Captain Rallee has a lot of men engaged in the hunt. So far they've had no more success than the Sorcerers Guild or Praetor Samilius. The Captain glances round to where Moolifi is engaged in a conversation with Dandelion and Tanrose. Then he looks at me. I figure I'm expected to say something.
"She's a fine woman. Must be making your life brighter."
"She is."
The Captain suddenly looks downcast.
"Of course she's just hooked up with me for the duration of the war. You know how everyone goes crazy when the enemy is at the gates."
He looks at me again, but if he's expecting me to reassure him that Moolifi will love him for ever, he's come to the wrong man.
"When were we first in action together?" asks the Captain.
I shrug.
"About twenty years ago."
"We made it through a lot of fighting."
Captain Rallee stares into his drink.
"I'm not expecting to make it through this."
"Why not?"
"I just don't think anyone will come and help us. Turai's luck has run out."
I'm surprised to hear the Captain so pessimistic. He's always been a man who is confident of finding his way through, even in difficult circumstances.
"At least you've got Moolifi to cheer up your final days."
"True. But she picked a poor time to arrive in this city."
"Lucky for you though."
The Captain nods.
"Strange the way she hooked up with me," he says.
"That's the second time you've said that."
"So?"
"So what's your problem? You think Moolifi might be after you for your money?"
This make the Captain laugh. We both know that a captain in the Civil Guards doesn't earn enough to attract fortune-hunters.
Makri arrives, still scowling.
"Enjoy the singing?" asks the Captain.
"No," snaps Makri, grabbing his empty tankard and departing without another word. Rallee looks startled.
"What the hell?"
"She has harsh critical standards," I explain. "Doesn't really like anything if it's not Elvish. And old."
He shakes his head
"Makri the intellectual. I don't envy the man who ends up with her."
He looks straight at me. The Captain seems to be doing that a lot.
"I always figured you had a thing for her."
"Then you figured wrong. I'm going to my grave clutching a beer tankard."
"That still leaves one hand free."
"Then I'll pick up another beer."
"Maybe you ought to think about it more. None of us are liable to be here come the spring."
"Goddamn it, Rallee, since when did you become as miserable as a Niojan whore? Your pretty singer doesn't seem to be making you that cheerful."
"The pretty singer makes me wish I might live a bit longer."
I spend a very unsatisfactory night sleeping on my office floor in front of the fire. Lisutaris is still in my private room, with Makri on the floor by her side. Hanama is lying on the couch. I'm used to a bit of privacy and I'm finding this assortment of Turai's least desirable women hard to take. I'd considered sleeping in the store room downstairs, or even the corridor, but brief investigation reminds me that these places are all as cold as the ice queen's grave, and I'm not prepared to freeze to death just to get away from them all. I wrap myself in my cloak and lie in front of the fire, cursing the winter malady and everyone who's suffering from it.
At least I have the card game to look forward to. The evening after tomorrow I'll be sitting at a table with Glixius, Praetor Capatius and General Acarius. I'll show them a thing or two. I remember I haven't got enough money to play and feel downcast for a moment. I'd better do something about it. I resolve to head out early tomorrow and find the buried gold. Maybe I'll come across the Ocean Storm while I'm at it. I could do with some spectacular success. It has to happen to everyone sometime.
Next morning I wrap my magic warm cloak around me and head out early to visit Kerk, an informer of mine. In Quintessence Street the stall-holders are already at work, shivering behind their meagre displays of goods. I'm grateful for my warm cloak. It gives me a slight feeling of superiority to the procession of cold figures hurrying about their business in Twelve Seas. None of them have a magic item keeping them warm.
Kerk is at home; he's living in one squalid room at the top of a ramshackle tenement at the far end of St. Rominius's Lane. It's the sort of place where the very poorest people end up; one step up from sleeping in an alleyway. The landlords divide and subdivide the floors into smaller and smaller rooms, till they're barely sufficient for humans to live in. Nothing is good in a place like this: no sanitation, ventilation, hygiene, privacy, nothing.
Kerk opens the door and looks disappointed when he sees me. He has a slightly Elvish look to him, something about his eyes. If he does have a touch of Elvish blood it was no doubt deposited by some visiting Elf into a whore in Twelve Seas. Even visiting Elves need a little entertainment. I think he might have been a smart guy when he was younger. Occasionally he still is, but he's too far gone with dwa to ever get out of it. He scrapes up what little money he can, uses it to buy the drug, and then looks for more money to buy more dwa. The same thing, over and over, destroying himself a little more each time. I doubt he's eaten a proper meal in years. It doesn't seem like much of an existence. Maybe the Orcs will be doing him a favour if they destroy the city. Even if they don't, he'll be dead soon enough.
I tell him I'm looking for the beggar I saw outside the tenement in Silver Lane.
"The place where that sea captain was murdered?"
"The same."
Kerk holds out one hand. This early in the morning he's fairly lucid, but already trembling, in need of dwa. I hand over a very small coin.
"More," he says.
"More when you tell me something."
"I know where you can find him. Give me more."
I hand over another small coin. Kerk used to be a reliable informer. These days he's not so reliable and I'm not paying him too much in advance only to find he knows nothing. Kerk scowls at the two small coins in his hand.
"His name's Nerinax. He usually begs in front of St. Volinius's church in the morning. Good spot, usually gets something from the pontifex."
I give Kerk a larger coin. He stops scowling. I leave, picking my way carefully down the dark, litter-strewn stairway into the street below. It's not far to the church. A chill rain starts to fall and I walk swiftly over the frozen streets. I'm hoping I don't run into the priest, Derlex. He's had it in for me ever since I got into an argument with his superior, Bishop Gzekius. While I admit that I've never been the most godly of men, I still say it was going too far to use me as the main example in his famous sermon against the four great vices—gluttony, gambling, drunkenness and violence. Children still point at me in the street.
Nerinax the beggar is sitting right in front of the church. The last time I was inside the building I encountered some Orcs. Makri killed them. She was so keen to kill them I was left trailing in her wake.
Nerinax has a bowl in front of him containing a few small coins. There's a crutch propped up on the wall beside him, and one of his legs ends just below the knee. When I approach him he looks up hopefully. I take another small coin from my purse.
"Do you have a spot for begging up in Silver Lane?"
He stares at me, no longer hopeful. Now I'm not a person who's about to give him money. I'm a person who wants to ask questions, never a popular thing in Twelve Seas.
"Silver Lane," I repeat. "Do you beg there?"
"What about it?"
"Who did you see coming out of the building?"
"No one."
I drop the coin into his bowl and take out another one. So far I've bribed the sailor in the Mermaid, Kerk, and now Nerinax. It's the easiest way to get information. At least I haven't had to think too much.
"Are you from the Guards?"