I nod. I notice that Lord Kalith has a game of niarit set out on the small table by his couch. I glance at the pieces.
“The Harper’s Game,” I say, recognising the formation.
Lord Kalith raises an eyebrow. “You play the game?”
“Often. But I never favour the Harper’s Game. I find it’s too susceptible to an attack from the Elephants and the Plague Carrier.”
“I have been working on a new variation. It involves some new moves for the Hero and the Sorcerer. Perhaps we shall have a chance to play, later in the voyage?”
As I leave the cabin his farewell is friendlier than it might have been. Keen niarit players always feel some sort of bond with their fellows. Heading back to my cabin, I’m thoughtful. As a warning not to do any investigating, it was reasonably friendly. I’ve had far worse.
Makri is sitting on my bunk reading a scroll. She’s wearing a green Elvish tunic brought to her by Isuas, the young Elf maid. While none of the other Elves on board has so much as spoken to Makri, Isuas doesn’t seem to share their inhibitions. From the way she bounded into the cabin minutes after Makri arrived soaking wet, and offered to find her some dry clothes, I’d say Makri might have made a friend. Makri doesn’t seem too impressed.
“At least someone on this ship likes you. I’d have thought you’d be pleased.”
“She annoys me.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s so weedy and pathetic. Are all thirteen-year-old Elf girls like that?”
I tell her I don’t think so. Isuas does seem a little on the small side, but I don’t see that as any reason for Makri’s dislike.
“I hate weedy little girls,” says Makri, matter-of-factly. “Back in the slave pits they just used them for target practice. If I’d been runt-sized like her I’d have been dead long ago.”
“Well, excuse the rest of the world for not all being demented warrior women,” I say, and tell her to shove up on the bunk as I need to sit down. “Anyway, try not to alienate her. Apart from Vas, she’s probably the only Elf on board with any sympathy towards either of us. You know, I’ve just been warned off by Lord Kalith? Not what I was expecting, I must say. I thought he’d be pleased to have an experienced investigator coming down to sort things out. It’s weird the way my cases always get so difficult right from the start. Sometimes I think I’m cursed by the Gods.”
Makri shrugs. She’s not big on religion. “Maybe you should pray more. Are you still meant to do it three times a day, even on a ship?”
In Turai this is a legal requirement.
“A Turanian citizen should pray at the correct times, no matter where he is.”
“I haven’t noticed you doing it,” says Makri.
“Yes, well, my knees aren’t what they were. It’s hard on a man, having to kneel all the time.”
In truth, I haven’t been out of bed in time for morning prayers for something like ten years, and for the other two daily prayer slots I generally just try to hide in my room.
“Anyway it’s too late for prayer now, I’m stuck with you.”
“What do you mean, stuck with me?” protests Makri.
“Exactly that. The plan was for me to go to Avula, thereby missing the rigours of the Turanian winter, quickly clear Elith-ir-Methet of Tree desecration, then spend the rest of the time lounging around in the sun drinking beer. Now you’ve managed to spoil everything. I’m practically confined to my cabin, and when we get to Avula I’ll be lucky if the Elves will deign to speak with me—I’m a man with a travelling companion who has Orc blood. And it’s no use looking at me like that, you know full well it’s true. It beats me why you insisted on coming.”
“I didn’t insist on coming. It was an accident. I was just trying to get your money back.”
I still suspect Makri staged the whole thing.
“Shouldn’t you be home studying?”
Makri attends the Guild College, a place where those sons of the lower classes of Turai who wish to better themselves take classes in philosophy, theology, rhetoric, mathematics and whatever else it is they teach there. Makri is the first woman ever to study at the College. At first they refused to have her, but she gained entry by extreme force of personality and some threats of legal action by the Association of Gentlewomen. Her ultimate ambition is to attend the Imperial University. There is no chance that they will ever let her in, but she refuses to be put off.
“The College shuts for the winter. I figure this trip will do me a load of good next year. I’ll be able to give my professors first-hand accounts of Elvish society.”
“You’ll be able to give them first-hand accounts of what it’s like to stay on a ship, you mean. There’s no chance they’re letting you disembark, Makri.”
“But I want to see the festival. Just think, there are going to be three staged versions of the tale of Queen Leeuven.”
“Sounds dull to me. These Elvish plays are all full of heroes battling hopelessly against fate, and they always end in tragedy.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“When I’m at the theatre I like something a little more entertaining.”
Makri makes a face at me. “You mean you like it when the chorus line sings some obscene drinking song and the heroine’s top falls off by accident.”
“That’s the sort of thing,” I agree. “I never enjoyed the classics.”
“They have to let me attend the festival,” says Makri. “I’m the only one from Turai who’ll appreciate it properly.”
“You won’t appreciate it if the Elves start rioting because they sense Orc blood in the audience.”
“Do Elves riot?” asks Makri.
I admit I don’t know. If Makri sets foot on Avula, we’ll probably find out.
By the fourth day of our voyage I’m bored. The ship is making good time over a calm sea with a fast wind behind us, but I’m starting to feel more than a little frustrated. Deputy Consul Cicerius has strongly suggested that I keep myself hidden for the whole of the journey. As a free Turanian citizen I don’t have to do what the Deputy Consul says, but I don’t want to aggravate him more than is necessary. He could make my life very difficult back in Turai. During the past year I’ve done some good work for Cicerius, thereby increasing my standing with city officials, but if I end up offending him or the Prince I could have my Investigator’s licence revoked and then I’d be in trouble.
I sigh. It’s surprising how much of my life is spent being in trouble. I should have studied more when I was young. I could have been a proper Sorcerer.
As for Prince Dees-Akan, he has not yet condescended to visit me. Nor has an invitation to an informal get-together in his cabin come my way.
I’ve been explaining the case to Makri. Normally I’d do this anyway—Makri is a very smart woman—but I had planned to be mad at her for a lot longer. However, as we have now been thrown together in one small cabin, it seems easier to forget her numerous outrages and revert to being friends.
The facts, as reported by Vas, are puzzling: his daughter Elith-ir-Methet was found unconscious at the scene of the crime, the Tree was badly damaged and she still had an axe in her hand.
“Is she saying she didn’t do it?” asks Makri.
“Unfortunately not. She claims not to remember anything.”
“That’s going to make things difficult for you.”
I nod. “Even if Elith is telling the truth about remembering nothing, it doesn’t mean she’s innocent. I’ve known criminals who’ve blanked out all memories of their crime. Something to do with the trauma, I suppose.”
“So what are you going to do? Distort the facts? Muddy the waters till there isn’t enough evidence to convict her?”
“Only as a last resort. I’ll at least try to find out the truth first. It’s possible she didn’t do it. It sounds to me as if there wasn’t any sort of proper investigation. The Elves on Avula are not used to investigating. I’m going along with the presumption that’s she’s been framed.”