“I slept with an Elf on Avula. And I’ve been miserable ever since.”
I silently curse Tanrose. She should be dealing with this sort of thing.
“Right . . . well . . . you know . . . I’m sure it will work out fine.”
Makri dabs her eyes and looks at me.
“Is that it? Is that the best you can do?”
I spread my arms wide and contrive to look hopeless.
“Makri, I might be number one chariot when it comes to investigating and sharp as an Elf’s ear at the race track, but I never claimed to be any good on emotional problems. I assume this is an emotional problem?”
“What did you think it was?”
“With you it’s hard to tell. If it turns out you stabbed the Elf I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Makri starts crying again. I wish the Brotherhood would attack. A good sword fight would take her mind off it. Makri never had a lover before and now appears to be suffering some sort of crisis.
“Wasn’t that what you wanted? I mean, an Elf, leafy glades and such like? Better than some lowlife in Twelve Seas anyway. The first time I was with a woman I was fourteen, drunk, and her pimp came in halfway through to check I had enough money.”
“Why hasn’t See-ath been in touch?” wails Makri. “He’s ignoring me. Wasn’t it important?”
“He’s thousands of miles away on an Elvish island. How’s he going to get in touch?”
“He could send a message.”
I point out that in the middle of winter even the Elves can’t make the voyage to Turai. Makri is unconvinced and seems to think that he should have tried harder.
“I’m sure he could have sent a message.”
“How?”
“He could’ve used a Sorcerer.”
“Makri, Sorcerers can sometimes communicate over long distances but it’s not easy. Only a very powerful Sorcerer could contact Turai from Avula, and he’d need plenty of help from the right conjunctions of the moon, not to mention calm weather and a certain amount of good fortune. It’s a difficult business. I really don’t think your young lover could persuade the local Sorcerer to send a message to his girlfriend, no matter how much he wanted to.”
“Fine,” says Makri, angrily. “Be on his side then.” She stands up and storms out the room.
I take a hefty slug of klee. I’m unnerved. I resolve to have a strong word with Tanrose. She should be dealing with this, I’m far too busy investigating. I take another drink and realise I’m feeling angry about the whole thing, though I’m not sure why.
There’s a knock on my outside door. I answer it warily, fearing that the Brotherhood may be here to ask questions about their sudden loss of a dwa dealer. It turns out to be Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky. I’m moderately pleased to see her and welcome her in. It’s probably a good idea to talk to her before the Assemblage, though I’m surprised she’s travelled to Twelve Seas. If I was a powerful Sorcerer living in the pleasant environs of Truth is Beauty Lane, nothing would get me south of the river.
Lisutaris has high cheekbones, a lot of fair hair and carries herself elegantly. We’re about the same age but you wouldn’t know it. She’s attractive, and rather glamorous when she takes the notion, though when she arrives she’s wrapped in a sensible amount of fur and her rainbow cloak is a practical winter model rather than the fancy thing she normally wears.
My rooms are extremely untidy. Lisutaris isn’t overly concerned about the niceties, however, and sweeps some junk off a chair before sitting down and enquiring if I can provide her with some wine to keep her circulation moving while she prepares some thazis for consumption.
“No wine. Beer?”
Lisutaris nods, and concentrates on her thazis. Most people smoke thazis in small sticks, but Lisutaris, when separated from her water pipe, constructs far larger versions, and she proceeds to do this while I bring her ale. In no time the room reeks of thazis and Lisutaris is looking more comfortable.
“It’s cold as the ice queen’s grave out there,” she mutters. “I’ve got a warming spell on my cloak, my hat, my boots and my carriage, and I’m still shivering.”
I ask her what brings her to Twelve Seas.
“I hear you’re going to the Assemblage as Cicerius’s representative.”
“I am.”
“Did he ask you to fix the election for me?”
“Not exactly. Just to make sure it wasn’t fixed against you. Do you care?”
Lisutaris shrugs.
“Not particularly. It will be bad for Turai if the Simnian gets the post, but what the hell, the Orcs will destroy the city soon enough, either that or Nioj will.”
“The King thinks that having you as head of the Guild will give us protection.”
“It might. Who knows?”
Lisutaris inhales another vast amount of thazis smoke.
“What I mainly want to happen at the Assemblage,” she continues, “is for me not to get killed.”
“You think that’s likely?”
She does.
“I received an anonymous message saying an Assassin was on his way.”
Lisutaris is short on details. She’s brought the message with her and hands it over. A small piece of paper with neat handwriting.
You may be in danger from an Assassin at the Assemblage. Covinius is coming.
There’s nothing else. Nothing else to see, that is, though a piece of paper can often yield a lot to sorcerous investigation. I tell Lisutaris I’ll get to work on it.
“Did you inform the Civil Guard?”
“Yes. But the Guards won’t be allowed into the Assemblage. That’s why I want to hire you.”
I tell Lisutaris that strictly she doesn’t have to. Cicerius has already hired me to work on her behalf. Lisutaris insists she’d be happier if she hired me directly, and there’s some sense in this so I take a retainer fee from her.
“It’s very hard to get any information about the Assassins. But I’ll do my best. Most probably it’s just some crank.”
“Who is Covinius?” asks Lisutaris.
“A member of the Simnian Assassins Guild. He has an evil reputation. People say he’s never failed on a mission.”
“I’m not feeling any better,” says Lisutaris, frowning. “I don’t want this job enough to get killed for it.”
Lisutaris is strong enough to carry a powerful protection spell at all times. This will turn a blade, but there’s no saying how many ways a murderous expert like Covinius could find to get around it. I repeat that there’s probably nothing in it, but in truth I’m worried.
A freezing draught from under the door is badly affecting my feet. I kick an old cushion over to cover the gap. Lisutaris smiles. There are plenty of Sorcerers I wouldn’t welcome here, but Lisutaris isn’t the snobbish type. Back in the war she slept in a tent by the walls like everyone else. I realise I rather like her. I’ll be sorry if she ends up with an Assassin’s dart in her heart.
“I need someone to watch my back,” says the Sorcerer.
“Didn’t you just hire me for that?”
“Yes. But you’re going to be busy with other things at the Assemblage. I want to recruit Makri as a bodyguard.”
This doesn’t seem like a bad idea. If you want a bodyguard, Makri is a good choice, providing you don’t mind her killing a few extra people every now and then. And with the Guild College being closed for the winter, she’s got time on her hands.
“I think she’ll be pleased to do it. Cheer her up, probably.”
“Has Makri been unhappy?”
In other circumstances it would be strange that the well-bred Mistress of the Sky would even know Makri, but they’ve met through the Association of Gentlewomen. So I believe anyway, though the Association keeps its business secret.
“Fairly unhappy. A few personal problems. I sorted most of it out.”
Lisutaris’s attention is already starting to wander. When I ask her about the Assemblage it takes a few moments for her to reply.
“How exactly is the new head of the Guild chosen? Is it a straight election or is there some sort of test?”