The spectators can’t help showing surprise and there are excited whispers as they crane their necks to see the action.
Karlox counts. Casax looks me straight in the eye. I stare straight back at him and I don’t allow the slightest flicker of expression to show on my face. I don’t think the Brotherhood boss is bluffing. He has a good hand. That’s fine with me. I have a good hand too. I have four black dragons. Four black dragons is practically unbeatable at rak. The only thing higher would be a full royal mansion, and if Casax turns up with a full royal mansion at the same time as I have four black dragons I’m liable to suspect that things have not been entirely above board, and to start asking a few questions with my sword.
I calmly sip some beer, and make ready to clean out the gangster. While my face is devoid of expression, inside I’m feeling pretty damn good. I’ve fought all over the world, I’ve seen Orcs, Elves and dragons, I’ve been employed at the Imperial Palace and I’ve been down and out in the gutters. I’ve talked, drunk and gambled with Kings, Princes, Sorcerers and beggars. And now I’m about to walk off with the largest pot of winnings ever seen in Twelve Seas. I’ve been waiting for this moment all my life.
“One thousand,” mutters Karlox, and hands the money over to his boss. Casax gets ready to make his bet.
“You mind if I sit down on the edge of your chair?” says Makri to me, breaking the silence. “I’m feeling a bit weary. I’ve got a heavy blood flow this month.”
I blink at her. “What?”
“My period. You know, it can make a woman tired.”
For a split second a profound, awestricken hush descends in the room, followed immediately by the most God-awful racket as people rise from their chairs in a panic. To my certain knowledge no woman has ever said such words in public in Turai before. Menstruation is high up the list of taboo subjects in this city and in the assembled company of gamblers and drinkers the words fall like a fiery blast from a war dragon. Casax freezes. He might have once killed a lion with his bare hands but he’s not up to this sort of thing. Beside him Gurd’s face assumes a look of terror the like of which I’ve not seen since we were tramping through the Macian Hills and a large and venomous snake suddenly reared up and bit him on the leg.
Chairs crash as people start heading for the exits. Young Pontifex Derlex, the local Priest, shrieks as he runs out the tavern.
“I’ll open the church for immediate purification,” he yells over his shoulder, and bursts out through the door to safety.
“You filthy whore!” yells Karlox, helping his boss to his feet. Casax is looking shaky and has to be led away. His other companions scoop up his money before they depart, taking not only his thousand but the other money he’s already put into the pot.
“You can’t do that!” I yell, rising to my feet and fumbling for my sword, but they’ve already got their blades out. From the way Captain Rallee is buttoning up his cloak I can tell he’s not going to hang around to help me out. Gurd, my trusty companion in adversity, is disappearing into the back room muttering that if this sort of behaviour continues he’s going to close the tavern and move back north.
About thirty seconds after Makri’s grim utterance I’m staring at a scene of total desolation. Everyone has fled, either to the safety of their homes or straight to church for ritual purification. I stare at Makri. I try to shout at her but nothing comes out. I’m too shocked even to yell. Makri is looking puzzled.
“What just happened?” she asks.
My arms are shaking. It takes me a while to get my tankard up to my mouth. The ale revives me a little, enough to get some words out.
“You . . . you . . . you. . . .”
“Come on, Thraxas. It’s not like you to splutter. What’s going on? Did I say something wrong?”
“Something wrong!” I bellow, my voice finally returning in fury. “Something wrong? ‘Can I sit down because I’ve got a heavy blood flow?’ Are you completely insane? Have you no shame?”
“I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”
“It’s completely taboo to mention . . . to mention. . . .” Somehow I can’t say the word.
“Menstruation?” says Makri, helpfully.
“Stop saying that!” I scream. “Look what you did! I was about to rake in a thousand gurans from Casax and you scared him away!”
I’m livid. Strange emotions well up inside me. I’m forty-three years old. As far as I can remember I haven’t cried since I was eight, when my father caught me raiding his beer cellar and chased me round the city walls with a sword in his hand. But at the thought of Casax’s thousand gurans, rightfully mine but now disappearing into the depths of Twelve Seas, I’m pretty close to tears. I consider attacking Makri. She might be a lethal swordswoman but I’m the best street fighter in town and I figure I could take her low down with a surprise kick.
“Don’t try it,” says Makri, taking a step backwards towards the bar, where she keeps her sword hidden during working hours.
I advance towards her. “I’ll kill you, you pointy-eared freak!” I yell, and get ready to charge. Makri grabs for her sword and I draw mine swiftly from its scabbard.
Tanrose appears and plants herself between us. “Stop this at once!” she demands. “I’m surprised at you, Thraxas, drawing your sword against your friend Makri.”
“That pointy-eared Orc freak is no friend of mine. She just cost me a thousand gurans.”
“How dare you call me a pointy-eared Orc freak,” screams Makri, and advances towards me, blade in hand.
“Desist!” yells Tanrose. “Thraxas, put that sword away or I promise I will never cook you a venison pie again. I mean it. And Makri, put your weapon down or I’ll have Gurd get you to clean out the stables and sweep the yard. I’m surprised at you both.”
I hesitate. It shames me to admit it, but I do more or less depend on Tanrose’s venison pies. My life would be far poorer without them.
“It’s not Makri’s fault if she didn’t know she shouldn’t say that. After all, she grew up in an Orcish gladiator slave pit.”
“Quite right,” says Makri. “We couldn’t mess around with social taboos. We were too busy fighting. Just get a towel in place and chop up the next enemy. When you’ve got four Trolls with clubs trying to knock your head off, no one worries about whether you’re menstruating or not.”
I can’t take any more. I swear that when Makri says this Tanrose actually smiles. I begin to suspect that these women are conspiring against me. I am now madder than a mad dragon, and maybe a little more.
“Makri,” I say with dignity. “For the first time in my life, I find myself in complete agreement with Karlox. You are a filthy whore and you have the manners of an Orcish dog. No, Orcish dogs have many social graces which you lack. I am now going upstairs to my room. Kindly never talk to me again. And in future please keep your disgusting revelations about your bodily functions to yourself. Here in the civilised world we prefer not to know what goes on between the legs of the Orcish half-breeds who sometimes see fit to infest our city.”
Somewhere in the middle of this speech Makri explodes in fury and tries to rush forward and sink her sword in my guts, but fortunately Gurd has re-emerged from the back room and places his brawny arms around her shoulders to restrain her. As I mount the stairs, still with dignity, I hear her screaming that she looks forward to the day when her sword pierces my heart.
“If it can make it through all that blubber, that is,” she adds, quite unnecessarily referring to my excess weight.
I place a locking spell on both my doors, grab a bottle of beer, drink it down, then slump on my couch. I hate this stinking city. Always have. Nothing goes right for a man in this place.
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