Things return to normal, which is to say it carries on being hot. The street outside is full of building workers and I abandon all thoughts of work for the rest of the summer. The Renowned and Truthful Chronicle of All the World's Events carries story after story about the affair of the gold-filled statue and I get treated generously enough in the coverage, which is always good for business.
I manage to grab a piece of the reward for the recovery of the King's gold, though it's far from my fair share. By the time the Guards, lawyers, Praetor's clerks and sundry other city officials have taken their cut, there's not much left for the man who actually located it. I have to make a strong plea to Deputy Consul Cicerius to get even that.
We're sitting in the back yard where Palax and Kaby are playing a flute and a mandolin. The tavern has now emptied of visitors. Dandelion has gone back to live on the beach and Soolanis has returned to Thamlin, drinking less and organising a rich persons' branch of the Association of Gentlewomen, according to Makri.
"Was it Ixial or Tresius who started the whole thing off?"
"I don't really know. Once it was all over it was hard to say. Hard to say who did what, or who was worse. When I started off as an Investigator I thought every case would have a crime at the beginning and a solution at the end, but often it doesn't seem to be like that. Just a bunch of people going around, all behaving worse than each other, so in the end even they don't know exactly who did what. Still, I'd say they all got what was coming to them, especially Grosex."
He was hanged last week. I didn't bother attending. Calia is back in Pashish, missing Ixial more than Drantaax, I expect. At least she has Drantaax's valuable statues to see her through her old age.
"You know, I didn't even get paid by any of these people? Apart from the dolphins, of course. All that chasing round in the magic space and risking death at the hands of Sarin the Merciless for no remuneration. I must be slipping. I'll never get out of Twelve Seas at this rate."
"This'll help," says Makri, taking something out of the purse round her neck. It's a golden finger. "I broke it off the statue when we came back from the magic space," she explains. "I thought we were due some sort of reward. I'll halve it with you."
"Smart thinking."
I look at the golden finger. Half of that will make a nice packet of gurans. I'm not doing so badly really. A few nice cases over the winter, maybe some lucrative work from the Transport Guild or even the Honourable Association of Merchants, and I might yet make it out of Twelve Seas. If summer here is hell, winter's not much better. And in the Hot Rainy Season, which comes up in about a month, the streets turn to rivers and beggars drown in front of your eyes. I can hardly bear to think about it.
I don't have to think about it right now. I pick up a "Happy Guildsman" jumbo-sized tankard of ale from the bar and lie back in the shade. Listening to Palax and Kaby playing music, I forget all about monks, killers and gangsters, and go to sleep.