He has a point there.
“There’s no pleasing women,” says Parax, returning to his original theme. “My wife, no man could live with her.”
Parax’s wife might be happier if he spent more time actually making shoes and less sitting around in taverns, but I remain silent, not wishing to be drawn into this discussion.
“But we men, what do we do?” continues Parax. “Pander to them. Run around performing their every whim. It’s foolish, but that’s life.”
By this time Gurd is shifting round in his seat very uncomfortably, having no wish to hear his problems aired in public by anyone, particularly a shoemaker notorious for his lack of tact.
“Take Thraxas,” says Parax.
I sit up sharply.
“What about Thraxas?” I say.
“Well, where have you just been?”
I narrow my eyes.
“Working.”
“Investigating at the Guild College from what I hear. Trying to sort things out for Makri again.”
“What do you mean, again?”
“Come on,” scoffs Parax. “You’re always running round for that woman. You’ve been doing it ever since she arrived in the city.”
I should come back with a crushing rejoinder but the brazen audacity of Parax’s words has left me temporarily speechless.
“Don’t worry,” chuckles the idiotic shoemaker. “Plenty of men have fallen for girls half their age. And she’s got a fine figure, even if she does have Orc blood. Good enough to keep you warm in winter, eh, Thraxas?”
Noticing that I am now about to draw my sword and chop Parax’s head off, Gurd lays his hand on my arm. I manage to stifle the urge, but only just.
“Parax, you’re as dumb as an Orc. Go and bother someone else.”
Parax, like the insensitive troublemaker he is, won’t let it go.
“So how often do you work for free?”
“Never.”
“And how much is Makri paying you to sort out her problems?”
My bad temper gets a lot worse. Makri appears through the front door, cursing the heat. Perspiration makes her short man’s tunic stick to her body.
“Have you been to the College?” she asks immediately.
Parax guffaws.
“What’s so funny?” says Makri.
“Thraxas,” replies Parax, but noticing that I’m again struggling to draw my sword, he backs off, and moves away from our table. Makri pays him no further attention. She’s too eager to know what happened at the College.
“Professor Toarius wouldn’t speak to me,” I tell her. “He seems to hate you. In fact everyone there seems to hate you.”
Makri looks crestfallen. I’m pleased.
“But Rabaxos doesn’t really think you stole his money. He didn’t accuse you of the theft. Professor Toarius just leapt to that conclusion without any evidence as far as I can see. It’s odd the Professor is so vehement. He must know he doesn’t have enough evidence to stand up to my investigation.”
“He dislikes me enough not to care,” says Makri.
“Well, don’t despair. And don’t attack him with an axe. I’ll sort it out. And you can still do your examination.”
“I can? How?”
“I used my Tribune’s powers to stop the expulsion. That means it has to go before the Senate for discussion, which will take weeks. As of now, you’re still a student and can take the exam on schedule, in three days’ time.”
Makri is grateful, though you’d hardly know it. She mumbles a barely discernible thank-you. She’s another one who’s uncomfortable about showing emotion in public unless driven to it by rage. At the next table, Parax is sniggering. I rise to my feet.
“I have investigating to do,” I say, and depart briskly towards the stairs. I’ve barely sat down at my desk to consider matters when a messenger appears at my door carrying a missive from Lisutaris.
Have extended my powers, the message reads. Believe that jewel has now been transported to Blind Horse tavern in Kushni. Proceed there immediately.
I shake my head. The Blind Horse in the Kushni quarter. I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but the taverns are getting worse. The Blind Horse is the sort of place a man is grateful to come out of alive. If the clientele don’t get you, the klee will. With such a dubious venue as my next destination, I attempt to load a couple of spells into my memory. It takes a lot of effort. My sorcerous powers, always slight, are getting weaker every day. I still advertise myself as a Sorcerous Investigator to bring in the public, but really my powers are becoming negligible. Every time a Sorcerer uses a spell he has to relearn it before using it again, and these days I’m finding it very hard work. The door starts shaking from some violent knocking.
I wrench it open angrily. Casax, local Brotherhood boss, strides in without waiting for an invitation. He looks round with distaste at the mess, which, if I remember correctly, he did last time he was here.
“This place is getting worse.”
“At least it hasn’t burned to the ground.”
Casax smiles.
“We saved most of the important things. Now, would you like to tell me why my headquarters was set on fire? It’s the sort of thing I should know. Me being the most important crime boss in the area.”
“Yeah, I can see it’s bad for your image.”
“Very bad. So who did it?”
“How would I know?”
Casax’s eyes glint.
“Thraxas. I’m asking you in a friendly manner. I’m feeling friendly because you had the presence of mind to remind that useless Sorcerer of mine that he could put out the fire. Otherwise I’d be here with a dozen men. If you want me to come back with a dozen men I will. But I’d rather you just told me what was going on. I hear you went down to the Spiked Mace looking for some jewellery. Next thing four guys were dead and the Guards are questioning you. They let you out and you come to the Mermaid and what do you know, the Mermaid is burning down and inside are three dead men who just happened to be selling stolen jewellery. Which makes me think you’re on the trail of some pretty important gems.”
Casax takes a seat.
“Is it anything to do with the Orc girl and the Guild College?”
It’s unpleasant to learn that Casax knows so much about my movements, but not a surprise. Casax is sharp as an Elf’s ear and he has a lot of men working for him. Few things happen in Twelve Seas without Casax learning of it.
“No. Nothing to do with Makri. She’s in a dispute over five gurans. Not enough to interest you.”
“Probably not. Though five gurans is five gurans.”
The sounds of arguing drift in from the street below. The vendors are still in dispute. Casax already knows all about Makri’s problems.
“One of my captains has a son at the College. Wants him to get some qualifications and go to the University. You think that’s a good idea?”
I shrug.
“Maybe. Better than a life of crime.”
“That depends on the criminal. Anyway, suppose the kid goes to the University and ends up in some post at the Palace or the Abode of Justice, taking bribes from Senators? You think that’s not a life of crime?”
“Maybe he’ll end up a professor. I believe they’re still fairly free from corruption.”
“No one is free from corruption in Turai. Still, you might be right. Education, it’s a bit of a mystery to me. I started in the business when I was six, running bets for a bookmaker. So I never had much time for school. But if my captain wants to send his son to the College, I’m not against it.”
He pauses, temporarily distracted by the increasing vehemence of the argument outside.
“Incidentally, this son I mentioned thinks that the Orc girl didn’t take the money.”
“She didn’t.”
“You’ll have a hard time proving it, Investigator. Up there Professor Toarius is the only one with authority. The Consul appointed him as a favour to the struggling citizens of Twelve Seas. I doubt he’s going to pay much attention to you.”
“He might.”