“Makri, would you get the hell out of here? It’s bad enough you wake me up without standing around complaining about everything and generally being as miserable as a Niojan whore. Here. Take this thazis stick. Maybe smoking it will improve your mood. Now leave me alone. You know I like to enjoy my first beer of the day in peace.”
“Are you still annoyed about the Sorcerers Assemblage?” asks Makri.
“Of course I’m still annoyed. All the world’s top Sorcerers are arriving in Turai and there’s nothing I like better than being reminded that I’m a washout when it comes to sorcery.”
I studied magic when I was young but I never completed my apprenticeship. I only ever learned the basics and I was never good enough to join the Sorcerers Guild. Since when, I’ve struggled my way round the world as a soldier, a mercenary and finally an Investigator. Which has been tough, and since I passed forty, somewhat tougher. There are a lot cushier ways of growing old than pursuing criminals round Twelve Seas, the rough part of a rough city.
“You wouldn’t have been happy as a Sorcerer,” says Makri. “I can’t see you sitting round the Palace casting horoscopes.”
I shrug. It doesn’t sound too bad. It’s very comfortable at the Palace. I know, I used to be a Senior Investigator for Palace Security. They got rid of me some time ago. I drank too much. Now I drink more but I’m my own man.
Makri and I both live in rooms above the Avenging Axe, one of Twelve Seas’ more convivial taverns. Makri earns her living working as a barmaid, which she doesn’t particularly enjoy, but it pays for her studies and the occasional new weapon. She glances out of the window.
“Still snowing. Well, I’m not hanging round in here. I’m going out to see Samanatius.”
“Samanatius? The quack philosopher?”
“He’s not a quack. Samanatius is sharp as an Elf’s ear and the most brilliant thinker in the west.”
I snort in derision.
“All he does is sit around talking about the mysteries of the universe.”
“He does not. He talks about ethics, morals, all sorts of things.”
“Great. See if he can teach you anything useful. Like how to earn money, for instance.”
“Samanatius is not interested in money,” says Makri, defensively.
“Everyone is interested in money.”
“Well, he isn’t. He doesn’t even charge for his classes.”
“So the man is an idiot,” I say. “How good can a philosopher be if he doesn’t charge anything? If he had any talent he’d be raking it in. Anyone who does anything for free in this city has to have something wrong with them.”
Makri shakes her head.
“Sometimes your stupidity baffles me, Thraxas.”
“Thanks for waking me up to tell me that.”
Makri asks if she can borrow the magic warm cloak.
“Okay. I’m not planning on going anywhere.”
I hand it over.
“Don’t give it to that cheap philosopher.”
“Samanatius is indifferent to the climactic conditions.”
“He would be.”
Makri wraps herself in the cloak.
“This feels better. I hate this city. Who would live here?”
She departs, still cursing the weather. I shake my head. Her moods are definitely getting worse.
I finish my first beer and move on swiftly to a second. The Sorcerers Assemblage is depressing me. It’s many years since it’s been held in Turai and it’s quite a big deal for the city, with so many powerful Sorcerers from all over the west heading our way. They’re due to elect a new head of the Guild, and that’s always a major event. Despite the predilection of Sorcerers for sitting around palaces having an easy time of it, they are of great importance to every state because without them we’d be doomed in the event of war with the Orcs. The Orcs outnumber us, and last time they marched over from the east it was only the power of our Human Sorcerers which held them off long enough for the Elves to come to our rescue.
Downstairs in the tavern, Tanrose is making food, ready for the lunchtime drinkers. Despite the fierceness of the winter, trade here is not too bad. Even the biting snow can’t keep the population of Twelve Seas away from Gurd’s ale. Gurd, a northern Barbarian, knows how to serve his ale. Tanrose greets me jovially. We get on well, partly because of my frank admiration for her excellent cooking. Even in the depths of winter, when fresh meat is impossible to come by, Tanrose manages to make salted venison into an admirable pie. I take a large portion and sit at the bar with another tankard.
“Have you seen Makri today?” asks Tanrose.
I nod.
“She woke me up. Felt the need to complain about a few things.”
“Have you noticed that she’s been in an odd mood since coming back from Avula?”
“Yes. But Makri’s often in funny moods, I try to ignore them.”
To my surprise this brings a hostile response from the cook.
“What do you mean, you try to ignore them? That’s not very nice.”
“Nice? What do you expect? I’m an Investigator. I track down criminals. If the criminals protest too much I kill them. I like Makri well enough, but I’m not the sort of man to help her with her problems.”
Tanrose looks annoyed.
“Don’t you realise how much Makri relies on you?”
“No.”
“Well you should.”
Not liking the way this conversation is going, I try concentrating on my venison pie. Tanrose won’t let it drop.
“Makri grew up in a gladiator slave pit. Since she arrived in Turai she’s had a hard time. You’re probably her best friend. You should listen to her more.”
I choke back my angry response. As always, Tanrose, as the maker of the best venison pies in the city, has me at a disadvantage. I can’t afford to offend her.
“Come on, Tanrose. You know I’m a wash-out when it comes to personal problems. Why do you think my wife left me? Makri’s twenty-two years younger than me. I don’t know what the hell her worries are.”
“Yes you do. She tells you. You just refuse to listen. Do you know she had her first romantic experiences on Avula?”
I down my beer and ask for another. This is really too much for me at this time of day.
“Yeah, I had some idea. . . .”
“So now she’s confused.”
“Can’t you sort her out?”
Tanrose smiles, fairly grimly.
“Not as well as you, Thraxas. She trusts you. God knows why. Probably because you’re good with a sword. It always impresses her.”
I’m starting to feel trapped. There’s nothing I want to discuss less than Makri’s first romantic involvements. Tanrose dangles another slice of venison pie in front of me.
“Well, all right, goddammit. I’ll listen if she brings up the subject. But only under extreme protest. I haven’t had a romance for fifteen years. Longer maybe. I’ve forgotten what it’s like. When it comes to love I’m about as much use as a one-legged gladiator. I don’t want to hear about her encounters with a young Elf.”
“I think it left her rather depressed.”
“She’s always depressed.”
“No she isn’t.”
“Well, there’s always something wrong. She’s a quarter Orc and a quarter Elf. That’s bound to lead to problems. What makes you think I can help?”
“Have another slice of pie,” says Tanrose.
I take the venison pie and another beer back upstairs to my rooms. I look out of the window and all I can see is snow. My fire has gone out. I try lighting it with a simple spell. It doesn’t work. It’s a poor start to the day. I curse. Life in Turai is bad enough without having to act as nursemaid to Makri.