Thraxas - The Complete Series (214 page)

“My game, I believe,” he says, and scoops up his money like a man who’s never seen a few hundred gurans before.

I’m seething inside though I don’t let it show.

Cicerius approaches the table.

“Time for a break, gentlemen,” he says. “There are refreshments at the bar.”

General Acarius looks up sharply.

“Time for a break? We’ve hardly got started.”

The Deputy Consul shoots him a serious look.

“It’s time for a break.”

Acarius shrugs, and the players rise from the table. I attempt to follow them to the bar but I’m immediately surrounded by a gaggle of concerned Turanian citizens, demanding to know what I’m doing throwing my money away in such a rash manner.

“You lost two hundred and thirty gurans in one hand!” hisses Cicerius. “It was far too adventurous. Have you forgotten what this game means to Turai?”

“I had three queens,” I retort. “It was a reasonable gamble.”

Cicerius snorts in derision, though I swear he doesn’t know one end of a pack of cards from the other. Meanwhile Lisutaris has hobbled up, still with her blanket round her shoulders, and she doesn’t waste any time expressing her concern.

“Thraxas! If you keep on like this you’ll be out of the game in five minutes.”

“I’m doing fine!” I insist. “Even the best card player gets the odd reverse. Look, Makri’s got more at stake than anyone and she’s not worried, is she?”

“She was burying her face in her hands the last time I looked,” replies Lisutaris. “And I’m not surprised. Keep on the way you’re going and we’ll soon be buying her wedding presents.”

“Could you try showing a little confidence in me?” I say trying to keep my voice somewhere below a bellow. “You can’t expect me to play cards when you’re on my back every five minutes.”

Cicerius and Lisutaris both open their mouths. I’m guessing they’re not about to express confidence in me, so I break free and head for the bar, where Makri is serving drinks.

“Nice going, Thraxas,” she says. “So, will you visit me in Yall?”

“You’re not going to Yall.”

“I should probably start packing. How long do you think I’ve got? Half an hour maybe?”

“Just hand me a beer and save the sarcasm. Glixius got lucky. I’ll get him next time.”

“Horm’s hardly bet a thing yet,” says Makri. “If you keep losing he doesn’t have to. He’ll beat you by default.”

“He won’t beat me by anything. Give me the beer and stop worrying. I’m just warming up.”

Hanama joins us at the bar, and I swear I’ve never seen the Assassin look so perturbed.

“I knew this was a foolish venture,” she says. “I won’t let Horm take you off to Yall, Makri. The instant Thraxas loses I’m breaking you out of here.”

“I’m not going to lose.”

“How long do you think we have?” asks Hanama. “I estimate half an hour.”

I shake my head, and grab my beer.

“You shouldn’t be drinking,” says Hanama. “You need a clear head.”

“Do I tell you how to assassinate people?”

“No. But I’m good at that.”

Not wishing to bandy more words with irritating Assassins, I head back to the table, avoiding the eyes of those who are staring at me with a marked lack of confidence; which is to say, everyone in the tavern.

We’re all about to take our seats again when there’s a loud knocking at the front door. We’d ignore it, but someone shouts loudly for Casax. The Brotherhood boss sends Karlox to find out what’s going on. Karlox draws back the bolt, disappears briefly outside, then comes back to whisper in Casax’s ear.

“Damn,” mutters Casax. “I’ll have to leave you gentlemen for a short while. A little trouble back at the Mermaid. Karlox will sit in for me.”

There are a few nods and grunts round the table. It’s unusual for a player to leave the table mid-game, but not unheard of. Providing he has a friend who can take over his seat, it’s common practice in Turai to let him rejoin the game when he returns. Casax hurries off and Karlox takes his seat. Casax is shrewd. Karlox is dumb. It’s an excellent opportunity to remove some of the Brotherhood’s ill-gotten money.

Unfortunately, it’s not me who does the removing. Moolifi keeps dealing me dreadful cards and I can’t get into the game. It’s dispiriting, particularly as Horm the Dead suddenly makes a move, sucking the hapless Karlox into an unwise gamble on two eights and two dragons. Horm beats him with three bishops, and rakes in several hundred gurans. I curse. Horm has suddenly leapt ahead of me. I’m down to about 750 gurans, and I’d guess he’s on around 1,500.

Casax returns fairly quickly, having sorted out whatever criminal problem he was faced with at his own tavern. If he’s annoyed to see how much money Karlox has lost, he doesn’t show it. He retakes his seat, picks up his cards, and carries on playing. By now we’re deep into the night. The fire is crackling in the grate and the torches are burning brightly on the walls. The spectators keep their voices to low murmurs and the players huddle over their cards, deep in concentration. I lose another fifty gurans on a reckless bid which I don’t follow through, and I start to curse Moolifi for the cards she’s dealing me. Horm’s pile of money seems to be growing steadily while mine is shrinking slowly. General Acarius is the other big winner, while young Ravenius is doing badly, as he often does.

Moolifi deals the next hand. She sends me a black dragon and a red dragon. Very promising. General Acarius puts in thirty gurans and I follow suit, along with several others. Before Moolifi can deal the third card, the General starts to cough, quite violently. Sweat pours down his face. Acarius has come down with the winter malady.

“Another one?” says Ravenius. “This is strange.”

It is strange, and not conducive to concentrating on the game. I look over at Horm.

“Is this your doing? Are you making everyone sick so you can win?”

“Nothing to do with me,” protests the Sorcerer.

We haul the General back into the store room, which is by now resembling a temporary hospital. Dandelion fusses around him with medicine, as brightly as she did her first patient. Personally I’m heartily sick of all invalids and wouldn’t much care if they died, but Dandelion seems to have taken happily to the role of nurse, and will probably keep them all alive. Makri arrives to see if we need any help. Dandelion shakes her head.

“I can manage all the sick people.”

Makri nods, and looks thoughtful.

“You’re really good at this,” she says.

“What?” says Dandelion.

“Looking after all these people. I’d have given up long ago. But you’ve got it all in hand. You’re really efficient when you put your mind to it.”

Dandelion looks surprised.

“Am I?”

I’m not arguing. Now Makri has pointed it out, it’s obviously true. Dandelion might be strangely dressed and have a bizarre aversion to shoes, but there’s no denying she’s kept the place running during the winter malady crisis.

When the game is restarted my third card is a four, no help to my two dragons. Glixius raises the bet by a hundred gurans. It’s something of a risk for me to go along with this but I do. I have a good feeling about my fourth card. I send up a brief prayer to St Quatinius as Moolifi deals. My few moments of religious conviction have usually been at the card table.

My next card is an eight. I now have two dragons, an eight and a four. It’s not a strong hand. Glixius raises another hundred gurans. I don’t know if he’s bluffing or not. I think about it for a while. I’d like to carry on betting, but if I do and I lose I’ll be out of the game. My funds are already low. I could stand the humiliation of losing to Glixius but I’ve got more on my mind. I curse Horm and his ridiculous passion for Makri. It’s ruining my game.

I shake my head, and hand in my cards, meanwhile sending up a strong protest to St Quatinius for coming down on the side of the rich oppressors. Obviously all tales of the blessed saint helping the poor and needy are just lies.

Perhaps the saint is offended by my complaints. One hour and a series of bad cards later, I’m down to 300 gurans and things are not looking good.

Praetor Capatius wonders out loud if there’s any food on offer. The praetor is a man with a healthy appetite and probably gets well fed when he’s playing cards up at Senator Kevarius’s house. Dandelion informs everyone that our temporary cook has just finished preparing the famous Avenging Axe stew, and while Capatius isn’t exactly enthralled at the prospect—being used to better things, no doubt—he’s willing to try it. Cicerius takes the opportunity to suggest that all the players take another break to refresh themselves. Some head for the bar for food and drink and some wait at the table, probably annoyed at the interruption. As for me, the moment I leave the table I’m besieged by an angry mob.

“What the hell are you doing?” demands Lisutaris. “Do you want Makri to get carted off to Yall?”

“Have you forgotten how important this game is?” demands Cicerius. “I’ve never seen anyone throw their money away in such a wanton manner.”

“How did you get a reputation as a good card player?” says Hanama. “It seems to be completely undeserved.”

“A good card player?” sneers Coranius. “We might as well hand the Ocean Storm over to the Orcs and have done with it.”

Lisutaris hasn’t yet come up with any sort of spell for removing the Ocean Storm from Horm’s grasp.

“You were meant to be buying me some time, not surrendering at the first opportunity,” she says, quite angrily.

I hold my hands up.

“Will you all get out of my face? I’m doing my best.”

“Your best?” says Lisutaris. “Is that why you’re almost broke and Horm is piling up the money?”

“I’ve been unlucky with the cards. Are you sure that woman Moolifi is on the level? I think there’s something odd about her.”

“The only odd thing is that we have entrusted you with the welfare of Turai,” says Cicerius. “I blame myself. I’ve failed the city.”

Makri walks past with a tray of beer.

“Take two,” she says to me. “You might as well enjoy yourself. Be sure to visit me in Yall.”

“You’re not going to Yall. I’m just getting into my stride.”

I’ve rarely seen so many people looking unconvinced. At this moment, belief in Thraxas’s gambling powers has hit an all-time low among the leading citizens of Turai. Even the perennially cheerful Dandelion can’t help frowning as she ladles out a bowl of stew.

“Please don’t make Makri marry Horm the Dead,” she says.

“Makri is not going to marry anyone,” I declare, quite forcefully.

“Makri, you have to flee,” says Hanama. “Get your swords and we’ll fight our way out.”

I notice some unfamiliar objects lurking on top of the food counter.

“Yams? Where did they come from?”

“Last consignment at the market,” says Dandelion. “The new cook brought them down from Pashish.”

I grab four large yams and retreat, clutching my stew. And as stew goes, it’s not bad. I’ve tasted far worse. The temporary cook isn’t such an incompetent as I feared. Managed to snare us some yams as well. I ignore all distractions, concentrating on getting the food inside me. It does me a power of good. It strikes me that it’s little wonder my endeavours have been so ineffectual recently. I’ve not been eating well enough. It’s quite understandable. You can’t expect a man to go around solving crimes, finding treasure and beating everyone at cards if you’re starving him at the same time. No one could stand it. With the stew, the yams and another beer inside me I start to feel a lot better. I feel so much better that I suddenly have a very good idea where Tanrose’s mother’s gold might be.

I take my empty plate back to the bar, ignoring all interruptions from discontented Turanians, and drag Makri to one side.

“Makri, I’m running out of money. I need more, and quickly. I just realised where the gold is and I’m going to get it. Take my place at the table for a little while.”

Makri looks startled.

“I barely know how to play the game.”

“It doesn’t matter. Just put in your guran stake every time and don’t get involved in any gambling. You can buy me enough time and I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay,” says Makri. “I can do that.”

She frowns.

“You’re not about to flee the city in shame, are you?”

“Are you crazy? I’ve been in much more shameful situations than this and I never fled the city before.”

“Yes you did.”

“Well, not often.”

“Doesn’t this go against your agreement with Horm?” asks Makri. “You weren’t meant to get any more money.”

“No. No one was meant to give me any more money. Finding more money myself wasn’t mentioned. If I happen across fourteen thousand gurans that’s just his bad luck. Look after my place at the table and don’t do anything crazy.”

And with that, I depart, as swiftly as I can.

T
he Church of St Volinius is by far the most imposing building in Twelve Seas. It’s solid rather than elegant, but it’s richly decorated, the beneficiary of numerous bequests from the local merchants. If you want to get ahead in Turai, it’s a good idea to keep in with the True Church.

I’ve had a few encounters with Derlex, the local pontifex, and his superior, Bishop Gzekius. They wouldn’t regard me as a friend of the Church; in fact I’ve been denounced from the pulpit on more than one occasion.