Thraxas - The Complete Series (197 page)

“If you locate the item I may authorise a small reward. But do not expect me to do you any favours in future.”

“I never noticed you doing me any favours in the past.”

Hansius reminds the Deputy Consul that they have an urgent appointment at the Palace. Cicerius nods.

“Thraxas. It is your responsibility to look after Lisutaris. While she is under this roof, I suggest you moderate your habits. For once in your life, try putting the interests of the city before your own.”

Cicerius departs. It was typical of him to insult me at the same time as requesting I work hard for him. Cicerius can be a great speaker—in the law courts he’s a fabulous orator—but he doesn’t spend a lot of time working on his personal charm.

Chiaraxi provides instructions for the care of Lisutaris and Hanama. They’re simple enough. Plenty of water, and the herbal concoction every few hours.

“Make sure they’re kept warm. That should be easy enough for you.”

I look at her blankly.

“Sorcery,” says Chiaraxi. “You can light your fire with a spell.”

“Right,” I say.

It’s a long time since my fire-lighting spell worked. These days I just don’t have the power. After Chiaraxi leaves I check on Lisutaris and Hanama. Neither look like they’re about to die in the next few moments so I do what I’ve been wanting to for some time, and hurry downstairs to the bar.

“Happy Guildsman, and make it quick.”

Gurd hands me over the extra-large-sized tankard. From the expression on his face he could do with a few Happy Guildsmen himself.

“It’s terrible,” he hisses.

“Not so bad,” I tell him, quietly. “No quarantine.”

Gurd is still troubled.

“What if Lisutaris dies?”

“They can hardly blame you.”

“Can’t they? I never reported it when Kaby went sick. I should have.”

I tell Gurd to relax.

“The Deputy Consul has entrusted the whole affair into my hands.”

“What do you know about healing the sick?”

“Not much,” I admit. “But all that seems to be required is regular doses of Chiaraxi’s herbal concoction. Just pour it into the patients and wait for them to get better. Easy enough. I always knew these healers were making too much out of the whole thing. Probably helps them to bump up their fees.”

I point out to Gurd that once Lisutaris has been successfully brought back to health the Avenging Axe could even benefit.

“Might get a reputation among Sorcerers as a good place to go, and Sorcerers are big drinkers. When I went to the last Sorcerers Assemblage they were taking it in like their lives depended on it.”

Sorcerers rarely seem to practice moderation. Whether it’s alcohol, dwa or, as in Lisutaris’s case, thazis, they always need to go to excess.

Makri arrives with a tray full of empty tankards.

“Where are you going to sleep?” she asks.

“In the guest room, I suppose.”

“You can’t. Moolifi’s in the guest room.”

I forgot about that. I don’t know where I’m going to sleep. Makri announces that she’s sleeping next to Lisutaris, on the floor.

“Says who?”

“Me. It’s my job. I’m her bodyguard.”

Suddenly everything seems worse. Makri sleeping on my bedroom floor. Time was when no one entered my office apart from the occasional hopeless client. Now there’s hardly room for a man to sit and drink beer.

I turn to Gurd.

“Looks like you’ll have to put me up in your room. Be like sharing a tent in the war.”

Gurd looks embarrassed.

“That would be, ah—”

Gurd abruptly feels the need to polish the far end of the bar, and moves away rapidly, working his cloth furiously. I’m baffled.

“What’s the matter with him?”

Makri gives me a pitying look.

“You can’t share his room. Tanrose shares his room. Didn’t you know that?”

“Of course I didn’t know that. When did this happen?”

“Right after he asked her to marry him,” Makri informs me.

Now I’m stuck for inspiration.

“Maybe I can sleep behind the bar,” I muse.

“Just sleep on the floor in your office.”

“Sleep in the same room as an Assassin? No chance.”

“You might form a bond,” says Makri. “It’s time you got yourself some female companionship. Hey, even Gurd’s not alone these days.”

Tanrose appears from the kitchen, carrying a tray of pastries.

“Tanrose, don’t you think it’s time Thraxas got himself a woman?” calls Makri.

“Definitely,” says Tanrose. “I’ve been telling him for years he should settle down.”

“Of course, Hanama’s on the small side, so you’ll have to be careful…”

Not wishing to listen to any more mockery, I take a bowl of stew—with no yams—and depart to the far corner of the room, where I sit in front of the fire, listening to mercenaries talk about fighting. I wonder about the Ocean Storm, and I wonder about Tanrose’s mother’s tale of buried gold. Which is most likely to earn me some money in a short space of time? It’s a difficult choice. I decide to investigate each one tomorrow, and see where it takes me.

N
ext day I’m out on the streets early enough to catch the first beer delivery. I recognise the large, red-haired man who’s rolling barrels down to the cellar.

“What are you doing on a wagon, Partulax?”

Partulax gave up working the wagons a few years ago when he became an official in the Transport Guild. These days he spends most of his time sitting in an office giving out jobs and contracts.

“Driver shortage,” he replies. “Most of the Guild’s been called up for the war. Your delivery man’s up at the Gardens.”

Turai has a regiment of troops stationed close to the Pleasure Gardens defending the East Gate. There’s been some suggestion of mounting an attack on the Stadium, but I think General Pomius is against it. We don’t know how many Orcs are there and he’d rather not open any of the city gates till a relief force arrives.

“No shortages in the beer department?”

“Not yet,” replies Partulax.

Just as well. If beer runs out it will be a crushing, demoralising blow for the city. I’d find it hard to carry on. Again it’s a mild day, and Gurd is sweating as he helps fill the cellar.

“Off to the walls?”

I shake my head.

“My day off military duty.”

“Then what are you doing up at this time?”

“Working on a case.”

No one has been able to shed any light on the mysterious disappearance of the captain of the ship that was supposed to be bringing the Ocean Storm to Turai, so I’m off to interview the first mate. He’s holed up at the Mermaid Tavern. An interesting choice, given that the Mermaid is the local headquarters for the Brotherhood. Not the sort of place an innocent man generally chooses for his residence, though it doesn’t necessarily mean the sailor is part of the criminal gang. He might just need to be near to a supply of dwa. Or maybe he’s sick of being investigated, and wants to be somewhere where the law doesn’t go. Between the Civil Guards, Palace Security and the local prefect, he’s already suffered a lot of investigation.

The lane that leads to the Mermaid is full of dwa dealers, small-timers at the mouth of the alley and a few more important figures close to the tavern. Trade is brisk, as always. Once more, I’m struck by the number of men who should be on military duty but aren’t. Very lucrative for the Brotherhood, but maybe they won’t think it was such a smart way to make a profit when the Orcs storm the walls and put them all to the sword.

As I’m about to enter the tavern, Glixius Dragon Killer strides out the front door. His great black boots, handcrafted by the master leather workers of Juval and probably costing more than I earn in three months, are scuffed and muddied from the alleyway. If I had such a fancy pair of boots I wouldn’t wear them to the Mermaid. I’m surprised to find him here. As far as I know, Glixius doesn’t use dwa. When I try to walk round him he gets in the way.

“I’m looking forward to our game,” he says.

“Me too. Now move over, I’m busy.”

“You’re not calling it off then?” says Glixius, loud enough so the people hovering round the doorway can hear. “For lack of money?”

“I’ll be there.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he says, and strides off, his long rainbow cloak trailing behind him. It’s an unusual sight, a Sorcerer in this alleyway, but I wouldn’t say it attracts that much attention from the dwa dealers or their customers. They’re all too busy with their own business.

Inside the tavern the first person I meet is Casax, local head of the Brotherhood.

“Well, well,” says Casax. “Two Sorcerers in two minutes.”

That’s a joke, sort of. My failure at sorcery is well known. It doesn’t help my mood.

Casax has a shaven head, dark features, and a gold earring in each ear. He’s intelligent, and ruthless when he has to be. He’s a powerful man, large, though not as large as Karlox, his enforcer, who stands beside him dwarfing everyone, even me, and I take a lot of dwarfing.

“You never told me you had a special game lined up,” says Casax.

“What special game?”

“With Glixius and General Acarius. How did you manage to get the General to come to the Avenging Axe?”

“I didn’t know he was,” I admit. “But Glixius just invited himself.”

“Well I hear he’s invited Acarius. They usually play with Praetor Capatius. If the Praetor comes down it’ll be the richest game ever seen in Twelve Seas.”

He looks at me like I’m a man who doesn’t have a lot of money.

“I can cope,” I say.

Casax shrugs.

“You better make sure you’ve got a good stake to start with. Otherwise they’ll just force you off the table.”

Casax comes most weeks to play in the rak game at the Avenging Axe. Big money won’t be a problem for him. Since he took over the Brotherhood in Twelve Seas they’ve tightened their stranglehold on crime and increased their profits.

“How’s the Captain?”

“Rallee? He’s fine. Why?”

“You might tell him to watch his back. You know that woman he’s running around with’s in trouble with the Society of Friends? She owes them money. Probably took up with Rallee for some protection,” says Casax. “I quite like the Captain. Always admire an honest man.”

“As long as he doesn’t interfere with your business.”

“It’s a long time since the Civil Guards could interfere with my business.”

Casax frowns at a sailor at the bar who’s making a lot of noise. The sailor shuts up.

“Anyway they won’t come after her in Twelve Seas,” says Casax. “So you don’t have to worry.”

I move a little closer to Casax.

“The Society worry me as much as the Brotherhood. Which is to say not at all.”

“You hear that, Karlox?” says Casax. “We don’t worry him. Better take care not to upset such a tough guy.”

Karlox grins. I’ve had some run-ins with him in the past. He’s dumb as an Orc but good at violence.

“What did Glixius want?” I ask, not really expecting a reply.

“To talk to a sailor about a missing item.”

Casax points to a figure at a table, just discernible through the perpetual smoky gloom inside the Mermaid. I wonder if Glixius Dragon Killer has been looking for the Ocean Storm on behalf of the Sorcerers Guild. Lisutaris said she’d sent out some people. But Glixius isn’t trustworthy. More likely he’s working some angle of his own.

Casax loses interest in me. He doesn’t care about me questioning the first mate. Maybe he figures it would be wise to cooperate, with the Sorcerers, the Civil Guards and Prefect Drinius all buzzing around. Or maybe he just feels like being polite because he’s looking forward to the card game. He’s not a bad player, Casax. Sharp as an elf’s ear, or near enough, and difficult to read.

I sit down next to the sailor. His eyes are dull and they don’t light up when I appear.

“I don’t know anything about the Ocean Storm,” he says, before I can even frame a question.

“How d’you know I was going to ask you about it?”

“Everybody else has. The Prefect. The Civil Guards. The Sorcerers.”

His voice sounds weary. Perhaps the result of his arduous sea voyage. More likely he’s midway between doses of dwa.

“What happened to Captain Arex?”

“He disappeared. We just made it into harbour, and when we got there, no Captain Arex.”

“He just disappeared?”

“That’s what I said.”

“I saw the ship come in. The weather was calm. He couldn’t have been washed overboard. Where’d he go?”

The first mate shakes his head. He doesn’t know.

“You feel anything strange? Sorcery maybe?”

He shakes his head again. Of course, there are plenty of spells that can’t be sensed by your average citizen.

“Tell me about the Ocean Storm.”

“I don’t know anything about it.”

A waitress passes. I order a beer and sit in silence till it arrives. My companion doesn’t volunteer any more information. He doesn’t seem worried. He doesn’t even seem interested. I sip my beer.

“When these people asked you questions—the Guards, the Prefect, the Sorcerers—did any of them offer you some financial reward for your trouble?”

This gets his attention. He looks straight at me.