the whole city will be as cold as the Ice Queen's grave. At least the grim weather will suppress the panic that's been simmering since news of the invasion broke. Come the first day of spring, there will be a long trail of fainthearted citizens leaving the city by the Western Gate, but in the mean time we're all stuck here and have to make the best of it. Making the best of it won't be easy, because there are bound to be shortages. Supplies are always scarce in winter and this year it will be far harder because the population, fearing the worst from the war, have bought up everything that can be bought and the warehouses are empty. Stockpiling supplies is standard practice in war, no matter how the authorities try to prevent it.

  Further military drill has been scheduled but I'm not certain how much of it will take place, given the bad weather. We'll have to try. At least the King had the foresight to hire a good number of mercenaries, most of them reliable troops like Viriggax. They won't go down without a fight. And then there're our Sorcerers, something with which Turai has always been well supplied. It's unfortunate that we've lost a few powerful members of the Guild in recent years - Tas of the Eastern Lightning would have been a good man to have on the battlefield, but he handed in his toga a couple of years ago - but we still have more than our share.

  Weighing things up, I'd say it's going to be a close thing. Depends on what sort of army Prince Amrag brings over. Our Sorcerers should be able to give us plenty of advance warning about its size, but until we confront it we won't know how well disciplined it is. Equally, it depends on how our allies respond. Things still look reasonably good on this front. The Human armies are gathering and the Elves will be ready to sail with the first calm weather.

  I wonder what Queen Direeva, ruler of the Southern Hills, will do. Probably remain tucked up safely in her kingdom. She's not a friend of the Orcs, but the Southern Hills is close to the Orcish Lands and she won't want to become embroiled in the war if she can avoid it. Who knows what's going to happen? We've beaten the Orcs before. I might yet survive into my forty-fourth year.

  Which brings me back to my investigation. If I do survive the war I'm gong to be plenty annoyed if Lodius is hanged for a murder he didn't commit. I stare into the fire and mull over the case, trying to find some angle I haven't yet considered. I was there when the murder happened. I'm a trained observer, or meant to be. Have I missed anything? I reconstruct events in my mind, as I've done many times over the past weeks. Try as I might, nothing new springs to mind. If there was a vital clue, it passed me by. All I can remember is the excellence of the pastries on offer. Worth attending the meeting for. A vague thought of something unconnected to pastries floats by. I can't identify it. Why was Galwinius murdered right then? Why not later, when there were fewer people around? Surely that would have been safer. Those pastries were really excellent. Although, as I recall, one of them was slightly undercooked. There's something else I should be remembering. I try and clear my mind of all thoughts of pastries. There was a scroll. Is that right? I strain to remember. Galwinius had a scroll. And after the murder was committed I didn't see any scroll. Might that be significant? Maybe he just fell on top of it, thought I don't think so. Possibly it just disappeared among the crowd in the confusion. I make a mental note to see if anyone can tell me anything about the scroll. I get to wondering about the Society of Friends. As always, when that organisation is involved in some affair I'm investigating, I'm hampered by a lack of contacts. The Society works in the north of the city and that's not my territory. I can sometimes pick up information about them in Kushni, but I've no informant who can really be relied on. I could do with learning a little more about their recent activities. Captain Rallee might have heard something. I should visit the Captain, find out what he wanted from me before Lisutaris send him away confused and forgetful.

  My magic warm cloak is in my room. I don't want to go upstairs while all those women are still there. Cursing them for making me venture out into the grim winter evening without the benefit of my cloak, I head out into Quintessence Street. The first people I bump into are Palax and Kaby, a young pair of buskers who earn their living by singing and performing acrobatics on street corners. Generally domiciled in a caravan behind the Avenging Axe, they've been out of the city for a while, plying their trade in foreign parts. They've now returned to spend the winter in Turai. A poor choice, given what's coming.

  I used to be suspicious of the young couple, primarily because of their unheard-of sartorial outrages -Palax has parts of his hair dyed green, and Kaby has piercings through her lips and eyebrow, things which would cause any normal citizen to be stoned in the streets and maybe thrown from the city
walls, but as travelling musicians, they seem to get away with it. These days I'm used to them, and greet them politely enough.

  "Just made it back in time. The roads are almost impassable. We thought we were going to get stuck."

  "You might wish you had, if you're still here in the spring."

  I notice Kaby is carrying a bundle wrapped in paper.

  "What's that?"

  "Flowers," says Kaby.

  "We brought them for Makri," says Palax.

  "We know how much she likes them."

  I bid them a stiff goodbye and depart along the frozen stretch of Quintessence Street. I'm really sick of this city. A man can't live an honest life here any more. The whole place is degenerate. If the Orcs burn the place down they'll be doing us all a favour.

  There are few people about on Quintessence Street. I realise I'm not carrying my sleep spell or any other form of sorcerous protection. I'd have to look at the written spell in my grimoire to learn it again. Which of course would mean going to my office. Another reason to curse Makri and her friends. Only a few hours ago I was attacked in the street. For all I know, another band of assailants could be on their way at this moment. I wonder who they were and who sent them. If anyone in the city is feeling nervous because of my current investigation, they must imagine I've made a lot more progress than I actually have.

  A voice from a doorway calls out my name. A ragged figure, shivering in the cold. It's Kerk. An informer of mine, or used to be. These days he's so deep in his dwa addiction he's not much use for anything, except begging.

  "I've got something for you," he says, eagerly.

  "What?"

  Kerk holds out his hand for money.

  "It's a long time since you gave me any useful information."

  Kerk is in a bad way. He's little more than skin and bones. Doesn't look like he's eaten for weeks. Whatever small amounts of money he can raise are spent on dwa.

  From the look of him I'd say he was unlikely to make it through the winter. I take out a few coins and hand them over, more from memory of service he's given me in the past than any expectation that he might know anything useful.