Thraxas - The Complete Series (37 page)

L
isutaris, Mistress of the Sky, is about the same age as me but much better preserved. I suspect that female Sorcerers have their own arcane beauty secrets to fight the ravages of time, but they’ve never shared them with me. She has long fair hair, woven in braids, which are piled on her head before trailing down her back. It’s all held in place by a sort of tiara, silver, studded with pearls, in a style quite common among aristocratic women.

Well-born Turanian women spend much time and effort on their hair. Makri, with her vast unruly mane, affects some scorn at this. There is no denying, though, that on Lisutaris it is quite fetching, as is her rainbow cloak, which is of a finer cut and cloth than the standard Sorcerer’s garment.

The last time I was here howling mobs were outside trying to burn the villa down, and wounded Sorcerers lay all over the floor. Lisutaris was lying on the floor as well, but her stupor was because of thazis rather than injury. I found a spell in her workroom for making the plants grow faster, which I suppose goes some way to explain why Lisutaris spends most of her time attached to a large waterpipe inhaling the fumes from her specially grown private supply.

Thazis is still illegal in Turai. Only six or so years ago the Civil Guards were hot on tracking down offenders, if only to gather enough of the substance for themselves to smoke in private. Senators used to make impassioned speeches denouncing its use and blaming it for the moral decay that was gripping the nation’s youth. Since dwa swept the city, no one bothers any more. Most people smoke thazis as a mild relaxant and antidote to their worries, though few are so enthusiastic and overindulgent as Lisutaris. She is notorious in certain circles for inventing a new kind of waterpipe. It could be worse. At least she isn’t a dwa addict. That’s turning out to be quite a popular occupation among the city’s Sorcerers.

We are greeted hospitably enough when we arrive. A servant leads us through long corridors to a large airy room with green and gold Elvish tapestries on the walls and plants of all kinds surrounding a bay window overlooking the extensive gardens. Everyone has extensive gardens in Thamlin, and a team of gardeners on the payroll. If you don’t, you lose status. Another servant brings us wine and announces that Lisutaris will be down presently.

From what I’ve seen of the villa, Lisutaris has followed the current Thamlin fashion of bringing in an interior designer, probably from Attical. I can remember when Sorcerers’ houses were perpetually strewn with sorcerous junk which no amount of servants could keep entirely clean, but a fashionable woman such as Lisutaris would no longer be satisfied with that. Since Turai’s gold mines started bringing in the wealth, everyone in Thamlin is much more concerned with style. Senators used to gain status from their prowess on the battlefield. Now they attain it through modish living rooms and exquisitely tended gardens. I don’t approve of this, but I’m old-fashioned.

I’m not quite sure how to approach Lisutaris with my requests. It is not the done thing to apply to a Sorcerer for help in locating people, unless the Sorcerer actually hires himself out for that sort of thing, which very few do. Apart from odd outcasts like myself, who never finished his training, and Astrath Triple Moon, who is now in disgrace, Sorcerers in Turai don’t go in for much private enterprise. They either work for the King or the Consul or follow the standard lifestyle of the idle upper-class citizen who doesn’t have to work at anything. Investigation is deemed to be below them, a job best left to the Civil Guards. Or me. Like the rest of the population, Sorcerers are very conscious of their social standing.

The brief wait for Lisutaris to appear turns into a long one. My patience quickly wears thin. The wine is excellent, but I don’t have the time to enjoy it. Makri is still brooding about letting someone land a kick on her, and she sits stiffly in her chair.

“Lighten up, Makri. Just because you’re number one chariot when it comes to fighting doesn’t mean you have to be invincible. There were five of them and they’re all specially trained. Some of these monks spend their whole lives in monasteries, doing nothing else expect fighting and praying.”

“Well, they’ll have something to pray about next time we meet,” says Makri. She mutters a few dark threats about what she has in store for them.

Lisutaris arrives eventually, a faraway look in her eyes. A servant leads her to a chair trying to conceal the fact that he’s actually holding her upright. I sigh. What is it about being a Sorcerer that makes these people indulge to such an excess?

“Can I bring you anything?” enquires the servant.

I notice my goblet is empty. “Another bottle of wine if you don’t mind.”

Lisutaris eventually focuses her eyes. When she sees Makri she smiles in recognition.

“Hello…?”

“Makri.”

“Hello, Makri.”

The Sorcerer looks at me. I can tell she doesn’t remember me. I remind her of the riot.

“I was the one who slapped you.”

That didn’t sound quite right.

“To bring you round. To put out the fire.”

She gazes at me vacantly.

“And then I fought off the crowd that was trying to kill us. Well, me and Hanama the Assassin did. Praetor Cicerius later described it as a heroic effort.”

Lisutaris continues to look vacant. “My memories of that day are a little hazy. So much happened, with the fire and the riots, I just…”

Her voice trails off and her eyes drift to her Elvish tapestries. Lisutaris is laden with pale silver jewellery of Elvish design and she plays absently with one of the many slender bangles that adorn her wrists. We sit in silence as the Sorcerer drifts off in whatever thazis-fuelled dream she has found in the tapestries. As an experienced and reputable Sorcerer, Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, will have spent a fair amount of time among the Elves. Our Sorcerers always visit the Southern Islands when they are young, to study and learn.

I’ve been to the Southern Islands myself, which few other Turanian citizens can claim. Very beautiful. Not much crime. They have good wine, but beer is hard to find. Lisutaris carries on gazing at the tapestries and I start to feel a little awkward and somewhat annoyed. I saved this woman’s life a few months ago. I don’t especially care that she’s forgotten, but it makes asking her for a favour more difficult. I’m about to do it anyway when Makri leaps in ahead of me.

“Can you help us find someone?” she asks.

The Mistress of the Sky withdraws her gaze from her tapestries and looks at Makri, surprised. Makri, of course, does not realise that it is a rude question.

“Look for someone?”

A trace of annoyance flickers over the Sorcerer’s face. For a second I think she’s going to throw us out. Then she shrugs, and smiles.

“If you wish. Who are you looking for?”

I let Makri do the explaining. I’m interested to learn that their acquaintance in the Association of Gentlewomen is sufficient reason to break a social taboo. The Association is going to land itself in hot water with the King and the Church one day.

Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, reaches languidly for a silk bell rope and summons a servant. She tells him to bring her some kuriya. He departs, soon returning with a golden saucer on a silver tray with a small gold bottle beside it. He places a small table before Lisutaris and puts the tray down where she can reach it.

Lisutaris sips some wine before reaching over to pour the black kuriya from the bottle into the saucer. Without any preparation at all, she waves her hand over the liquid. Within seconds a picture starts to appear.

I’m envious of her power. It takes me a long time to get myself into the required mental state to summon up a picture yet she can do it instantly, even when she’s stoned. I should have studied more.

“Is this the house you mean?”

I study the picture. It is. Lisutaris concentrates for a few moments.

“It belongs to a man called Osicius. It’s situated near to the fountain that stands outside the southern wall of the Palace.”

I thank Lisutaris profusely. She glances back into the dark pool.

“I see that Osicius has been going through some troubles recently. The aura of the house is disturbed. I also see that he is known by another name.”

For the first time she looks as if she is straining. “Akial?” she says finally. “Or Exil perhaps?”

“Not Ixial surely?” I say, quite loudly. “Ixial the Seer?”

“That’s right. Ixial the Seer. Well, he can’t see me.”

And with that the mighty Sorceress gets a very inappropriate fit of the giggles and starts rolling around in her chair in hysterics. The picture fades from the kuriya pool. While I wonder at the very unexpected discovery that Drantaax’s wife is concealed in the town house of Ixial the Seer, Lisutaris keeps right on laughing, interspersed with the odd burst of “He can’t see me,” which seems to strike her as the funniest thing in the world.

She pulls the bell rope and orders the servant to bring her waterpipe. She offers to share some thazis with us. Makri is keen to try the waterpipe. I whisper to her that she’ll look silly if five hostile warrior monks appear while she is laughing uncontrollably.

Makri’s eyes harden at the thought and she refuses the offer. We thank Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, and take our leave. Outside we hail a landus and head on up to the south side of the Palace. Behind us Lisutaris is still finding things very amusing.

“Is she like that at your A.G. meetings?” I ask Makri.

“I cannot tell anyone anything about our meetings,” Makri replies.

“I know.”

We ride on.

“Actually she’s worse,” says Makri. “I’m surprised to see she’s such a good Sorcerer. That was good sorcery, wasn’t it?”

“Certainly was. I couldn’t get pictures like that in the kuriya pool if I meditated for a month. Lisutaris is as decadent as the rest of our upper classes but she’s sharp as an Elf’s ear when it comes to magic. Good wine cellar too. Next time you run into her at a meeting see if she’ll invite us to dinner. She might bring out the Elvish vintages. Incidentally, where do you hold your meetings?”

“I’m not meant to say.”

“You know that Archbishop Xerius made a speech to the Senate last week in which he roundly condemned the Association of Gentlewomen as a wicked and ungodly organisation?”

Makri says something rude about the Archbishop.

A few important people ride past in fancy carriages, but the streets are far quieter here than elsewhere. Far cleaner as well. Even the stals look better fed. Makri wonders out loud why Ixial the Seer, Abbot of a monastery in the mountains, would have a villa in Thamlin. It’s a good question. And why has Calia fled there?

The villa is precisely where Lisutaris said it would be. We ride past without stopping. There’s nothing to see. No one in sight, not even a gardener. No sign of anyone from the Securitus Guild either. It’s quite common for these villas to be protected by their own private Guards but this one doesn’t seem to be.

I ask the driver to drop us off some way past. Makri and I leave the main street and enter a park which I think leads to the back of the villa’s garden. After some uncomfortable scrambling over thorns and bushes, we find ourselves confronted by a wall eight feet high topped with metal spikes.

“Here we are. The house is on the other side of this wall.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Take a look.”

The heat is still oppressive but I feel sharp. I become frustrated when things get too complicated but when it comes down to the basics of investigation—like sticking my head over a wall and taking a good look—I feel in control.

The park was busy with nannies and tutors taking their young charges for walks and young Army Captains meeting chaperoned young ladies, but we’ve come far enough into the wooded area at the edge so that no one can see us. Makri offers to give me a boost up the wall, but I decide against giving her an opportunity to criticise me about my weight and stick a convenient log where I can stand on it. This gives me just enough height to see over.

“No one in sight,” I whisper. “Let’s go.”

Makri is looking dubious. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I suppose I’m just not used to climbing over other people’s walls.”

I was forgetting. Makri is dauntless in battle but she isn’t used to the nitty-gritty of investigating such as sneaking round places you’re not meant to be. I reassure her that I do this sort of thing all the time then lay my cloak over the metal spikes and haul myself over the wall. I drop down gently and slip behind a tree, where Makri joins me. There is still no one in sight. The light is fading as the sun sinks over the roof of the Palace in the distance, sending brilliant rays shooting from its golden towers.

“Are we going inside the villa? What do we say if someone catches us?”

“We’ll just make some excuse. I always think of something. And keep your swords in their scabbards. If you kill anyone it’ll just make things more complicated.”

Keeping low, we head from tree to tree, taking cover and watching as we make the long trek towards the villa.

“Big garden,” whispers Makri.

“They always are in Thamlin. Mine was huge. Further than I could walk.”

The night comes quickly. Only one of the moons is in the sky, low down to the east, and it casts little light into the grounds.

Near the villa a large clump of bushes makes excellent cover and we crouch in the undergrowth before making our final approach to the house. It is now dark, but no lights burn inside. Very strange. Even if the owner was away there would always be servants left to take care of things. I feel some slight unease. If everyone inside is dead I’d as soon it wasn’t me that found them. Such things happen to me way too often and the Guards always give me a hard time about it. “Dead Body Thraxas” they call me.

Suddenly the back door opens and figures emerge carrying candles. They walk in silence. I strain my eyes in the dim light to make out what’s happening. They’re carrying something. It looks like a corpse. Dead Body Thraxas strikes again. I go tense, wondering what I’ve stumbled into. They proceed towards us in silence. Four figures, carrying another.