Thraxas - The Complete Series (206 page)

Lisutaris has already thought of this.

“I checked. I’m not being affected by any spell.”

“You think you’re not. What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not.”

“I think you might be.”

A hint of colour appears in Lisutaris’s cheeks. Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, does not appreciate anything which might be construed as criticism of her power.

“I’m the head of the Sorcerers Guild.”

“And I’m an Investigator who’s got you out of a few jams in the past. What if I’m right? What if the most powerful Orcish Sorcerer is wandering around in Turai? Who knows what new spells he might have brought with him?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. No one can catch me unaware.”

Lisutaris is angry.

“I just gave you three hundred and fifty gurans to leave me in peace and now you’re bothering me with this foolishness. Makri, get rid of him so I can sleep.”

“No,” says Makri.

“What?” Lisutaris looks surprised. “But you’re my bodyguard.”

“What if Thraxas is right?” says Makri.

Lisutaris finds the strength to haul herself up into a sitting position.

“I always thought you were the smart one.”

“I am the smart one,” says Makri. “But Thraxas often succeeds in his investigating. I don’t think you should ignore him. Maybe Deeziz is here. Maybe he’s attacking you and you don’t know it.”

“How many times do I have to repeat, I can’t be attacked without me knowing it,” insists Lisutaris. “I’ve had enough of this. What was Cicerius thinking, leaving me in this place? I need to be at home where I can recover without being surrounded by idiots.”

Lisutaris makes an attempt to haul herself out of bed. Makri puts a hand on her shoulder and firmly pushes her back. Lisutaris’s eyes widen in amazement.

“You can’t leave,” says Makri, firmly. “You have to rest and get better. Meanwhile Thraxas can investigate more.”

“Would you like me to blast you with a spell?”

“Well that wouldn’t be a very smart thing to do to your own bodyguard,” says Makri, logically.

Lisutaris sinks back into the bed.

“I need thazis,” she says.

“You can’t have it,” says Makri. “The healer says it’s bad for you.”

“To hell with the healer,” says Lisutaris. She waves her hand, summoning her bag. It rises from the floor but Makri intercepts it and throws it in a drawer.

“No thazis till you’re better,” she says, sternly.

Fearing that Lisutaris might actually carry out her threat to start blasting people with spells, I decide it’s time to go. As I leave the room Lisutaris is still complaining about not being allowed any thazis, and Makri is ignoring her.

I need food. I head downstairs to see what’s on offer. Elsior the apprentice cook is standing behind the bar as I approach, with an apron round her waist, loading some pastries into a jar. I ask if there’s anything more substantial on offer. There are plenty of hungry dock workers who visit the tavern at lunchtime so the cooking generally starts early.

“I’m a bit rushed,” says Elsior, apologetically. “But the first batch of stew will be ready soon.”

She puts her hand to her forehead.

“It’s hot in here today.”

“Hot? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Must be the heat in the kitchen getting to me,” says Elsior.

I have a strong suspicion about what’s going to happen next. Elsior blinks a few times, and brushes perspiration from her forehead. Then she leans forward, clutches the bar for support, and sinks slowly to the floor. I look down at her.

“So is the stew almost ready? Could I just take a bowl from the kitchen?”

Elsior doesn’t reply. Makri appears from upstairs.

“Another casualty?”

“I’m afraid so. And the stew isn’t ready yet.”

“Tough break,” says Makri.

We look down at Elsior’s prone body.

“I’m starting to get quite fed up with all this,” says Makri.

“Me too.”

“Do you think these people are really trying to get better? Palax and Kaby have been sick for ages. Shouldn’t they be healthy by now?”

I shrug.

“Difficult to say. Sometimes the malady’s like that. At least no one’s died yet.”

“So where are we going to put her?”

Hanama and Sarin are sick in my office and Lisutaris is in my bedroom. Palax and Kaby are in Makri’s room and Chiaraxi is lying ill in Tanrose’s room. Moolifi is in the only spare guest room.

“Have to be Dandelion’s room, I’d say.”

Dandelion sleeps in a small room at the back of the tavern, when she’s not down at the shore, talking to the dolphins. We pick Elsior up and start to carry her through the kitchen towards the back. As we do so we meet Dandelion bustling towards us.

“Oh dear,” says Dandelion. Another one?”

“We were going to put her in your room.”

Dandelion accepts it with good grace.

“You best tell Gurd,” I say. “He’s going to have a lot of hungry dockers and mercenaries here in a few hours and nothing to feed them.”

Dandelion wrinkles her brow.

“I’m not a very good cook.”

She turns to Makri.

“Can you cook?”

Makri looks quite offended, and shakes her head.

“Well, I’m off to investigate,” I say, and depart briskly. I’m not so bad at mixing up a stew on a campfire, but I’m not planning on pitching in and helping. The thought of me cooking for dockers and mercenaries is quite ridiculous, but the way things are going, I wouldn’t put it past someone to suggest it.

I
return to my office to pick up my sword and load up with a spell or two. I cram some thazis sticks and a flask of klee into a pocket. When I turn round I find Sarin the Merciless staring at me. I glare at her.

“Aren’t you better yet?”

She doesn’t reply. She’s huddled up in one of my blankets, as is Hanama. Hanama at least contrives to look innocent. Sarin just looks like a killer.

“I’m off to find the Ocean Storm. No doubt you intended to find it and sell it to the Orcs. Well, you can forget it.”

“I’d have it already if I hadn’t got sick,” she whispers.

“No you wouldn’t.”

“I’ve outwitted you in the past.”

“So you claim. And here you are, sick on my couch. Try outwitting that.”

“You’re not making sense,” sneers Sarin.

“Not making sense? Try this. I work every day and I fight for my city. You’re a parasite who feeds off honest people. Does that make sense?”

Sarin mops her brow. She’s bathed in perspiration, suffering badly from the disease.

“There’s no difference between us,” she says. “We’re both empty. I fill it up with crime. You fill it up with food and beer.”

I blink. It’s an odd thing to say.

“You’re rambling, Sarin. The malady does that. When you get healthy you’ll remember which one of us is the honest upright citizen. And you’re not going to be healthy for long once Makri’s done with you.”

Sarin sneers.

“If she had any sense she’d have done with me already. But at least her life isn’t empty like yours.”

“Oh no?”

“No.”

“She works as a barmaid and wastes her time listening to Samanatius the phoney philosopher.”

“You don’t like Samanatius?” says Sarin.

“I don’t.”

“That shows what a fool you are.”

Not willing to engage in further conversation with a woman who is clearly delirious, I leave through the outside door, place the locking spell on it, and hurry down the steps into Quintessence Street. As soon as I hit the cold thoroughfare it strikes me that I don’t really know what I’m looking for. Whales, maybe, but I’ve already checked Twelve Seas quite thoroughly, and I’d swear there wasn’t one lurking in the shadows. As for the Ocean Storm, who knows where that might be? As far as I can gather, it was gone from Borinbax’s house before Sarin killed him. If it hadn’t been she’d have it by now, and wouldn’t be troubling me.

A squadron of troops marches by, on their way to bolster the harbour defences. Each man has a long spear and a shield over his shoulder. By this time the city is awash with rumours that the Orcs are going to batter down the sea wall, and the area is continually being reinforced. As well as additional soldiers, Cicerius has assigned more Sorcerers to the sea defences. Even Kemlath Orc Slayer is down there, in charge of one section of wall. Kemlath was banished for his crimes, crimes which I detected, but he’s been recalled for the duration of the war. I’m not objecting. The city needs the services of everyone who can wield a spell.

I find myself in the narrow street where Makri and I met Marizaz, Orcish Assassin. What a strange affair that was. One that I really should have looked into further. I would have had my mind not been preoccupied with raising money, and looking after the sick. I can hardly be blamed for some neglect when it comes to investigating. The way the Avenging Axe is bulging with ailing people just now is enough to put anyone off. Once more I find myself wondering if there might be some sorcery behind it. Lisutaris can insist all she wants that no magic is involved, but I still say it’s unnatural the way no one can set foot in my office without catching the malady. It goes against all reason.

I glance down at the spot where Makri killed Marizaz. A tiny splash of colour catches my eye, bright against the dull frozen mud. I reach down to pick it up. It’s a small scrap of cloth, a few threads of pink. Unusual. There’s not that much pink fabric to be found in Twelve Seas. It’s an expensive colour. The dye has to be imported from the far west. Upper-class women might flaunt their wealth by wearing pink garments, but no one does in Twelve Seas. I wonder how it got here. As far as I remember, Marizaz wasn’t wearing pink. I put the threads in my pocket and look around some more, without finding anything. Then I return to the Avenging Axe. I’ve made no progress and I’m stuck for inspiration.

Captain Rallee is sitting at a table with Moolifi. I decline his invitation to join them. The Captain is more gregarious these days but I’m not in the mood for admiring the fineness of his lady friend. I’m starting to resent the way he’s sitting around here being pleased with himself while I’m out investigating in the cold streets. I make a brief enquiry about the likelihood of food and learn that Gurd has sent out for an emergency cook. Meanwhile he and Dandelion are attempting to manufacture some sort of stew. Knowing Gurd’s lack of culinary expertise, I don’t hold out much hope, unless the emergency cook turns out to be a woman of extraordinary skill, which isn’t that likely.

By now in a thoroughly bad mood, I traipse upstairs to my room to have another look at Makri’s book. Unfortunately it’s not there. I glance suspiciously at Hanama but she’s sleeping and she isn’t holding a book. I’m concerned. If someone’s stolen Makri’s book she’ll go crazy, and probably accuse me of not looking after it properly. I hunt round my room, without success. Finally I put my nose through the bedroom door, in case Lisutaris might have it. I’m surprised to find Makri sitting on the floor, reading the book in question. She looks up as I enter, and shifts uncomfortably.

“Thraxas. Finished investigating?”

“Just came back to do some research.”

I stare at the book.

“Some research from that book, as it happens.”

I hold out my hand.

“You can’t have it,” says Makri.

“What do you mean, I can’t have it? I need it.”

“So do I.”

“What for?”

“College.”

“College is closed.”

“I have to prepare a seminar. For next year. On naval history.”

I stare at Makri.

“Makri, you are a terrible liar. You don’t have a seminar to prepare, whatever that means. If you did you wouldn’t have lent me the book.”

I take a step towards her.

“Hand it over.”

Makri leaps to her feet.

“Back off,” she says. “I need this book.”

“You’re researching whales, aren’t you!” I cry.

“Whales? You’re talking rubbish. Why would I be researching whales?”

“Because you’re trying to get your hands on Tanrose’s gold! How did you learn about it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Makri, not very convincingly. She really is a bad liar. Faced with a master of the art like me, she’s wasting her time. Nonetheless, she doesn’t look like she’s going to give up the book without a fight. I take a step backwards, and draw myself up to my full height.

“I might have expected this from you. I’m out there doing an honest day’s work and the moment I get home I find you stabbing me in the back.”

“No one is stabbing you in the back. And what do you mean, you might have expected it of me?” demands Makri.

“The Orcish blood. Never trust a person with pointed ears.”

Makri narrows her eyes. When she does that they have an odd, slanted appearance. Another sure sign of her non-Human untrustworthiness.

“I’m getting fed up of your Orcish insults,” she says.

“Feel free to leave the city any time,” I respond, and I mean it. We stare at each other angrily for a few seconds.

“How did you learn about the whale story?” I demand.

“Everyone knows about it,” snaps Makri. “Glixius Dragon Killer was in here asking about whales while you were out.”