The city, overstimulated in the past month of discontent, starts to return to normal when the Turas and Triple-Moon Conjunction festivals get under way. The temperature starts to drop as autumn slides into winter.
There was great unhappiness after the race meeting, but surprisingly little suspicion. Everyone trusts Melus the Fair, bless her name. I understand that the Association of Gentlewomen have succeeded in moving their application for Guild status further up the ladder.
Cicerius is pleased with me. The race was run, the Elves still like us and Lord Rezaz will provide protection for the mining territory. If things keep on like this, I may get back to the Palace one day.
The Civil Guards dig more deeply into Kemlath's role in the death of Mursius and succeed in building a reasonable case against him. Even Captain Rallee admits that I was sharp as an Elf's ear on this one.
Kemlath doesn't come to trial however. Unless it's a case of high treason any citizen as important as Kemlath, especially one who was a hero in the war, is usually given the opportunity to flee the city before going to court. A member of the aristocracy is most unlikely to face the scaffold, or a long spell in the prison galleys. Instead they retire into exile, which Kemlath does.
Sarija remains in the city, spending her inheritance on dwa. Glixius Dragon Killer sends me a message. He likes me even less than before and will kill me at the first opportunity. Given the way I mistakenly harried him over the Mursius case, I can't exactly blame him.
At least I picked up nine hundred gurans at the races, and won't have to work for a while. That's the only bright spot on the horizon. With winter around the corner I'd like to spend a few months just sitting in the warmth of the Avenging Axe with my feet up, drinking beer. Unfortunately Makri makes it impossible for me to relax.
"I've never seen her this mad," says Tanrose.
Gurd nods his agreement.
"Yesterday she damned near demolished the wall out the back with her axe. Said she was practising fighting, but I noticed she'd chalked a picture of you on it, Thraxas. Why did you call her an Orc?"
"We were arguing."
As no one else in Turai seems to realise that the Association of Gentlewomen fixed the races I've decided that I'm not going to be the one to expose them. Partly I'm concerned for Makri's safety. Also there might be attempts to take back the nine hundred gurans I won. But I'm still as mad as hell at Makri. She can chop down as many pictures of me as she likes, I refuse to apologise. Cheating at the Turas Memorial is despicable behaviour. Even Astrath Triple Moon confined his larceny to the minor meetings.
Makri appears from the street outside.
"Come for your evening shift?" says Gurd.
She shakes her head. "I'm leaving. I refuse to live in the same tavern as a fat useless drunk who called me an Orc." She storms upstairs.
"What are you looking at me for?" I demand. "How come I'm the one that always has to apologise around here? You heard what she called me."
"Come on, Thraxas. You know you should make up. You'd hate it if Makri really left. Who'll protect your back when you go up against these villains?"
"I managed to protect my own back just fine before she came along. Let her leave. She annoys the hell out of me anyway. If it's not that damned women's group then it's some stupidity she's picked up from Samanatius the Philosopher. Who ever heard of a Barbarian from the east going to the Guild College anyway? The whole thing is ridiculous."
Gurd and Tanrose continue to look at me accusingly. I start to feel persecuted.
"Well goddamn it, if it means that much to the pair of you, I'll say I'm sorry. Not that it'll do any good. Even Makri isn't naive enough to fall for a bunch of flowers three times in a row."
On two previous occasions when Makri was apparently irreconcilably annoyed at me I had given her a bunch of flowers, at the suggestion of Tanrose. It seemed like a lousy way of apologising to me but it had a spectacular effect on Makri. She burst into tears and ran out of the room in fact. Both times. Tanrose put it down to her growing up in a gladiator slave pit and never really getting any presents before.
Makri appears downstairs with a bag over her shoulder.
"And tell that corpulent slug if he buys me flowers I'll ram them down his throat," she says, storming out of the door.
"She's just saying that," says Tanrose. "I'm sure it would work again."
I stare at her in amazement. Tanrose seems to have an almost mystical belief in the power of a small bunch of flowers. It's ridiculous.
"Buy her a new axe," suggests Gurd. "I think she damaged her favourite one hacking down the wall."
Which is why I find myself tramping through Quintessence Street and up to the market on my way to the armourer's. The weather is pleasant, with the warm autumn air showing the first sign of cooling. Winter is not far away. Winter in Turai is hell. I'm really going to regret it if I can't spend it comfortably in front of a roaring fire at the Avenging Axe.
I reach the armourer. There's a sign on it saying: "Closed due to bereavement." I forgot that the armourer's third son was killed in a crossbow incident last week. The fourth son is due in court any day now.
It's too late to reach another armourer. It'll have to wait till tomorrow. I make my way back into Quintessence Street. I buy a pastry from the bakery. Minarixa is less friendly than usual. Probably Makri has been spreading bad stories about me.
I stop in the street to eat.
"Come for some flowers?" says Baxos the flower seller.
"Hey, Rox," he calls over to the fish vendor. "Thraxas is buying flowers again."
"Still got his lady friend, has he?" yells back Rox, loud enough for the entire street to hear.
"You treat her nicely, Thraxas!" screams Birix, one of Twelve Seas' busiest prostitutes.
I glare at Baxos and toss him a coin just to get away. I arrive back in the Avenging Axe holding a large bunch of flowers.
"I thought you were buying an axe?"
"The axe shop was shut."
It sounds a bit lame. I thrust the flowers into Makri's hand. My hand strays to my sword, just in case she gets violent.
Makri raises the flowers to dash them to the ground. Suddenly a tear trickles from her eye. She refrains from dashing them to the ground and instead rushes forward, embraces me then runs out of the room in tears. I'm unsure of what this means.
"Did it work again?"
"Of course," says Tanrose.
I can't understand it. Neither can Gurd.
"This is a woman who once fought a dragon. She killed a nine-foot Troll when she was thirteen."
Tanrose shrugs. "I imagine it was really grim growing up where she did. There's obviously a lot of mileage left in small presents where Makri is concerned."
Gurd snorts. "The women in my village were not like that. It took at least a new plough to impress them."
"That must be why you never married," says Tanrose. "You should have ignored the ploughs and tried flowers."
She looks rather pointedly at Gurd. He seems embarrassed. He's been attracted to Tanrose for a long time, but any mention of the subject makes him uneasy. These northern Barbarians. No romance. I leave them to it.
Upstairs I check on my supplies. I need plenty of klee and thazis to get me through the winter. And maybe some new blankets. I have nine hundred gurans. Enough for plenty of thick blankets. I might even buy one for Makri. She doesn't have much money and she handed over all her winnings to the A.G. Foolish behaviour, it seemed to me, but that's the problem with being idealistic. It makes you do foolish things. Personally, I'd have kept every guran.