“I’ve never heard of it. Does it involve staying sober?”
“Not as far as I know. I’m not planning on staying that sober at the Assemblage.”
The Captain grins. The fire illuminates his long yellow hair, picking out his handsome features.
“Better take care you don’t offend someone.”
“I’d be more likely to offend the Sorcerers if I was sober.”
“True enough. When I heard our government were putting up Lisutaris for head of the Guild, I thought they were crazy. Everyone knows she’s stoned every day. But who knows? It might be in her favour. Sorcerers, they never could control themselves.”
“You remember the time we were camped up in the north and Harmon Half Elf was meant to be keeping watch?” asks Gurd, bringing up an old war memory.
“Sure,” replies the Captain. “He got so drunk he thought our pack mule was a troll and blasted it with a fire spell.”
“And he burned all our supplies so we ended up eating the mule!”
We all laugh, and call for more beer, and we spend the night telling war stories and drinking.
“It was different in those days,” says Gurd, some time after midnight. “The Orcs were always attacking us. We had to fight to stay alive. But there wasn’t any dwa. I liked it better then.”
[Contents]
Chapter Five
The Assemblage is due to start in three days’ time. Already Sorcerers are arriving in the city, though there’s little sign of them in Twelve Seas. They’re either staying as guests of Turanian Sorcerers in Truth is Beauty Lane or else living in villas rented by the Guild in Thamlin. Some of the more adventurous among them may be visiting the Kushni quarter in the centre of town, where there’s a lot of diversion in the way of whores, gambling, drinking and dwa, but none ventures as far as Twelve Seas. This doesn’t mean we’re not interested in them. The local citizens read news of each new arrival in The Renowned and Truthful Chronicle of All the World’s Events, the cheap and poorly produced news sheet that brings the population of Turai its regular dose of gossip and scandal. Faced as we are with so many enemies, it’s comforting for Turanians to have powerful Sorcerers within our walls. When it’s learned that I’m to attend the Assemblage, most people are impressed, although fairly amused at the thought of me being some sort of government official.
“Of course,” as Chiaraxi, the local healer, points out, “it’s not as if our officials are all sober, responsible citizens. From what I’ve seen of these degenerates in the Senate, Thraxas would fit right in.”
“Only if they could make a special outsize toga,” replies Rox, who should stick to selling fish.
Bolstered by such support, I’m wrapping up all other business. The Transport Guild has paid me for the apprehension of Rezox and I’ve been to visit the suspicious merchant with regard to his wife. He’s a timber dealer by the name of Rixad. While I can’t say he’s the friendliest client I’ve ever had, he does seem to take my opinions seriously and he doesn’t quibble over payment. Rixad is around fifty, overweight and not the handsomest man in the city. I can see he might be suspicious of his glamorous young wife, but if he wants to use his wealth to scoop up a beauty in need of money, it’s almost bound to happen. His wife started off on the stage and might have thought it a wise move to swap the uncertain life of an actress for the luxury of an important merchant’s household, but she’s probably bored by now.
I report that as far as I can see she has no external interests save in beautifying herself.
“I checked out her visitors but there’s nothing suspicious. Standard crowd, cater for all the richest women in the city. I expect it’s costing you a bundle, but apart from that you’ve nothing to worry about.”
Rixad nods.
“The last bill from Copro was for more than a shipload of timber. I don’t mind. It keeps her happy.”
Copro is quite a well-known man in Turai. One of our finest beauticians. Since arriving in Turai he’s attained such a reputation that the female aristocracy fight for his services. Princess Du-Akan swears by him, I believe. He’s been a frequent visitor to Rixad’s wife, but as Copro is rumoured to have a close relationship with his young male assistant, he’s not a man you have to worry about your wife misbehaving with.
Business completed, I make my way home, reasonably satisfied. I’m still in a bad mood about having to attend the Assemblage, but at least it will be warm. The temperature has dropped even further and the streets are quieter than I’ve ever seen them. Only the most vital services are still in operation and many of the population are obliged to chip blocks of ice from frozen aqueducts and thaw it out for drinking water.
I arrive at the Avenging Axe just as Makri is climbing the outside stairs to my office.
“I just had an argument with the dealer who sold dwa to Minarixa,” she says. “Do you think there might be any trouble?”
“How bad was the argument?”
“He’s dead.”
I mutter the minor incantation to open my door and hurry inside.
“Of course there will be trouble. Did anyone see you?”
Makri doesn’t think so.
“The alley was dark and it was snowing.”
“Did you have to kill him?”
Makri shrugs.
“I wasn’t planning to. I was just going to beat him. He pulled a knife so I ran him through.”
I swear it was only last week that Makri was telling me in glowing terms about some lecture she’d attended concerning the importance of moral behaviour at all times.
“You think this was moral?”
“He deserved it.”
“I’m sure Samanatius would be highly impressed. If the Brotherhood find out they’ll be down on us like a bad spell. I don’t fancy trying to escape the city when the gates are frozen shut. Do you always have to do things which lead to trouble?”
Makri opens her mouth to reply but instead she starts to cry. I stare at her in complete astonishment. She’s never reacted like this before. When I shout at her she normally just shouts back louder, and maybe reaches for her axe.
Faced with a tearful Makri, I have no idea what to do. I’m worried it might be some sort of menstruation problem, a subject I had successfully avoided for forty-three years until Makri insisted on breaking one of Turai’s strongest taboos by bringing it up in public a few months ago, thereby throwing the whole neighbourhood into panic. The local priest swears he’ll never visit the Avenging Axe again. Makri slumps down heavily on the couch and continues to cry. I wonder if I could escape downstairs for a beer.
“Um . . . well, it might not turn out so bad . . . dwa dealers get killed all the time. Maybe the Brotherhood won’t care too much. . . .”
Tears trickle down Makri’s face. I’m trapped.
“What’s going on? Is it something, er . . . personal. . .?”
Makri seems reluctant to talk.
“Okay, maybe you could tell me later, I’ve got some important. . . .”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” she demands.
“What do you mean? I was trying to be sympathetic. If you’re just going to sit there all day being as miserable as a Niojan whore, what the hell do you expect me to do? I’m a busy man.”
“Well, that’s fine, I wouldn’t want to bother you,” says Makri angrily. “I won’t bother saving you next time you get in trouble.”
“Makri, the last thing in the world I want to do is discuss your private life, but Tanrose says I have to, so spill it.”
“You expect me to tell you about my private life? No chance.”
“That’s fine with me, I don’t want to hear it anyway.”
“All right, I’ll tell you,” says Makri. She sniffs, and drinks some of my klee.