fighter. I always like good fighters.”
“You’ll be a fine philosopher, Makri.”
I sleep soundly for what’s left of the night. Crisis or no crisis, I’m a man who needs his sleep.
Chapter Nine
I look suspiciously at the coin in my hand. An Elvish double unicorn. Very rare. Very valuable.
“We will pay you another one if you find it.”
I look suspiciously at my visitors. Elves are very well regarded in Turai—fine upstanding race, good warriors, excellent poets, beautiful singers, kind to trees, at one with nature and so on—but I have my reservations. In my line of trade I’ve seen some evidence of Elvish misbehaviour that most people haven’t. Okay, I’ve never come across an Elf who was a vicious killer like some Humans I’ve known but I’ve certainly encountered a few with distinctly criminal tendencies. What’s more, in my business a visit from an Elf usually means trouble, because if they have any sort of minor problem then their Ambassador sorts it out for them, with plenty of help from our authorities, who always like to keep on their good side.
Yet here are two young Elves, green-clad, tall, fair and golden-eyed, and they want to hire me. Hire me to find the Red Elvish Cloth. The substance is plaguing me. I’ve already explained my involvement in the whole affair is accidental.
“If you heard a rumour I have it, it’s just that, a rumour. I don’t know how it got started but I’ve no idea where the Cloth is.”
“We have heard no such rumours,” states Callis-ar-Del, the older of the two. “We have come here because our cousin, Vas-ar-Methet, loyal adviser to Lord Kalith-ar-Yil, who sent the Cloth, recommended you to us as a clever and trustworthy man.”
I enjoy being called a clever and trustworthy man. I look on the young Elves with more sympathy. More importantly, the name of Vas-ar-Methet takes me back. One of the very few Elves I’ve ever been really friendly with, he came up from the Southern Islands with an Elvish battalion in the last Orc Wars. After the western forces took a beating we ended up sharing a ditch together along with Gurd, ingloriously if prudently hiding from a large Orcish dragon patrol scouting the area. We hid for three days before fighting our way back to safety. Sneaking back to safety might be more accurate actually, but we did have to cut our way through a band of Orcish warriors before we reached the city. It’s one of our favourite wartime stories. I relate it at least once a week in the bar downstairs.
“How is Vas these days?”
“He is well. His tree of life grows strong with the sky.”
I don’t exactly know what that means but decide not to pursue it.
“Before we left the Islands he instructed us to come to you if we found ourselves unable to make progress.”
The Elves have been sent from the Southern Islands by their Elf Lord to locate the missing Cloth but they have made no progress. So here they are. They’ve been to their Ambassador, seen our Consul, been to Palace Security, consulted the Civil Guard and asked around at various Investigating Sorcerers uptown, all to no effect. Which brings them to Twelve Seas—rotting fish heads, stinking sewers, cheap detective. Welcome to the big city.
I shrug. Since I’m already involved in this affair, someone might as well pay me now I’ve been sacked by the Princess. I agree to take the case. The Elves, Callis and his companion Jaris-ar-Miat, tell me what they know, which isn’t much. Their Elf Lord, Kalith-ar-Yil, sent up the Cloth on a ship bound for Turai, but it had to put in south of Mattesh because of storm damage. Rather than wait for repairs to be completed the Cloth was loaded on to a wagon train and sent up to the city. Somewhere along the way the escort was murdered and the Cloth disappeared. And that’s about it. Callis and Jaris don’t seem to have learned anything since being sent to investigate, but then they’re not professionals.
I stare again at the double