I realise that everyone is looking at me in a particularly disapproving manner. Morixa the baker turns to me and speaks quite sternly.
'The women of Twelve Seas do not exist merely to cook pastries for you, Investigator. We have our own aspirations. And we will pursue our aspirations despite your continual harassment.'
'Harassment? I'm the one who's being—'
'He reminds me of my father,' says a young prostitute to her companion. 'Drove my mother into an early grave. Makri, if this man threatens you in any way, send a message. I'll bring my guild round to protect you immediately.'
The women collect their belongings and begin to file out of my room. Makri bids them all a polite farewell and shuts the door behind them.
'Was I just threatened by the Prostitutes Guild?'
'I think so. You better watch out, they know how to look after themselves.'
'Makri, this has got to stop. I demand you never teach women to read in my office again.'
Makri shrugs.
'Okay. We'll go somewhere else. Not that it's such a big inconvenience. You might be a little more supportive. You know I need the money. I expect I'd earn more as a waitress if it wasn't for all the times I've helped you investigate. And of course I had to pay for having my axe sharpened after I blunted it saving you from—'
I hold up my hand.
'Spare me the moral blackmail. Just find another place. After checking aqueducts all day, I need my space.'
Makri lights another thazis stick. The room reeks of the stuff.
'I thought you'd be busy investigating the Prefect's murder.'
'No one's asked me to.'
'But you were right there in the room.'
Makri still has some difficulty in understanding that I don't investigate for fun. I do it for a living.
'No one is going to hire me to investigate Galwinius. Palace Security and the Civil Guards are all over it.'
'I'm still confused as to why there are two Galwiniuses,' says Makri. 'Isn't the Prefect of Twelve Seas called Galwinius as well?'
'That's Drinius Galwinius. Cousin of the murdered man. These aristocrats, they're all related. Inbred, probably.'
'Everyone says Lodius did it. Is that true?'
I admit I don't know.
'You saw him hand over the food.'
I did. But I don't know if Senator Lodius meant to poison the Consul. If he did, I'd have expected him to be more circumspect about it. While I don't normally have that much confidence in the investigative powers of either Palace Security or the Civil Guards, I'm fairly sure they'll sort this one out, if only because for an affair of this magnitude they'll be employing the talents of every Sorcerer in Turai. Sorcerers can on occasion look back in time, and though it's a tricky business I can't see the combined talents of Lisutaris, Hasius and Lanius failing to come up with a culprit.
'It's been three days now,' points out Makri. 'And they haven't arrested anyone.'
'True. I wouldn't mind joining in the investigation, because I'm offended that anyone could be murdered while I'm in the same room. But they're not going to call on my services and that's that.'
There are two popular theories currently circulating. The first is that Senator Lodius, tired of years of political strife with the Traditionals, had decided to move things along by taking some direct action. But even the most ardent supporter of the Traditionals can see problems with that one. Lodius isn't stupid. And a man would have to be fairly stupid to hand over a poisoned pastry in full view of thirty or so Senators and expect to get away with it.
The other popular theory is that the murder is the work of the Ores, seeking to destabilise the city before they attack. I'm dubious. Ores are low, despicable creatures, but they've never poisoned any Human official before and I can't see why they'd start now.
Consul Kalius has insisted that war preparations must go on interrupted. It's hard to concentrate in the hubbub, and not as easy to go about my business any more. People were glad to see officials ostensibly preparing improvements for the city, but now that news of the Ores has got out, any official soon finds himself surrounded by anxious citizens asking for news, demanding to know how long we have till the Ores start marching.
There's a coldness in the air that says winter is no more than a week away, maybe less. When winter comes the city would normally grind to a halt. This time, we'll have to keep going. Many things have to be done before the spring. Lisutaris has given warning that the birth rate of dragons has gone up dramatically in the past few years, something which the Orcish Sorcerers have until now managed to conceal.
'So let them come on their dragons,' says Makri as we walk downstairs to the bar. 'I've killed dragons before.'
'You killed one dragon.'
'Well, if another one had come along I'd have killed that too.'
'We didn't kill that dragon in the Fairy Glade,' I remind her.
'That was a hefty beast,' admits Makri. 'But I chased it off.'
'What do you mean, you chased it off? I was there too.'
'You were ogling the naiads in the water.'
'Very humorous, Makri. I was chopping up a squadron of Ores so you could get to the commander.'
The door of the Avenging Axe swings open and a messenger struggles in weighed down by an enormous bunch of flowers. He places them on the counter.
'Delivery for Makri.'
The messenger departs. Makri looks at the card. She scowls, then sweeps the flowers on to the floor.
'Horm again?' says Gurd, appearing from the storeroom. Makri nods, and looks annoyed. Gurd is troubled. When the Ores are about to attack, no tavern owner wants to be receiving bunches of flowers from one of their leaders. People could get the wrong impression.
'Why does he keep sending you flowers?' asks Gurd.
Makri shrugs.
'Did you encourage him in some way?'
Makri is offended.
'Of course I didn't encourage him! Thraxas, did I encourage Horm the Dead to send me flowers?'
'Of course not. No encouragement at all. Though you did wander into my offices wearing your chainmail bikini while he was there. Maybe if you'd covered yourself up a bit better . . .'
Ah,' says Gurd, nodding his head. "The chainmail bikini.'
'Which has been getting smaller and smaller in recent months . ..'
'I need to earn tips!' exclaims Makri. 'You know how much it costs at the College!'
'I suppose there's some truth in that. Though it doesn't entirely explain why you were flaunting yourself at a foreign Sorcerer who was not, as far as I remember, buying drinks at the time.'
'This is outrageous,' says Makri. 'I was not flaunting myself.'
'Well, you know,' I say, 'a mad half-Ore Sorcerer spends all his time in the wastelands surrounded by stone-faced troll-girls and when he arrives in Turai the first thing he sees is you sauntering around practically naked, it's bound to have an effect. He'd only met you for about a minute when he was offering you a position.'
Gurd laughs.
'What position was that?'
'Captain of his Armies,' says Makri, not sounding at all amused.
And he called you the finest flower in all of Turai, I remember. Which might explain the flower motif. Probably since he left Turai he's spent all his time languishing in his mountain palace or wherever he lives, thinking about you.'
Having now had enough of this, Makri turns on her heel and departs in a bad mood, leaving a few Orcish curses in her wake. I'm just taking a jar of ale from Gurd when the door opens again and Tanrose walks in. I'm about to rush and embrace her - something I can't remember doing for a good many years - but Gurd beats me to it.
Thinking it best to leave them in peace, I pause only long enough to mention to Tanrose that I really would enjoy one of her substantial venison pies for dinner tonight, and maybe a lemon tart for dessert, before heading upstairs to my office. I sweep some junk off the couch prior to lying down for an afternoon sleep. Unfortunately, as is so often the case when I'm headed for the couch, some damned client knocks on the door. I haul it open and make ready to repel visitors. I'm faced with a plump, well-dressed middle-aged woman who's accompanied by a brawny young man, a servant from his attire.