There is great agitation in the main hall as the Sorcerers congregate to discuss the murder. They come pouring from all corners of the building, workshops abandoned. Even the Juvalians emerge from the Room of Saints, drinks in hand. Illuminated staffs are fired up all over the hall, as if to cast light on the affair. Sunstorm Ramius is already deep in discussion with other important Sorcerers. It won’t be long before they start looking for the killer. Again I get the urge to ride out of town. When they conjure up a picture of me dumping that body, the whole Guild will be down on me like a bad spell. If the Sorcerers don’t just blast me on the spot, the Civil Guards will prosecute. Either way, my prospects are poor.
Astrath Triple Moon is standing alone on the fringes of the crowd.
“Any news on the knife?”
The Sorcerer is very worried.
“No. It’s been wiped. Is it the knife which. . . .”
His voice tails off. I tell him I’d rather not give him any more details. Astrath accepts this. He’d rather not know. He promises to keep on working but he’s deeply troubled to find himself involved in such an affair.
“I owe you a lot, Thraxas, but if the Guild really gets on my back it’s going to be difficult to lie to them.”
I take the opportunity to ask Astrath if he knows of any spell, or any Sorcerer, who could create a sequence of fake events lasting almost a full minute, and send it back into the past. He doesn’t.
“I don’t think it could be done. Not by us, or the Elves, or the Orcs. Every detail of a long scene? There would just be too many things to control. And what about the real events? It’s one thing to hide them for a while, but unless you completely erased them somehow they’d keep bursting through any illusion.”
The news spreads that Darius was found in a snowdrift, stabbed to death. Those Sorcerers who are familiar with Turai explain to those who are not that Twelve Seas is the bad part of the city near the harbour, where crime is rampant. There’s a lot of nodding of heads. The immediate impression is that the Abelasian must have gone there seeking either dwa or a prostitute, neither of which would be particularly strange for a Sorcerer on holiday.
Princess Direeva and her apprentice remain aloof from the masses. There’s no telling how the Princess will react if she finds herself being questioned by the Guards. Will she maintain silence, to help Makri and Lisutaris? Or tell what she knows, claim diplomatic immunity and depart swiftly? Already with Direeva and Astrath it seems like there are too many people who might be indiscreet. Even if Lisutaris’s spell miraculously hides the events of the murder for weeks, I can’t see the Civil Guard being baffled for long. They know how to follow a trail. Nor can I see the addled Mistress of the Sky standing up to questioning. I curse the day I ever became involved with the woman. It would have been better all round if the dragons she brought down had fallen on top of her.
It’s time to visit Hanama. There’s a Messengers Guild post in the entrance hall, placed there for the convenience of the Sorcerers. The young messenger who takes my scroll looks surprised when he sees that it’s addressed to the headquarters of the Assassins Guild, but he hurries off, keen as always to do his duty. These young messengers are always keen. I’ve no idea why.
I hurry from the Assemblage and pick up a landus outside. Shortly afterwards I’m sitting in a tavern on the outskirts of the notorious Kushni quarter. Kushni is a hive of drinking dens, gambling dens, dwa houses, whorehouses and anything else disreputable you might wish for. In the summer it’s a seething, sweltering mass of decadent humanity. Even in the depths of winter, trade goes on at an unhealthy pace. The Assassins have their headquarters nearby. I’ve informed Hanama that if she ignores this message I’m going to march in and call for her in a loud voice. I figure that ought to bring her out. No Assassin likes hearing their name shouted out loud, they’re a private sort of people.
A young whore with red ribbons in her hair sidles up to the table. I ignore her. Her young male companion then approaches. He’s also got red ribbons in his hair. I don’t think the Whores Guild admits men. I could be wrong. I ignore him as well. A dwa dealer offers me some Choirs of Angels, cheap. I tell him to get lost. The dealer’s friend gets insistent. I take a dagger from my pocket and lay it on the table. They sneer at me and mouth a few insults but they leave me alone. There are plenty of willing customers to cater for. No need to argue with a big angry man with a knife.
Hanama arrives in the dark garb of a common market worker. Each time I’ve encountered her I’ve been surprised by how young she looks. From her many reported exploits she can’t be much under thirty, but she’s a small, slender woman, dark-haired but very pale-skinned. With the aid of a little disguise she could pass as a child. The thought of Hanama dressing up as a child before disposing of another victim makes me shudder. I loathe the Assassins. Hanama is as cold as an Orc’s heart. The fact that I fought beside her last year doesn’t make me like her any better.
Hanama refuses my offer of beer.
“Staying sober? Got an assassination coming up?”
Not the best introduction perhaps, but it’s hard to find the right tone when you’re talking to a woman who has famously killed all sorts of important people. It’s said she once killed an Elf Lord, an Orc Lord and a Senator all in one day. Hanama stares at me, pale and expressionless. She’s not pleased at my method of bringing her to a meeting. I wonder whether I could knock her out with a sleep spell before she got her knife in my throat. I’m not carrying any spells. I’d better not offend her too much.
“Why did you insist on seeing me?”
“I’m looking for some information about Covinius.”
“An Assassin from Simnia, as is public knowledge, I believe.”
“But public knowledge doesn’t go any further. Like whether it’s a man or a woman. Or what Covinius looks like. Or whether he actually comes from Simnia.”
“I know no more about him.”
“What brings him to Turai?”
“I did not know that he was in Turai.”
“Then why did you send a message to Lisutaris warning her?”
This has to take Hanama by surprise but you couldn’t tell from her expression. She denies it coolly. I tell her to stop wasting time.
“I know you sent the message. You might be number one chariot at murder but when it comes to covering your tracks you’re a washout. I worked out it was you in a couple of minutes, and I’ve got sorcerous proof to back me up.”
The tiniest hint of colour touches Hanama’s cheeks for a second or two. I think I might actually have embarrassed her.
“Don’t feel bad. Investigating’s my business. No one else knows you’ve been sending messages.”
If Hanama’s Guild knew she had she’d be in trouble. The Assassins generally strive to avoid becoming embroiled in the world of politics. Neither would Hanama’s companions be pleased to know of her involvement in the Association of Gentlewomen.
“I’m presuming you warned Lisutaris because of that Association?”
Hanama remains silent. I point out that as I’m responsible for Lisutaris’s well-being, along with Makri, it would make a lot more sense to tell me what she knows. Hanama considers it while I calculate the chances of leaving the tavern alive if I’m forced to blackmail her.
“You know your buddy Lisutaris is quite likely to end up dead at the hands of Covinius?”
This seems to sway her.
“An informant who works for my organisation was fatally wounded last week. Before dying he informed us that Covinius the Simnian was heading to Turai. He had encountered him in the course of his work. The nature of this informant’s mission is secret, and unconnected with either Lisutaris or the Sorcerers Assemblage, so I am unable to tell you any more. But it did occur to me that if Simnia were bringing an Assassin with them, Lisutaris would be the likely target. She is Ramius’s main rival.”