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Chapter Twelve

I make it to the Avenging Axe in record time, pulling up outside the front door and leaping from the wagon like a hungry dragon going after a plump sheep. The first person I run into is Makri, carrying a tray of tankards.

"Sarin's here," I mutter, and head for the stairs.

Makri isn't far behind me as I burst into my office, though she's taken a diversion to pick up her axe. My sword is in my hand, ready for action. The outside door is open, and Sarin the Merciless is standing by the couch, looking down at the still-sleeping Hanama.

"Does your locking spell ever keep anyone out?" demands Makri, and raises her axe. I get myself in between them.

"Makri. Wait till I know why she came here before you kill her."

Sarin regards us with her cold eyes.

"No one is about to kill me."

Sarin's a tall woman, with her dark hair cropped short, which is very unusual in Turai. Unlike almost every other woman in the city, from the market workers to the senators' wives, she wears no make-up of any kind, and her man's tunic is plain and undecorated. For some reason she has a liking for earrings, and there must be at least eight silver rings pierced through each of her ears. She wears a short, curved sword at her hip, and she's pointing a small crossbow at my heart.

"Don't you know it's illegal to carry a crossbow in the city?"

"And yet I never seem to get arrested," says Sarin.

She gazes first at me, then at Makri. There's a peculiar deadness to Sarin's eyes which is slightly unsettling.

"I've been looking for something that belongs to me," she says. "It wasn't there. But I believe you were."

She holds out her hand.

"Give me the Ocean Storm."

I'm staggered by the audacity of this woman, having the nerve to march into my office and demand I hand over a stolen item like she has some rights over it.

"Why would I give it to you?"

"Because I'm pointing a crossbow at you."

"So you are. Maybe you'd like me to roast your insides with a spell?"

"You can't," says Sarin, flatly. "You don't have the power. And I don't like long conversations. Give me the Ocean Storm."

"I'd like to, Sarin, but I just don't believe it belongs to you."

"I made an agreement with Captain Arex."

"Too bad for you someone else got there first."

"Too bad indeed. Hand it over or I'll kill you."

Makri suddenly makes a move. She hurls her axe, moving so quickly that the spinning blade knocks the crossbow from Sarin's hands before she can pull the trigger. Sarin curses and pulls her sword from its sheath. Then she coughs, puts her hand to her head, and sinks gently forward on her knees, sweat pouring from her brow. The sword drops to the floor.

"Oh come on," says Makri, and looks frustrated. Sarin continues to sink, ending up on the floor, her breath coming in short gasps.

I turn to look at Makri.

"What is this? Is there a sign up somewhere saying go to Thraxas's office if you get the malady?"

"I'm going to kill her anyway," declares Makri.

"Okay with me. I'm damned if I want another patient taking up space."

There's the sound of footsteps on the stairs and Hansius walks in through the open door. When he sees Sarin he looks alarmed.

"Didn't the Deputy Consul instruct you to maintain strict privacy? Why is the door open like this? And why is there another malady victim sprawled here for all to see? Get her out of sight this instant."

I stare at Hansius. Just because Cicerius can come down here and order me about doesn't mean his assistant can.

"What do you want?"

"Is that—"

"Sarin the Merciless."

Hansius frowns. Sarin once blackmailed the government out of ten thousand gurans, and they haven't forgotten.

"Why did you let her in?"

"I didn't let her in. She countermanded my locking spell."

"Thraxas's locking spell is useless," says Makri. "Anyone can get past it."

"Why did Sarin come here?" demands Hansius.

"Who knows? People just seem to like to visit these days."

Hansius eyes us with some distaste.

"Didn't the Deputy Consul inform you that we suspect a plot has been hatched to kill Lisutaris and betray the city?"

I look at Makri.

"I can't remember. Did he tell us?"

Makri shrugs.

"There's so many plots. It's hard to remember them all."

"You must be aware of security at all times!" insists Hansius.

I bend down to grab hold of Sarin.

"What are you doing?" asks Hansius

"Throwing her out."

"But I want to kill her," protests Makri.

"She'll die on the street anyway," I point out.

Hansius practically throws himself in front of the door.

"Have you no idea what it means to maintain security? This woman has heard us talk of Lisutaris. No one who knows that Lisutaris is ill in this tavern can be allowed to leave. We might as well just send a message to the Orcs inviting them to attack."

"Fine," says Makri, stepping forward. "I'll kill her now."

The inside door bursts open.

"What are you doing?" cries a very loud voice.

It's Dandelion, clutching potions.

"I'm about to stab Sarin the Merciless," explains Makri.

Dandelion hurries forward, a horrified look on her face.

"You're about to stab a sick woman? Shame on you, Makri."

Makri looks confused.

"But she deserves it."

"Put that sword away," demands Dandelion.

"Absolutely not," retorts Makri.

Dandelion confronts her.

"You can't kill a sick person."

"Yes I can. I'm going to do it now."

"You are not," states Dandelion, quite emphatically. "No one kills any person that I'm ministering to."

"Since when are you ministering to her?"

"Since I took over from Chiaraxi."

"Well this is just ridiculous," says Makri. "You're not a proper healer. You can't order us around."

"I'm the healer," says Dandelion firmly. "I look after everyone that's sick."

I've never seen Dandelion so determined before. She even casts a defiant glance towards Hansius, in case he might be about to argue with her.

"I'm going to kill her," insists Makri.

"You can't kill a sick guest," says Dandelion.

"A person who breaks in to commit crimes doesn't count as a guest!" retorts Makri.

"Well . . ." says Hansius. "That's a moot point. We do have a strong tradition of hospitality."

Makri curses in Orcish. That's also taboo in Turai, and Hansius is annoyed.

"But if Sarin hadn't suddenly fallen sick I'd have killed her by now anyway," says Makri.

"Not necessarily," says Hansius.

"What?"

"She might have survived the combat. She might even have defeated you."

Makri looks aghast at the thought. I weigh in on her side.

"Ridiculous. Makri's a far better fighter. She'd already got rid of the crossbow with her axe."

Hansius glances at the floor.

"But Sarin has a sword. You companion had thrown her axe, and seems not to have brought another weapon."

"I'd still have beaten her," says Makri. "And why do you care about her anyway?"

"I don't care about her at all," says Hansius. "I'm just pointing out the foolishness and unpredictability of women fighting. Women should not be fighting. It's not their place."

Makri reaches down to pick up her axe, whether to show Hansius her place or whether to kill Sarin, I'm not certain. Either one would be fine with me but Dandelion interrupts us again.

"Stop this. It doesn't matter who would have won the fight. Sarin's sick with the malady and now we're going to look after her."

"No we're not," says Makri.

"You can't kill a sick person!" says Dandelion. "It's wrong. And it's bad luck. Isn't that right?"

Dandelion looks towards Hansius for support. There's no denying that the taboo against killing a sick person is very strong.

"I agree. Sarin should be cared for until she recovers, and then taken into custody for her crimes."

"Good," says Dandelion, ignoring the look of loathing currently being directed towards her by Makri. "Now help me get her to a chair."

Dandelion drags Sarin to a chair. No one helps her.

"I'm really not happy about this," says Makri. "How come it's all right for her to go around shooting crossbows at people and then it's not okay for me to stab her? It goes against natural justice. All these taboos are stupid. Don't blame me if the city gets overrun."

Sarin has now lost consciousness and is sweating profusely.

"It's a serious case," mutters Dandelion. "She's going to need a lot of looking after."

I turn to Hansius.

"Why did you come here anyway?"

"The Deputy Consul has instructed Tirini Snake Smiter to add her powers to Lisutaris's protection. I escorted her down. She should be here any moment."

On cue, Tirini Snake Smiter walks into my office. She is Turai's most glamorous Sorcerer, known far and wide as the woman who spent an arduous six months perfecting a new spell for preserving her nail varnish in perfect condition, no matter how trying the circumstances. And, it has to be said, her nails are never less than perfect. She arrives looking as elegant, glamorous, and about as out of place among the clutter as a person can possibly be. She's draped in a golden fur cloak that's so thick I'm surprised she can move. Her hair, the colour of gleaming corn, cascades around her shoulders in a way that makes me suspect it might be permanently controlled by a spell. The woman is obsessed with her appearance. Tirini has been wooed by princes, generals and senators, envied by their wives and daughters, denounced by bishops, and occupied more space in Turai's scandal sheets than any other person in history.

Despite all this, I know that Lisutaris regards her as a powerful Sorcerer, sharp as an Elf's ear when it comes to working her magics. I'm not at all convinced about this. Tirini is too young to have featured in the last war, so there's no way of knowing how she'll react in battle. I wouldn't wager a great deal of money on her prowess. It's all very well being clever with sorcery to make your hair look better. It's a lot different when there's a dragon diving out of the sky towards you, with an Orcish

Sorcerer on its back firing spells, and a squadron of Orcish archers trying to outflank you at the same time.

I greet her, rather wearily.

"Cicerius asked me to check on dear Lisutaris's health," she says

She looks rather dubiously around the room.

"He didn't tell me there were other sick people."

"There are sick people everywhere."

"Who are they?"

"Murderous killer, murderous Assassin," I say, nodding towards the prostrate bodies of Hanama and Sarin.

"Really? How thrilling for you. Where is Lisutaris?"

"In the bedroom."

"Take me to her."

"You sure? So far everyone who's gone in there has fallen sick."

"I've had the malady," says Tirini. "And frightfully boring it was, as I recall."

Tirini walks into my bedroom, followed by Hansius.

Dandelion is meanwhile giving the medicinal potion to Hanama and Sarin. Hanama is still badly sick. Her brow is covered in perspiration. She winces as she moves her mouth towards the cup. The muscle pains brought on by the malady can be very severe, and she's still suffering.

"You'll be better soon," says Dandelion, encouragingly.

"I know," whispers Hanama, and manages to look determined for a few seconds. Her eyes close and she drifts back to sleep. I wonder what would happen if the situation was reversed. Somehow I can't see Hanama feeding medicine to anyone. Caring for people isn't in her nature. There again, nor is it in mine.

Tirini emerges from my bedroom.

"I would hardly say that this is a suitable place for dear Lisutaris to lie ill," she says.

"Neither would I. If you want to move her somewhere go right ahead."

"Cicerius has issued instructions that she should not be moved."

Tirini frowns.

"I have little confidence in Cicerius. Were it not for the efforts of the Sorcerers Guild, the city would have fallen to those dreadful Orcs by now."

The sorceress glances at her hands with distaste.

"I'm covered in dust. Does your maid never clean in there?"

"I don't have a maid."

Tirini looks at me like I'm mentally deficient. The possibility of not having a maid has probably never entered her mind. Her look of distaste intensifies as she glances at the small sink in the corner of my office.

"Where might a woman wash her hands?"

I direct her to Tanrose's room downstairs, probably her best chance of finding something clean and pleasant. It also contains a sick healer, but everywhere you go, someone is sick. It's not just the Avenging Axe. The malady has now made inroads into much of the population. Already there are shortages among the guards at the walls as men fail to report for duty.

Tirini departs, leaving the room with the slow, delicate gait of a woman who's wearing heels which might be suitable for tripping round a ballroom at the Palace but are far too high for the rough terrain you meet in Twelve Seas. In the last twenty years or so, upper-class Turanian women's heels have been becoming higher and higher, a fashion which has led to adverse comment from the Church, and other guardians of the nation's morals. For once I agree with them. Bishop Gzekius might have been talking nonsense when he condemned gambling as the quick way to hell, but he was spot on with his sermon pointing out the iniquities of frivolous footwear. Tirini's shoes, stitched from some yellow fabric with pink flowers embroidered over the toes, with the heel and sole decorated with beaten gold, are surely a sign of a society in decay. I doubt that a sailmaker would earn enough in a year to pay for them.

Makri regards Tirini balefully as she exits.

"I don't think she's the best person to protect Lisutaris. Anyway, I'm protecting her."

Before Hansius leaves he questions us about our encounter with the Orcish Assassin. I can't tell him much more than I did in my message to the Deputy Consul, though I do my best to let Hansius know every detail I can remember. Turai's security has been breached by Orcs before, but now, in time of war, with our defensive sorcery at maximum power, it's far more serious. Old Hasius the Brilliant, Chief Sorcerer at the Abode of Justice, has been down at the harbour, checking on the scene of the fight, trying to pick up clues as to how the Orc Marizaz might have entered the city.

With a final admonition to maintain our own security and look after Lisutaris, Hansius departs. Makri turns towards Sarin the Merciless.

"I'm still going to kill her when she gets better."

"At least you have something to look forward to."

I step towards the bedroom.

"Where are you going?" demands Makri.

"Just checking on Lisutaris."

"Keep out of that room."

"What the hell do you mean, keep out? It's my bedroom."

"You're planning on asking her for money."

"Preposterous. I have a duty to look after her too, you know."

I slip into the bedroom, pursued by Makri.

"I refuse to let you borrow money from a sick woman."

"I'm not going to borrow money. What's it got to do with you anyway?"

"I'm her bodyguard."

"So what? You're meant to protect her from Orcish Assassins, not Investigators in need. Besides, I have some important questions regarding the Ocean Storm."

I stare at Makri.

"Questions that need to be asked in private."

"Not a chance," says Makri. "The minute I'm out that door you'll be scrounging money."

"I order you to get out of my bedroom."

"You can't order a Sorcerer's bodyguard around," states Makri, firmly. "I'm staying."

Lisutaris groans.

"You see?" I say to Makri. "You're upsetting her. She needs peace and quiet."

"She's not going to get peace and quiet with you trying to get your hands on her money."

"What's a few hundred gurans to Lisutaris? She's rolling in money. Goddamn, it's not like she'd be taking a risk."

"You just said you weren't here to borrow money."

"I'm not. But if I was, I'd be doing Lisutaris a favour. She enjoys gambling."

"She's got a city to defend!" yells Makri. "We're meant to be getting her healthy so she can fight the Orcs! Have you forgotten that?"

"Life doesn't stop just because the Orcs are besieging the city!" I roar back. "All citizens have a duty to keep things going. It's good for morale."

"Playing cards doesn't count as keeping things going," protests Makri.

We're interrupted by some movement on the bed. Lisutaris struggles to raise her head.

"I'll give you the money if you'll just leave me in peace," she whispers.

"No, don't—" says Makri.

"I accept," I say, butting in quickly. "Very sporting of you, Lisutaris, and I won't forget you when I'm counting my winnings."

Makri looks furious. I hurry to Lisutaris's bedside. The sorceress lifts her head a few inches.

"How much do you need?"

"Don't give it to him," says Makri.

Lisutaris manages a thin smile.

"Makri. Thraxas has been looking after me. Which is so against his nature, I think he deserves something for his trouble."

She motions for me to hand her a fancy embroidered bag, which I do, hastily. Lisutaris fumbles inside the bag. It takes some effort on her part and I start to worry that she might pass out before she finds her purse. If she does, I'll probably have to engage Makri in combat before I can take possession.

Lisutaris finds her purse, and opens it with an effort.

"How much is there?"

I look inside. There are seven coins. Seven silver fifty guran pieces. Not a common sight in Twelve Seas.

"Three hundred and fifty gurans."

"Is that enough?"

"Just about."

Lisutaris hands them to me. I'm deeply moved. Surely this is one of the finest citizens Turai has ever produced. I cram the coins into the pocket of my tunic.

"Do you want anything?" I ask.

"Some peace," whispers Lisutaris.

"Absolutely, peace is what you need."

I rise swiftly and turn to Makri.

"You heard her. Absolute peace. From now on, make sure no one disturbs Lisutaris."

I leave the room quickly, delighted after a successful operation. I now have 440 gurans and require only sixty more. Surely I can raise that in the next few hours. I'm just strapping on my sword when I am struck by an annoying piece of inspiration about the Ocean Storm. Right now I'm not looking for inspiration. I'm more concerned with raising the cash for tomorrow night's gambling extravaganza. I hesitate. I could ignore it, or deal with it later. I head for the door, but turn back with a sigh. It's no use. No matter how I try, I never seem to be able to ignore an investigation.

I stride back into my bedroom. Makri is sitting beside Lisutaris's bed, not actually mopping her brow but looking like she might do it any moment. She glares angrily at me as I reappear.

"Need more money already?"

I ignore her.

"Lisutaris. I just had some sudden inspiration."

Lisutaris turns her face towards me. She's still looking very unhealthy. The head of the Sorcerers Guild has really taken the malady badly. I've known far less healthy people than her recover from it quicker.

"What inspiration?"

"Yesterday we met an Orcish Assassin. No one knows how he could have got into the city without being detected. Have you had any thoughts on that?"

The Sorcerer shakes her head.

"We're working on it," she whispers.

"Before we met him I passed some mourners, close to the harbour. A couple of men and a woman. Or I thought it was a woman. She was wearing a veil. But now I'm wondering if it might have been Deeziz the Unseen."

Lisutaris stares at me. She stares at me for so long I wonder if she might not be completely with us. Finally she manages the smallest of smiles.

"Deeziz the Unseen? I thought I was the one who was sick. You must be hallucinating."

"I wasn't hallucinating. I didn't see anything strange. Just a standard Human mourner, in a veil. Deeziz is known for wearing a veil. So I'm wondering if it might have been him."

"But mourners often wear veils," says Makri, which is true.

"Did you sense sorcery?" asks Lisutaris.

"No, nothing."

"Did you sense Orcs?" asks Makri.

I admit I didn't.

"It's just a feeling."

Lisutaris tries to raise herself on one elbow, but can't quite make it, and sinks down again.

"Deeziz the Unseen is on top of a mountain hundreds of miles away. We'd have detected him if he'd come anywhere near Turai. Cicerius's intelligence service would have heard something about it."

"Maybe not," I say. "It's not unheard of for an Orcish Sorcerer to infiltrate the city. Makri ran into one only a few months ago when she rescued Herminis"—I break off to cast a dirty look at Makri, signifying my continuing disapproval—"and we both came across one at the races a year or so ago."

"True," replies Lisutaris. "But every Sorcerer in the city has been on the highest alert since Amrag attacked. I think we'd have detected an intruder. And General Pomius doesn't even think Deeziz has joined Prince Amrag."

Lisutaris motions to Makri for water, and Makri raises a beaker to her lips.

"You don't have any reason for thinking it was Deeziz the Unseen, do you? Apart from your intuition?"

"No. I don't. But I've made it a long way on my intuition. Now I think about it, isn't it strange the way you've taken the malady so badly? You should have been starting to recover by now. What if it's Deeziz attacking you with a spell? Sorcery can prolong an illness."

Lisutaris has already thought of this.

"I checked. I'm not being affected by any spell."

"You think you're not. What if you're wrong?"

"I'm not."

"I think you might be."

A hint of colour appears in Lisutaris's cheeks. Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, does not appreciate anything which might be construed as criticism of her power.

"I'm the head of the Sorcerers Guild."

"And I'm an Investigator who's got you out of a few jams in the past. What if I'm right? What if the most powerful Orcish Sorcerer is wandering around in Turai? Who knows what new spells he might have brought with him?"

"You don't know what you're talking about. No one can catch me unaware."

Lisutaris is angry.

"I just gave you three hundred and fifty gurans to leave me in peace and now you're bothering me with this foolishness. Makri, get rid of him so I can sleep."

"No," says Makri.

"What?" Lisutaris looks surprised. "But you're my bodyguard."

"What if Thraxas is right?" says Makri.

Lisutaris finds the strength to haul herself up into a sitting position.

"I always thought you were the smart one."

"I am the smart one," says Makri. "But Thraxas often succeeds in his investigating. I don't think you should ignore him. Maybe Deeziz is here. Maybe he's attacking you and you don't know it."

"How many times do I have to repeat, I can't be attacked without me knowing it," insists Lisutaris. "I've had enough of this. What was Cicerius thinking, leaving me in this place? I need to be at home where I can recover without being surrounded by idiots."

Lisutaris makes an attempt to haul herself out of bed. Makri puts a hand on her shoulder and firmly pushes her back. Lisutaris's eyes widen in amazement.

"You can't leave," says Makri, firmly. "You have to rest and get better. Meanwhile Thraxas can investigate more."

"Would you like me to blast you with a spell?"

"Well that wouldn't be a very smart thing to do to your own bodyguard," says Makri, logically.

Lisutaris sinks back into the bed.

"I need thazis," she says.

"You can't have it," says Makri. "The healer says it's bad for you."

"To hell with the healer," says Lisutaris. She waves her hand, summoning her bag. It rises from the floor but Makri intercepts it and throws it in a drawer.

"No thazis till you're better," she says, sternly.

Fearing that Lisutaris might actually carry out her threat to start blasting people with spells, I decide it's time to go. As I leave the room Lisutaris is still complaining about not being allowed any thazis, and Makri is ignoring her.

I need food. I head downstairs to see what's on offer. Elsior the apprentice cook is standing behind the bar as I approach, with an apron round her waist, loading some pastries into a jar. I ask if there's anything more substantial on offer. There are plenty of hungry dock workers who visit the tavern at lunchtime so the cooking generally starts early.

"I'm a bit rushed," says Elsior, apologetically. "But the first batch of stew will be ready soon."

She puts her hand to her forehead.

"It's hot in here today."

"Hot? I hadn't noticed."

"Must be the heat in the kitchen getting to me," says Elsior.

I have a strong suspicion about what's going to happen next. Elsior blinks a few times, and brushes perspiration from her forehead. Then she leans forward, clutches the bar for support, and sinks slowly to the floor. I look down at her.

"So is the stew almost ready? Could I just take a bowl from the kitchen?"

Elsior doesn't reply. Makri appears from upstairs.

"Another casualty?"

"I'm afraid so. And the stew isn't ready yet."

"Tough break," says Makri.

We look down at Elsior's prone body.

"I'm starting to get quite fed up with all this," says Makri.

"Me too."

"Do you think these people are really trying to get better? Palax and Kaby have been sick for ages. Shouldn't they be healthy by now?"

I shrug.

"Difficult to say. Sometimes the malady's like that. At least no one's died yet."

"So where are we going to put her?"

Hanama and Sarin are sick in my office and Lisutaris is in my bedroom. Palax and Kaby are in Makri's room and Chiaraxi is lying ill in Tanrose's room. Moolifi is in the only spare guest room.

"Have to be Dandelion's room, I'd say."

Dandelion sleeps in a small room at the back of the tavern, when she's not down at the shore, talking to the dolphins. We pick Elsior up and start to carry her through the kitchen towards the back. As we do so we meet Dandelion bustling towards us.

"Oh dear," says Dandelion. Another one?"

"We were going to put her in your room."

Dandelion accepts it with good grace.

"You best tell Gurd," I say. "He's going to have a lot of hungry dockers and mercenaries here in a few hours and nothing to feed them."

Dandelion wrinkles her brow.

"I'm not a very good cook."

She turns to Makri.

"Can you cook?"

Makri looks quite offended, and shakes her head.

"Well, I'm off to investigate," I say, and depart briskly. I'm not so bad at mixing up a stew on a campfire, but I'm not planning on pitching in and helping. The thought of me cooking for dockers and mercenaries is quite ridiculous, but the way things are going, I wouldn't put it past someone to suggest it.

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