Thraxas - The Complete Series (213 page)

“Who’s the empty chair for?” he asks.

I slip away towards the bar for a beer. Makri frowns as I approach.

“You’ve already drunk a lot of klee,” she says. “You need to keep your wits about you.”

“I had one small glass of klee.”

“You had four. I was counting.”

“Makri, did we get married without me noticing? Since when are you keeping track of how much I drink?”

“Since I became the stake in your card game,” says Makri.

I’m gripped by a moment of doubt.

“Do you want to back out? There’s still time. I don’t much like this.”

“You seemed keen enough upstairs,” says Makri.

“I got carried away when Cicerius offered me more money.”

Makri laughs. I’m not feeling much like laughing myself. I’ve never sat down at a card table before without confidently expecting to win. But I was never gambling over a person’s future before.

“What if Horm wins?”

“Then I’ll be a fantastic Orc bride,” says Makri. “And captain of the armies. You might see me outside the city walls one day, leading a phalanx.”

“It’s not funny. Tell Cicerius you’ve changed your mind. To hell with Horm. Let him keep the Ocean Storm. We’ll beat the Orcs anyway.”

Makri shakes her head.

“We won’t. We’ll all die. Anyway, this way I get to go to the university.”

“We could think of another plan. You can get to the university some other way.”

Makri raises her eyebrows.

“Haven’t you spent the last three years telling me I have no chance whatsoever?”

“Yes. And now I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to play with you as the stake.”

“Are you losing confidence again?” says Makri. “What’s the matter with you? Just get in there and give them hell.”

Makri pours me a beer and hands it over.

“Get confident.”

Makri’s dressed in her standard serving-wench attire, her chainmail bikini. It’s still an impressive sight. Men look at her with lust and I’m sure I saw Tirini glaring at her physique jealously as she passed by. I drink the beer down in one gulp and hold out the tankard for another.

“I told you to get confident,” says Makri. “Not hopelessly drunk.”

“I’m a long way from hopelessly drunk.”

“A glass of klee, please.”

I recognise the voice. It’s Horm, who’s arrived as silently and mysteriously as ever. The collar of his cloak is raised, preventing anyone behind from recognising him.

Makri pauses briefly, then pours him a glass of klee. She holds out her hand for the money. Horm smiles, and drops a coin into her palm. The sight irritates me.

“Does Prince Amrag know you’re gambling with the Ocean Storm?” I ask.

“Prince Amrag is no concern of yours,” replies Horm.

“You’re going to be in trouble when he finds out.”

Horm raises an eyebrow.

“If you’re trying to unsettle me before our game, you’re wasting your time.”

He smiles at Makri.

“My mountain kingdom is a wild and beautiful place. It will suit you perfectly.”

Makri glares at him, and remains silent.

“She’s never going to go there,” I say. “I doubt you will either. Amrag will have you killed once he knows what you’ve been up to.”

“Who is to tell him?”

Good point. I’m stuck for an answer.

“How about Deeziz the Unseen?”

“What? Deeziz? Deeziz is hundreds of miles away.”

“Maybe not. I’ve an idea he might be close by.”

For the briefest of moments, an expression of concern flickers over Horm’s face.

“Absolute nonsense, Investigator. Deeziz the Unseen is not in Turai.”

“Well you better hope you’re right. Because if he tells Amrag what you’ve been up to, he’ll be down on you like a bad spell and you can say goodbye to your mountain kingdom.”

I’m pleased to have unsettled Horm. It’s no bad thing to discomfort your opponent before you sit down at the card table. I’m working up a few more insults when we’re interrupted by a lot of raised voices.

“Deputy Consul, surely you cannot be serious! Horm the Dead coming here? To play cards?”

It’s Praetor Capatius. He’s just heard the news and he’s not pleased. General Acarius joins in, declaring that he’s deeply shocked.

“What is the reason for this?” demands the General.

Cicerius won’t say. He simply informs the gathering that it’s for important reasons of state. It’s part of our bargain with Horm that the other players mustn’t know what’s going on. Otherwise Horm might suspect that they were ganging up on him. It’s reasonable. In his position, I’d have expected the same.

“This is intolerable,” cries Capatius. “No decent man could put up with the company of that foul Orc.”

“Why look,” cries Glixius. “There he is now, standing beside Thraxas.”

Every eye turns towards us. I take a hasty step to the side.

“Thraxas has bought him a glass of klee!” cries Praetor Capatius. “Cicerius, is the Investigator blackmailing you somehow? Tell us the truth and we’ll throw him from the city walls.”

“Silence,” barks Cicerius. “Horm the Dead is not blackmailing me. I have allowed him to play for reasons which I cannot explain. Suffice to say it is important for the welfare of the city.”

There are a lot of angry and suspicious looks as I walk towards the card table, followed all too closely by Horm.

“Are you telling us that Horm’s presence has nothing to do with Thraxas?” demands Glixius.

Cicerius is slightly troubled. He hesitates, and naturally everyone notices. By the time I reach the card table it’s firmly fixed in every mind that I’ve brought Horm the Dead to the Avenging Axe for reasons of my own, no doubt as the first part of a traitorous attempt to sell out the city.

I can sense the Sorcerers at the nearby table expending all their energies in checking around them for unexpected Orcish sorcery, probing the air for spells, and all the while wondering if there is some way of removing the Ocean Storm from Horm. Horm no doubt senses it too, but remains calm. He greets everyone at the table quite politely, and sits in the vacant chair.

“Are we ready to begin?” he asks.

There’s a long pause, and a few uneasy expressions around the table. Finally General Acarius speaks.

“Who is dealing the cards?”

We don’t have a designated dealer at our games at the Axe.

“We usually just deal ourselves,” says Grax.

“I think a dealer might be better, in the circumstances,” says the General.

“I assure you, I have no intention of cheating,” says Horm, smoothly.

“I wasn’t referring to you,” growls the General, and looks straight in my direction.

“Yes,” says Glixius, also looking in my direction. “A dealer might be better. There are some players whom one can never trust not to manipulate the cards in their favour.”

“Are you calling me a cheat!” I roar, rising to my feet.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” says Glixius. “Although it has struck me as odd before now how every time Horm the Dead troubles our city, you’re involved in it somehow.”

“Gentlemen, stop this,” roars Cicerius. “The game must proceed. Try and act like civilised Turanians. Glixius, I assure you that Thraxas’s continual involvement with Horm the Dead is nothing more than coincidence.”

There seem to be a lot of eyes turned in my direction. I get the impression they’re judging how many men it will take to throw me from the city walls. Quite a few, probably, though I have lost a pound or two since the yam shortage began.

“Who will deal?” says Cicerius, looking round.

Moolifi rises to her feet.

“I’ll do it,” she says. “I’ve dealt a lot of cards in my time.”

I doubt if the music-hall singer would be Cicerius’s first choice, but he’s keen to get things underway. He nods, and asks if anyone has any objections. No one has, so Moolifi takes a seat at the table and picks up the cards. We’re finally ready to play.

T
here are several varieties of rak. Tonight we’re playing palace rak, with the standard pack of forty-eight cards. Four suits, black, red, green and blue, cards numbered 1 to 8 followed by bishop, queen, king and dragon. Two cards are dealt to each player and if you like what you’ve got you make a bet. You get dealt another card and you can bet again. When your fourth and last card is dealt, if you still like what you’ve got, you can keep on betting. The highest hand you can have is four dragons. It doesn’t happen that often.

The first two cards Moolifi deals me are a green three and a red eight. It’s a poor start and I fold immediately. The next five hands are no better and I don’t place a single bet. I’m not averse to bluffing when necessary, in fact I’m a master of the art, but I generally don’t like to do it too soon.

There isn’t a lot of action from anyone in the early hands. Everyone is treading cautiously. There’s a long way to go and no one wants to find themselves financially crippled after only a few rounds. I sip my beer and study my opponents, looking, as always, for some telltale signs that might give me a clue as to their play.

Moolifi deals the cards quickly and skilfully. She seems to have dressed up a little for the occasion. She’s wearing a long dress of dark red material, quite eyecatching in its way. It leaves her arms bare and I notice that though her limbs are slender, she’s quite taut and muscled, rather like Makri. She’s not soft, Moolifi. I’d guess she can take care of herself. As she deals out the next hand we’re suddenly interrupted by a fit of coughing. Old Grax the wine merchant splutters violently then slumps in his chair, perspiration running down his forehead. Praetor Capatius, sitting next to him, draws himself back quite suddenly.

“He’s got the malady!”

I’m already on my feet.

“No need to panic,” I say. “There’s a lot of it around.”

I help Grax out of his chair. Makri comes to assist and we carry him back to the store room behind the bar, while Dandelion looks on with concern.

“You have more medicine?”

Dandelion nods. We’re so used to this now that we take it in our stride. Grax is a tough old customer. A few days’ rest and a good dose of the medicine and I’ve no doubt he’ll be back on his feet.

Before I return to the table I draw Makri to one side and whisper in her ear.

“Moolifi is not quite what she says she is.”

“What?”

“There’s something not right about her. I don’t believe a Niojan chorus girl would be so good with a pack of cards.”

Makri looks puzzled.

“Why not?”

“Just a feeling. I wonder if she might be a Niojan spy.”

“So what do you want to do?” says Makri.

“I don’t know. Nothing, probably. I’m just mentioning it in case anything happens.”

Makri nods, and I return to the table and retake my chair. There are a few polite enquiries over Grax’s health.

“He’ll be fine. There’s a healer giving him some medicine right now.”

No one is really that concerned. It would be unlucky to have a player actually die at the table, but apart from that, everyone is keen to get on with the game. Matters proceed quietly enough apart from a brief moment of excitement when Ravenius takes a large pot, beating Casax’s three dragons with four sixes. Casax loses a lot on the hand but, like the cool gambler he is, he masks his disappointment.

So far Moolifi has dealt me nothing worth gambling on. It means I haven’t made any serious losses but I haven’t been able to get into the game either. I’m just starting to feel slightly twitchy when she sends me two queens in the first deal, giving me some hope that I might finally be on to something. When everyone has their first two cards, Glixius pushes thirty gurans into the centre of the table. The bet is covered by Ravenius. I slide thirty gurans across too. Acarius and Capatius do likewise. I sip my beer.

When the third card arrives it’s another queen. I now have three queens and that’s a good hand. I take a brief look at the archaically dressed ladies on the cards, put them back face down in front of me, and wait for Glixius to make his bet. He slides a hundred gurans across the table. I’m next to bet.

“I’ll cover your hundred.”

Ravenius considers for a few moments, then tosses his cards back to Moolifi, dropping out of the hand. General Acarius immediately folds as well. Praetor Capatius, however, confidently pushes forward his hundred gurans.

There’s a lot of money riding on this hand and Horm isn’t even involved. So far he hasn’t made any sort of substantial wager. If I win this I’ll go well ahead of him. If I lose, I’ll be a long way behind.

When my next card arrives it’s a nine. I’m disappointed, but three queens is still a good hand. It’s Glixius to bet. He muses on his cards briefly, then counts out another hundred gurans and places it firmly in the middle of the table. A little too firmly, maybe. I get the impression he might be bluffing.

Ravenius shrugs. He hands his cards back to Moolifi, taking care not to let them turn over. Even when you’re dropping out of a hand, you don’t want your opponents to see what cards you were holding. It might give them some clues as to your strategy.

I can either call Glixius, or raise him further. I’m fairly confident I’ve got the hand won and I’d like to raise him but I’m aware that I don’t have all that much room for error. Two hundred and thirty gurans is a hefty chunk out of my capital. I’d risk it for myself, but there’s Makri to think of. I utter a silent curse. Now I’m having to think about Makri it’s interfering with my normal aggressive style. I put in a hundred gurans and call Glixius, then lay down my three queens for all to see. Glixius turns over a run of 6, 7, 8, 9, all green. A straight flush which beats my three queens. And then he actually laughs, which is a very low-class thing to do at the card table.