And how come everyone around the Hesuni Tree suddenly got caught up in a dope scandal anyway? Who started it? Who benefits? Was there enough profit in it to make it worth the risk? I get round to thinking about the branch of the family who covet the position of Tree Priest. Might they have been trying to discredit Gulas-ar-Thetos? It can’t look too good for the Tree Priest if all of a sudden Elves are dropping like flies because they’ve been soaking their drugs with the water that feeds the sacred Tree.
None of this is going to help Elith, but it serves as a distraction. I want to be distracted because after the funeral I’m going to have to make a report to Vas-ar-Methet and I don’t want to think about that.
I visit the Turanian Sorcerers Harmon Half-Elf and Lanius Suncatcher. It takes me a while to persuade them to do what I want.
“Working any sort of spell at a funeral is calanith,” objects Harmon.
“Everything on this damn island is calanith.”
Harmon Half-Elf points out with some justification that if the Elves have many taboos, they have far fewer written laws than we do, and are a more peaceful society.
“Calanith works well for them. It keeps the wheels ticking over without the need for too much heavy-handed authority.”
“Spare me the lecture. I need someone to check out Gulas’s body and it’s way beyond my sorcerous powers.”
They both look puzzled.
“Check the Tree Priest for dwa? Wasn’t Gulas the clean-living one?”
“So they say. I just want to check.”
“Surely Lord Kalith’s Sorcerers will already have done so?”
“Who knows? If there is a Sorcerer’s report on the body, no one’s making it available to me, even though I’m working for the chief suspect.”
Lanius Suncatcher raises his eyebrows. “Don’t you mean ‘person who admits the crime’?”
“Okay, she admits it. But there are extenuating circumstances. I won’t see her executed.”
I remind Harmon Half-Elf that I saved his life during the city-wide riots last summer.
“Not only that, I’ve saved the skins of more than one Turanian Sorcerer. If it wasn’t for me, Astrath Triple Moon would be languishing in a cell in the Abode of Justice. And who hushed things up when Gorsius Starfinder got drunk in that brothel in Kushni? Who was it that cleared Tirini Snake Smiter when she was accused of stealing the Queen’s tiara? The Sorcerers Guild owes me plenty. If I was ever to report what I know about the dubious dealings of Turai’s Sorcerers to the proper authorities, half of the Guild would be in jail before sundown and the other half would be high-tailing it out of town. And I can feel an attack of public-spiritedness coming on.”
My powers of persuasion win the day, though Lanius comments that if I ever do suffer from such an attack of public-spiritedness, I’d do well to make sure I never leave my house without my spell-protection charm.
“Because I seem to remember that not long after Senator Orosius accused Tirini Snake Smiter of theft, he found himself on the wrong end of a bad attack of the plague.”
Harmon and Lanius agree to do what they can as long as they’re sure they can manage it without being detected. I thank them, help myself to a bottle of wine, and we set off for the funeral.
I’m certain that Lord Kalith would much rather not have been obliged to hold a state funeral for his murdered Tree Priest while his island was so busy with visitors. Needs must, however, and there are an impressive number of important guests at the affair, not only Elves from Ven and Corinthal but others from further afield, along with representatives from all the Human Lands who were invited as guests to the festival. A very impressive gathering. As the Ossuni custom is that burial must take place within five days of death, and the Human Lands are all several weeks’ sail from here, it is a rare occurrence for Humans to witness such an event.
My two sorcerous companions go off to join the official Turanian party at the front, leaving me to hunt for Makri round the fringes. I find her at the edge of the crowd, talking to three young Elves. Makri appears interested, but hesitant. Her posture reminds me of the few previous occasions in Turai when she has encountered Elves, particularly handsome young Elves. Makri claims never to have had a lover and has been wondering recently if something should be done about this. Unfortunately she regards almost all men in Twelve Seas as scum and thinks that Elves might be a far better option. I’ve noticed signs of attraction on their part as well, although the Orcish blood in Makri’s veins does present something of a problem for them.
Makri would probably have faced this dilemma already were it not for the fact that when we arrived we were pretty much in disgrace with Lord Kalith and no Elf was keen to talk to us. Since then she’s been busy with Isuas. Now, however, with Makri being in favour with Lady Yestar, it seems like the young Elves are plucking up their courage. Some of them are now of the opinion that they really should be paying more attention to the exotic creature currently walking around Avula displaying a confident charm plus a figure rarely seen on an Elvish maiden.
The three young Elves who face her certainly seem to be doing a good job of forgetting calanith, not to mention any admonitions their parents might have given them about being careful with the sort of girl you talk to at funerals. Makri—dark-skinned, dark-haired, dark-eyed and underdressed—seems to be casting a powerful attraction over them.
I’d be pleased to see Makri having a little fun. The woman does far too much studying. It’s unhealthy. So I’m intending to walk off and leave them to it, but when Makri catches sight of me she mutters an abrupt goodbye to the Elves and hurries over. I tell her she needn’t have bothered.
“Should’ve stayed with your admirers.”
Makri looks doubtful. “You think they were admiring me?”
“Of course. Hardly surprising, in that tunic. Didn’t it cross your mind to dress formally for the funeral?”
“I painted my toenails black.”
“So which young Elf takes your fancy?”
Makri blushes, and suddenly becomes tongue-tied. Having spent her youth hacking up opponents in the arena, she missed out on any romance and the whole subject still makes her uncomfortable. She tells me that three of the Elves each seemed to be hinting that if she would like to see some of the more beautiful, not to say secluded, parts of Avula, they would be pleased to take her.
“What do you do if three Elves all want to take you somewhere?” she asks, quite seriously. “Do I have to pick a favourite right away?”
“I wouldn’t have thought so. We’re going to be on Avula for a while yet. You can play the field.”
Makri considers this. “Is that good advice? Do you know about these things?”
I shake my head. “Not really. I never had a relationship where the woman didn’t leave in disgust. Several of them actually tried to kill me. My wife swore she’d hire an Assassin. Fortunately she was exaggerating, though she did did smash eighteen bottles of my finest ale before she departed.”
Makri sees that I am a poor person to ask for this sort of counsel, and wonders about talking to Lady Yestar.
“Except I think Yestar might not be too pleased with me. I forgot that Isuas would have to attend the funeral and I bloodied her nose and blacked her eyes and I don’t think there was enough time for the healer to fix things properly.”
We crane our necks to see over the crowd, but the Elves are tall and we can see little except for a sea of green cloaks and tunics and a lot of long blond hair. Light cloud has blown in from the sea and the day is dull and slightly chilly. The crowd is quiet, as befits the sad occasion.
“Do you think I’d look good with blonde hair?” asks Makri.
“I’ve no idea.”
“It looks good on the Elves.”
“Maybe. But only whores have blonde hair in Turai.”
“That’s not true,” objects Makri. “Senator Lodius’s daughter has bright golden hair, I saw her at the chariot races.”