Free Thraxas - The Complete Series by Martin Scott Page A

pie with cream. No, better make that four slices. Tell you what, just give me the whole pie. And you’d better give me a bowl of beef stew as well. Stick a few yams on the side will you? What’s in the pastry? Pork and apple? Give me two of them, and I’ll take six pancakes to mop up the sauce. No, make that eight pancakes and four pastries. Any cake? Pomegranate? Good, I’ll have a slice to finish with. A large slice. No, larger. Okay, I’ll take the whole cake.”
    “Had a busy day?” grins Tanrose, piling up a tray.
    “Terrible. Couldn’t stop for a bite to eat anywhere. Better make that two venison pies. If I don’t eat them Gurd’ll only finish them off.”
    Vast tray of food in hand, I pick up a special “Happy Guildsman” jumbo-sized tankard of ale at the bar and retreat to a corner to eat. I have a powerful appetite. Satisfying it gives me intense pleasure.
    “One whole venison pie feeds a family of four,” comments Makri, passing with a tray.
    “Not if I get there first,” I reply, moving on to the pork and apple pastries, one of Tanrose’s specialities. By now the beef stew has cooled sufficiently to let me mop it up with my pancakes, and I wash it all down with the rest of my ale, calling Makri over to bring me a second giant “Happy Guildsman” tankard to accompany my apple pie.
    Some time later, pomegranate cake finished to the last crumb, third “Happy Guildsman” resting invitingly in front of me, I reflect that life is not so bad. Okay, you might get chased around sewers by the Society of Friends, but there’s always Tanrose’s cooking and Gurd’s ale. Make a man glad to be alive. Makri appears beside me during her break. She makes a few snide comments about my appetite, but I wave them away benevolently.
    “You have to stay slim, Makri. You need a good shape under that bikini to earn tips from sailors. Me, I need something more substantial. You can’t solve crimes and face dangerous criminals with only a few morsels inside you. When people see me coming they know they’ve got a problem on their hands.”
    Makri grins. As usual she’s carrying a purse on a long string over her shoulder for holding her tips, though I notice that today she has a new one, slightly larger than normal.
    “Tips increasing?”
    Makri shakes her head. “Same as ever. I’m using this to carry round some other money I’ve been collecting. Don’t want to risk leaving it in my room.”
    “What money?”
    “Contributions to the fund.”
    “Pardon?”
    “You know. The fund for raising money to buy a Royal Charter for the Association of Gentlewomen.”
    This is the first I’ve heard of any fund, although I did know that the Association of Gentlewomen was applying for a Royal Charter, without which they cannot be recognised as an accredited Turanian guild, and take their place on the Council as a member of the Revered Federation of Guilds, and send an observer to the Senate.
    “I didn’t know you were that involved, Makri. How much have you raised?”
    She snorts. “Only a few gurans. When it comes to the Association of Gentlewomen people round here are meaner than a Pontifex. Gurd won’t let me collect in here but I’ve been going round the local shops. I wouldn’t say your average Twelve Seas shopkeeper was keen to contribute. I have a few donations from local women though. Ginixa at the public baths gave me five gurans.”
    “If she sues me for ruining her business she might be able to afford a lot more. How much does the A.G. need for the Charter?”
    “Twenty thousand.”
    “How much have they got?”
    Makri doesn’t really know. She’s only collecting money, and is not involved in the organisation in any major way. She thinks they still have a long way to go.
    “And paying for the Charter is only one part of what we need. Before you even make the application, there’s the large fee to the Revered Federation of Guilds to process the papers. And all the way along the line there’s people