I practically choke on my pie.
“Tanrose! Have you lost your mind?”
I rise to my feet.
“I came here to try and smooth things out between you and Gurd, and now you’re making crazy insinuations. Of course I give Makri a hard time. She’s an insane half-Orc menace to society who’ll probably get me killed one of these days. Kindly never insinuate anything again.”
Tanrose is laughing.
“I apologise, Thraxas. Sit down and finish your pie. You know I can’t just arrive back in the Avenging Axe. Might as well send Gurd a message saying he’s welcome to walk all over me. He has to make the first move.”
“What if Gurd thinks you have to make the first move?”
There doesn’t seem any ready answer to this. It’s the sort of insoluble problem that led to my marriage falling apart a long time ago. I’m grateful for the food, but even a brief conversation about Tanrose and Gurd’s relationship has made me feel very uneasy. I leave after expressing my own profoundest wishes that Tanrose hurry back to the Avenging Axe where she belongs.
Right outside the tenement, some magical silver doves are fluttering around gaily. I bat them out of the way, not being in the mood for magical silver doves. Further down the street I come across a detachment of Civil Guards and at the next corner a squadron of the King’s troops. The city is becoming nervous. Alarm is spreading at the widespread reports of mysterious apparitions and unexplained deaths. Personally I’m more alarmed at Tanrose making a joke about me desiring Makri to keep me warm on a winter’s night. It was in very poor taste. I hurry into a tavern to wash away the bad taste with copious amounts of beer.
Inside the tavern I pick up a copy of The Renowned and Truthful Chronicle, freshly printed. One side of the single sheet is entirely taken up with reports of sightings of magical creatures, golden trees and such like, and the other details the surprising number of deaths there have been in the city in the past few days. Even by Turai’s standards, the population is decreasing at an alarming rate.
Who is responsible for this? thunders the Chronicle. And why has no attempt been made to arrest the renegade Tribune Thraxas?
What? I shake my head, barely able to believe what I’m reading. I find myself shrinking in my seat, hoping no one recognises me as I hurriedly scan the rest of the article.
All signs indicate that Thraxas—a so called Investigator in Twelve Seas of whom we have had reason to complain before—is heavily involved in the affair. Our enquiries show that in the space of three days this man has been at the scene of a great many unexplained deaths. Several landlords, for instance, report that Thraxas—a huge man of bestial appetites—visited their taverns only minutes before a series of savage murders were committed, leaving swiftly after searching the bodies for valuables.
Furthermore, Thraxas, a known associate of several renegade Sorcerers, has been repeatedly questioned by the Consul and his deputy after an attempt was made to blackmail Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky. While we have no absolute proof that Thraxas was behind this attempt, he has reportedly been trying to sell various personal items belonging to the Sorcerer, including a diary and some items of jewellery. Reports from other sources indicate that guards at the Guild College were forced to eject him after he menaced Professor Toarius over a sum of five gurans.
Although it cannot yet be proved that Thraxas is responsible for the mysterious apparitions that have been troubling the city, he is known to have dabbled in the sorcerous arts, and may be in possession of several devastating Orcish spells (he is fluent in the Orcish language, and is rumoured to have various Orcish associates). It has recently come to light that he once threw down his shield and fled the field of battle, an offence for which he will shortly face charges in court. Why is this man still at liberty? And why, we would like to know, was he ever granted the office of Tribune? Even in a city as corrupt as Turai, surely a man of such reputation should not be able to bribe his way into lucrative government positions. . . .
It goes on for a while in a similar manner. I’m devastated. I’ve been denounced by the Chronicle before, but never so damagingly. Reading the remarks about throwing down my shield, I feel a rage swelling up inside me the like of which I can rarely remember, and I wonder why the hell I haven’t killed Vadinex yet. Kill him, then pay a visit to the Chronicle and beat the editor. Damn these people, no one says things like that about me and gets away with it. I throw back my beer and storm out of the tavern, intent on doing some violence to someone, and quickly.
I’m intercepted by Makri in Quintessence Street.
“Thraxas, I’ve been looking for you.”
“Did you see the article?”
“Everyone saw it. You can’t come back to the Avenging Axe. The Civil Guards are waiting to arrest you. They have a warrant.”
“The Guards? Damn them. Every time the Chronicle criticises them they think they have to do something about it. When I get hold of that editor I’m going to—”
“What about the pendant?” asks Makri.
“I’ve still got it.”
“Then why did three men die in the next street just an hour ago for no good reason? I thought the strange deaths were all related to the pendant, but it’s been with you. They can’t have looked at it.”
I admit I’m baffled.
“I thought it was all pendant-related too. Maybe it’s some madness unleashed by Horm the Dead. Anyway, I have to get the pendant back to Lisutaris. Once that’s done, she can get back to looking after the sorcerous requirements of the city. She can sort out the unicorns and all the rest.”
“How are you going to get it back to Lisutaris? It’s not safe for you to travel around the city.”
Four Civil Guards are heading in our direction. I withdraw into the cover of a shop doorway as they pass. In the dim evening light they don’t pay much attention to me.
“I’ll just have to make my way there by the back streets.”
Makri points out that it’s not going to be easy for me to even approach Lisutaris’s house.
“They’re bound to be watching. Everyone knows there’s something going on with Lisutaris. If you turn up at her door, they’ll just haul you away.”
“You’re right.”
I try to think.
“Do you have any idea what sort of costume I should wear?” asks Makri.
“What?”
“For the masked ball tomorrow. Lisutaris says I have to go in a costume. I’m not familiar with this concept. I was going to look it up in the Imperial Library but I didn’t have time, what with everything that’s being going on.”
“This is no time to be discussing costumes.”
“But I don’t know what to wear,” says Makri, sounding unhappy. “I don’t want everyone to laugh at me.”
It’s really too much. A man can only stand so much harassment in his own city. I firmly resolve to slip out of the city under cover of darkness and never come back.
“All the rich people will have really fancy costumes, I expect,” continues Makri. “How am I meant to compete with that?”
“Wear your armour,” I suggest.
“My armour?”
Makri brought a fine suit of light body armour with her from the Orc gladiator pit. Made of chainmail and black leather, it’s an arresting sight, and the Orcish metalwork is not something you see in Turai every day.
“Why not? You’re meant to be going there as Lisutaris’s bodyguard, so it would be appropriate.”
“But am I meant to be appropriate?” says Makri. “Don’t Senators go dressed as pirates and things like that?”
“I believe so.”
“So if I’m really there as a bodyguard, shouldn’t I be dressed as maybe a philosopher?”