Thraxas - The Complete Series (168 page)

“Was I just threatened by the Prostitutes Guild?”

“I think so. You better watch out, they know how to look after themselves.”

“Makri, this has got to stop. I demand you never teach women to read in my office again.”

Makri shrugs.

“Okay. We’ll go somewhere else. Not that it’s such a big inconvenience. You might be a little more supportive. You know I need the money. I expect I’d earn more as a waitress if it wasn’t for all the times I’ve helped you investigate. And of course I had to pay for having my axe sharpened after I blunted it saving you from—”

I hold up my hand.

“Spare me the moral blackmail. Just find another place. After checking aqueducts all day, I need my space.”

Makri lights another thazis stick. The room reeks of the stuff.

“I thought you’d be busy investigating the Prefect’s murder.”

“No one’s asked me to.”

“But you were right there in the room.”

Makri still has some difficulty in understanding that I don’t investigate for fun. I do it for a living.

“No one is going to hire me to investigate Galwinius. Palace Security and the Civil Guards are all over it.”

“I’m still confused as to why there are two Galwiniuses,” says Makri. “Isn’t the Prefect of Twelve Seas called Galwinius as well?”

“That’s Drinius Galwinius. Cousin of the murdered man. These aristocrats, they’re all related. Inbred, probably.”

“Everyone says Lodius did it. Is that true?”

I admit I don’t know.

“You saw him hand over the food.”

I did. But I don’t know if Senator Lodius meant to poison the Consul. If he did, I’d have expected him to be more circumspect about it. While I don’t normally have that much confidence in the investigative powers of either Palace Security or the Civil Guards, I’m fairly sure they’ll sort this one out, if only because for an affair of this magnitude they’ll be employing the talents of every Sorcerer in Turai. Sorcerers can on occasion look back in time, and though it’s a tricky business I can’t see the combined talents of Lisutaris, Hasius and Lanius failing to come up with a culprit.

“It’s been three days now,” points out Makri. “And they haven’t arrested anyone.”

“True. I wouldn’t mind joining in the investigation, because I’m offended that anyone could be murdered while I’m in the same room. But they’re not going to call on my services and that’s that.”

There are two popular theories currently circulating. The first is that Senator Lodius, tired of years of political strife with the Traditionals, had decided to move things along by taking some direct action. But even the most ardent supporter of the Traditionals can see problems with that one. Lodius isn’t stupid. And a man would have to be fairly stupid to hand over a poisoned pastry in full view of thirty or so Senators and expect to get away with it.

The other popular theory is that the murder is the work of the Orcs, seeking to destabilise the city before they attack. I’m dubious. Orcs are low, despicable creatures, but they’ve never poisoned any Human official before and I can’t see why they’d start now.

Consul Kalius has insisted that war preparations must go on uninterrupted. It’s hard to concentrate in the hubbub, and not as easy to go about my business any more. People were glad to see officials ostensibly preparing improvements for the city, but now that news of the Orcs has got out, any official soon finds himself surrounded by anxious citizens asking for news, demanding to know how long we have till the Orcs start marching.

There’s a coldness in the air that says winter is no more than a week away, maybe less. When winter comes the city would normally grind to a halt. This time, we’ll have to keep going. Many things have to be done before the spring. Lisutaris has given warning that the birth rate of dragons has gone up dramatically in the past few years, something which the Orcish Sorcerers have until now managed to conceal.

“So let them come on their dragons,” says Makri as we walk downstairs to the bar. “I’ve killed dragons before.”

“You killed one dragon.”

“Well, if another one had come along I’d have killed that too.”

“We didn’t kill that dragon in the Fairy Glade,” I remind her.

“That was a hefty beast,” admits Makri. “But I chased it off.“

“What do you mean, you chased it off? I was there too.”

“You were ogling the naiads in the water.”

“Very humorous, Makri. I was chopping up a squadron of Orcs so you could get to the commander.”

The door of the Avenging Axe swings open and a messenger struggles in weighed down by an enormous bunch of flowers. He places them on the counter.

“Delivery for Makri.”

The messenger departs. Makri looks at the card. She scowls, then sweeps the flowers on to the floor.

“Horm again?” says Gurd, appearing from the storeroom. Makri nods, and looks annoyed. Gurd is troubled. When the Orcs are about to attack, no tavern owner wants to be receiving bunches of flowers from one of their leaders. People could get the wrong impression.

“Why does he keep sending you flowers?” asks Gurd.

Makri shrugs.

“Did you encourage him in some way?”

Makri is offended.

“Of course I didn’t encourage him! Thraxas, did I encourage Horm the Dead to send me flowers?”

“Of course not. No encouragement at all. Though you did wander into my offices wearing your chainmail bikini while he was there. Maybe if you’d covered yourself up a bit better…”

“Ah,” says Gurd, nodding his head. “The chainmail bikini.”

“Which has been getting smaller and smaller in recent months…”

“I need to earn tips!” exclaims Makri. “You know how much it costs at the College!”

“I suppose there’s some truth in that. Though it doesn’t entirely explain why you were flaunting yourself at a foreign Sorcerer who was not, as far as I remember, buying drinks at the time.”

“This is outrageous,” says Makri. “I was not flaunting myself.”

“Well, you know,” I say, “a mad half-Orc Sorcerer spends all his time in the wastelands surrounded by stone-faced troll-girls and when he arrives in Turai the first thing he sees is you sauntering around practically naked, it’s bound to have an effect. He’d only met you for about a minute when he was offering you a position.”

Gurd laughs.

“What position was that?”

“Captain of his Armies,” says Makri, not sounding at all amused.

“And he called you the finest flower in all of Turai, I remember. Which might explain the flower motif. Probably since he left Turai he’s spent all his time languishing in his mountain palace or wherever he lives, thinking about you.”

Having now had enough of this, Makri turns on her heel and departs in a bad mood, leaving a few Orcish curses in her wake. I’m just taking a jar of ale from Gurd when the door opens again and Tanrose walks in. I’m about to rush and embrace her—something I can’t remember doing for a good many years—but Gurd beats me to it.

Thinking it best to leave them in peace, I pause only long enough to mention to Tanrose that I really would enjoy one of her substantial venison pies for dinner tonight, and maybe a lemon tart for dessert, before heading upstairs to my office. I sweep some junk off the couch prior to lying down for an afternoon sleep. Unfortunately, as is so often the case when I’m headed for the couch, some damned client knocks on the door. I haul it open and make ready to repel visitors. I’m faced with a plump, well-dressed middle-aged woman who’s accompanied by a brawny young man, a servant from his attire.

“May I come in?” asks the woman in a voice so refined she could cut glass with it.

“If you must.”

I welcome them in, if allowing them to find their way through the mess on the floor while scowling roundly at them could be called a welcome. What does this Senator’s wife want with me? She settles down quite gracefully on the chair in front of my desk.

“I wish to hire you,” she says.

“What for?”

“To clear my husband’s name.”

“What’s he accused of?”

“Murdering Prefect Galwinius.”

There’s a brief pause while I digest this.

“And your husband is?”

“Senator Lodius.”

I rise to my feet and point to the door.

“Can’t do it. Try the Venarius agency uptown. They’re more your sort of people.”

The woman remains seated. She looks unruffled, which makes me feel foolish.

“You are an Investigator for hire, are you not?”

“I am. And your husband blackmailed me last year. And called me a low-life piece of scum.”

“Did he really say that? It doesn’t sound like my husband.”

I admit he might not have used those exact words.

“But he implied it.”

She wrinkles her brow just a little.

“Oh. I see. When you were recommended to me as a competent Investigator—and a man who’d fought in the war—I did not expect you to be so sensitive.”

“I’m not sensitive. I’m insulted. And I’m sensitive. Thanks to your husband I had to prevent an eviction.”

“Prevent an eviction? Was this unjust?”

“Well—”

I halt. I sit down.

“Possibly not, from the tenants’ point of view. But it meant going against Praetor Capatius and it got me in a load of trouble.”

Trouble which hasn’t gone away yet. That was the start of the accusations against me. It’s fatal to become embroiled in the politics of Turai. Lodius forced me into it.

“Has he been arrested?”

“He will be very shortly. I received a message.”

“And Senator Lodius sent you here to hire me?”

She shakes her head. It wasn’t her husband who suggested it.

“Deputy Consul Cicerius recommended you. It was he who sent the message.”

This takes me by surprise. I’ve done some good work for the Deputy Consul in the past year. He’s never shown much sign of appreciating it. I didn’t know I’d risen enough in his estimation for him to be recommending me. And it’s doubly strange, because Cicerius is also a bitter enemy of Lodius.

“Cicerius? Why would he try to help your husband?”

She shakes her head. She doesn’t know.

“What did he say? Try Thraxas, he’s a drunken disgrace to the city but he doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty?”

“He was a good deal politer than that.”

The woman’s facade slips a little, though she’s not exactly close to tears. Upper-class women rarely cry about important matters; it would show bad breeding. On the other hand, they may weep profusely if the hairdresser is late.

I don’t want to take on the case. Not only do I dislike Senator Lodius, I’ve a lot on my plate right now. Besides, with the Orcs planning an attack, the city’s liable to be razed to the ground in a few months’ time. Then who’s going to care who killed the Prefect? Still, I hate to see a murderer go unpunished. If the Civil Guards and Palace Security fail to catch the killer, he’ll be walking around free, and that never sits right. If I take on the case and clear Lodius, it’ll probably mean finding the real murderer. That, I suppose, would be good. But then I’d find myself on the wrong side of the city authorities and the King, who despise Lodius. That would be bad. I try to weigh things up but I’m drowsy from beer and tired from walking round Twelve Seas.

“I saw your husband hand food to Galwinius. Right after that Galwinius dropped down dead. It doesn’t look so good for him.”

“My husband did not kill the Prefect,” says his wife, emphatically. “No matter what the Sorcerers at Palace Security say.”

“The Sorcerers say he did?”

“I believe they are about to. An arrest warrant is being written as we speak.”

“Then Lodius is doomed.”

“My husband is not doomed.”

“He is. If the Sorcerers have fingered him, he’s doomed. Sorry, lady, just because he’s a rich Senator doesn’t mean he doesn’t have to suffer for his crimes.”

The woman looks at me coldly. She rises to her feet and speaks to her servant.

“Come. This man is not the person to help us. Deputy Consul Cicerius has misinformed us about his abilities.”

She turns away in a dignified manner.

“I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

They walk to the door and leave via the staircase to the street below. I let them go, then take a hefty slug from my new bottle of klee. I’m annoyed. Usually when I give the brush-off to some unwanted client, they rant for a while, and insult me. Call me fat, or drunk, or cowardly, or something. They don’t just apologise for wasting my time and walk out in a dignified manner. The more I think about it, the more annoying it becomes. Who does that woman think she is to just walk in here, be insulted by me, then leave in a dignified manner?

I cross swiftly to the door and haul it open again. At the foot of the stairs the servant is still helping his mistress into the carriage.

“Okay, I’ll take the damned case,” I yell at her.

She raises her eyes towards me.

“Good,” she says, simply. “Would you like to visit my house to learn more of the matter? Perhaps later this evening?”

I nod, then slam the door. Makri chooses this moment to walk in.

“So you’re taking the case?” she says. “Is Lodius innocent?”

“How do you know so much about it?”

“I was listening at the door. So? Is he innocent?”

“I’ve no idea. But now I have to find out. Damn it, I didn’t want to have to work for Senator Lodius. I hate Lodius.”

“Then why did you take it on?”

“His wife tricked me by behaving in a dignified manner.”

“The calculating bitch,” says Makri. “There’s no way you could stand up to that.”

“You said it. Now I’m going to be defending the person the whole city will think murdered Galwinius. Probably at the instigation of the Orcs. The news-sheets will be down on me like a bad spell. Why is it I always get the really bad cases?”

“Well,” says Makri, thoughtfully. “You live in quite a bad part of town. Probably most of the better cases go to the high-class Investigators in Thamlin. And you drink a lot, which might put some of the more respectable clients off, and you’re known to have a really bad temper, which again is off-putting for a lot of people. Also you’ve got quite a serious gambling problem so I suppose some people might think you’re not really a trustworthy person to give money to. You’ve been thrown in prison quite a few times, you were denounced in the Senate and you’ve been regularly criticised in the news-sheets, including one really comprehensive report which included not only the time you were hauled before a magistrate for stealing a loaf of bread but also the time you tried to steal wine from the church in Quintessence Lane. You were sacked from your job at the Palace, your wife ran off, and you sometimes turn up to meet clients after smoking far too much thazis, which hardly gives a good impression, and didn’t you once—”