Thraxas and the Ice Dragon - By Martin Scott Page 0,69

don't get murdered for no reason. Well, not Baron's daughters anyway. Someone has a reason for trying to kill you and I'm starting to think you know what it is."

"I don't."

"You're lying."

Merlione's cheeks flush with anger. At least I've discomfited her. "Perhaps you're just not a very good investigator."

"I'm number one chariot at investigating. Everyone says so. Tell me what you know."

"I don't know anything."

""Do you mind that your brother inherits everything and you get nothing?"

Merlione looks at me in surprise. "What? Why would I?"

"Why wouldn't you? It's your mother's Queenstone mines that are keeping the family going. Now she's giving one to Orgodas for his wedding. And when your father dies Orgodas will inherit the rest. Does that make you angry?"

"What if it did?" Merlione's voice is raised. She's angry all right, though mostly at me. "What does this have to do with anything?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's a clue. Tell me about it."

"It seems my father was right about you," says Merlione, regaining her composure. "You have no skills at all. You should leave."

I stare at her for a long moment, then turn round and walk out the reception room. In the hall outside there's a portrait of her father, in full military uniform. It's a poor painting. Samsarinans have never been any good at art. I'm starting to dislike them as much as Simnians.

Chapter Twenty-Six

As soon as I arrive back at Arichdamis's house, I sense sorcery. Perhaps Lisutaris is practicing. If she ever practices, that is; I'm not certain. Maybe it all comes easily and she doesn't have to. Arichdamis appears in the corridor, trudging mournfully towards the front door. It's a while since I've seen the old mathematician looking happy. Having house guests doesn't seem to agree with him.

"Sorcerers," he mutters, as he passes me. "Always arguing."

"Who's arguing?"

"Lisutaris and Lasat. And Charius. I don't like any of them."

"Is Makri around?"

"She's arguing too." The mathematician regards me wearily. "Have you found my plans for the crossbow?"

"No."

"I'm ruined," he groans.

"I wouldn't put it that strongly. You can draw up another set."

"The complex mathematics involved makes that a lengthy task," he tells me. "And for what? I'll still be disgraced when it's learned they were stolen from my house."

"Lisutaris will be disgraced too."

"As she deserves," says Arichdamis, and sounds cross. "If she'd only been able to control her unnatural appetite for thazis, they wouldn't have disappeared in the first place."

"Don't worry, we'll find your plans."

Arichdamis doesn't look convinced, and shakes his head sadly before leaving. As soon as he's gone, a tremendous commotion breaks out at the far end of the house. Voices are raised and doors slam. I recognise Makri's voice and I'm surprised to discover she's shouting at Lisutaris.

"Why did you drag me away?"

"Because it's not something we can argue with Lasat about."

"Why not?"

"The dragon has to be caged!" says Lisutaris. "What else is the King going do? Let it fly around?"

"He shouldn't have brought it here in the first place if he was going to put it in a cage," says Makri.

"I really don't see what your objection is. Lasat has to work these spells to contain it."

"It's not appropriate." Makri sounds very unhappy.

"Not appropriate? What is appropriate for a dragon? The only other times I've encountered them I've been trying to kill them. So have you."

"I don't care," says Makri. "I don't like it."

Lisutaris finally notices my presence. "Thraxas! Can you make any sense of this?"

"Of course."

"You can?"

"Makri doesn't like to see some noble wild beast thrown in a cage. It reminds her of her own upbringing."

Lisutaris pauses, and looks surprised at my insight. Makri glowers at me. "I told you never to talk to me again," she mutters.

I'm ready for this, and whip Demelzos's fancy notebook from the pocket of my tunic. The queenstone jewel in the cover glints in the sunlight that's streaming through the back door. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to lead you into the tournament field. I brought you this."

I hand the book to Makri, who stares at it, puzzled.

"Highest-quality vellum," I add. "Excellent for taking notes during your intellectual pursuits."

Makri looks at the jewel set in the cover, then undoes the silver clasp to examine the notebook. It really is a fine item. The wealthiest student at the best university in the West wouldn't have anything better. Makri abruptly bursts into tears and runs out the room, something which does not entirely surprise me. Lisutaris, on the other hand, is baffled.

"What just happened?" she asks.

"I just made things up