Thraxas - The Complete Series (126 page)

“No one likes a Simnian,” says Makri. “Direeva is never going to be impressed with a weakling like you.”

A few goblets later, Makri’s face goes a horrible shade of green and she is obliged to hurry from the room. I find her in the corridor, throwing up into a pot plant.

“Goddammit,” she gasps, still retching.

“You were never going to win a klee-drinking contest,” I say, and hunt around in my bag for a Lesada leaf to make Makri feel better. Makri takes the leaf and washes it down with my beer.

“I couldn’t think of anything else. Everything I do, Troverus does better. He knows more about art and culture than me, and he’s been everywhere and done everything, and everything he says is witty. Princess Direeva is eating out of his hand. She’s bound to vote for Ramius.”

As the leaf takes effect her colour returns to normal. I advise her to give up.

“Give up?”

“Why not? You don’t really care who Direeva votes for.”

“It’s not in my nature to give up,” says Makri, then vomits noisily into the pot plant again.

“I didn’t become champion gladiator by giving up.”

She’s sick once more. I wince. It’s a painful sight.

“Give me another leaf.”

Makri hauls herself to her feet.

“I have an excellent idea,” she says, and stumbles off in the direction of the Room of Saints. I follow on, interested to see what Makri’s new strategy might be. Possibly some learned disquisition of political theory, learned from Samanatius?

Makri weaves her way across to Direeva, knocking over several Sorcerers on the way. At the table she stands in front of Troverus, lays her hand on his rainbow cloak and yanks him to his feet.

“I’m getting really sick of you,” she says, and then punches him in the face hard enough for him to tumble unconscious to the floor. Princess Direeva looks startled.

“Don’t vote for the Simnians,” says Makri to Direeva. “I hate them. Turai is a disgusting city but Lisutaris is a good woman and she’s given you a lot of thazis.”

“And if I need military help?” says Direeva.

“Call on me,” says Makri, and slumps down beside her. “I’ll sort them out. Number one chariot at fighting.”

Irith Victorious is occupying a large couch in the corner. I take him a beer and join him in a final drinking session before his fellow Juvalians drag him off to vote. The Room of Saints empties of Sorcerers. Makri appears at my side. She’s unsteady on her feet and her speech is slurred.

“That seemed to go well,” she tells me.

In the distance, Troverus’s companions are carrying him off to vote.

“You want this couch?” says Makri.

“You can have it.”

“I don’t really need it. I’ve been practising with weapons. Stayed sober all day, more or less.”

Makri plummets to the floor. I help her on to the couch then sink into a nearby chair. Electioneering. It’s tough.

I awaken to the sensational news that Sunstorm Ramius has won the vote, with Lisutaris in second place. Both of them will now go forward to the final test. Turai has accomplished the first part of its mission. Cicerius makes a gracious speech to everyone in the Room of Saints, thanking them for their support, and indicating that though most of the credit belongs to him, others were involved in an important capacity.

Some time later Tilupasis arrives at our side.

“Congratulations to you both,” she says.

Makri wakes and vomits over the edge of the couch. She’s not the drinker I am. Tilupasis is unperturbed, and motions to an assistant to bring a cleaner.

“I’ll call a landus to take you home. As long as we can keep Lisutaris’s name clear for another day, we’re in with a chance of having a Turanian head of the Sorcerers Guild. Is the hiding spell holding up?”

“Yes.”

“How long will it last?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why not?”

“I’m too drunk to think.”

Tilupasis smiles. She smiles a lot. I doubt she ever means it but it seems to hide her insincerity, for some reason.

I help Makri to her feet and we head for the door. The Sorcerers will now carry on with their celebrations but I need a rest. As we pass through the main hall, Hansius hurries up to us.

“Trouble,” he says, and motions for us to follow. He leads us to a room at the far end of the hall I’ve not been in before, a room reserved for the senior Sorcerers. Inside the room, Old Hasius the Brilliant, Sunstorm Ramius, Lasat, Axe of Gold, and Charius the Wise are deep in conference with Cicerius. They’re talking in low voices but I catch enough to know that we’re in trouble.

“Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, killed Darius Cloud Walker.”

Cicerius protests.

“This is impossible.”

“We have seen clear pictures,” insists Ramius. “She must be apprehended immediately.”

Ramius becomes aware of our presence, and looks round. He ignores me, but when he sees Makri he recognises her immediately.

“She was in the room with Darius when he died. As was Princess Direeva. What has been happening in this city? Deputy Consul, are you going to send for the Guards or must I rouse the Council of Sorcerers to apprehend Lisutaris?”

At this moment Tilupasis strides confidently into the room.

“I have sent for Consul Kalius. He will be here shortly. Until then, this news must not be allowed to spread.”

“And why not?” demands Lasat.

“It may prejudice Lisutaris’s chances in the final test.”

“The final test? Lisutaris will not be entering any final test. As Senior Sorcerer I am disqualifying her immediately.”

If Tilupasis has a reply to this, she saves it for now, but she motions for Hansius to shut the door.

“Consul Kalius will take care of the matter.”

Lasat, Axe of Gold, reluctantly agrees to await the arrival of Turai’s highest official, but I can’t see it doing anything but buying us a few minutes’ grace. Axe of Gold is not the sort of person to be pushed around by city officials. As Senior Sorcerer of the Guild, and one of the most powerful people in the west, he’s not about to take orders from Tilupasis or Cicerius. He’d bring down the city wall before buckling under to a mere government official.

Beside me Makri still looks unwell. I wonder if she might be sick again. On one memorable occasion she threw up over the Crown Prince’s sandals. Taking aim at the Consul’s feet would certainly lighten things up. Vomiting over Lasat, Axe of Gold, would be even more sensational.

The noise of celebrating Sorcerers drifts into the room, but we wait, quiet and grim, for Kalius to arrive.

C
onsul Kalius is the city’s highest official. Praetor Samilius is head of the Civil Guard. Old Hasius the Brilliant is Chief Investigating Sorcerer at the Abode of Justice. Rittius is in charge of Palace Security and Orius Fire Tamer is his Senior Investigating Sorcerer. Along with Lasat, Axe of Gold, Charius the Wise and Sunstorm Ramius, it makes for an impressive gathering. I don’t like the way they’re all looking at me.

“I firmly believe Lisutaris to be innocent.”

“We would like to believe you,” says Kalius.

“But we don’t,” adds Ramius.

“What grounds do you have for thinking her to be innocent?”

Consul Kalius looks at me hopefully. I’ve got most of Turai’s officialdom on my side. A rare occurrence. Unfortunately, it comes at a time when I’m faced with an almost impossible task. Now that Old Hasius the Brilliant and Lasat, Axe of Gold, have pierced the hiding spell, the pictures are very clear, and they never change. Lisutaris stabs Darius, every time. Praetor Samilius has enquired repeatedly of the Sorcerers if there could be trickery involved, but they’re adamant there could not be.

“No one possesses such power.”

“I told you, I discovered a spell that could do it.”

“You discovered it?” Ramius is cynical. But Sorcerers never like to admit there might be spells they don’t know.

“A spell to project false events into the past? It can’t be done.”

“Well, not exactly project spells into the past. But a spell for erasing past events.”

Once more, I’ve had to explain my theory of a spell of erasement and a spell of making. To the non-Sorcerers present it’s confusing, and to the Sorcerers it’s unbelievable.

“I have checked repeatedly,” insists Old Hasius. “And I firmly believe these to be the real events. Were it not so, I would have located the true reality.”

“Not if it was erased.”

“Even if such an erasement spell was used successfully, how was the new reality created?”

“I don’t know. But anyone who’s good enough to do the first part might pull off the second. We can’t be sure that Lisutaris did the murder.”

I look round at the doubtful faces. The Turanian officials are desperate for Lisutaris to be innocent. Even against their better judgment they’d be willing to believe me, but I’m not making any impression on Lasat or Ramius. They’re insisting that Lisutaris be arrested.

It’s a bitter blow. Cicerius, the most patriotic of Turanians, has hardly said a word. He’s sitting in the corner looking as miserable as a Niojan whore, though that’s not an expression I’d use to him right now, as Nioj is a sore point. Almalas came third in the ballot. If Lisutaris is disqualified, he’ll go into the final contest in her place. Not only will Turai suffer the monumental disgrace of having our candidate arrested for murder, we’ll face the prospect of a hostile new head of the Sorcerers Guild. Niojan or Simnian, neither one is going to rush to the aid of Turai.

“I feel you are not telling us everything,” says Samilius. The Praetor was appointed to the post of head of the Civil Guard as a political reward and is not an experienced Investigator, but he’s shrewd enough. He suspects I’ve been involved in all this more than I’m saying. So far no one realises that the murder took place in my rooms at the Avenging Axe, and I’m not about to enlighten them.

“I know no more than you. But I’ve been keeping close to Lisutaris since the Assemblage started and I’m sure she did not commit the crime. She had no reason to.”

“We saw her do it! In the presence of Princess Direeva and the other woman.”

“Both women of Orcish blood,” notes Sunstorm Ramius. “I insist that you inform the King and arrest Lisutaris.”

He looks to Lasat, Golden Axe. The Senior Sorcerer nods his head.

“I agree.”

“We must at least wait till we hear what Lisutaris has to say,” says Cicerius.

“Where is she?”

“I believe she usually meditates at this time. My assistant is looking for her now.”

At this moment Lisutaris arrives, accompanied by Hansius. Despite the gravity of the situation, the Mistress of the Sky remains calm. This might be due to thazis, but maybe not. Back in the war, she never panicked under pressure. Before she can be questioned, Consul Kalius orders that those not directly involved be removed from the room. This seems to mean me, Makri and Tilupasis.

“Take them to a secure place and do not let them speak to anyone,” commands Kalius. We’re led away by a sergeant of the Guard, through the main hall and along a short corridor to another room.

I don’t know if this performance fools anyone else, but it’s obvious to me that the procedure has been worked out by Tilupasis and Kalius to give us some freedom to act. So it proves. Once secure in a private room, Tilupasis starts issuing orders.

“Makri. Go back and wait for Lisutaris. If they take her anywhere, follow them and make sure she’s safe.”

Makri nods, aware that it’s time to be performing her bodyguard duties. Now that there’s action afoot, Makri has ceased to look ill. She departs. Tilupasis dismisses the sergeant.

“Did you get it?” she enquires briskly.

“You know a good Sorcerer can eavesdrop on a conversation,” I point out.

“Not here. We had this room lined with Red Elvish Cloth precisely for an occasion like this.”

Red Elvish Cloth forms a barrier to magic. No Sorcerer can pry through it. It’s fabulously expensive, and lining the room with it must have cost a fortune. If Lisutaris ever gets elected, the citizens of Turai will be paying for it for a long time.

I nod, and hand over a thick document. Tilupasis glances at it, and seems satisfied. The document contains confidential details of an agreement between Lasat, Axe of Gold, and one wealthy Juvalian merchant named Berisat who’s been defrauding the King of Samsarina for the past three years by providing the royal mint with slightly impure gold. It’s Lasat’s job to test the purity of the metal used for Samsarina’s coinage, and he’s been illicitly letting the substandard gold through, and taking a healthy share of the profits. Getting my hands on the details cost me a great deal of effort, and Tilupasis a great deal of money.

“Is everything here?”

“I believe so.”

I pumped Irith Victorious for information when he was drunk. I passed the information on to a thief, who stealthily robbed the Juvalian delegation while they slept in their stupor. A successful operation, though what Samanatius the philosopher would say about the ethics of arranging for my own friends to be robbed, I don’t like to think. I know what Gurd would say. He’d be disgusted.

“This should be sufficient to make Lasat, Golden Axe, cooperate,” says Tilupasis.