'Why do you always beat me?'
'I'm smarter than you.'
'Like hell you are. You've just been playing longer.'
That's what Makri always says, generally with a angry scowl and occasionally with some implications of cheating on my part. She's a very poor loser. I ask her if she'd like another game. She shakes her head.
'I have to go out.'
'Out? Where?'
'I'm teaching a class.'
This is a surprise.
At the college?'
'No, they wouldn't let me teach there. Not that I couldn't. My Elvish is far better than some of these professors. I'm going to Morixa's bakery to teach some women to read.'
I'm still puzzled. Makri explains that she's been asked by the organiser of the local chapter of the Association of Gentlewomen if she'd like to teach reading to some women in the area.
'I didn't know you had a reading programme.'
Makri notices the disapproving tone in my voice.
'You think it's a bad idea?'
'Not at all. A fine idea. If someone else was organising it.'
'So who else is going to organise it in this city?'
Makri has a point. Very few women go to school in Turai. The wealthy classes often arrange private tuition for their daughters, but only a tiny proportion of women in a poor area like Twelve Seas have ever had any sort of schooling. Not that the men round here are exactly intellectual. I wouldn't disapprove at all if it wasn't for the involvement of the Association of Gentlewomen, a collection of malcontents, harridans and troublemakers who are quite rightly frowned upon by all honest citizens of Turai.
'Remember what happened last time you taught anything?'
Makri frowns.
'What's that supposed to mean?'
'I wouldn't say you were a patient tutor. You almost killed that young Elf on Avula.'
Makri waves this away.
An entirely different matter. I was teaching her to fight. A little rough treatment was necessary.'
A little rough treatment? I saw you kick her in the face.'
'So? She learned how to fight, didn't she? She won the junior sword-fighting tournament. I regard the whole thing as a triumph.'
'Well,' I say, 'if you start kicking the local women in the face, don't come complaining to me when they run you out of town.'
'I won't,' says Makri, and departs.
Later I see her leaving the tavern, on her way to her first teaching assignment. I notice that she has a sword at her hip and a knife in her boot. She's carrying a bag of scrolls, but from the way it bulges I'd guess she's got her short-handled axe in there as well. Makri never likes to go anywhere without some weapons to hand. I shake my head. As this enterprise involves both the totally incompetent Association of Gentlewomen and the fiery-tempered Makri, I have complete confidence that it will end in disaster.
Chapter Three
The Consul's office is situated inside the Palace grounds. North of the river, and a long walk from Twelve Seas. Not feeling like a long walk, I take a landus. As the horse-drawn carriage trots up Moon and Stars Boulevard, working its way slowly through the heavy traffic, I wonder what they want me for. As far as I know, the city isn't gripped by any particular crisis at this moment, though when you a have a man like Prince Frisen-Akan as next in line to the King, there's always something scandalous likely to happen. If he drinks himself to death before succeeding to the throne he'll be doing the city a favour.
We turn left at Royal Way and travel through the wealthy suburb of Thamlin. I used to live here. When I worked as a Senior Investigator at the Palace. Before they threw me out on some pretext of drinking too much.
The Imperial Palace comes into view. Were I a man who was impressed by large buildings, I'd be impressed, t outshines the palaces of many larger states than Turai. entrance alone is enough to make visitors gaze in wonder - huge gates carved in the shape of twin lions, six times the height of a man. Inside are some of the most beautifully laid-out gardens in the whole of the Human lands. Long avenues of trees lead to contoured lawns, beds of flowers and gleaming fountains, all engineered by Afetha Ar Kyet, the great Elvish garden-maker. In one corner of the grounds is the Imperial Zoo, home to a collection of fabulous creatures, including, at one time, a dragon from the east, though that was killed a while ago. Killed by the King's daughter, Princess Du-Akai, actually, though it's not a story that was ever made public.
The Palace itself is a huge building, constructed of shining white marble topped by silver minarets. It's a fabulous place. I used to work here. Now I'm about as welcome as an Ore at an Elvish wedding. Seeing the luxury all around me does nothing but add to the general feeling of gloom I've had for the past few days.
Security at the Palace is tight. Civil Guards prevent anyone suspicious from coming too near, and inside the grounds officials from Palace Security are on patrol. If someone wanted to assassinate the King, they'd have to put in a lot of effort. You can't really blame the King for his security concerns. The city state of Turai contains some very talented assassins, and the King has enemies.
I'm searched when I enter the grounds and again when I approach the Consul's offices. I turn in my sword to a member of Palace Security while a Sorcerer checks that I'm not carrying any spells.
I'm deposited in a reception room. There's a tall man there I don't recognise, staring out of the window. More importantly, there's an elegant trolley in the corner laden with food. My long journey has made me hungry, so I head straight for the trolley and get to work. The food provided for the Consul's guests is beautifully prepared, though I can't say I'm overimpressed by the size of the portions. There are some small pastries stuffed with venison, which, while tasting good enough to please the most demanding palate, are really not large enough to satisfy a man with a healthy appetite. I put one in my mouth, take another, grab a plate from under the trolley and load it with fifteen or so of the pastries. There's a carafe of wine on the table nearby which I use to wash down the pastries before moving on to the next dish, some sweet-tasting cakes delicately iced with sugar. Once more it's high-quality produce but somewhat on the small side. I fill up my plate with every cake on offer and retire to a chair in the corner, carafe of wine still in hand.
I've hardly sat down before my plate is empty. I catch the eye of my fellow guest, a dignified-looking individual in a green robe. Looks like a foreign priest, or maybe some sort of minor official.
'Not really generous portions, are they?' I say, affably. He turns back to the window without replying. Doesn't speak our language, probably. I saunter back over to the trolley, but apart from a plate of eggs there's nothing else on offer. I eat the eggs but really I'm not satisfied. If the Consul asks a man to a meeting at his office the least he can do is feed him properly. I look around hopefully, wondering where I might get some more food. At this moment the outside door opens and a woman in a long white dress comes in. Rather a fancy outfit for a waitress, but at the Palace they like their formal wear.
Any chance of another trolley?' I ask, politely.
'Pardon?'
'More pastries. These ones seem to be finished. And maybe another tray or two of cakes? Hell, bring in more eggs if you want to get rid of them, I'm not too fussy. And do you think you could get this carafe filled up again?'
The waitress seems to be starring at me in an odd manner. Have I offended her? Palace etiquette can be tricky; even the servants need to be spoken to properly.
Thraxas, guest of Consul Kalius,' I announce. 'Wondering if you might be able to bring me another platter of your fine cuisine?'
'I am the wife of the Juvalian ambassador,' she replies, not looking too pleased.
'Oh ... Sorry'
She sweeps past me with her nose in the air, and stands by the man in the window, who, from the outraged look on his face, is almost certainly the Juvalian ambassador. I'd no idea they wore green cloaks.