He pauses. “Have you been drinking?”
I don’t deny it. It passes the time.
Cicerius departs with his nose in the air. I notice that he is vain enough to wear a cloak sufficiently short to display the gold edging around the bottom of his toga. Only the upper classes wear togas. I’m dressed in my standard dull tunic with a heavy cloak to keep out the elements. I wander off, wondering who I might profitably spend some time with. It makes sense at least to try to gather some background information. Elith is due to be tried immediately after the festival, which means I’ll only have a week or so to investigate the affair once we land.
I decide to see if I can find Lanius Suncatcher and Harmon Half-Elf. So far I have had little contact with them on board and I wonder if they might have picked up anything interesting about the crime. Before I can go in search of the Sorcerers, an Elf I don’t recognise plants himself firmly in front of me. I greet him politely. He stares at me in a hostile manner. Though most of the Elves tie their hair back whilst on board ship, his long golden hair swings freely in the wind. His eyes are a little darker than normal and he has a powerful build. We stand looking at each other in silence.
“I am Gorith-ar-Del,” he says, finally.
I stare at him blankly. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
“Callis-ar-Del was my brother. He hired you to help him. Then he got killed.”
Callis-ar-Del. I remember him. Along with his friend Jaris-ar-Miat, he was one of the Elves who hired me to look for the valuable Red Elvish Cloth last summer. They pretended they were trying to recover it for their Elf Lord Kalith-ar-Yil, our ship’s Captain, but in reality they were trying to steal it. Both were eventually killed by Hanama from the Assassins Guild. They got in her way, which was foolish.
The way Gorith-ar-Del is staring at me, I have the impression he holds me responsible. I wasn’t, but I don’t want to go over the details of the case again. Hearing about his brother’s criminal activities can only be painful to Gorith.
“I don’t believe my brother was trying to steal the Cloth. I believe he was made the scapegoat after being caught up in events in a foreign city. He hired you to help him. Why didn’t you protect him?”
The wind is picking up, My hair, tied back in a long ponytail, starts to swing gently like a pendulum.
“He left Turai without telling me. I did go after him, and I caught up with him before his ship left harbour. Unfortunately he was dead by then. The Assassins Guild. It was no secret.”
“And was any effort made to punish the killers?”
“No one from the Assassins Guild ever gets taken to court.”
“Why not?”
“That would require a longer lecture on Turanian politics and customs than you want to hear. I’m sorry your brother was killed.”
Gorith leans towards me threateningly. “It seems to me that someone set my brother up with the Cloth then was able to share the profits after he was murdered.” The Elf’s eyes are cold. “I don’t trust you, fat man.”
Gorith-ar-Del stalks off, graceful despite the pitching of the ship. I look at his retreating figure. I shrug, and continue on my way to find Lanius and Harmon.
I locate them below decks in Harmon’s cabin, which is a whole lot bigger than mine. The Elvish Sorcerer Jir-ar-Eth is with them and they’re all seated comfortably, drinking wine. I’m irritated that no one thought to invite me, a fellow practitioner of the mystic arts, for a friendly drink. Harmon Half-Elf greets me affably enough.
“Come in, Thraxas. How are things with you?”
“Better than rowing a slave galley. Not too much better though. The Turanian delegation wishes I wasn’t here, the Elves are freezing me out and my cabin is occupied by a woman who only stops complaining when she’s throwing up.”
Vas has given Makri soothing herbs and potions, but she seems to be unusually prone to seasickness. There is nothing to do but wait for it to pass.
I’ve really come here looking for some friendly company, but the sight of all the friendly company going on quite merrily without me is annoying. Even the Sorcerers are avoiding me. How come I’m the one who’s suffering here? Rather than the civilised conversation I had in mind, I find myself pitching into the Elvish Sorcerer with an aggressive line in questioning.
“So, what’s up with you Elves anyway?” I demand, fixing Jir-ar-Eth with an accusing look. “I’m starting to think you all have something to hide. How come no one will answer my questions? Scared I’ll dig up something?”
“Not at all,” replies Jir-ar-Eth. “You can hardly blame Avulans for some reticence in the face of a man they have never met, who brings with him a woman of Orc parentage. But to the best of my knowledge, all the facts about the assault on the Hesuni Tree are known.”
“Oh yes?” I grunt. “Well, I’m not convinced.”
I’m feeling aggressive. It feels good. I’ve had enough of crawling around being polite. I take a goblet of wine, uninvited, and bark a few more questions.
Unlike our magicians, who all wear a rainbow cloak as a mark of their guild, Jir-ar-Eth is clad in a standard Elf’s green cloak with only a small yellow tree embroidered on the shoulder as a mark of his profession. He looks fairly old for an Elf, with his golden hair turning silver, but vigorous still.
“I understand that Elith can’t remember the crime. Very convenient, don’t you think?”
“You believe that someone else is responsible? Why?”
“Investigator’s intuition,” I reply. “And I’ll trust my intuition against yours any day. Is there any chance of another glass of wine? Thank you. So, why did Vas’s daughter damage the Tree?”
The Elvish Sorcerer confesses that he has no idea. Elith has not vouchsafed a motive.
“Rather suspicious, don’t you think? Who might have framed her?”
“Really!” protests Jir. “This is quite uncalled for. You must not apply the standards of your Human city to those of the Elvish Isles.”
“Oh yes,” I state, walking around the cabin waving my hands in the air. “You Elves are always keen to brag about your high standards. Well let me tell you, I’ve had to help quite a few high-class Elves out of tough spots in Turai. Generally when they find themselves drunk in some low-class brothel and want it all hushed up from their Elf Lord.”
Jir-ar-Eth looks at me with amazement. Possibly fearing that Jir is about to blast me with a spell for my insolence, Lanius Suncatcher tries his best to smooth things over.
“You must excuse Thraxas,” he laughs. “Always has to see suspicious circumstances everywhere. Back at the Palace he was famous for it.”
I am unapologetic. It’s time I stirred things up a little around here. I’ve been on this ship for two weeks and I’ve learned nothing at all. You can’t expect an Investigator to take that lying down. (Not this Investigator anyway. Maybe some others with lower standards.)
“I really don’t see that you have any cause for suspicion, Thraxas,” says Harmon Half-Elf. “And I would suggest that you moderate your manner. Cicerius and the Prince will not be pleased to learn that you are insulting our hosts.”
“Cicerius and our Prince can go to hell. I’m fed up with being warned about my behaviour. Who was it saved the city from that mad Orc Sorcerer only last month at the race meeting? Me. I didn’t see anyone complaining about my bad manners then.”
“Everyone complained about your bad manners,” retorts Harmon. “You were just too pleased with yourself to pay any attention.”
The Elvish Sorcerer clams up and refuses to answer any more of my questions. Lanius suggests that perhaps I should go back to my cabin and rest.
“Fine,” I tell him, and pack a bottle of wine into the bag at my side. “I will. But don’t expect me to pussyfoot around when I get to Avula. If anyone tries to hide the facts from me there I’ll be down on them like a bad spell.”