Thraxas Read online

  "Who was that?" I ask, while accepting a draw on a thazis stick Kaby offers me. The mild narcotic is still technically illegal in Turai but since dwa swept the city the authorities don't bother much about it.

  "That was Strongman Brex. We used to work with him in the circus, down in Juval. We played music while he smashed rocks with his bare hands. Sometimes he'd come busking with us. He'd hold us up in the air, one on each palm, while we played. We earned a lot of money like that."

  "What's he doing in Turai? Is the circus in town?"

  Palax shakes his head. Strongman Brex has apparently left the circus. He'd had enough of the life and came to Turai looking for proper employment.

  "He's already got a job. Pity, he won't be able to busk with us."

  "What's he doing?" I ask, passing the thazis back to Kaby.

  "He got a job at the Palace. Working for Princess Du-Akai."

  I blink. "Princess Du-Akai? What's she want with a strongman?"

  "Don't know. But Brex likes it. He gets well paid and he doesn't have to smash rocks with his hands any more."

  I leave them to their busking. People round here don't have much money to spare, and if they try playing up in the better areas of town the Guards chase them away.

  Why would the Princess want a strongman? I wonder, as I haul myself up the outside stairs towards my office. Bodyguard? Can't be—Palace Security provides her with bodyguards. Maybe it's only temporary employment. Maybe she just needs someone strong enough to cut open a dragon.

  I reach the top of the steps. I open the door and gape stupidly at my room. It appears to have been torn apart by a whirlwind. Papers, broken glass and smashed furniture lie strewn in an incredible jumble across the floor. The last of my precious kuriya is seeping through the floorboards. I groan, and rescue what I can. I do more than groan when I see my only bottle of klee lying smashed beneath a chair. I was saving that.

  "Goddamn those Brotherhood pigs!" I roar, unsheathing my sword.

  The noise attracts Makri. "What's happening?" she says, finding me about to march outside, sword in hand.

  "That stinking Brotherhood is trying to put the frighteners on me!" I yell. "Well, I'm not having it!"

  Madder than a mad dragon, I storm back down the outside stairs. Makri, perhaps feeling that a single-handed assault on Brotherhood headquarters is a little ambitious, grabs her swords and hurtles down the steps behind me.

  I am practically blinded by fury. Gambling debt or no gambling debt, no one comes into my room and smashes my last bottle of klee. I don't have far to go to vent my wrath. There, coming round the corner, is Karlox and his gang, eight of them. They appear surprised as I confront them and start hurling abuse.

  "Try threatening me again and you die, Karlox! Who do you think you're dealing with here?"

  Karlox grunts angrily. He's a man of few words, too dumb to know many. He draws his own sword and the Brotherhood men fan out. I am ready to fight. Makri stands at my side. A landus wheels round into the street, kicking up a spray of dust and scattering the beggars. A head appears from the curtained window. It's Yubaxas, local Brotherhood boss. He demands to know what's going on. I inform him that I'm about to administer some punishment to his thugs in retribution for wrecking my room.

  Yubaxas actually smiles, something he rarely does. It doesn't suit him. "We didn't wreck your rooms, Thraxas. Not worth the effort. You know the position already. You have three days to pay up, then we wreck you."

  He motions to Karlox and his cronies. "Get up to Kushni quick. We're needed."

  The landus departs. The Brotherhood thugs trot after it. I'm left standing alone in the street, deflated.

  "So, who did wreck your rooms?" asks Makri.

  I shrug. I suppose Yubaxas could have been lying, but I can't see why. I don't imagine he was terrified at the sight of me.

  Makri kicks a stone. Trudging back to the Avenging Axe, she is disconsolate. "I was looking forward to a fight," she says.

  "Well, if I don't come up with the money in three days there'll be plenty of fighting to do."

  Makri looks happier. I feel some relief that Makri, despite her weird predilection for studying philosophy, is a keen enough fighter and a good enough friend to automatically support me in a crisis, even though it's not her affair.

  I begin the weary task of putting my rooms in order. I've got no idea who wrecked them, or why. I'm in a terrible mood.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Gurd stumbles into the bar from the street outside clutching the remains of a box of tankards.

  "There's a riot outside," he says, as he starts to barricade the door.

  A riot. I see the elections are under way. It's always a difficult time in Turai. With the success of the Populares, or anti-monarchy party, things are getting more tense all the time. When Rittius won the position of Deputy Consul last year it was a sensational victory for the Populares, led by Senator Lodius. The Traditionals, covering the Royal Family, Consul Kalius and most of the Senate, regarded it as the end of civilisation. Civilisation is still here, but if Rittius holds on to his post this year, it might not be soon enough. The Royal Family can no longer sweep aside all opposition, but neither are they weak enough to be easily overthrown. Praetor Cicerius is standing for them against Rittius, trying to regain some of the lost ground for the Traditionals. He's an honest man though not particularly popular. Still, he has a chance of victory. Since he was elevated from Senator to Praetor, many people think he's done a good job, and he has the reputation of not taking bribes, which is almost unheard of in this city. People might support him in his bid for the higher post of Deputy Consul.

  I muse on things, while the riot rages. Who killed Attilan? Trying to pin down some sort of lead, I decide to work backwards. Where, for instance, did a Niojan diplomat get an Orcish spell for putting a dragon to sleep? Not the sort of thing you can buy at the local apothecary. Could Attilan have obtained it from one of the Orcish Ambassadors at the Palace? Possibly. But if their Ambassadors are anything like our diplomats, they won't be magicians. Diplomats are always drawn from the oldest, most respectable families and they tend not to practise magic, regarding it as beneath them. Orcs have their class divisions and snobberies, just like us. Also, unless utterly treacherous to their country, they would not let such a vital spell fall into western hands. I doubt Orcish diplomats are capable of such treason.

  Who else in Turai might have such a spell? There's always the dragonkeeper. Now there's an Orc who might well have such a spell, and could be bribable. Many Orcs are greedy for gold, another attribute they share with Humans. Sometimes I swear if they weren't so ugly I wouldn't be able to tell the difference. I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. I'm no oil painting myself.

  I'd like to ask Pazaz a few questions. My Orcish is very rusty so I recruit Makri, who is a rather unwilling accomplice. She's still in a bad mood and it got worse when she was caught in the riot and had to kick her way through to her afternoon ethics class. The prospect of visiting an Orc appals her. Her hatred for Orcs is such that she protests she may not be able to prevent herself from attacking the dragonkeeper on sight. I extract a promise that she will not kill him without provocation but she flatly refuses to leave her swords at home.

  "Talk to an Orc without a sword at the ready? Are you mad?"

  "He's here under diplomatic protection, Makri."

  "Well, he'll need it if he tries anything with me," retorts my young and hot-headed companion, fastening on her blade.

  I absolutely refuse to let her bring her axe.

  "We're visiting the Palace, for God's sake, Makri, not going into battle. And take that knife out of your boot. It'll be hard enough getting you into the Palace grounds without you looking like an invading army."

  The Orcish diplomats are housed in an Embassy within the Palace walls. They never appear in public for fear of causing unrest. We all hate Orcs here. Fair enough. They all hate us. The dragonkeeper is billeted in a small house in the g
rounds of the zoo, which are open to the public during the day. It's forbidden to speak to him, but I figure it's worth a try.

  Makri is afforded some very strange looks by Guards and officials at the huge Lion Gates that open into the Palace grounds, and when it's learned that we're going to visit the King's zoo there are some unpleasant comments from some of the soldiers on duty.

  "Must be missing her dragons," says one.

  "Orc," sneers another.

  Makri scowls but manages to restrain her temper until they require her to hand in her sword. They don't insist on me turning in my weapon, and Makri is livid about the prejudice against her. I pacify her the best I can, which is hardly at all, and we enter the Palace grounds with Makri angrier than a wounded dragon and threatening terrible vengeance on the next person to insult her.

  The King's Palace in Turai is one of the wonders of the world. Many larger states than us have far less impressive imperial buildings. Since money started flowing in from the gold mines a few generations back, various Kings and Princes have turned their hands to building an ever more splendid residence for themselves.

  Behind the huge Lion Gates, six times the height of a man, is a fabulous den of luxury. The gardens alone are famous throughout the Human Lands, with towering arbours, vast lawns, avenues of trees, banks and beds of flowers, all fed by streams and fountains that were engineered by Afetha-ar-Kyet, the great Elvish garden-maker of a few generations back. The Palace itself is a vast edifice of white marble and silver minarets. The courtyards are paved with pale green and yellow tiles imported from the far west and each wing is roofed with golden slates. The corridors and state rooms are covered with mosaics of gold leaf and coloured stone, and the private quarters were decorated by artists and furnishers drawn from all over the world.

  I used to work here. When I was a Senior Investigator for Palace Security I had the run of the place. Now I'm about as welcome as the plague.

  The grounds are vast and it takes us some time to reach the zoo. It's hot, and I'm tired. I don't much feel in the mood for seeing Orcs or dragons. I point out a few of the architectural glories which surround us to Makri, but she's in too bad a mood to admire them, even though architecture would be part of the University course. Her bad mood intensifies deeply when the call for Sabam rings out from a nearby tower and we are obliged to kneel and pray. I have to practically wrestle her to the ground. If we failed to make our prayers right here in the public grounds of the Palace we'd be up on an impiety charge so quick our feet wouldn't touch the ground.

  I have trouble staying awake in the heat and doze off during the prayers. Makri unceremoniously boots me awake. I ignore her coarse witticism on my religious shortcomings and haul myself to my feet. The zoo is now in sight but as we approach its white walls a fearful commotion erupts and Guards and civilian officials start pouring this way and that. We hurry on and reach the zoo but the entrance is barred to all the people flock- ing round from every direction. I recognise various important Palace officials, including Kalius the Consul. The Niojan Ambassador arrives in a sedan, followed by another sedan with thick curtains and an odd, alien crest on the side. The Orcish Ambassadors. One of the Royal Princes hurries past with his bodyguard. What on earth is going on?

  Behind the Prince comes, of all people, Pontifex Derlex. I grab the priest's arm and demand to know what's happening.

  "The new dragon's been killed!" he yells. "It was cut open during prayers! Princess Du-Akai's been arrested!"

  Chapter Fifteen

  I have no opportunity for further enquiries as Makri, myself and everyone else are summarily evicted from the grounds. We share a landus home with Pontifex Derlex, who is so excited by the whole affair he doesn't seem to mind travelling with Makri, the demon from hell. It's a lot for him to be excited about, I suppose. Derlex is a fairly lowly local priest. He'd never normally be found at the Palace but he had been invited there as the guest of Bishop Gzekius, who was presiding at some religious ceremony for the Royal Family.

  The sensational story soon spreads all over Turai. People gather on street corners and bars to speculate over the affair and study the latest reports in the special editions of the news-sheets. It's one of the most serious scandals anyone can remember, and it is bound to have great repercussions. Senator Lodius is already fulminating against corruption in the Royal Family. The Populare candidates in the forthcoming elections are fighting to outdo each other in condemning the decadence and graft that they say is gripping the city. Personally I take little interest in politics, and any enthusiasm I might have for reform is tempered by the fact that Senator Lodius is in reality a nakedly ambitious power-seeker ready to use any means to attain his ends. Deputy Consul Rittius belongs to his party, which suggests how bad it is.

  None of this matters to me right now. What does matter is the sensational events at the King's zoo. The dragon had its belly slit open, not the easiest of things to accomplish, given that a dragon's skin is like armour. Arrested at the scene along with the Princess was Strongman Brex, with an axe over his shoulder. When the Princess was found to be carrying a large quantity of dwa it was presumed that she had somehow drugged the beast before Brex hacked it open. As far as I can learn, no one knows why they did it.

  Naturally the Orcs are furious. The King is furious. The population is in uproar. And when you consider that the Niojan Ambassador is still threatening war if the murderer of Attilan is not brought to justice, it might be a good time for the faint-hearted to vacate the city. Senator Lodius is going to exploit this to the utmost, which means the elections will be more violent than usual. We're in for a tough time this summer, unless the Niojans just invade and get it over with.

  Makri is hurrying her meal before rushing out to tonight's class. Principles of geometry, I think. She's wrapped in the all-over cloak she's obliged to wear at the Institute to prevent her from panicking the young scholars.

  "What are you going to do?" she asks me.

  "See if I can find out where the Princess has hidden the Cloth. It hasn't come to light yet, and no one else seems to realise that it was hidden inside the dragon. I might still be able to recover it for the Elves."

  "Aren't you going to help the Princess?"

  "Of course not. She isn't paying me, and I don't owe her any favours." Sometimes Makri just doesn't understand the commercial nature of my business. I don't help people for fun. I do it for money. Anyway, the Princess may well be beyond help. If she's foolish enough to be caught slaying the King's dragon, that's her problem.

  Of course, if I keep on looking for the Cloth it might be harder to convince those murderous people who think I already have it to leave me alone. But that's my problem.

  This evening, life in the Avenging Axe is in full swing. Mercenaries, dockers, labourers, pilgrims, sailors, local vendors and shop workers drink heartily, washing away their troubles. Young Palax and Kaby arrive and get out their mandolins, flutes and lyres and start entertaining the crowd with some raucous drinking songs, stomping traditional folk dances and a few maudlin ballads for the tavern's lonely hearts. They're good musicians and popular with the crowd, which is just as well really, or they might suffer more than the friendly abuse they already get for that brightly dyed hair and those colourful clothes and pierced ears and noses. Gurd pays them with free drinks. Quite a good scam really. Makes me wish I played an instrument.

  Despite all the jollity Gurd is looking as miserable as a Niojan whore and fails to respond when I clap him on the back and ask him if he remembers the time we faced fourteen half-Orcs in the Simlan Desert with only one knife between us and still came out on top. He looks at me gloomily then asks if I'll come and see him tomorrow.

  I nod, though it's not something I'm looking forward to. The talk I imagine will be about the cook, Tanrose, with whom Gurd thinks he may be in love. As an old bachelor who's spent most of his life wandering the earth as a mercenary, Gurd finds this very confusing. He can't make his mind up what to do, not wishing to offer her his hand
in marriage and then find out that what he thought was love turns out later to be merely an infatuation with her excellent venison pies. He frequently asks my advice on the matter, even though I've pointed out that I have a poor record in affairs of the heart. Still, lending him a sympathetic ear is always a good thing. Makes him more tolerant when I'm late with the rent.

  People laugh, dance, gamble, swap stories and talk about the day's scandalous affair. By the light of the oil lanterns Palax and Kaby work up a furious rhythm which has the whole tavern either dancing or stamping their feet. I bang my tankard on the table in time to the beat, and shout for more beer. All in all, it's a fine night in the Avenging Axe; more fun with the poor of Twelve Seas than I ever had with the aristocrats at Palace social functions. I end up hideously drunk, which would be fine but, just as Gurd and Makri are carrying me upstairs, Praetor Cicerius arrives. He is Turai's most famed Advocate and a man of great influence in the city. He informs me that I have to come up to the Palace and interview Princess Du-Akai right away.