Thraxas - The Complete Series by Martin Scott Read Free Book Online Page B

I locate the Red Elvish Cloth. That would go a long way towards paying off the Brotherhood. Then there’s the reward for the Cloth offered by the Consul. Things might be looking up. I might even earn enough to get out of Twelve Seas. The Elves prepare to leave. A very well-mannered pair. They haven’t wrinkled their noses at the state of my rooms.
    Makri appears, failing to knock as usual. She is taken aback and gawps dumbly at the Elves, who stare back at her. Their manners let them down. They can sense her Orcish blood and it requires little insight to see they don’t like it at all. They edge away from her uncomfortably. A look of annoyance flickers over Makri’s face.
    “Well?” she demands, aggressively.
    The Elves nod to me and hurry out. I ask Makri what she wants.
    “Nothing. I’ve got work to do,” she says with what she probably imagines is dignity, and storms out, banging the door behind her.
    I’m annoyed. I don’t like to see Makri upset, but before I can pursue her Pontifex Derlex appears at my door. I try to look like a man who woke up in time for morning prayers. The Pontifex expresses concern for the attack last night.
    “I’m fine,” I assure him. “Me and Makri fought them off.”
    Derlex suppresses a grunt. His concern for my welfare doesn’t extend to Makri. With her Orcish blood, chainmail bikini and sword-wielding abilities, Makri is about one step up from a demon from the underworld in the eyes of the Church.
    “I am gravely concerned at the increase in crime in the Twelve Seas,” says the Pontifex, fingering his sacred beads. “As is Bishop Gzekius.”
    I grunt. “I doubt Bishop Gzekius will lose much sleep over me, Pontifex.”
    Derlex looks pained. “The Bishop is concerned with the welfare of every one of his flock,” he says. He keeps a straight face, which is more than most people could do when attributing Bishop Gzekius with any sort of charitable feelings. The good Bishop Gzekius, whose pastoral responsibilities include Twelve Seas and the rest of Turai’s miserable dockland slums, is an ambitious schemer with his eyes on the Archbishopric. He’s far too busy striving for power and influence among the city’s aristocracy to worry about the poor of Twelve Seas, or anywhere else.
    “Why did the gang attack you?”
    I profess not to know, and usher Derlex out after again promising to attend his church. I’m finding this concern for my health a little hard to take, particularly before breakfast.
    My breakfast is a cheerless affair, eaten under the frosty gaze of Makri who is currently as angry as an Orc with a toothache. She slams my plate down on my table and refuses to speak.
    “Don’t you think you’re being a bit over-sensitive?” I venture, as she passes with a mop in her hands.
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she snaps, brandishing the mop in a quite dangerous manner. “I’m as happy as an Elf in a tree.”
    She mops under a chair, knocks it over, and stamps on the remains.
    Customers arrive for an early drink, ending our discussion. I curse the delicate sensitivities of my axe-wielding friend and prepare for a day’s investigating. I go down to the local Civil Guard station to see if Guardsman Jevox can throw any light on things. I once used my influence to protect Jevox’s father from the Brotherhood when they were threatening his livelihood as a bookmaker at the Stadium Superbius, which makes Jevox rather more helpful to me than your average Civil Guardsman.
    “Any leads on the theft of the Red Elvish Cloth?”
    Jevox is surprised at my question. “You working on that?”
    I look vacant and he doesn’t press the point. Jevox has heard about the fight at my house with the Society of Friends, but he can’t throw any light on why they or anybody else should have thought I had the Cloth. He does tell me that the Society is rumoured to have been connected to the hijacking, though there’s nothing definite.
    “Are you saying they don’t