Thraxas - The Complete Series (194 page)

“It’s odd consulting with you professionally, Thraxas.”

I shrug.

“It’s about my mother.”

“How is she?” I ask politely. I’ve met her once or twice. Before moving to the tavern Tanrose used to live with her up in Pashish.

“Quite well,” says Tanrose. “Though her memory’s not so good these days.”

She hesitates, and taps a finger on the desk.

“Last week she told me her father once buried a cask containing fourteen thousand gurans near the harbour and it’s never been recovered.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“Fourteen thousand gurans?”

“In gold.”

“Where did the money come from?”

“He was captain of a ship which raided a Simnian convoy.”

“Your grandfather was a captain in the navy?”

Tanrose nods. I’m surprised. Common sailors have low status in Turai but ship’s captains usually come from wealthier backgrounds. If Tanrose’s grandfather was a captain, it means the family has come down in the world. Tanrose is aware of it.

“He was put in prison and most of the family’s wealth was confiscated. That’s how my mother ended up in Pashish.”

“Why was he jailed?”

“He was accused in the Senate of profiteering in the war with the Simnians. He was meant to hand over all booty he collected to the King but it was alleged that he’d held on to his.”

“Which, according to your mother, he had.”

Tanrose nods.

“There was some dispute over how much money he’d brought home, and what was owed to him. Back then I don’t think all the captains were actually in the navy. Some of the ships were private, and the navy used them when there was a war.”

I nod. It’s true. There were various famous seafarers in the last century who fought for Turai but weren’t exactly part of the navy. Some of them were little more than pirates before the great war between Simnia and the League of City States. When war came, Turai overlooked their previous crimes and drafted them into the navy. It wouldn’t be unheard of for one of these captains to find himself in possession of a lot of booty, and later find himself in dispute with the King over who exactly owned the loot.

“It’s an odd story, Tanrose. But maybe not so unbelievable. What happened to your grandfather?”

“He died in prison. Quite soon after the trial, I think.”

“Why did your mother never mention this before?”

Tanrose isn’t sure. She thinks her mother may have preferred to forget about the disgrace in the family rather than have it all raked up again.

“But now she thinks the city’s going to be overrun by the Orcs. So she wants the gold recovered.”

“When exactly is this supposed to have happened?”

“After the Battle of Dead Dragon Island. Forty-two years ago.”

“And where was the money buried?” I ask.

“Beside the harbour.”

“That’s not very specific.”

“It’s all she could tell me.”

“There must have been a lot of change round the harbour in forty years. Though I don’t remember ever hearing a story about fourteen thousand gurans being unearthed. Maybe it’s still there. If it was ever there in the first place.”

I eye Tanrose.

“You said your mother’s memory was bad. How bad exactly?”

Tanrose shrugs her shoulders.

“Not so bad really for a woman of eighty. Do you think it might be true?”

I extinguish the stub of my thazis stick.

“Perhaps. I’ll have to talk to her first.”

I agree to visit Tanrose’s mother tomorrow. Tanrose hurries off downstairs, to cook. As she leaves, Makri walks into my office.

“What did Tanrose want?”

“A private business affair.”

“What was it?”

“Private.”

Makri frowns.

“But I want to know what it was.”

“Well that’s unfortunate. Thraxas the Investigator does not reveal details of private consultations with his clients. Now move out the way, I’m needed downstairs for beer and a roaring fire.”

I
’m sitting in front of the fire, musing on Tanrose’s tale. There’s probably nothing in it other than the confused ramblings of an old woman, but I’m willing to check it out. For one thing, I like Tanrose, and for another I’m greatly in need of money. I need at least 500 gurans to sit down at the card table with Glixius. If I unearth a chest containing 14,000 gurans I’m bound to earn at least that. Possibly more, depending on how grateful Tanrose’s mother turns out to be. My thoughts are interrupted by Gurd. Kaby is still sick. Worse, Palax has now come down with the malady. They’re both shivering in the guest room. Gurd is still unwilling to notify the authorities.

“They’ll close the tavern. First thing I learned about keeping a tavern, don’t let the authorities close you down.”

Gurd asks me if I’d mind taking a plate of food upstairs for them. I eye him suspiciously.

“Why me?”

“You’ve had the malady,” replies Gurd.

Even though it’s generally believed that once you’ve had the winter malady you won’t catch it again, the memory of lying in bed, burning up inside, panting for breath, every bone and muscle in my body racked with pain, makes me unwilling to take any risks. Must have been fifteen years or more since I had it, but I haven’t forgotten.

“I had to go a week without beer. It was hell.”

Tanrose emerges from the kitchens clutching a pot of stew. She’s accompanied by Elsior, the apprentice cook, who’s learning the trade.

“I can’t believe you went a week without beer, Thraxas,” says Tanrose.

“That’s how sick I was.”

“I was there,” says Gurd. “He didn’t go a week without beer.”

“I did. I remember.”

Gurd shakes his head.

“The healer told you to lay off the drink. Two hours later we found you crawling towards the tavern, rambling crazily about how the healers were trying to kill you. It took three men to drag you back to your tent and even then you wouldn’t shut up till I brought you a tankard. By that time I was ready to kill you myself, so I figured ‘What the hell?’ ”

Tanrose laughs.

“That’s not how I remember the story at all,” I protest.

“Enough about the malady,” says Gurd, looking round shiftily. “We can’t let anyone know.”

Gurd is nervous, and not just because his tavern might be quarantined. Since Tanrose agreed to marry him he’s been happy and anxious in turns. Tanrose touches his arm. Gurd is embarrassed to be caught in even this mild act of intimacy in front of an old fighting companion like myself. He shoves a bowl of soup towards me. I take it upstairs, unwillingly. Palax and Kaby are a nice enough pair but I don’t like them enough to risk a repeat dose of the malady. Besides, I dislike acting as a waiter. Life is demeaning enough. On the other hand, it is a powerful tradition in Turai that you look after anyone who falls sick under your roof. Not taking care of Palax and Kaby would be close to taboo, and bring us bad luck. I’m wary of garnering bad luck with such an important game of cards coming up.

Palax and Kaby are huddled together on the small bed in the guest room. Despite the winter cold, they’re both flushed and sweating, and have thrown off their blankets.

“Brought you some soup,” I say, setting it down on the floor.

“Thank you,” gasps Kaby.

“Don’t worry, it’ll pass soon. You want anything else, Makri will bring it for you.”

I depart as swiftly as I arrived. In the corridor I crash into Makri.

“Hey watch it,” she says. “What are you doing?”

“Taking soup to the patients.”

“And retreating as fast as possible,” notes Makri.

“Damn right I’m retreating as fast as possible. I don’t want to come down with the malady again.”

“Sickness will come and go. It’s part of the natural process of life.”

“Says who?”

“Samanatius.”

“That old fraud?”

Makri is offended.

“He’s the greatest philosopher in the west.”

“Then tell him to bring soup for Kaby. And I don’t see you volunteering.”

Makri looks slightly uncomfortable.

“I don’t want to get ill. I’ve never had the malady. I’m needed for the war effort.”

“And I’m needed for an important game of cards.”

Makri asks me if I’ve come up with a plan for raising the money for the game.

“Yes. You ask your employer Lisutaris.”

“She won’t do it. She’s not going to risk five hundred gurans on your dubious card skills.”

“My card skills are not dubious,”

“Last week you lost money to Gurd, Rallee, Ravenius and Grax. I’d say that was dubious.”

“It was a fluke. The cards were against me. It happens to the best players sometimes. I’m number one chariot at rak. Stop smiling.”

“Lisutaris will be here soon,” says Makri. “You can ask her yourself.”

“What’s she coming here for?”

Makri isn’t sure, though she thinks the Sorcerer might want to check I’ve been doing the daily incantation for Herminis. If the authorities ever find out that I was involved in her escape they’ll be down on me like a bad spell. I wonder if I might be able to use this to apply a little pressure on Lisutaris. Maybe hint that unless she lends me a sum of money I might neglect to do the incantation?

“Don’t you dare try and put any pressure on Lisutaris,” says Makri, reading my mind. “She’s busy keeping up the magical defence of the city against the Orcs. She doesn’t need you fooling around with inconsequential matters.”

I’m about to point out that winning money at cards is not an inconsequential matter when Lisutaris herself sweeps up the stairs and into the corridor. The Sorcerer is as well dressed as ever, with a thick fur wrap draped elegantly over the rainbow cloak that denotes her rank, and some delicate white shoes that owe more to winter fashion at court than the practicalities of moving around the streets in bad weather. Not that Lisutaris has to walk anywhere. As head of the Sorcerers Guild and an important member of the war council she has a fleet of carriages at her command. Though her hair is carefully styled and her make-up expertly applied by her personal beautician, I’d say she was looking tired. Slightly under the weather even. The strain of doing too many spells, no doubt. Last month on the battlefield she expended a fantastic amount of energy fighting the Orcs. She pulled down two of their greatest beasts, huge war dragons carrying Prince Amrag and Horm the Dead, creatures that were protected by every defensive spell known to the most powerful of Orcish Sorcerers. I was standing next to Lisutaris at the time. I can still hear her voice as she intoned the spell in some dead, dread forgotten language, bending her will to the almost impossible task of overcoming the huge brute strength of the dragons and the powerful sorcery that protected them. I’d say it was one of the greatest feats of sorcery ever performed in the heat of battle. Since then I doubt she’s had much time to rest, and it shows.

I thank the Sorcerer for the gift she sent.

“Would you like some … ah, Abbot’s Ale? Maybe some Elvish wine?”

Lisutaris senses the rather unwilling nature of my offer, and smiles.

“Keep it for yourself, Thraxas, I’d rather see you drink it than some of these people at the Palace. You’d be surprised how many healthy young men have suddenly found themselves keen to work in the administration rather than report for military duty.”

Lisutaris frowns.

“I don’t remember this happening in the last war. What happened to the people’s spirit?”

It beats me. Lisutaris is right. There’s a lot less patriotic fervour around these days. I don’t exactly know why, unless it’s got something to do with the wealth that’s flooded into the city in recent years. That and the dwa, I suppose.

Lisutaris comes into my office. Makri follows on, uninvited. I give her a questioning look.

“I’m the bodyguard,” says Makri. “And what’s this about the Grand Abbot’s Dark Ale?”

“A rare and fine brew.”

“I want to try it.”

“I’m saving it for a special occasion.”

I tell Lisutaris that I’ve been doing the incantation every morning to protect Herminis, though I don’t bother to sound enthusiastic about it. Lisutaris assures me it’s safe enough.

“No one’s looking for Herminis any more. The city’s got enough troubles.”

Lisutaris takes a seat, and takes out an elegant little silver case containing thazis.

“I’m in the middle of an investigation,” she says. “And you, being an Investigator, might be able to help me.”

“Is someone about to pay me for helping?”

The sorceress shakes her head. She’s constructing a thazis stick; quite modestly sized by her standards.

“No pay. It’s official war work, part of every citizen’s duty.”

“I tend to starve when I’m doing my duty.”

“You could afford to lose some weight,” says Lisutaris. “Anyway I’m not here to hire you. Senator Samilius is in charge of the investigation and he’s got agents all over Twelve Seas already. I’m just looking for advice.”

Lisutaris inhales deeply from her thazis stick.

“Have you heard of the Storm Calmer?”

“No. What is it?”

“A sorcerous item. One of the items I inherited when I became head of the Guild.”

“What’s it do?”

“It calms storms.”