Thraxas - The Complete Series (199 page)

“At least we got the warning,” says Makri.

“It’s not a lot of use. The way things are just now, half the city could be planning a bit of treachery to save their skins from the Orcs.”

“What did Tanrose’s mother want?” asks Makri.

I’m immediately suspicious.

“How did you know about that?”

“I heard someone mention it,” says Makri, vaguely.

“It’s a private investigation. A little trouble with her neighbours. Nothing important.”

I’m not about to let Makri know that I’m hot on the trail of 14,000 gurans. Once word got out, there’s no knowing what might happen. In a city as avaricious as Turai, half the citizens would be down at the harbour in no time, digging for gold.

Before Makri can attempt to prise any more information out of me we’re interrupted by a knock on the door. It’s a young man from the Messengers Guild. He hands over a sealed scroll. I sign for it, and close the door. The message is from Deputy Consul Cicerius.

Situation now grave. Lisutaris in great danger. Do nothing whatsoever that might draw attention to this tavern. Am sending Tirini Snake Smiter to provide sorcerous protection
.

“I told you Lisutaris was in danger,” says Makri.

I’m not that impressed by Cicerius sending Tirini Snake Smiter to help. She’s not the sort of Sorcerer you’d turn to in a crisis. I’d be happier if he sent a regiment of troops to ring the tavern. Unfortunately this might alert the Orcs to Lisutaris’s illness, which might precipitate an immediate attack.

“Are you going to cancel the card game?” asks Makri.

I’m puzzled.

“Why would I do that?”

“It’ll draw attention to the tavern.”

“No it won’t.”

“Of course it will. People are bound to talk about it, especially if General Acarius brings Praetor Capatius.”

I get the slight feeling that things are spinning out of control, with sick people everywhere and the city’s richest gamblers heading in my direction, but I force the thought away.

“In times of crisis, a man has to carry on as normal. I can’t go around cancelling card games. It would be unpatriotic.”

Makri scoffs at this.

“You’re meant to be not drawing attention to the Avenging Axe. Staging the biggest card game in Twelve Seas’ history might technically be seen as drawing attention.”

“Cancelling it would only raise suspicions.”

“Have you raised the money yet?”

“Not quite. But I can feel things moving my way.”

I
spend the evening sitting in front of the fire downstairs in the tavern, sipping beer and working my way through an enormous venison pie. Salted venison rather than fresh, as it’s winter, but Tanrose has a way of bringing it back to life. My mood improves. True, the rooms upstairs are full of sick people, and the pie isn’t quite the same without a few yams to mash up in the gravy, but looking on the bright side, I’m feeling on firmer ground with regard to the missing Ocean Storm. Now I’ve cleared up the matter of the so-called mysterious disappearance of the ship’s captain, at least I know where I stand. I’ve no idea who might have killed him after he slipped away quietly into his lover’s arms, but when it comes to a murder in Twelve Seas, I can generally sort it out. Criminals round here are careless. They make mistakes. I find them out. Sometimes it takes a smart piece of thinking. Sometimes just the willingness to plod on till I find the solution. I generally get there in the end.

Gurd’s tavern is full, but despite the raucous drinking contest going on between a group of northern mercenaries and a company of crossbowmen from the Turanian village of Geslax, most people’s attention is drawn to Moolifi. The Avenging Axe has never before played host to such a famous entertainer. Captain Rallee pretends not to notice but I can tell he’s as pleased as a pixie. He loves it that he can sit at a table with Moolifi and let people see the way she looks into his eyes. He’s replaced his tired old black uniform with a smart new one, polished up his boots and trimmed his moustache. Drinkers pause as they lift their flagons to their lips and glance over at the couple, jealous that the Captain has made such a catch. Singers and dancers are very low down in Turai’s social strata, but even so, a golden-haired beauty like Moolifi would normally be spending her time with a wealthy member of the Honourable Merchants Association, or maybe even a senator. Now Rallee’s hooked up with her, even though he’s only a poorly paid captain in the Civil Guard. It says something for his qualities as a man, or so he likes to think.

Some drinkers call over to the Captain, asking if his lady would like to give us a song. The Captain waves their requests away for a while, and starts to look annoyed when a few young mercenaries are too persistent in their attentions. Rallee starts to get angry but Moolifi ends any bad feelings by smiling at the mercenaries and calling over that she’ll be pleased to sing. She rises to her feet, a confident woman who’s used to entertaining an audience. As the tavern goes quiet, Makri sits down heavily at my table, looking a little fatigued after her long evening shift.

“The men in Turai are fools,” she says.

“We’re in the middle of a war. Nothing wrong with a little entertainment.”

Makri sneers. She lights a thazis stick, and keeps her back towards Moolifi, determined not to show any interest in her performance. She’s the only one to do so. Voices are hushed and the drinking contest comes to a halt as Moolifi starts to sing. The hush doesn’t last for long. As Moolifi launches into “Love Me Through the Winter,” there are roars of appreciation. “Love Me Through the Winter” is her most popular song, and delivery boys and wagon drivers have been whistling it for months. It has a strong tune and by the time she’s reached the first chorus tankards are starting to beat out time. As the song comes to an end the audience erupts with applause. Tankards, fists and sword pommels are banged on tables in thunderous approval.

“That was awful,” says Makri. “What sort of idiot would enjoy that sort of thing? Thraxas, stop banging your tankard on the table.”

“How could you not like it? She’s a great performer.”

I bang my tankard some more. Makri shakes her head in disgust and rises to her feet. She snatches my tankard off me and puts it on her tray.

“Bring me another beer!” I roar.

“Some time tomorrow,” mutters Makri, and departs into the throng of drinkers with her tray, snatching tankards right and left.

Moolifi sings a few more songs for the customers. It’s memorable night. Worries about the war are banished, and people still grieving for the friends and relatives they lost in the battle forget them for a while. Makri might not approve of cheap entertainment but it certainly goes down well at the Avenging Axe. As for Captain Rallee, I’ve never seen him looking so cheerful. He’s in such a benevolent mood he forgets to be annoyed about the fact that we’re both working on the same case.

“Thraxas. I hear you’ve been looking for the Ocean Storm.”

I nod.

“Any success?”

I shake my head. I sent a message to the Guards telling them about the two bodies in Silver Lane, so Captain Rallee now knows about the murders. I sent the message anonymously so he doesn’t know it was me who found them. Or possibly he does; Captain Rallee isn’t a fool.

“It’s a big thing for the city,” says the Captain. “If you do somehow stumble across it, get it to the Sorcerers as soon as possible. You know there was a report of an Orcish fleet not far along the coast?”

I’d heard about it. I’m not sure if I believe it.

“I don’t think they’ll be out in this weather. There’s no good anchorage along the coast. If they got caught in a storm they’d be done for.”

“Maybe they don’t plan to be out there for long.”

The Captain’s point being, of course, that if the Orcs get hold of the Ocean Storm they can use the magical talisman to batter down our defences around the harbour and sail right in. It’s a good option for Prince Amrag. He doesn’t have siege engines and it’s hard to see how he can storm the walls in winter. The eastern and western gates of the city are heavily guarded by men and sorcery, and the North Gate, where the river flows into the city, is extremely well protected. Battering his way into the harbour might be his best plan.

Captain Rallee has a lot of men engaged in the hunt. So far they’ve had no more success than the Sorcerers Guild or Praetor Samilius. The Captain glances round to where Moolifi is engaged in a conversation with Dandelion and Tanrose. Then he looks at me. I figure I’m expected to say something.

“She’s a fine woman. Must be making your life brighter.”

“She is.”

The Captain suddenly looks downcast.

“Of course she’s just hooked up with me for the duration of the war. You know how everyone goes crazy when the enemy is at the gates.”

He looks at me again, but if he’s expecting me to reassure him that Moolifi will love him for ever, he’s come to the wrong man.

“When were we first in action together?” asks the Captain.

I shrug.

“About twenty years ago.”

“We made it through a lot of fighting.”

Captain Rallee stares into his drink.

“I’m not expecting to make it through this.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t think anyone will come and help us. Turai’s luck has run out.”

I’m surprised to hear the Captain so pessimistic. He’s always been a man who is confident of finding his way through, even in difficult circumstances.

“At least you’ve got Moolifi to cheer up your final days.”

“True. But she picked a poor time to arrive in this city.”

“Lucky for you though.”

The Captain nods.

“Strange the way she hooked up with me,” he says.

“That’s the second time you’ve said that.”

“So?”

“So what’s your problem? You think Moolifi might be after you for your money?”

This make the Captain laugh. We both know that a captain in the Civil Guards doesn’t earn enough to attract fortune-hunters.

Makri arrives, still scowling.

“Enjoy the singing?” asks the Captain.

“No,” snaps Makri, grabbing his empty tankard and departing without another word. Rallee looks startled.

“What the hell?”

“She has harsh critical standards,” I explain. “Doesn’t really like anything if it’s not Elvish. And old.”

He shakes his head

“Makri the intellectual. I don’t envy the man who ends up with her.”

He looks straight at me. The Captain seems to be doing that a lot.

“I always figured you had a thing for her.”

“Then you figured wrong. I’m going to my grave clutching a beer tankard.”

“That still leaves one hand free.”

“Then I’ll pick up another beer.”

“Maybe you ought to think about it more. None of us are liable to be here come the spring.”

“Goddamn it, Rallee, since when did you become as miserable as a Niojan whore? Your pretty singer doesn’t seem to be making you that cheerful.”

“The pretty singer makes me wish I might live a bit longer.”

I spend a very unsatisfactory night sleeping on my office floor in front of the fire. Lisutaris is still in my private room, with Makri on the floor by her side. Hanama is lying on the couch. I’m used to a bit of privacy and I’m finding this assortment of Turai’s least desirable women hard to take. I’d considered sleeping in the store room downstairs, or even the corridor, but brief investigation reminds me that these places are all as cold as the ice queen’s grave, and I’m not prepared to freeze to death just to get away from them all. I wrap myself in my cloak and lie in front of the fire, cursing the winter malady and everyone who’s suffering from it.

At least I have the card game to look forward to. The evening after tomorrow I’ll be sitting at a table with Glixius, Praetor Capatius and General Acarius. I’ll show them a thing or two. I remember I haven’t got enough money to play and feel downcast for a moment. I’d better do something about it. I resolve to head out early tomorrow and find the buried gold. Maybe I’ll come across the Ocean Storm while I’m at it. I could do with some spectacular success. It has to happen to everyone sometime.

Next morning I wrap my magic warm cloak around me and head out early to visit Kerk, an informer of mine. In Quintessence Street the stall-holders are already at work, shivering behind their meagre displays of goods. I’m grateful for my warm cloak. It gives me a slight feeling of superiority to the procession of cold figures hurrying about their business in Twelve Seas. None of them have a magic item keeping them warm.

Kerk is at home; he’s living in one squalid room at the top of a ramshackle tenement at the far end of St. Rominius’s Lane. It’s the sort of place where the very poorest people end up; one step up from sleeping in an alleyway. The landlords divide and subdivide the floors into smaller and smaller rooms, till they’re barely sufficient for humans to live in. Nothing is good in a place like this: no sanitation, ventilation, hygiene, privacy, nothing.

Kerk opens the door and looks disappointed when he sees me. He has a slightly Elvish look to him, something about his eyes. If he does have a touch of Elvish blood it was no doubt deposited by some visiting Elf into a whore in Twelve Seas. Even visiting Elves need a little entertainment. I think he might have been a smart guy when he was younger. Occasionally he still is, but he’s too far gone with dwa to ever get out of it. He scrapes up what little money he can, uses it to buy the drug, and then looks for more money to buy more dwa. The same thing, over and over, destroying himself a little more each time. I doubt he’s eaten a proper meal in years. It doesn’t seem like much of an existence. Maybe the Orcs will be doing him a favour if they destroy the city. Even if they don’t, he’ll be dead soon enough.