They depart to visit Copro, who’s going to have his work cut out getting Lisutaris into shape for today’s appearance. I don’t like the beautician any better than I did before. He should go back where he came from, wherever that is. He might be number one chariot at styling hair, but what sort of achievement is that for a man? The amusing thought strikes me that if Copro were not the useless specimen of humanity he is, his work would make him an excellent Assassin. Gets into all the best houses, and no one would ever suspect.
Only Sorcerers are allowed at the banquet, no exceptions allowed, so for a large part of the day I’m exiled to the Room of Saints. My two fellow Tribunes are with me, along with those other people granted access to the Royal Hall who aren’t Sorcerers—personal staff, a few government representatives and such like. Hansius and Tilupasis drift around, carrying on with the hospitality to anyone that needs it.
Sulinius and Visus look tired. When Cicerius handed them over to Tilupasis they were expecting to be involved in some light diplomacy: showing our visitors round the city, making introductions, that sort of thing. They were surprised to find themselves plunged into an endless round of bribery and corruption. The young aristocrats have adapted well. It’ll be good preparation for life at the Palace and their careers in the Senate. Both are worrying about the upcoming election.
“Tilupasis still isn’t certain Lisutaris is going to make it. Rokim the Bright is still in the picture and Almalas has been taking votes from everyone.”
“Your companion Makri seems to be losing ground with Direeva.”
There’s a certain tone in Sulinius’s voice as he mentions Makri’s name. When he becomes a Senator and gets his own villa, he’s never going to let a woman with Orcish blood through the front door.
Visus asks me about Sareepa and I admit that I’ve made no progress.
“It’s difficult. Sareepa’s gone religious thanks to Almalas. Tilupasis should’ve given me more notice.”
“I managed to convert the Pargadan delegation in a single hour,” says Sulinius, grandly.
“That’s because the Pargadans are notorious dwa addicts and you brought them a wagonload. Anyone could have done that.”
“Perhaps if you did not concern yourself with meddling in city politics. . . .”
Sulinius is aware of my interfering with the Praetor’s business. Not having any intention of apologising or explaining myself, I tell him sharply that if his father insists on throwing poor people out into the snow, he has to expect some opposition.
“And tell him if he tries sending any more men after me, then Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, will smite him with a plague spell.”
“Lisutaris would not come to your aid.”
“Oh no? I was fighting beside Lisutaris before you were born. She already blasted your father’s thugs once. She’ll help me again.”
I wonder if she really would. Having the Mistress of the Sky as head of the Sorcerers Guild would be no bad thing if she felt obligated to me for a few favours. Good reason to clear her name. Maybe I shouldn’t have been rude to her. At least I wasn’t violent.
The great door opens and a flood of Sorcerers, led by Irith Victorious, announce the end of the formal banquet. I hear him muttering a complaint about them only serving wine with the meal as he hastens towards the bar, showing surprising speed for a man of his size.
“Beer, and make it quick,” he yells at a waitress.
There are only a few hours left till the election. I take the opportunity to talk with the Matteshan Sorcerer who once served as apprentice to Darius.
“I didn’t kill him, if that’s what this is about,” he states flatly. “I was with the other Matteshan Sorcerers all evening when he was killed.”
That’s not such a great alibi. They’d lie for him if necessary.
“Darius got through a lot of apprentices, though. And none of them liked him much better than I did. I’m not the only Sorcerer who started off in Abelasi then went elsewhere after being sacked by Cloud Walker. My predecessor, Rosin-kar, swore he’d kill him one day. And the one before him left in disgrace. I think he’s with the Pargadans now.”
Tilupasis approaches me as I head back for the Room of Saints.
“How are things progressing with Sareepa?”
“Badly.”
“You must try again.”
“I’m busy looking for ex-apprentices of Darius. They seem to have spread round the world.”
“Work on Sareepa.”
“Doesn’t anyone want me to solve this murder?”
“Of course,” says Tilupasis. “But the hiding spell will work for a little longer. It is more important that Lisutaris performs well in the election.”
I get the impression that if Lisutaris loses the election Tilupasis isn’t going to care whether she’s convicted of murder or not.
Makri rushes up and confronts Tilupasis.
“Can’t you do something about this Troverus? He’s sticking about as close as a poultice to Direeva. I can’t get near the woman.”
“Keep trying,” instructs Tilupasis.
“Is that the best advice you have? It’s not working. When you told me to charm Princess Direeva—and don’t think I didn’t notice there was something dubious in that whole concept—you didn’t say I’d have a rival who wins prizes for being handsome.”
Faced with defeat, Makri clenches her fists in frustration.
“You can’t trust a man as good-looking as that. He probably likes boys, right? Send him some boys to distract him.”
“He doesn’t like boys. I made enquiries.”
“He doesn’t? Well, send him some gold.”
Tilupasis shakes her head.
“Troverus is already wealthy. He doesn’t want money.”
Makri explodes with anger.
“So how come I’m the only one that’s up against someone incorruptible? It’s hardly fair. What am I meant to do?”
“You could sleep with him,” I suggest.
“I don’t want to sleep with him. He’s creepy. Tilupasis, Thraxas is telling me to whore myself around the Assemblage just to get you votes. Well, forget it, I’m not doing it. I’m here as a bodyguard, not a comfort woman.”
“I really must go,” says Tilupasis. “The Pargadans need more dwa. I trust the two of you to work things out.”
“Is that what Tilupasis wants me to do?” says Makri. “She can forget it. I’m not going to sleep with just any Sorcerer that fancies a good time.”
“God help anyone who thinks he’d have a good time with you.”
“I didn’t notice See-ath complaining,” retorts Makri. “Anyway, your idea is stupid. Direeva isn’t going to thank me for stealing her suitor, is she?”
A tall man in a toga greets Makri politely as he passes.
“Who’s that?”
“A mathematician from Simnia. He’s here with the delegation. He’s the only civilised person I’ve met in this place. Yesterday he was telling me about his work on prime number theory. Do you know—”
“Fascinating, Makri. Nothing interests me more than mathematics. I have work to do. Sareepa has twelve votes.”
“Direeva has thirty,” counters Makri, and we go our separate ways.
The election is drawing near. Time for one last attempt on Sareepa. She’s sitting at one of the top tables in the main hall, placed there by Tilupasis to flatter her. Sareepa herself appears calm, but her fellow Matteshan Sorcerers are unhappy. No doubt they’ve been forbidden by Sareepa to overindulge. I’ve never seen a group of Sorcerers more in need of a drink. Most of the people in the hall are carrying on with their previous intemperate behaviour. Goblets, tankards and bottles glint in the light of the flaming torches on the walls, and it’s obvious the Matteshans are aching to join in the fun. Tough break, arriving at the biggest binge in the Sorcerers’ calendar only to find that your leader has developed a puritanical streak.
I’m about to make one last desperate effort to end Sareepa’s sober behaviour. Not just for the good of Turai. Sareepa Lightning-Strikes-the-Mountain has fallen under the thrall of Nioj. The woman needs help.