hijacking, though there’s nothing definite.
“Are you saying they don’t have it any more?”
“Possibly.”
I ask him to let me know if the Guard makes any progress, particularly on the name of the Sorcerer who might be working with the Society, and Jevox agrees. He asks me how I got mixed up in it.
Naturally I decline to explain. “What’s the reward?”
“Just went up to five hundred gurans.”
A nice figure to a man in urgent need of money. Tholius, Prefect of Twelve Seas, arrives unexpectedly and throws me out. Tholius doesn’t like me. Prefects never do. Any time I solve something it makes them feel inadequate.
Outside the Civil Guard station some young kid from the Koolu Kings, the local street gang, shouts a disparaging remark about fat men who always gamble on the wrong chariots. I scoop up a stone and hurl it at him in one smooth movement. It hits him on the nose and he bursts into tears.
“Never mock a trained soldier, brat.”
Palax and Kaby are busking beside the harbour. Both are dressed in their usual bizarre assortment of shabby but colourful clothes. They augment their outfits with many strings of beads and great numbers of earrings. Each of them wears a metal stud piercing their left eyebrow (among other parts of their anatomies) and they dye their hair in colours bright enough to get any normal citizen attacked in the street, though as travelling entertainers they have some licence in this sort of thing. Their horse-drawn caravan is parked on a patch of waste ground behind Gurd’s tavern. I was shocked the first time I saw them, and recommended that Gurd ran them off the land, but I’m used to them now. They’re actually a nice young couple and we’re quite friendly. It’s beyond me why they have to look so strange though. I mean, pierced noses and eyebrows? Ridiculous. I listen to them play for a minute, and drop a coin into their cup.
It’s time to visit the Mermaid, one of Twelve Seas’ least pleasant taverns, which is saying something. More youths from the Koolu Kings jeer at me as I pass. Everyone in Twelve Seas knows me, but I wouldn’t claim to be popular. The prostitutes and dwa dealers ignore me as I pick my way over the filth strewn over the street.
Kerk can usually be found around here. As a dwa dealer he often learns interesting facts in the way of his business. Unfortunately for him, he consumes rather too much of his own product, and is therefore generally in need of money. I find him outside the tavern, leaning unsteadily against the wall. He’s tall and dark but his once handsome features are sunken and undernourished and his large eyes are dull and vacant. From his eyes I think he may have a trace of Elvish blood, which wouldn’t be so strange. Elvish visitors to our city are not above dallying with our whores, whatever their professions of moral superiority.
I ask him if he knows anything about the Cloth.
“Choirs of Angels,” he mutters, staring at the floor. I don’t know what that means. I presume he’s in the grip of some powerful hallucination. Kerk’s been getting worse recently. I’m surprised he manages to keep his business going.
“Red Elvish Cloth,” I repeat.
He focuses on me with some difficulty.
“Thraxas. You’re in trouble.”
“I know that already. I just don’t know why.”
“You robbed Attilan.”
“No I didn’t.”
“That’s what people say.”
“Well what about it?” I demand.
“Attilan was trying to get his hands on the Elvish Cloth for Nioj. Some people think he already had it when you killed him.”
“I didn’t kill him. Or rob him. Anyway, how could Attilan have had the Cloth? It isn’t in the city.”
Kerk shrugs. “Don’t know. Maybe Glixius Dragon Killer’s behind it all.”
“Who the hell is Glixius Dragon Killer?” I demand.
Kerk looks at me. “Don’t you know anything? You’re not much of an Investigator, Thraxas. Surprised you’ve stayed alive so long. Glixius Dragon Killer is the
“Are you saying they don’t have it any more?”
“Possibly.”
I ask him to let me know if the Guard makes any progress, particularly on the name of the Sorcerer who might be working with the Society, and Jevox agrees. He asks me how I got mixed up in it.
Naturally I decline to explain. “What’s the reward?”
“Just went up to five hundred gurans.”
A nice figure to a man in urgent need of money. Tholius, Prefect of Twelve Seas, arrives unexpectedly and throws me out. Tholius doesn’t like me. Prefects never do. Any time I solve something it makes them feel inadequate.
Outside the Civil Guard station some young kid from the Koolu Kings, the local street gang, shouts a disparaging remark about fat men who always gamble on the wrong chariots. I scoop up a stone and hurl it at him in one smooth movement. It hits him on the nose and he bursts into tears.
“Never mock a trained soldier, brat.”
Palax and Kaby are busking beside the harbour. Both are dressed in their usual bizarre assortment of shabby but colourful clothes. They augment their outfits with many strings of beads and great numbers of earrings. Each of them wears a metal stud piercing their left eyebrow (among other parts of their anatomies) and they dye their hair in colours bright enough to get any normal citizen attacked in the street, though as travelling entertainers they have some licence in this sort of thing. Their horse-drawn caravan is parked on a patch of waste ground behind Gurd’s tavern. I was shocked the first time I saw them, and recommended that Gurd ran them off the land, but I’m used to them now. They’re actually a nice young couple and we’re quite friendly. It’s beyond me why they have to look so strange though. I mean, pierced noses and eyebrows? Ridiculous. I listen to them play for a minute, and drop a coin into their cup.
It’s time to visit the Mermaid, one of Twelve Seas’ least pleasant taverns, which is saying something. More youths from the Koolu Kings jeer at me as I pass. Everyone in Twelve Seas knows me, but I wouldn’t claim to be popular. The prostitutes and dwa dealers ignore me as I pick my way over the filth strewn over the street.
Kerk can usually be found around here. As a dwa dealer he often learns interesting facts in the way of his business. Unfortunately for him, he consumes rather too much of his own product, and is therefore generally in need of money. I find him outside the tavern, leaning unsteadily against the wall. He’s tall and dark but his once handsome features are sunken and undernourished and his large eyes are dull and vacant. From his eyes I think he may have a trace of Elvish blood, which wouldn’t be so strange. Elvish visitors to our city are not above dallying with our whores, whatever their professions of moral superiority.
I ask him if he knows anything about the Cloth.
“Choirs of Angels,” he mutters, staring at the floor. I don’t know what that means. I presume he’s in the grip of some powerful hallucination. Kerk’s been getting worse recently. I’m surprised he manages to keep his business going.
“Red Elvish Cloth,” I repeat.
He focuses on me with some difficulty.
“Thraxas. You’re in trouble.”
“I know that already. I just don’t know why.”
“You robbed Attilan.”
“No I didn’t.”
“That’s what people say.”
“Well what about it?” I demand.
“Attilan was trying to get his hands on the Elvish Cloth for Nioj. Some people think he already had it when you killed him.”
“I didn’t kill him. Or rob him. Anyway, how could Attilan have had the Cloth? It isn’t in the city.”
Kerk shrugs. “Don’t know. Maybe Glixius Dragon Killer’s behind it all.”
“Who the hell is Glixius Dragon Killer?” I demand.
Kerk looks at me. “Don’t you know anything? You’re not much of an Investigator, Thraxas. Surprised you’ve stayed alive so long. Glixius Dragon Killer is the
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