Next day I sleep late and don't wake until I'm disturbed by noises in my office. I only have two rooms, one for sleeping and the other for working. It's small but it ought to be private. I rise quietly and creep to the connecting door, sword in hand. There's someone in there all right. I burst through, ready to confront intruders.
It's Makri. She appears to be searching under the couch.
"What the hell are you doing under my couch?" I demand, not particularly pleased to have been woken up after last night's drinking session.
Makri leaps to her feet, a furious expression on her face.
"You idiot," she yells, and then carries on with some harsh abuse. I'm not fully awake and I find this hard to take in.
"What have I done?"
"I lost my money because of you."
"What money?"
"The money I was collecting for the Association of Gentlewomen!"
Makri insults me some more. I can't understand what she's talking about till I hear the words Troll Mangler mixed in with her tirade.
"Troll Mangler? Are you talking about the race in Juval?"
"Of course I'm talking about the race. You said Troll Mangler couldn't lose! You and your stupid tips!"
"Didn't it win?"
"No it didn't," cries Makri. "A wheel fell off at the first corner! And I went out this morning and put all my money on it!"
This is a staggering piece of news. I sink on to the couch, a broken man. "Are you sure?"
Makri's sure. She's been down at Mox's watching the gamblers who bet on the favourite pick up their winnings, and she's not very pleased about it. I'm stunned by these terrible tidings and struggle to defend myself against Makri's accusations.
"I didn't force you to bet your money on it, did I? This is bad enough for me, without you making it worse. Troll Mangler beaten! I can't believe it. I was depending on that chariot. There's been some dirty sorcery afoot in Juval."
"The only thing that's afoot is your inability to pick a winner! I never should've listened to you. Now what am I going to do? I'm broke and I need fifty gurans—today!"
Makri's behaviour starts to make sense. I have a fifty-guran piece hidden under my couch. It's my emergency reserve and is meant to be a secret.
"Is that what you were doing under my couch?" I demand.
"Yes."
"You thought you'd just take it while I was sleeping?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because it was your fault I lost my money and I need it in a hurry. I promised it to the A.G. today."
This is such an outrageous statement that I am left practically gasping for breath.
"You promised it to the A.G.? The Association of Gentlewomen? You promised that bunch of harridans fifty gurans of my money?"
"No," replies Makri. "Any fifty gurans would do. But I need it today. And they're not a bunch of harridans. You don't mind me borrowing it, do you? You know I'm good for it. It's the least you can do in the circumstances."
"That fifty gurans is my emergency reserve," I roar, dragging Makri away from the couch. "You go anywhere near it and I'll run you through like a dog. You already owe me the forty gurans I lent you to pay for last term's exam fees."
Makri is now madder than a mad dragon. So am I.
"How dare you rob my office! You think I want to donate the last of my money to that lunatic women's organisation? Are you insane?"
"I only wanted to borrow it," protests Makri, wiping some dust off her knees.
"Why do you need fifty gurans for the A.G. anyway?"
"It's the money I collected for them. I spent two months raising that cash. You know how hard it is in Twelve Seas. Everyone's poor and the men won't give anything anyway. I had to move heaven, earth and the three moons to raise even that. I've had easier times fighting dragons."
"Don't tell me about fighting dragons," I retort. "I was fighting dragons before you were born."
I seem to be straying from the point here. I get back to berating the Association of Gentlewomen, which, while not illegal, is not exactly well thought of by a large part of the city, namely the male part.
The King doesn't like it, the True Church fulminates against it from the pulpit and the Senate has condemned it as seditious. It was established to raise the status of women in the city. After a slow start it has gathered an increasing amount of support from the most unlikely quarters. Membership is not made public, but I happen to know that Princess Du-Akai is a supporter, as are various powerful female Sorcerers.
The Sorcerers Guild admits women. Most other guilds do not, which is something the Association intends to put right. Or put wrong, depending on your point of view. The Association has official recognition and admittance into the Revered Federation of Guilds as its first objective, but that's an expensive business, with fees and bribes needed all along the line. Fifty thousand was the figure Makri mentioned, I believe.
"So, can I borrow it?"
"Of course you can't borrow it. If you promised that money to the A.G. you shouldn't have gambled it away. It's unethical."
"Don't lecture me on ethics, you fraud!" roars Makri.
I start to laugh. I can't help it.
"So. You lost your money on a chariot. Very amusing. Miss Austerity herself gambled it away. The Queen of Sensible Behaviour blows her cash at the races."
Makri doesn't take this too well. "It was your fault, you Orc lover! I'd never have backed that chariot if you hadn't said it was a sure thing."
Makri is livid at me for giving her a bad tip, but she's even angrier at herself for losing the money. She's had to work hard to get the respect of the local businesswomen who support the A.G. and this isn't going to help.
"I've got to take it Minarixa the baker by noon! You have to help!"
I wave this away. "I'll forgive you for trying to burgle my offices. I'll put it down to the rashness of youth. But let this be a valuable lesson to you. Never blow the last of your money at the races."
Makri stares at me. I stare back at her.
"I really worked hard collecting that money. And I came and supported you in court. I'll pay you back."
I shake my head.
"Come on, Thraxas. It's not like you to be as mean as a Pontifex when it comes to money."
"I need that fifty gurans," I tell her
"What for?"
"To win back my money at Mox's. Now depart. I need to be alone with the bad news about Troll Mangler."
There's a knock at my outside door. Makri departs, looking dispirited. I shake my head. Give my last fifty gurans to the Association of Gentlewomen indeed. Big joke.
The knock sounds again, angry and urgent. My door is generally sealed with a locking spell. This is a common minor spell that I can use at will without having to learn it afresh every time, like one of the major spells, but it can be employed by anyone with the slightest knowledge of the mystical arts. While it's reasonably effective against petty theft, it wouldn't keep out someone who was seriously determined. A few months ago Hanama the Assassin came here uninvited and it didn't keep her out for more than a second. I mutter the appropriate incantation, and the door springs open.
It turns out to be Carilis, the not very friendly employee whom we met yesterday in Ferias, looking after Sarija. She has mud all over her fancy black boots and water drips from her elegant blue cloak.
She strides in and looks around with disapproval. "What a mess."
"If I knew you were coming I'd have had it cleaned."
"How can you live in such squalor? It's disgusting."
I glare at her. I'm starting to feel some disgust myself.
"Did you just come here to lecture me about the state of my office?"
"Doesn't everyone?"
"Some people are too polite. The rest are in too much trouble to care."
"Well, I find it very offputting. You should do something about it."
"I will. I'll throw you out on your ear if you don't get down to business. What do you want?"
She stares at me like I'm something that just crawled out from under a rock, but swallows the rest of her criticism and gets down to business.
"Mursius's belongings."
"What about them?"
"He's hired you to find them?"
"Maybe."
She leans over the desk and drops a scrap of paper in front of me.
"You'll find them there if you hurry," she says. She rises swiftly and departs without a backward glance.
I look at the paper. It has an address written on it. One of the old warehouses next to the docks.
I find my magic dry cloak. This case might be even easier than I thought.
The rain has halted and a hot breeze blows in from the sea, raising steam from the streets. The stals, the small black birds that infest the city, risk a few chirrups and venture from their perches high up on the tenement roofs. In the Hot Rainy Season they usually hang around looking miserable like everyone else.
When I'm halfway down Quintessence Street I realise I haven't had any breakfast. I'm hungry. It strikes me that it will soon be time for prayers. I hurry through the mud, keen to get indoors before Sabam, the call for morning prayers which rings out through the city as regularly as clockwork every morning. It's a legal obligation for all citizens to kneel and pray, no matter where they are. Anyone found not complying is charged with impiety, and there's no way round it. Naturally, most citizens take care to be in some suitable place, but if you happen to be in the street at the time, then you have to pray there. Three times a day. It gets me down. It could be worse. Up in Nioj, where things are much more strict, they have six prayer calls a day. Last time I was there on a case my knees ached for a month.
I make it to the harbour and head for the warehouse. Unfortunately, before I reach it, the call rings out from the tower of the nearest church and I am obliged to kneel and pray. I'm seething with frustration. This sort of thing makes it hard to be an Investigator. If anything is going on in that warehouse, the culprit will have plenty of time to cover it up before I arrive.
All around the dock workers are kneeling down so I can't risk ignoring the call. I'd be reported for sure and hauled in front of the special clerical court for impious behaviour. Bishop Gzekius, head of the True Church locally, would relish the chance to send me away for a long trip on a prison galley. He hasn't forgiven me for putting a stop to some nefarious operations he was engaged in earlier this year.
As I'm kneeling, the rain starts again. I pull my cloak tighter around me and wonder how anyone is meant to pray in such circumstances. Finally prayers are over. I hurry towards the warehouse and step inside. The interior is set up with pens and feeding troughs for receiving livestock but the warehouse is empty. I follow my instincts and mount the metal staircase to where the manager's office should be. I find the office, but there's no sign of any manager. No sign of anyone at all.
The door is locked. I bark out the common opening spell and it springs open. I walk in. It's dark apart from a narrow shaft of light coming through the shutters. I wrench them open. Light floods in, and I look around me. The room is full of artwork. Nine or ten sculptures, a few paintings and what looks like a very fine old antique chest inlaid with gold and ivory. I nod. I can't help feeling some satisfaction. When it comes to investigating I'm number one chariot for sure. Hire Thraxas to find your missing works of art, and what happens? He finds your missing works of art the very next day.
It looks like quality goods. There's a small statue of an Elf Maiden which might even be by Xixias, the famed Turanian sculptor who lived in the last century and whose work is now highly prized. I glance at the paintings. High quality again. One catches my eye immediately. It's the painting Mursius was most keen to get back. It depicts a group of young men, one of whom is Mursius. He's in the uniform of a Captain and he's standing with a group of other soldiers, all in dress uniform with swords at their hips and long spears over their shoulders. The inscription on the bottom reads: Officers of the King's Fourth Regiment after the successful defence of Turai against the Orc Invaders.
I was there as well, doing my share of defending. No one painted me afterwards.
If I'd prepared for this eventuality I might have been able to load some carrying spell into my mind enabling me to take this lot home with me. But I didn't. Which means I need some form of transport, and quick. I hurry out of the warehouse and look around. The dockers are unloading crates of what looks like Elvish wine from a small vessel tied up in the dock. I approach the foreman, a man I know slightly from drinking in the Avenging Axe. I ask him if I can hire his wagon.
He shakes his head. I take out ten gurans. He shakes his head again. I take out another ten. He tells his men it's time to take a break.
"Have it back in half an hour," he says, and pockets his twenty gurans. That's quite a sum for hiring a wagon, but I'm sure Senator Mursius won't mind the expense. As I'm leading the horse-drawn vehicle back towards the warehouse I suddenly sense something unusual. Nothing I can name, just unusual. I halt, trying to identify it. Sorcery? I can't tell, it's too faint for my senses. A clap of thunder overhead breaks my concentration but the feeling returns as soon as I re-enter the warehouse and it quickly gets stronger. Everything looks the same but I know that something has happened. This place reeks of sorcery. I draw my sword and tread softly up the stairs.
I pause outside the office door. My senses are going crazy. I take a deep breath and kick the door with all my might then charge in with my sword raised. There's no one inside. The room is empty. And when I say empty I mean empty. Of the sculptures and paintings, there is no sign. Damn.
I swear out loud. In the few minutes I've been outside I've been outsmarted by a Sorcerer. I vent my frustration by kicking a cupboard door. It swings open slowly, propelled by some weight behind it. I watch with horror as a body slumps forward to lie sprawled at my feet. It's Senator Mursius. Blood seeps out of a wound in his back. He's dead.
I stand there staring stupidly at the corpse, trying to work out what's happened. Suddenly heavy boots sound from outside, thundering up the stairs. There's no time to flee and nowhere to hide. A platoon of Civil Guards bursts into the office. As soon as they see me standing beside the body they surround me, swords drawn. Their Captain bends down and examines the body.
"It's Senator Mursius!" he exclaims.
I'm arrested on the spot. Within a minute I'm in the back of a covered Guard wagon on my way to the main Twelve Seas Civil Guard station.
"You're in serious trouble," mutters one of the Guards.
Senator Mursius was a hero of Turai. It doesn't take a genius to work out that I am the number one suspect for murdering him. I am in trouble. Lightning flashes overhead as I'm led out of the wagon and into a cell.
I was right. My cases usually do turn bad. This one just went very bad indeed.