The Fast and the Furies:
A tale of Chariot Races, Politics, and Mysteries – both Womanly and Occult!
What starts as a curse on the people’s sacred institution of chariot races, soon spirals out of control. From women’s mysteries and place in public affairs, to the whole fabric of politics and society itself.
Felix, dressed in a toga and armed with a dagger, is neither a traditional detective nor a traditional magician – but something in between. Whenever there is a foul business of bad magic, Felix is hired to sniff out the truth. What starts as curses by rabid fans soon involves everyone from politicians to organized crime, and Felix must explore the mysteries of secret cults and of the place of women in society. Now he must separate fact from superstition – a hard task in a world where the old gods still roam the earth.
In Victrix is set in a fantasy world. The city of Egretia borrows elements from a thousand years of ancient Roman culture, from the founding of Rome to the late empire, mixed with a judicious amount of magic. This is a story of a cynical, hardboiled detective dealing with anything from daily life to the old forces roaming the world.
This is the third Story of Togas, daggers, and Magic – for lovers of Ancient Rome, Hardboiled detectives, and Urban Fantasy.
Grab your copy here on Amazon, or treat yourself to your very own signed and dedicated paperback directly!
Not convinced?
Here are some of the early review quotes:
“Assaph Mehr’s Egretia is Rome as the Romans themselves imagined it to be. Magic really works. Curses curse, love philtres create love, oracles do predict the future, and on and on. The genuine Romans enacted laws against magic not because they thought it was a fraud but because they thought it wasn’t, and feared what it would do if widely practiced.
Throw in the late Republic’s baroque and richly corrupt electoral system, a kidnapping or two, love affairs, bad guys, some good guys who are just about as bad as the baddies, and a coctus (hardboiled, to you) detective who knows all the angles and how to play them as well as any master of geometry, and you’ve got quite a book. I enjoyed it a lot. I expect you will, too.”
— Harry Turtledove, author of Guns of the South, and winner of the Sidewise Award for Alternate History
“In the spirit of the way Bridge of Birds created an alternative China where magic works, Assaph Mehr has created an alternative Rome in his stories based in Egretia.
Like Master Li and Number Ten Ox, Felix and his trusty bodyguard Borax find themselves investigating unusual and magical cases. Now in his third adventure Felix finds himself in another case that challenges and threatens his life.With In Victrix we learn more about the culture and mysticism of Egretian society, with Felix starting with what seems a straightforward case turning into a much bigger situation. This story takes us to the underbelly of society and out to the country as Felix chases clues as the mystery goes deeper.
The twists and turns of this adventure would make Sherlock Holms or even Columbo run in terror, but not Felix.”
— Eric Klein, best-selling SF&F author and editor
Grab your copy here on Amazon, or treat yourself to your very own signed and dedicated paperback directly!
You can also read an interview with Borax — Felix’s bodyguard, and someone with a unique view on gladiatorial games and races — here on The Protagonist Speaks!
Chapter 1
Publius Clodius jumped on the stage of the rostra in front of the gathered citizens, hitched up his tunic despite the November morning chill, grabbed his manhood, and yelled “This is my veto!” to the cheer of the crowds.
I shouted with them, though I suspect most were captivated by his antics rather than his populist agenda. I was glad I had chosen the Forum for my entertainment that day, having no doubt the shows held as part of the Plebeian Games were less amusing than the political circus. The day after tomorrow was reserved for the final chariot races, and I wouldn’t miss them for the world, but today I could spare myself the crowds of country bumpkins in favour of more refined civic amusement.
As for Clodius, while his family always took efforts to appeal to the masses of our city by supporting populist causes, some generations were more flamboyant than others. He pranced around the stage, shouting “Veto! Veto!” with each flick of his manhood, while the magistrate’s face turned purple in his attempt to make himself heard over the noise.
To be fair to the magistrate, Clodius hadn’t even entered his tribuneship proper. Born of the patrician Claudii Pulchri, he got himself adopted into a plebeian family — by a man younger than he, I should add — so he could be elected as a tribune of the plebs. The fact he would not enter office until December did not seem to deter him from causing havoc in our sacred assemblies. This boded well for entertaining diversions during the coming year for the politically-minded amongst us.
Nonetheless, it was time to leave. It was more likely Clodius would encourage a civil brawl than let mere details about his inability to cast a legal veto stop him, and no laws would be passed that day (my interest in the magistrate’s proposed restrictions on sodalities was marginal at best — there are no funeral clubs for investigators).
Borax cleared the path for me out of the Forum, and the noise dwindled as we skirted around a basilica. Unfortunately, that did nothing to improve my mood. Following the events of a recent case, my life had become decidedly more dangerous. Apart from a brief sojourn at sea during a minor investigation, supporters of the sore loser from my last court appearance followed and heckled me continuously. Their patron — a man named Numicius — was a senator which, regrettably, did not preclude him from being a vile miscreant; a thug who employed other thugs.
As though in answer to my silent brooding, a rotten cabbage splattered on my chest. A gang of toughs jeered at us, juggling more projectile produce.
“The brawl is that way,.” I hooked my thumb towards the Forum. “I’m sure Clodius is awaiting your agricultural support with bated breath.”
I turned on my heel when a turnip — luckily overripe, rather than stone hard — smashed into me from the other direction. There were too many of them, enclosing us on both sides.
“Quick!” I nodded at Borax, and we sprinted around the columns of the basilica. The hooligans whooped and gave chase. I wanted to lead them back to the Forum, to lose ourselves in the crowds eager to fight anyone, but they had spread out to prevent us returning.
We increased our pace, zigzagging amongst the columns till we came out on the other side. Without much thought, we sped across the street and down the next alley to lose our pursuers. They kept up, and we could hear their cries behind us like hounds baying for blood. More of them seemed to appear from around a corner to pelt us with rotten fruit, forcing us to change direction — we had no clear getaway.
Our hasty retreat came to a sudden stop when we made a wrong turn and found ourselves in a blind alley. The toughs piled in and blocked any possible escape. Their grins were no longer jeering, but teeth bared in evil intent. They picked up sticks and stones instead of rotten fruit. I drew my knife from my tunic, and Borax clenched his metal fist in anticipation of a bloody brawl. I gave us even odds. Borax was even more accomplished than his large size indicated, but the thugs didn’t know that.
Their leader said, “Numicius sends his regards,” as they advanced slowly. Before they could rush us, a commotion started behind them. Yelps of pain turned into gasping whispers, followed by a quick shuffling of feet.
A woman placed her hand on the leader’s shoulder and swept him aside. There was no mistaking her — seven feet of dark skin and rippling muscles had made Hippolyta a gladiatrix of city-wide renown in recent years.
She faced our assailants.
“Now, then,” she said, “I have business with Felix here. So, unless any one of you droopy mentulae care to take it up with me, I suggest you disappear.” A short sword slid into her hand as if by magic.
We have all seen her in the arena. Her exploits were legendary, including the bout when she bested three other gladiators with that same gladius. She made a menacing half-step forward, and the hooligans decided to heed her advice. The alley emptied in record time.
“Useless filth.” She sheathed her sword and adjusted the scabbard to hide it under her cloak. “Now, then. Not that I mind doing a good turn, but you are Spurius Vulpius Felix, known as the Fox, are you not?”
“Indeed, I am,” I answered. “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”
“My domina wishes to hire your services.” Her husky voice and foreign accent was oddly melodious, “with regard to the final races of the Plebeian Games. Come with me.” She headed out of the alley.
Borax made an incoherent gurgle. The big man was blushing furiously.
“Close your mouth,” I muttered. “I think we just got a new case.”
Grab your copy here on Amazon, or treat yourself to your very own signed and dedicated paperback directly!
FELIX THE FOX MYSTERIES 