“Lisutaris still unconscious?”
“No, wide awake.”
I’m surprised.
“What happened? The water pipe break from overuse?”
“Lisutaris never starts on the water pipe till Copro’s been to do her hair. She needs to be fully alert for the morning beauty treatments. Copro wouldn’t like it if she wasn’t paying attention. He’s quite temperamental.”
Discussing Copro, I feel quite temperamental myself.
“I need to see her.”
“You can’t see her yet. Copro doesn’t like to be interrupted when he’s working.”
“Goddammit, are you serious? I’m trying to get her off a murder rap and she’s too busy getting her hair done?”
“You can’t expect an important Sorcerer to turn up at the Assemblage with her hair in poor condition,” says Makri. “It’s hardly going to impress people.”
“They’re voting for top Sorcerer, not fashion woman of the year.”
“No one’s going to vote for her if they think she’s not making an effort,” asserts Makri.
“So how come you’re a fan of Copro all of a sudden? I thought you didn’t like him.”
I stare at Makri suspiciously.
“There’s something different about you.”
“No there isn’t.”
“Yes there is. Your hair is different.”
“Just a little rearrangement,” says Makri, defensively. “Copro said it would show off my cheekbones better—”
“Your cheekbones? What’s got into you? When you arrived in Turai you couldn’t stop talking about how stupid the rich women were.”
“I’m just fitting in,” says Makri, calmly. “As Lisutaris’s bodyguard I can’t be arguing with her hairdresser. It would create all sorts of difficulties.”
She studies her fingernails.
“Do you think I should get my nails done as well? I’m not really happy with this colour.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It clashes with the chainmail.”
Makri holds her fingers over a piece of chainmail, and peers in the mirror.
“Thraxas, you remember how I said I’d like to be blonde after we saw all those blonde Elvish women? What do you think?”
“Will you stop talking like this? Yesterday you were going to chop up Vadinex with your axe, and today you’re twittering on about your hair.”
“I do not see the two things as mutually exclusive,” protests Makri.
“Life was easier when you were an ignorant Barbarian.”
“I was never an ignorant Barbarian.”
“Well, you didn’t used to ramble on about hair and make-up. When you arrived in this city all you wanted to do was attend the university.”
“I still do. I may wear a little eyeliner when I get there.”
“What happened to Makri the demented swordswoman?”
“Make your mind up, Thraxas. Only last week you were lecturing me about killing the dwa dealer. You want me to kill someone? Fine. Just point me in the right direction.”
“I don’t want you to kill anyone.”
“Don’t worry about me,” says Makri, warming to the topic. “I’ll kill anyone that needs killing. Orcs, Humans, Elves, Trolls, dragons, snakes, mythical beasts—”
“Will you shut up about killing things?”
“What, so now I’m not meant to talk about killing people or make-up? Is there any subject you’d be happy with?”
“Solving a murder would be a good choice. How long is Lisutaris going to be?”
“I think she’s scheduled for a manicure as well. Copro brought his best assistant, and a nail specialist.”
Quite a long time apparently. Makri is showing little interest in the food in front of her, so I pile up a plate for a good second breakfast, meanwhile silently cursing Copro and his ilk. When I was young the city wasn’t full of beauticians. Old Consul Juvenius would have thrown Copro off the walls, and a good thing too.
“So what do you think?” says Makri.
“About what?”
“Dying my hair blonde.”
“I think you’ll look like a cheap whore. Stop asking me about it.”
“Do you have to be so unpleasant? Looking after Lisutaris is stressful. I need some relaxation.”
Unable to take any more of this, I carry my plate over to the window and stare out at the ice-covered garden. If Makri asks me one more time about her hair I’m going to turn her in as an accessory to murder. There’s some commotion in the long hallway and a messenger rushes in calling for Makri. He hands her a slip of paper. Makri breaks the seal and looks concerned.
“Bad news at the Assemblage.”
“The Sorcerers have got through—?”
“No. Sunstorm Ramius has dispatched Troverus to take Princess Direeva to dinner. Tilupasis is very concerned.”
Makri rises to her feet.
“I have to intercept them.”
“Who is Troverus?” I ask, feeling confused.
“Handsomest young man in Simnia, according to all reports. Tilupasis has been worried about him all along. That Ramius, he’s cunning.”
Makri starts making ready to leave. She has a determined look in her eyes.
“I won’t have it. No ‘handsomest young man in Simnia’ is going to charm Direeva into voting for Sunstorm Ramius.”
Makri hurries to don her armour, and throws her weapons into the small purse which contains the magic pocket. All the while she’s muttering about the perfidy of the Simnians.
“It’s underhand tactics. I’ll show them.”
“I thought you weren’t keen on this vote-winning business. You said it was corrupt.”
“It is. But I refuse to be defeated,” states Makri. “Look after Lisutaris till she gets to the Assemblage. And whatever you do, don’t insult Copro. He’s extremely temperamental.”
Makri takes a final, dissatisfied look at her nails, then hurries out. I sit down to finish off the food on the table, and ring for beer. The young servant who arrives has a noticeable rural accent. No doubt a sturdy and sensible woman from the outlying farmlands.
“What do you think of Copro?” I ask.
“He’s a great man, and a boon to the city,” she replies. “They should make him a Senator.”
I study her face.
“Was there much beauty treatment back on the farm?”
She shakes her head.
“That’s why I moved to the city.”
The city is doomed.
Lisutaris’s apprentice emerges from her private chambers. I learn that the Sorcerer will be ready in a little while.
“How long is a little while?”
“No more than an hour.”
Eventually Lisutaris emerges, accompanied by Copro and his two helpers.
“Thraxas.” Lisutaris greets me graciously. She is wide awake, the first time I’ve seen her like this since the Assemblage began. Copro is still fussing round her with a comb. He’s thin, dark, a little younger than I imagined. And not quite as lisping, though I wouldn’t want him on my side in a sword fight. I doubt he’d handle a blade as well as his comb. I note with displeasure that beneath his long hair, jewelled earrings glisten on his earlobes. A number of guilds in Turai use plain gold earrings as a mark of rank, but few men would wear jewels in their ears, apart from the foppish sons of wealthy Senators.
Copro motions extravagantly towards Lisutaris.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s wonderful. Lisutaris, we have to get to the Assemblage. Cicerius is starting to complain about your nonappearance. And Tilupasis is giving me a hard time.”
Lisutaris tells me she’ll be ready in an instant, and departs upstairs.
“I love your friend Makri,” says Copro. “Such a savage beauty.”
I grunt, and sit down.
“She really should let me do more with her hair.”
Makri has a vast unruly mane, remarkable in its own way. I can’t see her taking to any of the controlled styles favoured by Turai’s aristocrats. To my disappointment, Copro agrees with me.
“Of course, such a woman as Makri would not suit such a stylised coiffure. Her magnificent features would only be diminished. But a little styling to bring out her radiance, her force of character. A style the Abelasians call Summer Lightning. It would be breathtaking. I already did much the same for Princess Direeva.”