“Both. The Sorcerers vote on the candidates and the top two go on to a final elimination.”
“Which involves?”
“A test inside the magic space.”
“What test?”
The Mistress of the Sky doesn’t know. Charius the Wise will set the test, and he’s keeping the details close to his chest.
“With any luck we’ll be looking for thazis plants,” says Lisutaris, who’s fairly single-minded about her pleasures these days. I show her along the corridor to Makri’s room and leave her at the door before heading downstairs for a beer. I get myself round a Happy Guildsman jumbo tankard of ale and inform Gurd that his barmaid will be missing for a few days as she is about to perform the duties of bodyguard for Turai’s leading Sorcerer. Gurd looks relieved. He’s been suffering at the hands of Makri’s moods, and ever since Tanrose told him it was due to some emotional difficulties, the Barbarian has been terrified that Makri might broach the subject with him. Gurd has more than enough emotional problems of his own. He’s attracted to Tanrose and never quite knows what to do about it.
“It will take her mind off things,” says Gurd. “Why did she want to get involved with an Elf anyway?”
“I don’t know. Probably thinks they’re handsome.”
“Why would she care about that? A good fighter and a good provider, that’s what a man should be.”
Sensing that Gurd is now worrying that Tanrose might not think he’s handsome enough, I change the subject.
“I’m about to look after an election. Not a job I ever thought I’d end up doing.”
“You think it will be fair?”
“I’ll make sure it is. Turai is depending on me, and I’m depending on the hefty fee Cicerius has offered me.”
“But what about all the magic they’ll be using?” asks Gurd. As a northern Barbarian, he’s never been too comfortable with magic.
“It won’t matter. If there’s anything irregular going on I’ll pick it up. Easy as bribing a Senator for a man of my experience.”
The tavern fills up as the evening draws on. The fierce winter is not harming Gurd’s business. People would rather be drinking in the warmth of the Avenging Axe than huddling miserably at home. I load up with several bowls of stew, then depart upstairs with beer. I look in on Makri to see if she’s taken the job as bodyguard. Lisutaris is still here. She’s lying unconscious on the floor surrounded by the remains of numerous enormous thazis sticks. Makri is comatose beside her. The room is so thick with smoke I can barely see the far wall. I shake my head.
“You’ll be a fine new head of the Sorcerers Guild,” I mutter, and leave them to it. If Cicerius could see her now, I figure he’d be regretting his choice.
[Contents]
Chapter Six
I take the paper to Astrath Triple Moon and ask him to work on it for me.
“Do you have any more details?”
A good Sorcerer can often glean information from an object but only if he has something to go on, something to anchor the enquiry. Left to his own devices, Astrath might scan the city for days and not link the paper to anything.
“It might not even have originated in Turai.”
“It did. I checked the watermark. The paper was made and sold right here in Turai. And it’s a woman’s handwriting.”
“How do you know?”
“I know. I’m an Investigator. The message was handed in at the Messengers Guild post in the middle of Royal Boulevard, which doesn’t narrow it down much. That’s a busy station, and the man on duty doesn’t remember who brought it in. But I have a hunch. Not that many people in Turai would ever have heard of Covinius. A few people at Palace Security maybe, but they don’t employ women. But there is one woman who’d know all about him. And she’s based in Kushni, not far from that messenger post. Hanama.”
“Hanama?”
“One of our own Assassins. She might send a warning to Lisutaris.”
“Wouldn’t that be against the Assassins’ rules?”
“Hanama seems to be playing by her own set these days.”
Astrath Triple Moon agrees to check her out, and I carry on with my preparations for the Assemblage. Cicerius is providing me with expenses money so I’ll be okay for beer. Makri complains continually about the weather and is even more irritating than usual.
“Maybe she should sail back to Elfland,” suggests Gurd, after clearing up the tavern following a fight between Makri and three dock workers who she claimed had insulted her. “A barmaid has to expect a few insults, it’s part of the job.”
Two days later I’m standing outside a large hall at the edge of Thamlin, just outside the grounds of the Imperial Palace. The grounds are white, covered by snow. The trees are frosted and the ponds and fountains frozen over. Snow is falling heavily and the assembled soldiery and Civil Guards stand miserably in shivering ranks. They’re gathered here because the King himself has been making a speech to the Sorcerers, welcoming them to the Assemblage and wishing them a pleasant time in the city state of Turai.
I’m stuck outside because I wasn’t invited to this part of the ceremony, which demonstrates that Tribune of the People is not that great a thing to be. While I’m waiting to be let in, I reflect sadly that a few years ago, when I was Senior Investigator at Palace Security, I’d see the King regularly. I doubt he’d recognise me these days. If he did he wouldn’t acknowledge me. A man who’s been bounced out of his job for drunkenness at the Palace no longer has enough status to be noticed by the King. I wonder if Rittius will show up at the Assemblage. He’s the current head of Palace Security and a bitter enemy of mine. I’ve done him plenty of bad turns and he’s paid them all back. Last year he took me to court and damn near bankrupted me. I shiver. Maybe I can persuade one of the Sorcerers here to show me a more effective spell for warming my cloak.
It’s a relief when the King and his retinue emerge from the building and ride off through the blizzard. I trudge forward to the huge portico that leads into the Royal Hall. This is one of the largest buildings in Turai, almost as big as the Senate. It dates from a few hundred years ago but, as with Turai’s other public buildings, it’s kept in excellent repair by the King. He likes his public works to look impressive and he’s not short of money since the trade route from the south opened up a few years back, and the gold mines in the north ran into some very productive veins of ore.
“Sorcerers and their staff only,” says a young woman at the door. Her blue cloak signifies that she is an apprentice.
I bring out my letter bearing Cicerius’s seal and flash it in her direction.
“Official Turanian government representative,” I say.
She studies the paper.
“Tribune of the People? What’s that?”
“A very important position,” I reply, and march past. After standing outside in the cold for what seems like hours I’m not about to explain my business to the hired help.
Once inside, my first task is to find beer. Sorcerers need a plentiful supply and so do I. After making some enquiries I find that refreshments are served in the Room of Saints at the back of the hall. It’s already crowded and no one is looking at the statues, frescoes and mosaics of our great religious figures. Drinking is already underway. The Sorcerers, no doubt bored by the King’s speech, are keen to get on with the business of enjoying themselves. Normally in a crowded inn I’d use my body weight to force my way through, but here I’m rather more circumspect. It’s absolutely forbidden for a Sorcerer to blast anyone with a spell at the Assemblage—it would lead to immediate expulsion—but I don’t want to offend anyone unnecessarily. Not yet anyway. I’ll get round to it soon enough.