“Do you have to bet on everything?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think they have bookmakers on Avula,” says Makri.
“Don’t you believe it. Just because the festival features high-class tragedy doesn’t mean there isn’t someone running a low-class gambling operation somewhere. If you can get a hot tip for the juggling competition, I’ve no doubt I can place some money on it.”
With her mind occupied by the theatre, Makri has little enthusiasm for juggling, but she does express an interest in the tournament. She’s sorry that it is only for the under-fifteens and would have preferred to see the true Elvish warriors battling it out, but considers that any fighting is better than none.
“I’ve never seen a tournament,” she says.
She is disappointed when I inform her of the probable nature of the event.
“It’s only practice really. Nothing too vicious. They use wooden swords and there are restrictions on what you can do. No stamping on your opponent’s groin for instance, and no attacks to the eyes.”
“No groin-stamping? No attacks to the eyes? What’s the point of that?”
“They’re all under fifteen, Makri. The Elves don’t want to maim their kids, just give them a little practice in sword play. And don’t tell me that when you were fifteen you were already killing dragons. You mentioned that already. But being a gladiator is not the same thing as entering a civilised tournament.”
Makri is still dissatisfied. “Sounds like a waste of time to me.”
I’m eating my dinner from a tray. Obviously realising that I am a man of healthy appetites, my hosts have sent me a great amount of food. It’s not quite the gargantuan meal I’d take in back at the Avenging Axe after a hard day’s investigating, but it comes close. As I drink the last of the bottle of wine they sent along with it I feel a little more in tune with the world.
“Did Camith have any idea why everyone was having bad dreams?”
“Not exactly. He thought it might have something to do with the damage to the Hesuni Tree. The Avulans are all connected to it in some way.”
“Isn’t it healthy again? It looked okay to me.”
Makri nods. The tree healers have brought it back to full health. Something is still causing the Elves to have nightmares, though, which is interesting.
“So what now? If Elith did kill the priest, what can you do? Are you serious about breaking her out of jail?”
“Maybe. The way these Elves run things it would be as easy as bribing a Senator. Her last cell didn’t even have any bars on the window. Elith just gave her word she wouldn’t escape.”
I pause. It is very, very unusual for an Elf to break her word. It’s something they just don’t do. It’s calanith. Vas would rather die than disgrace himself in such a way. It strikes me that there must have been some overwhelmingly powerful reason for Elith-ir-Methet to leave the Palace.
“But I’m not convinced she’s guilty. I don’t like the way she can’t remember anything about damage to the tree. It means she’s either lying or under pressure from someone. Or else her memory has been affected by sorcery or drugs. I’m not happy about her murder confession either. She was acting very strangely the whole time I was with her. The first time I saw her she fainted right away and you know, Elvish women don’t faint a lot. They’re tougher than that. I’ve seen them fighting Orcs. When I was asking her questions I swear her mind was somewhere else. There was a very strange look in her eyes.”
“What kind of look?”
I can’t exactly describe it. “Something like a person on dwa.”
Makri is dubious. “You said dwa hadn’t reached the Elvish Isles.”
“It hasn’t. Anyway, it doesn’t affect them the same way it affects Humans. I’ve seen the occasional decadent Elf in Turai who’s taken it, but they never get the same hit off the drug as a Human. Nothing like enough to be so out of it they’d forget about committing some major crime. I’ll go and see Kalith’s Sorcerer, Jir-ar-Eth, and see if he might have picked up any lingering traces of magic. Lord Kalith has probably had him examine Elith by now, though if he’s found anything I doubt he’ll be eager to tell me. Things would be a lot easier if these damned Elves would cooperate. Still, I knew it was going to be tough.”
I consider the situation. Things look bad for Elith-ir-Methet, but things have looked tough for my clients before. It’s not as if anyone has provided a motive for the killing, and I can’t see why a respectable Elf would just up and kill the Tree Priest for no reason. As for the witnesses, I’m keeping an open mind. There are plenty of reasons why witnesses might get things wrong. Like wanting to please an Elf Lord for instance. I’ll start nosing around the Hesuni Tree and see who else might have had something against Gulas-ar-Thetos. And I’ll ask a few questions about Gorith. I’m suspicious of him, if only because he seemed so hostile towards me.
Makri stretches. “Camith gave me this scroll; it’s all about the local plants. He used to learn from it when he was at school. Elves go to school in trees, which is no real surprise. Tomorrow I’m going to look around at the local plant life and then see what the Elves have in the way of swords, knives and axes. You think they might give me some free stuff, seeing as I’m their guest? Thank God that spineless brat Isuas isn’t here to bother me any more.”
“Eh . . . hello,” says the spineless brat, entering the room timidly. She’s wearing a green floppy hat that comes to a point at the end, rather like a pixie might wear in a children’s story. It makes her look even younger than usual. As Isuas walks towards Makri she catches her foot in a rug and plummets to the floor. It’s quite a pathetic sight, but Makri looks on stonily as I help the youngster up. She rubs her head and tries not to cry.
“I thought I’d see if you were all right,” she says, fumbling with her hat.
“I was a minute ago,” says Makri sharply.
I’m still of the opinion that being friends with Kalith’s daughter would be no bad thing, so I cover up for Makri’s rudeness by asking Isuas if she’s pleased to be home.
“Feel good to be back on dry land?”
Isuas shrugs. “Okay. But everyone’s busy at the Palace.”
I have the impression that everyone being too busy for Isuas might not be that uncommon.
“Will you save Elith even though she killed Gulas?”
“I will. And I’m not convinced she did kill him.”
“I hope not,” says the young Elf. “I like Elith.”
“Will you teach me more fighting?” she says to Makri, unexpectedly.
“No,” replies Makri. “I’m busy.”
“Please,” says Isuas. “It’s important.”
Makri sticks her nose in her scroll.
“Why is it important?” I enquire.
“So I can fight in the junior tournament.”
Makri emerges from her scroll to have a good laugh. “The junior tournament? With wooden swords?”
“Yes. For all the Elves under fifteen. My oldest brother won it six years ago. My next oldest brother won it the year after that. And my next oldest brother won it the year—”
“We get the picture,” says Makri. “And now you want to enter but you can’t because you’re too puny and haven’t a chance of making it past the first round even if your father lets you enter, which no doubt he wouldn’t. You being so puny. And clumsy.”
Isuas stares at the floor. Makri seems to have summed it up neatly enough.
“They never let me do anything,” Isuas mumbles.
“Who can blame them?” says Makri.
“Please,” wails Isuas. “I want to enter the tournament.”
Makri again finds something to interest her in her scroll. I frown. I wish she didn’t display her dislike of the child quite so openly.
“What do your parents say about you entering the lists?”
“My father refuses to listen.”
“Well, perhaps we could have a word with your mother,” I suggest. “If Lady Yestar had no objections, I’m sure Makri could continue your lessons.”