Thraxas - The Complete Series (158 page)

Indoors the staff are directing guests through the hallways into the gardens, not allowing anyone to climb the stairs to the Sorcerer’s private apartments. I wait for a quiet moment before slipping a few gurans to a boy in a smart red tunic.

“Private business,” I say. “Look the other way.”

He looks the other way and I hurry up the staircase. I’m familiar with this house and know that if Lisutaris has not yet made her entrance she’ll be in the suite of rooms at the far end, doing her hair, or smoking thazis. Makri appears in the corridor, striding along confidently in her dark Orcish armour.

“Makri—”

She walks past, completely ignoring me.

“To hell with you,” I call after her. She must still be upset that I’ve gatecrashed the ball. I find Lisutaris’s main salon and dive through the door.

“Lisutaris, we have big problems.”

Lisutaris is sitting in front of a mirror, with a stylist beside her doing her hair. Consul Kalius is sitting nearby on a couch. He’s dressed as a pirate but has discarded his mask. Makri is standing by the window.

The Consul rises.

“What problems?”

“The musicians are running out of beer.”

The Consul laughs, and compliments me on my amusing Cicerius mask. Makri—who can’t be here because she just walked down the corridor—looks surprised to see me. Lisutaris is annoyed.

“Who are you?” she demands.

I can’t identify myself in front of Kalius before I’ve cleared things up.

“Etiquette prevents me from saying,” I reply.

“Well get the hell out of my rooms before I have my staff toss you out into the street,” says Lisutaris.

She’s wearing a magnificent winged costume, the Angel of the Southern Hurricane, I believe.

“The musicians really need beer. And Deputy Consul Cicerius is looking for the Consul on a matter of great urgency.”

Lisutaris now recognises my voice and looks alarmed. She turns to the Consul.

“Perhaps you should—”

Kalius smiles. He’s looking quite jovial. Not like a man who’s just denounced the head of the Sorcerers Guild for betraying the city.

“I will sort things out,” he says, affably. “You mustn’t be disturbed while you’re making ready for your grand entrance. The musicians need beer, you say? I’m sure I can rectify that. And Cicerius wishes to see me? No doubt on some affair of state. The Deputy Consul can never bring himself to fully relax on these occasions.”

He rises, bows formally to Lisutaris and departs. I take off my mask.

“The Consul’s looking happy.”

“What are you doing here?” demands Lisutaris.

“He couldn’t stand not being invited,” says Makri. “It’s completely childish. Just like the Elvish princess in the story.”

“What story?”

“ ‘The Elvish Princess Who Was Completely Childish.’ ”

Not for the first time I glare at Makri with loathing.

“There is no such story.”

“Yes there is. I translated it last year.”

“Is this true?” demands Lisutaris. “You have invaded my house in a fit of pique?”

“A fit of pique!” I roar. “Have you forgotten you hired me to do a job? To retrieve the fantastically important jewel? Well I’ve done it.”

“But I’ve already done that,” protests Lisutaris. “I retrieved the jewel myself. I have just been showing it to the Consul. Didn’t you notice how cheerful he was?”

“Well this might make everybody less cheerful,” I say, and produce the two pendants from my bag.

“Obvious fakes,” says Lisutaris.

“Oh yes? There’s a dead man in the bushes who doesn’t agree. Take a look.”

Lisutaris takes one of the pendants and stares deeply into it. She frowns. She studies the other jewel. She places it on her bureau and opens a drawer, producing a third jewel.

“They are all real.”

“You didn’t mention there were three of them,” I say.

“There aren’t three of them! There’s only one. But these are all the real one.”

“Well that’s a mystery,” I say, sitting down on the couch. “But it does explain why people have been being trampled by unicorns all over Turai even when I recovered the jewel. The place is awash with sorcerous pendants.”

“You say there is a dead man in my garden?”

“Yes. But well hidden in the bushes. We might expect worse. Apparitions are still going on, and I know of several other people who claim to have the pendant. Which they might have. God knows how many of these things there are out there, each of them potentially lethal. If they all turn up in the same place I’m guessing we’re in for a memorable party.”

There’s a discreet knock on the door and a maid enters.

“Centaurs are destroying the green marquee, miss,” she says, politely.

Lisutaris looks to Makri.

“I’ll deal with it,” says Makri, and puts on her helmet before hurrying off.

“You feel the need to stay?” says Lisutaris.

“There are some things we should discuss. Like how there are suddenly a lot of pendants. And what we’re going to do about it.”

“I really cannot be dealing with this sort of thing at my ball,” protests the Sorcerer. “It’s time for my entrance.”

“Don’t you realise what’s about to happen out there? If centaurs are eating your marquee it means they’re being produced by more of these jewels. Anyone in the gardens is quite likely to die because they find one and stare into it. Or else there will be a panic when a marquee appears to catch fire. Or maybe really catches fire. And don’t forget Horm the Dead has promised to pay you a visit. Which might mean another appearance from Glixius Dragon Killer. Also, Sarin the Merciless is still trying to sell a pendant. I’d say this ball might be remembered as the social occasion when everybody died.”

“You really know how to spoil a party, don’t you?” says Lisutaris, angrily, like it’s all my fault.

“Do you have any idea how the pendant might have mysteriously multiplied itself? Is there a spell which could do that?”

Lisutaris is still fussing with her hair in the mirror. It’s the largest, most perfectly made dressing mirror I’ve ever seen. Buying a piece of glass like that must have been prohibitively expensive. I doubt if there’s a better one at the Imperial Palace.

“It might possibly be done by a very experienced practitioner,” mutters Lisutaris. “Though it would take an immense amount of skill. But who would do such a thing?”

I shrug.

“Look at the people who’ve been involved. Horm, Glixius. There’s no telling what their motives might be. Horm has been keen to discredit you from the start. Maybe he thought he could take the pendant back for Prince Amrag and still make you look foolish by leaving some counterfeits behind. Maybe he cunningly planned it so they’d all end up here and destroy your guests. Good way to get rid of Turai’s leaders. Whoever’s behind it we have to do something. You ought to know better than me that having this many sorcerous items together is highly dangerous. What if the copies are unstable? Either the magic space is going to invade your gardens or there’s going to be an almighty explosion.”

Last century, for reasons which were never clear, the great Simnian Sorcerer Balanius the Most Powerful made a duplicate of himself. By all accounts it was a perfect copy, but when he shook hands with himself there was an explosion which flattened his city. You can still see the crater in Simnia.

Lisutaris drags herself away from the mirror.

“We don’t know that there are any more in the vicinity. There might be only these three. I can contain them.”

“I feel that there are others.”

“How?”

“Intuition.”

Lisutaris is dubious about my intuition. She crosses to the window and gazes out at the gardens for a moment or two.

“You’re right, unfortunately. I can sense more of the pendants. I’m not sure how many. You may also be correct about their instability. Copying a sorcerous item of such power is almost impossible to get right.”

Lisutaris walks over to a painting on her wall. She speaks to it and the painting shifts to one side. Behind the painting there’s a safe. She mutters a rather long series of ancient words and it opens. From the safe she withdraws a bag.

“This is made of red Elvish cloth. If you put the pendants in here it should dampen the effect. But be careful not to let anyone see what you’re doing. It’s illegal for any private citizen, even me, to own this cloth. The King will be down on me like a bad spell if he knows I have it.”

I notice that Lisutaris seems to be talking about me doing the dirty work.

“You want me to gather up an unknown number of dangerous sorcerous pendants? I’ve been nervous enough carrying round one. Can’t you help?”

“I have a ball to host. What will people say if I’m scurrying round with a bag rather than mingling with my guests? And is this not what I hired you for? To protect my reputation? Do not let Consul Kalius discover what you’re doing. I’ve just managed to convince him I didn’t lose the original. Having fake gems turn up isn’t going to make me look good. Take this.”

Lisutaris hands me a copper bracelet.

“This will glow when in the vicinity of any sorcerous item.”

“It’s glowing right now.”

“That’s because my rooms are full of sorcerous items. It will help you to search in the gardens. I hope Makri managed to disperse the centaurs before they did much damage. If you find any more bodies, have my staff remove them discreetly.”

“I really don’t like this.”

“We have no choice. I will do my best to control any apparitions. I have to go. I’m due to lead off a dance with Prince Frisen-Akan.”

“Take care he doesn’t tread on your toes.”

“I expect he will.”

I step out into the corridor. I’m heading for the gardens but I hesitate. Avenaris’s private rooms are on the next floor. With no one around to observe me, I hurry upstairs to check them out. Lisutaris will fume if she catches me, but what is she going to do? She needs me to do her dirty work outside. I remember I forgot to ask about the other person in Orcish armour who I thought was Makri. Maybe it’s nothing. No, it’s something bad, I know it. Might it be Sarin? I’ll deal with it later.

Avenaris’s room is locked. I try a minor word of power, to no effect. I put my weight against the door and push. It gives slowly. It takes a good door to resist my bulk. Inside I find a suite of rooms decorated in a restrained and tasteful style. Nothing too bright or harsh on the eye. I get to work.

T
he gardens are a scene of great revelry. Apart from the music, dancing, costumes and fine provisions on offer, there are spectacular lighting effects and frequent appearances of otherworldly creatures. The genteel crowds, thinking these to be part of Lisutaris’s sorcerous entertainment, are enchanted.

It seems that only Makri and I realise the danger. Makri tries to prevent the creatures from doing too much damage, which leads to the odd sight of a woman in Orcish armour walking round the gardens being followed by a long line of centaurs and unicorns. Centaurs, lascivious creatures at the best of times, can’t help being attracted to Makri—I saw it happen in the Fairy Glade—and while Makri does her best to shoo them away, they continue to follow her until the magic which has produced them becomes unstable and they fade into space. As for the unicorns, I don’t know why they should take to her. It’s not like she’s pure of heart.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” says a wealthy-looking pirate to his companion as a rather harassed Makri jogs past with a long line of mythical beasts in close pursuit. “Lisutaris has really laid on the entertainment.”

A bolt of blue lightning cracks the sky overhead.

“She’s the best Sorcerer in the city!” enthuses the pirate.

Meanwhile I’m looking for pendants. This is not so easy because Lisutaris’s bracelet keeps lighting up any time a naiad or mermaid appears. With so many false alarms it’s difficult to concentrate. When I notice two Makris at opposite ends of the gardens, one with unicorns and one without, I sprint towards the lone figure. I have a feeling that Makri’s imitator has something to do with all this. Seeing my approach, the figure flees into the bushes and I follow. Immediately I step into the undergrowth my bracelet lights up. There’s a man in a bishop’s costume bending down in the shadows to pick something up. I leap for him and wrestle the object out of his hands.

“That’s mine!” says the bishop.

I shove the pendant into my bag. He lets go with some language very unsuitable for a man of the cloth.

“You’ll thank me later,” I say, and hurry on. Some success at least. I find another pendant in a fountain full of mermaids and another in the hands of a Palace official who, while talking wildly about the coup he is planning to stage, is at least not yet dead. I retrieve the pendant and leave him to sleep off his dreams of power. I now have three pendants, but from the way a comet is currently hovering over the gardens, I’d say there were still more to be collected.

“Why did they all end up here?” I say out loud, angry and puzzled.

“I’m partly responsible,” says an elegant voice at my shoulder. It’s Horm the Dead, dressed as a mythical King of the Depths, complete with trident.