Thraxas - The Complete Series (40 page)

“The leaves of the lesada tree,” she states, “have miraculous powers. How many more do you have?”

“Not many. And they’re almost impossible to get hold of in Turai. Next time I have an Elf for a client I’ll ask for some in payment again.”

Makri points out that these weren’t actually part of my payment from the last Elf.

“You just helped yourself after we found him dead.”

“Much the same thing.”

“I’m a bit hazy on the details of last night. Did we meet Sarin, or did I imagine it?”

“We met her. And she killed some monks with her crossbow. I’ve been trying to figure out what it all means. She’s obviously on the side of the Star Temple. I presume she once trained under the tutelage of Ixial. I wonder if she killed Drantaax? It would be hard to prove because she’s too smart to leave evidence lying around. Grosex goes on trial today. I finally got permission to see him, for what it’s worth.”

“How come?”

“Deputy Consul Cicerius came back into town at last. He arranged it for me.”

I helped Cicerius’s son out of trouble a few months back.

“That turned out to be a smart move,” says Makri. “He’s the first friend in a high place you’ve had in a long time.”

“That’s true. Though I wouldn’t count him a friend. Cicerius is too austere to actually have friends. Also, he probably remembers that I insulted him when I was drunk. But at least he’ll ensure that my legal rights are upheld when it comes to court matters. And Grosex sure needs some help from somewhere. He’s been assigned a public defendant, so if I don’t dig something up they might as well take him out and hang him now.”

Makri gets herself outside of some fish. I take a lunchtime beer and consider the situation. I can’t exactly interpret what’s going on with the monks. Obviously the Venerable Tresius wasn’t entirely straight with me. He neglected to mention that his followers had mortally wounded Ixial the Seer for one thing. So where does that leave me? I still have the purse with the statue in it. Tresius has hired me to find it. Maybe it doesn’t matter exactly who did what to whom as far as the monks are concerned. I guess I’ll pick up the fee for that anyway.

I’m troubled by meeting Sarin, though. She is a dangerous woman, and no mistake. If Ixial dies I imagine the Star Temple will disband and the monks will go over to the Cloud Temple. But if that doesn’t happen and the red monks come looking for the statue again, I’ll have Sarin to deal with as well. And then there’s Thalius Green Eye. Who killed him? He was murdered with a crossbow which makes Sarin the obvious suspect, but it’s not impossible that someone else might be trying to cover their tracks.

“Well, I reckon I’ve narrowed down the suspects for killing Drantaax to the monks of the Star Temple, the monks of the Cloud Temple, his wife Calia, Sarin the Merciless, and the domestic staff. Maybe a hundred people all told. If Grosex can keep from getting hanged for another year or two, I might whittle it down to single figures.”

Palax and Kaby have been out early busking with a mandolin and a flute. They look as peculiar as ever. Not only do they wear the strangest collection of bright and ragged clothes ever seen in Turai, their hair practically defies description. They grow it long and thick and dye it with food colouring and herbs into bright colours quite unsuitable for a person’s head. To make things worse they’re also well advanced in the matter of piercings. Many people in Turai sport pierced ears—in some guilds it’s a mark of rank—but young Palax and Kaby, for some unfathomable reason, have rings through their noses and lips. Most shockingly, they wear rings through their eyebrows too, a style never before seen in the lands of Humans, and possibly too bizarre even for an Orcish whorehouse. I suppose street entertainers are allowed to be a little odd. Having grown up in an Orcish slave pen, Makri is lacking in public decorum, and asked them to pierce her nose a few months ago. Appalling behaviour, as I immediately pointed out to her, and hardly the sort of attitude she should adopt if she ever wants to get into the Imperial University. As the University already has enough reasons not to accept her, there seems no reason to provide them with another one. But Makri likes the ring through her nose, and figures the University will be able to get used to it.

The young musicians sit down wearily at a table.

“There’s a Sorcerer outside,” says Kaby.

“Doing what?”

“Looking puzzled.”

“He’s with that new Brotherhood boss, Casax.”

Bad news. I go to the door and look. As reported, there is a Sorcerer outside, looking puzzled. He’s young, and while his rainbow cloak distinguishes him as a fully qualified Sorcerer, I don’t recognise him so he probably hasn’t been qualified for long. Beside him are Casax, Karlox and a few other Brotherhood men, all looking expectantly at the Sorcerer.

Casax spots me and strides across the dusty road towards me.

I greet him civilly. He greets me with an icy stare.

“We’re looking for Quen.”

“Who?”

“The whore that burned down the Boar’s Head.”

“I expect she’s left the city by now.”

“Not according to Orius Fire Tamer, she hasn’t. He reckons she’s still around here somewhere.”

I study the young Sorcerer.

“Orius Fire Tamer? He’s new, isn’t he? Must’ve qualified recently. You know, Casax, you can’t really trust such a young Sorcerer. He comes fresh out of his apprenticeship thinking he knows everything, but it takes a while to adjust to the ways of a city like Turai. Sure, he’s followed Quen’s aura this far, but so what? Everyone knows she was around here somewhere. When everyone’s talking about someone it can create a false aura. Enough to confuse a young man just starting out in business. Quen is long gone by now. If you want to trace her you’ll have to hire a more experienced man. Or woman. Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, is very good, so I hear.”

Casax isn’t given to blustering. He looks at me quite coolly and informs me that the Brotherhood only tolerate my presence in the area because I never really get in their way. But if he finds I’ve got anything to do with hiding Quen then he’ll be down on me like a bad spell.

“You’d better make sure you have another city to go to, and get there fast.”

“I’ll bear it in mind. Maybe Deputy Consul Cicerius could suggest somewhere.” By which I mean I am not without powerful friends in this city.

“Maybe you better ask him quickly,” replies Casax, by which he means that I’m not fooling anyone.

Young Orius Fire Tamer is still standing in the street looking puzzled. His powers have brought him this far but wily old Astrath Triple Moon’s improved spell of bafflement is preventing him from precisely locating Quen. Casax returns to his side and speaks to him briefly. He’s too important a man to spend his time hanging round in Quintessence Street, so after ordering his thugs to carry on the search he departs. Karlox scowls over at me, large, vicious and dumb as an Orc. There’s nothing he’d like better than for Casax to order him to run me out of town. Let him try. I scowl back before shutting the door and rejoining Makri.

“We have to do something about Quen. The Brotherhood is close. Astrath’s got their Sorcerer baffled but if the Guards bring Old Hasius the Brilliant in on the case we’re sunk.”

“Are they still watching the place every night?”

I nod. “But we might be able to sneak her away somehow. Maybe Astrath could work an invisibility spell for us. It’s a lot to ask, though. Astrath has his own life to lead. We can’t expect him to move heaven, earth and the three moons to help some young woman he’s never met, especially as he risks getting into trouble with the Brotherhood.”

“If we do sneak her away,” enquires Makri, “will she still be hidden by his bafflement spell?”

“No.”

“Then we can’t do it.”

“What do you mean we can’t do it?” I protest, getting angry. “She can’t stay here forever.”

“We can’t just give her up to the Brotherhood.”

I suppose we can’t. Not that I’ve grown attached to Quen or anything—she’s a surly young woman as far as I can tell—but it would go against the grain to give up anyone or anything to Casax. I’m left with nothing much to say, so I just give Makri some abuse for landing me in this situation.

I notice that Palax has fallen asleep over his plate of food at the next table. It’s a hard life being a busker. But I also notice Kaby is looking madder than a Troll with a toothache, which generally means only one thing. Palax did promise her he’d give up dwa, I seem to remember. It’s a hard thing to give up. I grab a beer and take it upstairs with me where I lie on my couch and think about monks and statues and drift off to sleep.

I am awakened by a gentle knocking at my door.

“Who’s there?” I call.

“Soolanis,” comes the reply.

I wondered where she’d disappeared to.

I go and open the door.

Soolanis is there. So is Sarin the Merciless, with a knife at her throat. Sarin shoves her inside and steps in after her.

“You could just have knocked.”

“I never like the thought of being turned away,” says Sarin, knife still in her hand.

Sarin the Merciless is a tall woman with her hair cut unusually short, rather austere in appearance apart from the many gold and silver rings in her ears. She wears a man’s tunic. Her eyes are as black as Makri’s but they lack that friendly twinkle. She stares at me, as if wondering whether to knife me on the spot. My hand is on my sword, just in case.

“I’m looking for a statue,” she says.

“That’s a popular pastime round here these days.”

“Well? Where is it?”

“No idea. I presume you’re talking about the statue that vanished when Drantaax was murdered? No one knows where it is.”

“I figure you do.”

“You figure wrong.”

“I know you’ve been hired to find it.”

“I’m puzzled, Sarin. What makes you think I’d discuss this with you?”

“I’ll kill you if you don’t.”

Sarin never has been one for working out unnecessarily subtle plans.

“You want it for the Star Temple?”

“That’s right.”

I point out that Ixial the Seer will be dead soon.

“I think he’ll live. And even if he doesn’t, I’ll help his followers.”

I ask her why. She confirms my suspicion—she studied fighting and meditation under Ixial, so she owes her loyalty to him. But I very much doubt if Sarin the Merciless feels loyal to anyone.

“Did you kill Drantaax?”

“I didn’t come here to answer your questions. I came for the statue.”

“The statue weighed two tons. How could I have it?”

I study her face to see if she is aware of the magic purse, but Sarin is as cold as an Orc’s heart and her face is impossible to read.

“Did you kill my father?” blurts out Soolanis.

“And who would that have been?”

“Thalius Green Eye.”

“No. And don’t interrupt me again.”

Sarin turns to me. “I want that statue, otherwise I’ll kill you.”

“Well, thanks for the warning. I’m always happy to spend time with cheap killers. Which is what you are, skulking round corners with your crossbow. I’d run you in now if there was a reward on your head. Now get out.”

Sarin shows no signs of anger at my insults. She simply departs. I turn to Soolanis, who looks shaken by the affair.

“That may well be the woman who killed your father and she wouldn’t think twice about killing you. Don’t go to any more taverns on your own,” I warn her. “Go home to Thamlin.”

“I don’t want to go home,” she says miserably.

“Then get drunk downstairs.”

Needing no further encouragement she departs to do just that. I take the purse out of my pocket and stare at it. Inside this purse is a large statue which numerous people seem very keen to get hold of. Too keen, you might think. I mean, how fascinating can a statue be? I’m finding it increasingly hard to believe that the monasteries want it for their religious ceremonies. There must be easier ways of acquiring a statue, even at short notice. So why is everyone so eager to find it? It’s only a lump of bronze. Bronze is moderately valuable, but not valuable enough to go around killing people for. By the time it was melted down and transported anywhere, it would hardly be worth the trouble.

All things considered, I’m starting to feel rather suspicious about this statue.

“Y
ou’re going to what?”

“I’m going to smash the statue. Bring me a sledgehammer.”

Makri looks concerned. “I know you’re in a tough spot but there’s no need to take it out on the statue. Couldn’t you just talk things over with someone?”

“I’m not taking anything out on the statue. I want to see what’s inside it.”

“Isn’t it hollow?”

“Maybe. But I’m starting to have my doubts. Okay, it’s a nice work of art. Okay, a monastery full of warrior monks needs a statue of Saint Quatinius or they can’t show their faces at the monastery next door. And the Triple-Moon Conjunction is coming up soon. But why this statue? The True Church doesn’t require anyone to observe their ceremonies in front of a particularly fine statue. Quite the opposite. They specifically say that worshippers can make do with virtually any old representation of the saint, which is why poor people everywhere observe the Triple-Moon Conjunction in front of cheap plaster artefacts. You can buy them in the market. You wouldn’t expect that warrior monks, noted for their austerity, would absolutely have to have some fancy statue made by Turai’s top sculptor. Doesn’t make sense. As for Sarin the Merciless, she says she wants it for the Star Temple out of loyalty to Ixial. If you’ll believe that you’ll believe anything. That woman has about as much loyalty as a bokana snake.”