Cicerius's crisp white toga stands out like a beacon in the shabby surroundings of my office.
"To business," he declares. "I need the services of a man who has experience of the seamier side of this city, someone who also has a knowledge of chariot racing and all its mechanisms. You qualify for that, I believe."
"Absolutely."
"Since our recent encounter, Thraxas, I have looked into your career. I find that though you were a notably bad student as a Sorcerer, and have rarely held down a regular job, you did serve well in the Army. Senator Mursius himself spoke highly of your fighting qualities.
"It is unfortunate," he continues, fixing me with the sort of stare that can terrify an opponent in court, "that you could not apply yourself properly in the rest of your life. Your time as Senior Investigator at the Palace was continually marred by periods of drunkenness and insubordination, of which I myself have seen evidence. And where has such behaviour got you?" He gestures round at the squalor of my office. "Do you not even have a servant to clean for you?"
I can't afford a servant, but I'm not going to admit that to Cicerius. I remain silent.
"Well, it is your affair. If you choose to squander your talents instead of using them for the good of our nation, no one can prevent you. But I think that you might be of use to me, and I wish to hire you."
He addresses Makri. "I believe that you may also be of service. I understand that you speak fluent Orcish, both Common Orcish and the pidgin Orcish spoken in the Wastelands?"
Makri nods. Her eyes narrow at the mention of Orcs.
The Deputy Consul turns back to me. "You are aware of the Turas Memorial Race, and the entry of a chariot by the Elf Lord Lisith-ar-Moh, who has always been a great friend of Turai?"
"Certainly. I'm looking forward to it. The whole town is."
"It may surprise you to know that Lord Rezaz Caseg also wishes to enter a chariot in the race."
I frown. "Lord Rezaz Caseg? I've never heard of him."
"You may know him better as Rezaz the Butcher."
I explode in astonishment. Beer flies everywhere. "Rezaz the Butcher? That Lord Rezaz? But he's an Orc, for God's sake! The last time he was in the area he damn near wiped us off the map. What do you mean, he wants to enter a chariot?"
It's one of the most outrageous things I've ever heard. An Orc entering a chariot in the Turas Memorial? And not just any Orc—Rezaz the Butcher! One of the fiercest, most bloodthirsty warlords ever to lay waste to a human settlement. And also, unfortunately for us, one of the cleverest generals ever to destroy a Human army. He was by far the best commander in the Army of King Bhergaz the Fierce, who united all the Orcish lands and led them against us. I pound my fist on the table.
"You don't have to say any more, Deputy Consul. Just tell me what I have to do and I'll do it. I'll prevent that Orc from ever reaching the city. You can depend on me!"
Cicerius looks at me with that steely gaze again. "That is not what I require you to do. I do not wish you to prevent him reaching the city. Rather I am hiring you to look after the Orcs while they are here. There may be attempts to sabotage their chariot. I need someone to protect against that and see that they are given a fair deal."
It's not often that I'm speechless. But at Cicerius's words I'm struck dumb. I can't even move my lips. I stand there, staring, wondering which one of us has gone mad. Makri fares no better. She's actually drawn a sword and is looking round her suspiciously as if an Orc might enter right now.
"I see you are surprised," says Cicerius, breaking the silence.
I'm feeling weak. I fumble for the remains of my beer and try to formulate a reply. Meanwhile I'm straining my mental powers for any sign of sorcery, in case this isn't actually Cicerius but some magical impostor sent to torment me. Finally I utter a few words.
"You can't be serious. Rezaz the Butcher can't really be entering a chariot in the Turas Memorial race. And if he is, you can't expect me to play nursemaid to an Orc! Especially not that Orc. He was leading the assault when the wall caved in. I was there. I lost almost everyone I knew to the Butcher's soldiers."
"Times change," replies the Deputy Consul.
"I know. But not that much. Okay, we're at peace just now, but for how long? The Orcish Ambassadors never appear in public for fear of causing a riot. And this Orc Lord wants to walk right into the Stadium Superbius and enter a chariot? Why? And what does the King think about it?"
"The King is strongly in favour of the idea. You see, Thraxas, the politics of running a city involves us in many strange alliances. It so happens that at this moment it is vital to the interests of Turai that we maintain good relations with Lord Rezaz Caseg. Are you aware that exploration and prospecting of the various minerals in the furthest northeast of our territory has advanced to such an extent that we are about to open several new copper mines?"
"No."
"Prospecting has been continuing for some years, and is now about to pay dividends. You will appreciate the importance of this to the state. Small as we are in size, we depend on our wealth for our security. You are of course aware that there have for some years been border disputes with Nioj?"
Nioj, our northern neighbour, is always finding some reason to start a border dispute. We already have gold mines along the boundaries of our two nations and they would love to get their hands on them. In fact, right before the last Orc War Nioj invaded Turai. Only the arrival of the Orcs brought that war to an end as we Humans were obliged to forget our differences and unite to face the common enemy.
"Well, once more, the territory is disputed. Although the deposits of copper are clearly on land that belongs historically to Turai, Nioj has been making inroads and may even be about to claim it as hers."
Cicerius pulls a map from his toga and spreads it on the desk. He points to the mountainous area where the northeastern part of our territory meets the far larger state of Nioj.
"The next territory along is Carsan, populated mainly by nomadic tribes with little state authority. Carsan is in fact under the strong influence of its eastern neighbour Soraz, which sits firmly in the Wastelands between us and the Orcs. And its effective ruler is Lord Rezaz Caseg. To make things as simple as possible, we need support from Carsan to keep hold of the copper mines. And we can't get support from Carsan unless Soraz allows it."
"So we have to be nice to Lord Rezaz Caseg?"
I look at the map. Soraz looks a long way away.
"Do we really need support from them? What about the League of City-States?" About a hundred years ago all the small states in the region banded together to protect ourselves from large predatory countries like Nioj.
"We can no longer count on much support from that direction."
I knew that before I asked. The League has been crumbling for a decade, pulled to pieces by the selfishness of its members, including Turai.
"Now do you understand why we wish to accommodate the Orc Lord?"
"Just about. But I don't like it."
"Your likes are of no concern to the King or the Consul."
"So I understand. But what's this got to do with chariot racing anyway?"
"Lord Rezaz Caseg is a keen racer, apparently. Furthermore, he has let us know, through diplomatic channels, that he has not forgotten the Elf Lord Lisith-ar-Moh. They fought hand to hand underneath the walls of Turai, but were separated by the press of bodies before a fatal blow could be struck. He tells us that while he respects Lord Lisith-ar-Moh as a soldier he would be pleased to match him in the Stadium.
"The King believes that Rezaz may have other motives. He is under some pressure at home in Soraz from his rival, Prince Kalazar, who is supported by Makeza the Thunderer, a very powerful Orcish Sorcerer. Together they have had some success in gaining support. We believe that Lord Rezaz may be seeking to increase his prestige by defeating the Elvish chariot. Furthermore, with a powerful rival like Prince Kalazar waiting in the wings, he can't allow any instability in the region. If this understanding ensures peace, everyone will benefit."
I don't believe that we'll ever get any benefit from co-operating with Orcs but Cicerius isn't interested in my opinion.
"The arrival of an Orcish chariot and racing crew will cause some concern in the city," continues Cicerius. "It is possible that there may be objections."
"Objections? There'll be a riot."
"Let the government deal with riots. You protect against sabotage. If anything goes wrong, you may have the chance to use your investigative powers to put it right. The King is depending on you."
Cicerius turns to Makri. "You will appreciate why I also need your help. Very few people in Turai have your grasp of the Orcish language. That, allied with your fighting skills, makes you an ideal person to assist Thraxas in this potentially difficult endeavour."
Makri has been standing there all this time speechless. She now raises her sword slightly—a terrible breach of etiquette in the presence of the Deputy Consul—and then spits on my floor.
"I'd kill you, the King and all his children before I protected an Orc."
Well, you can't make it clearer than that.
Cicerius looks puzzled.
"You are particularly averse to Orcs?"
"I am," explodes Makri. "I was born in an Orcish slave pit. I lived as a slave till I killed my own Orc Lord and most of his household a year ago. And if you take on the job, Thraxas, I'm leaving."
"I'm not taking it," I say, quite emphatically. "Already people talk about bad luck falling on Turai because we have Orcish Ambassadors here. If more of them appear then every time something goes wrong—from a cup getting broken to a child dying—it will be blamed on them. Senator Lodius's Populares won't have to encourage the population to riot. They'll be out doing it for themselves in no time. Anyone trying to protect the Orcs would soon find their life wasn't worth living. He'd be the most hated man in the city. Protect an Orc? Not me."
Cicerius leans towards me. "Yes, Thraxas, you will. The alternative is losing your Investigator's licence."
"That's not fair!"
"Not fair? I doubt the King would worry himself overmuch about some slight injustice if his wishes were ignored. I myself would not countenance a breach of the law, but consider. You have recently been convicted in court of assaulting an officer of the King. You are at present on bail, suspected of murdering Senator Mursius. It would be entirely right and proper to remove your licence. However, I will stretch a point, provided you do as I request. And you will be well paid."
"Doesn't it worry you that Orcs are sneaking, treacherous, murderous animals who'd like nothing more than to wipe us off the face of the earth?" I fume.
"Not at this moment," replies the Deputy Consul. "We need that copper."
I ask him when the Orcs are arriving.
"The chariot is coming in by ship in a week or so. Lord Rezaz is already in the city. So is his charioteer. We brought them in discreetly a few days ago. Do not mention this to anyone."
I won't. The thought that Rezaz the Butcher is actually in Turai at this moment makes me tremble with rage.
Cicerius turns to Makri.
"How is Professor Toarius?"
"What?" says Makri, surprised.
"Your Professor at the Guild College. I understand he dislikes you."
"How do you know that?"
"He told me when he was my guest for dinner last week."
Makri shifts uncomfortably, not liking the way this conversation is going.
"He does not approve of women attending the College and would rather you were not there. He can fail you at any time, and fully intends to do so."
"But I'm a good student!"
"I don't doubt it. Unfortunately the Professor's word will be final. After all, his academic status far outshines that of anyone else at the Guild College. He is seconded there from the Imperial University as a favour to the lower orders by the Consul. If he refuses to pass you then you will not proceed to the next year. If that happens you will never gain the qualifications you require for the University."
Makri takes a stride back towards Cicerius. She tells him straight out that she doesn't like being blackmailed into doing anything. Cicerius gives the slightest of shrugs, implying that it doesn't matter to him if she likes it or not.
"Are you saying you'll get me into the University if I help?"
"No. The Imperial University does not accept women. Nor anyone with Orcish blood. That is more than I can promise. But I will persuade Professor Toarius to pass you at College, providing your work is acceptable. I understand from other sources that it is indeed of good quality."
Cicerius stands up to leave. "Of course, when the time comes, I might be persuaded to use some influence in the matter of the Imperial University. I may well be Consul by then, and I am a very good friend of the Professor in charge of admissions. Who knows how he might react if the Consul were to promise additional funds. Farewell. In the next few days I shall send my assistant with details of what I require from you."
He leaves the room.
Makri yells in anger and tosses her sword, blade first, into my couch.
"I refuse to protect an Orc!" she shouts.
"And so do I," I agree.
We light up some thazis to calm us down. I scrabble under the desk for my store of klee, the locally distilled spirit. There are times when beer won't do. The klee burns my throat as it goes down. Makri makes a face, and holds out her glass for more. We sit in silence, letting the day's events sink in. The rain beats on the door and windows. The light fades into evening gloom. After a while Makri breaks the silence.
"So, what are you going to do when they take your licence away?"
"I don't know. What are you going to do when you fail at the College?"
"I don't know."
We sit in silence a while longer, and smoke some more thazis.
"It's not fair," says Makri eventually. "I don't want to protect an Orc."
"Me neither," I sigh. "But it looks like we're stuck with it. Maybe we won't have to do anything. If nothing goes wrong for the Orcs, Cicerius won't need our services."
"How likely is that?"
"Not likely," I admit. "As soon as the chariot arrives the city will be in uproar. The Butcher will be hacked to pieces and we'll get the job of sorting it out."
Neither of us wants to be involved, but Cicerius has left us no choice.
I pour us some more klee. Makri shudders as she drinks it.
"Why do you buy this firewater?"
"Top-quality klee. It's good for you. You know, I learned long ago to expect strange things to happen. But I never thought I'd end up playing nursemaid to an Orc Lord at the Turas Memorial. I'm tired. I'd better get some sleep before anything else weird happens."
A light tap comes on the outside door. It opens. In walks the delicate, dark-clad figure of Hanama. I fumble desperately for my sword. Hanama is number three in the Assassins Guild. The last time I saw her she tossed a dart into the Chief Abbot of a temple of warrior monks, sending him off to paradise rather more quickly than he had anticipated. I make ready to defend myself.
"Relax, Investigator," she says, in her soft voice. "Had I been here on business, I would not have knocked."
I glare at her, sword now firmly in hand. "Then what do you want?"
"I've come to visit Makri."
"Just a social call?"
"That is correct."
Hanama looks at Makri. Makri looks puzzled but gets to her feet and they go off to Makri's room. Strange. I've never known Assassins to do much in the way of socialising.
The door crashes open in the most violent manner. I whirl to face this new intruder. It's Sarija, wife of the late Senator Mursius. She trips and falls. She's wet through. Her face is drawn, with a yellowish hue. And she reeks of dwa, easily discernible even among the multitudinous unpleasant odours that waft in from the street outside.
"I'm hiring you to find out who killed my husband," she says, then passes out in my arms. I dump her on the couch. I walk over to the door, close it, mutter my locking spell, then barricade it with a chair.
"I don't care who it is," I grunt. "No one else is getting in here tonight."
I notice there's an envelope pushed under the door. When did that arrive? I tear it open and read the message.
You'll be dead before the end of the rainy season, says the message.
"I will be if things go on like this," I mutter, and throw it in the bin.