Thraxas Page 14

  "She rode off. Was it the Cloth?" he asks.

  "No. Something else. But related to your case," I add, just in case he thinks I'm not working hard enough for him. I curse. Everything has gone wrong. Now Sarin the Merciless has the dwa and the letter. It's just as well the Elves appeared before she used my sleeping figure for target practice. I wonder why the Elves did happen along, and ask them.

  "We were looking for you," explains Callis. "Gurd at the Avenging Axe told us that you had gone to confront Horm the Dead and we wished to help. Even in the Elvish Lands Horm has an evil reputation.

  Makri wakes suddenly and leaps to her feet with a savage snarl and a sword in each hand. She looks round in confusion, wondering where the enemy is. When the realisation of what happened sinks in she is angrier than I've ever seen her. The Elves watch in bemusement as she berates me at length at my utter stupidity in misdirecting my sleep spell, sending her instead of Sarin crashing to the ground.

  I can think of little to say in my defence and am forced to listen to her rage about my drunkenness, incompetence and general stupidity, after which she proceeds to fume about the disgrace to her fighting honour.

  "I met sub-Human Trolls in the gladiator pits who were smarter than you! Number one chariot, are you? Sarin would have stuck you full of holes if the Elves hadn't rescued you. You're about as much use as a one-legged gladiator. You made me fall asleep in front of an opponent!" she yells. "I'll never live it down. That's it, I'm finished. Next time you want some help, don't bother asking, I'm busy."

  And with that she leaps on her horse and gallops off without even acknowledging the Elves' presence. They look at me wonderingly.

  "A very volatile character," I say, waving my hands in vague explanation. "Takes defeat too personally."

  I ride back to Turai with the Elves. They are puzzled that a fine sorcerous Investigator like myself could actually misdirect a spell, thereby putting his companion to sleep, but after I explain about Sarin's own con-siderable sorcerous powers, and the spells she was throwing at me right and left, I don't think their confidence in me is shaken too badly.

  Next morning I wake with the mother of all hangovers, the Brotherhood beating on my door, and the city in violent uproar. Once again it is a poor start to the day.

  "Money's due tomorrow," says Karlox.

  "Fine," I grunt, avoiding some flying debris. "It'll be there. Which is more than you'll be if the Society of Friends keeps picking you off."

  Karlox snarls. He doesn't like that. "We got their measure. And we got yours. You don't pay up tomorrow, you better make sure you've been saying your prayers."

  I slam the door on him.

  I don't say my prayers but it doesn't prevent young Pontifex Derlex from visiting me right after the riot calms down. The sun is beating down more ferociously than ever, making him sweat inside his black religious robe, but he declines my offer of a beer. The Pontifex is doing the rounds in his constituency, checking up on people after the riot. Makri pushes her head through the outside doorway and is about to say something when she notices the Pontifex and clams up. She departs. I notice Derlex's deep frown.

  "Loosen up, Derlex. No need to look like your soul's in torment every time you catch sight of Makri."

  He apologises, rather stiffly, but admits that Makri does make him very uncomfortable. "The Orcish blood, you know."

  "She's got Human blood as well. Elf too. Probably a very interesting soul. You should try and convert her."

  He looks uncomfortable again. "I don't think I am allowed to try. It's blasphemous to preach the True Religion to an Orc . . . even one quarter Orc might involve me in some heresy . . ."

  I laugh at the thought, and tell him not to worry. Makri is not in line for any sudden conversion. After a little talk about this and that, he goes on his way.

  I wander out into the corridor. A thought strikes me suddenly. Makri appears, heading downstairs for her first shift of the day. I ask her what she wanted earlier.

  "To tell you never to speak to me again. Or communicate in any way. From now on, Thraxas, you don't exist."

  "Makri—"

  She walks stiffly past, tossing her head so that her long hair swings around her shoulders. Obviously she has not yet forgiven me for yesterday's escapade.

  "It could have happened to anyone!" I yell at her departing form. Now I'm distracted. What was I thinking about? The True Church. Something about it is nagging me.

  Downstairs I sit over a beer and a plate of stew and think things over. Why did Derlex visit me? Plenty of other people in riot-torn Twelve Seas must need his help more than me. Now I think about it, Derlex never stops visiting me these days. I never used to see him from one year to the next. What made the Church so interested in my welfare all of a sudden?

  Thinking about the Church nudges my memory along and I realise what it is that's been bugging me. Pazaz. The Orc dragonkeeper. He said that no one spoke to him, apart from Bishop Gzekius. According to Pazaz, Gzekius tried to convert him.

  "But that's impossible," I say, out loud to no one. "Derlex just told me it was blasphemous to preach the True Religion to an Orc. The Bishop couldn't have been trying to convert him. He's not going to lay himself open to a heresy charge just for one dragonkeeper. The other Bishops would be down on him like a bad spell."

  I stand up, banging my fist on the table. Makri looks at me very coolly.

  "That's it! That's why Derlex has been round here all the time. He's spying on me for the Bishop. And the Bishop is after the Cloth! The Church is behind it all! The Royal Family was attending some special religious service when the dragon was cut open. Which means that the Church would know exactly when the zoo was going to be empty. And the Bishop was talking to the dragonkeeper before that. He wasn't trying to convert him. He was pumping him for information! Just like Derlex has been round here pumping me for information! Derlex was at the Palace that day; he rode home with us in the landus. He probably had the Cloth on him then, passed to him by some other Churchman. And now I think about it, when I returned to Attilan's house to retrieve the spell there was another young Pontifex passing by. He could have stolen the spell, just before I came looking for it."

  Makri raises her eyebrows. Sweat is running down her body, making her muscles glisten. She's been listening, but still refuses to acknowledge me.

  I wonder why the Church would want the Elvish Cloth. There could be any number of reasons. Maybe just to sell it. Or perhaps the Bishop needs to do some secret planning without getting spied on by the other Bishops. Gzekius is an ambitious man, it's about time he made a try for the Archbishopric. It seems to fit together well enough. And if I'm right, then the Red Elvish Cloth should be somewhere in the Church's possession right now.

  "It might even be in Derlex's church. And if it is, I'm going to find it! Are you free tonight?"

  Makri glowers at me. "No. I'm studying. You're on your own."

  She grabs a tablecloth, savagely wipes a few tables, then stalks off through the back to bring in a box of tankards. Tanrose appears carrying a large chunk of beef for the lunchtime stew. I buy a pastry and tell her about Makri being mad at me. Tanrose already knows all about it.

  "She's angrier than a Troll with a toothache," says Tanrose. "But she'll get over it."

  "I need her help tonight. Any suggestions for helping her get over it quickly?"

  "Bring her some flowers," says the cook.

  The suggestion is so strange that at first I fail to grasp what she means. "Flowers? What for?"

  "To say sorry of course."

  "Say sorry with flowers? To Makri? You mean go out and buy some flowers and give them to Makri as a present? As a way of saying sorry? Flowers?"

  "That's right."

  "Are we talking about the same Makri here? Makri the axe woman?"

  "Just because a woman wields an axe doesn't mean she wouldn't appreciate a bunch of flowers."

  "She'd probably attack me with them."

  "You'd be surprised," sa
ys Tanrose, and gets on with hacking up the lump of beef.

  Tanrose must be losing her mind. Flowers for Makri, indeed! The idea makes my head hurt. Right then Praetor Cicerius walks in, accompanied by the Consul himself. Well, well. I certainly get a higher class of visitor these days.

  Cicerius tersely relates that the city is fast degenerating into chaos. The fighting between the Brotherhood and the Society of Friends has reached new heights and the Civil Guard is losing control.

  "I've advised the King to suspend the constitution," says Consul Kalius, "and send in the Army."

  I imagine the King will be hesitant to do this. The Populares might come out in open revolution. Various generals are suspected of being supporters of Senator Lodius, and there's no knowing how obedient the Army would be.

  "We're facing complete anarchy," complains Cicerius. "The Traditionals must retain power if the city is to survive. Did you get the letter?"

  I admit that I didn't. This doesn't go down too well. I relate the events of the previous day, more or less. I don't explain exactly how Sarin the Merciless ended up with the dwa and the letter. Cicerius and Kalius are aghast and berate me for my failure. The Consul openly implies that I'm fabricating the whole story about the dragon in the Fairy Glade just to make my failure look better, and wonders out loud if I might not have sold the dwa for myself.

  I haven't had enough sleep. I never get enough sleep. It's hot as Orcish hell in here. My head is pounding. I can't take much more of this. I point to the door and order them to leave. The Consul is shocked. As Turai's most powerful administrator, he's not used to being shown the door.

  "How dare you!" he rages.

  "Why not? I'm a free man. I don't have to listen to anyone calling me a liar, even the Consul. Especially when I've got a headache. I did my best. If that best isn't good enough, then tough. Now leave."

  Cicerius waves this away. "This is no time for squabbling," he states. "If the Society of Friends obtains—"

  I wave him quiet. I'm in no mood for speeches. "I know. Prince disgraced, your son disgraced. Traditionals disgraced, you lose election, Populares win, Lodius marches to power. That's the scenario according to you. I've heard it before. What do you expect me to do?"

  "Find the letter," says the Praetor.

  "I already failed."

  "Then you must try again. Don't forget, my son Cerius is your client. The letter will send him to prison."

  I frown. I hate the way Cicerius keeps pulling the "can't desert a client" routine. I wish I'd never heard of the damn client. It's too hot to think clearly. What will Sarin the Merciless do with the damning letter of credit? She won't have any interest in using it for political means but she'll certainly know how valuable it is to the King's opponents. The Populares are the obvious people to sell it to, and easy for her to reach, because Senator Lodius is supported by the Society of Friends, and Sarin's associate Glixius is himself associated with the Society. I don't even know if they are still working together. It seems like Sarin might have gone off on her own. Double-crossing your associates is standard behaviour in the Turanian underworld.

  "We still might be able to buy it back, but it would cost you plenty to outbid the Society. Be better if we could just steal it. Haven't your Sorcerers been able to locate her? She's carrying six bags of dwa. Someone should be able to pick up the aura."

  "Tas of the Eastern Lightning has scanned the city without finding anything."

  Tas of the Eastern Lightning has taken over from the murdered Mirius Eagle Rider as the Chief Sorcerer at Palace Security. He's powerful enough. If he can't find it by magic, probably no one can.

  The call for morning prayers resonates through the city. The Consul and the Praetor are less than pleased to be obliged to kneel and pray in a tavern, but there's no getting out of it. I find myself kneeling in prayer beside a blue-edged toga and a gold-edged one. I notice my own tunic is frayed. I wonder if my prayers will have some extra effect, seeing as they're being offered up in such high-powered company. Afterwards we discuss things for a while and I agree to do my utmost to locate Sarin. They depart, still brushing the dust from their knees.

  Makri reappears and starts cleaning the debris off the floor. I appeal to her better nature and tell her I could really do with some help tonight. She refuses to talk, and practically sweeps me up with the rubbish. I catch Tanrose looking at me from behind a vast cauldron of beef stew.

  "To hell with this," I grunt, and storm out the front entrance. Baxos the flower seller has plied his trade on the corner of Quintessence Street for thirty years. I estimate it is twenty years at least since I availed myself of his services. He practically falls over in surprise when I march up and demand a bunch of flowers.

  "Hey Rox," he calls over to a fish vendor on the other side of the road. "Thraxas is buying some flowers."

  "Got a lady friend, has he?" yells back Rox, loud enough for the entire street to hear.

  "Time you were courting again, Thraxas!" screams Birix, one of Twelve Seas' busier prostitutes. The cry is taken up enthusiastically by her companions.

  I grab a bunch of flowers, toss some pennies at Rox and march off hastily, pursued by a great deal of ribald witticisms. I am in the foulest of tempers and will have more than a few harsh words to say to that idiot Tanrose.

  Back at the Avenging Axe I practically crash into Makri and her mop. I thrust the flowers into her hand, figuring it's best to get it over with quickly.

  "I'm sorry I put you to sleep in front of an opponent," I say. "Here are some flowers."

  Makri gawps in amazement while I march swiftly onwards to the bar for a much needed flagon of ale.

  Almost immediately I am tapped on the shoulder. It's Makri, who then proceeds to do a number of strange things. First she embraces me, then she burst into tears, and runs out of the room.

  I'm bewildered. "What's happening?"

  "The apology worked," replies Tanrose, in a satisfied manner.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Of course I'm sure."

  "It all seems very strange to me, Tanrose."

  "I wasn't surprised your marriage broke up, Thraxas," says Tanrose, as she shovels some stew on to a plate for me.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I spend the afternoon drinking a few beers, thinking things over, and swapping tales with a mercenary from the far north. He passed through Nioj on his way to Turai and from his account it sounds as if the Niojans are preparing for war.

  "They say they heard some rumours that some Orcs were marauding on the borders."

  It could be true. Or it could be a story put about to deceive our King into thinking they weren't about to attack us. It's bound to happen some time, and they still have the excuse of their murdered diplomat. Cities have fallen on flimsier excuses than that.

  Could the Church have murdered him? Would Bishop Gzekius go that far? Maybe. I have no other candidates in mind.

  Makri returns from her lunchtime logic class. She does appear to have been pacified by the flowers. Apparently no one ever gave her flowers before. Smart idea from Tanrose, I must admit, though Makri is embarrassed at bursting into tears and instructs myself and Tanrose never to mention it to anyone.

  Makri reports that things are pretty grim outside. She had to fight her way through three street brawls on the way to the Guild College.

  "I have a lecture in mathematics this afternoon," she says. "I'd better sharpen my axe before I go. Incidentally, Sarin the Merciless didn't seem quite so useless as you made her out to be."

  "She got lucky. She's learned how to use a crossbow. Big deal. Just wait till I meet her again. I suppose I will, now the Consul wants me to find her. But it's going to have to wait because I'm going looking for the Red Elvish Cloth. Which is just as well maybe, because I've no idea where Sarin is. If Tas of the Eastern Lightning can't find her, how do they expect me to? I wonder if Rittius is really planning to take away my licence. Cicerius might just be saying that to scare me. You know it's rumoured Rittius
is going to introduce a bill banning the Association of Gentlewomen?"

  Makri nods. She attended an A.G. meeting last night and as a consequence has now gathered further knowledge of Turanian politics.

  "It's confusing," she admits. "Some powerful women in the city are already campaigning behind the scenes against Rittius because he's against the Association. But a lot of the Association of Gentlewomen still support the Populares because they'd like to see some reform. The meeting ended with everyone arguing."

  "I'm not surprised. No one in Turai can ever agree about politics. I'd like to take a holiday till it's all over."

  "Where?"

  "Anywhere I'm not wanted by the law. Which does limit the choice, now I think about it. I've violated statutes in every neighbouring state. Maybe I could travel to the furthest west and see what Kamara is like."