The Curse-Maker (24 page)

“Drusius said he was talking about ‘ants crawling' before he died. I think he was killed, and with the same poison as Calpurnius.”

“But why? Why would anyone kill him for stealing a bath robe?”

I shook my head. “I don't know, Gwyna. I don't even know how much I don't know.”

She was silent as she wrote everything down.

“All right. The mine. Pure greed. But the syndicate would need a contact or two in town, especially if they were planning to dump the metal in Aquae Sulis.”

“What about Grattius?”

“He's involved, or he wouldn't be hiding. But he can't be the only connection. No, Grattius is altogether too conspicuous, and maybe that's his role. To shield the real link—and the real murderer.”

“You mean of Faro?”

“I mean of Faro. Someone other than Grattius must be connected with the mine—Faro was murdered too quickly. Unless, of course, Grattius killed him, but I don't think so. One set of footsteps led away from the cart, but I'd be willing to bet there were two people in it.”

“How do you know?”

“Too much chance in leaving a cart and horses unsupervised while you unloaded a body, even if you were strong enough to do it yourself. Faro was small, but dead bodies always weigh more than you think they will. And the mine is guilty of more than just Faro. There's Aufidio.”

“What about the ghost? Or was he real?”

“Once. Probably found the vein of silver, and got a pick in the face for his trouble.”

She shuddered. “How horrible. And you—it could've been—”

“No. It could not have been me, because I have a very clever wife.”

Her smile was tender. “Thank you, Ardur.”

“They would've attacked anybody. Not like here. Not like Materna.”

Her eyes were the hard blue of the standing stones on the Great Plain. “You can talk about it. I'm not going to break.”

“Someone's been using us for javelin practice—and as tired as I am of acting like a straw dummy, I'm at least used to it. But not you. Not my wife.”

My muscles tensed and a jolt slid down from my neck to my right leg. She was beside me before I could rearrange my face.

“It's my fault. I should have told you. Then those bastards couldn't have used it against us. At least not—not with such a terrible shock.”

I took her hand from my forehead, where her fingertips were smoothing out the creases.

“You didn't tell me because I was too blind, stupid, and self-absorbed to see for myself. And I left you—left you before I left for the North. I'm sorry, Gwyna. I don't know why you married me. I'm a stubborn, moody fool, slow with my head and too quick with my tongue. I'm—”

I paused in the litany of my many flaws, watching her lips curve in an unmistakable fashion. She was kneeling on the couch, and she bent over me, lips to my ear. She whispered: “You're not at all too quick with your tongue.”

I stared at Gywna in a cloudy haze. Then she looked over my shoulder and straightened her tunic and stood up.

“What is it, Lineus? Are you—”

Lineus was quivering in the entrance. “I'm fine,
Domina.
It's—it was just a knock on the door, and—and no one was there—”

I stood up too quickly and grabbed the arm of the couch to steady myself. “No one was there?”

“At least I couldn't see anyone, sir. I—I didn't explore, because I found this on the threshold.” He held out a scrap of torn papyrus, his hand shaking.

I took it from him. “It's all right, Lineus. Tell one of the other slaves to watch the door.”

He stood up straighter. “They all refused, sir. I apologize for their behavior.”

Still scared from the corpse. “I'll speak to them tomorrow.”

“Very good,
Dominus
.”

I smiled at him. He finally got the idea and bowed himself out of the room. I'm not comfortable around body servants. There are certain functions I prefer to do in private. I made my peculiarity known on arrival, when I realized I might trip over somebody on the way to take a piss.

The paper was dirty, and the writing on the back looked like an inventory list. Tallied results of a dice game, with amounts owed. I sniffed. Smelled like wine. Definitely a tavern.

Gwyna was already standing next to me, trying to read it. “ ‘If you'… I think that's what it says—dreadful Latin—”

“ ‘If you want information and you're willing to pay for it, come to the Bud of the Nymph at the second hour of night.' ” I looked up at her. “If I leave now, I'll be on time.”

She stood with her hands on her hips. “Not without me.”

“It's no kind of place for a lady, you can see that from the—”

“Yet I managed to walk into Lupo's by myself.” She held her head high in that proud way of her father's. I grabbed her shoulders.

“Please, Gwyna—let me protect you from what I can. That's not a whole hell of a lot.”

She stopped tapping her foot and made a noise of reluctant concession. “Arcturus—I won't let you leave this house without Draco, am I understood? I'll stay at home like the proper wife, but you've got a concussion, and I'm damned if I let you walk into another trap!”

“I'll take every precaution—including him.”

Her face softened, and she took me by the arm. “You'll be late. I'll help you get dressed.”

So my gambit at the spring worked. Someone swallowed the bait.

I wondered if I had, too.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The Bud of the Nymph made Lupo's whorehouse—where Gwyna had once journeyed and where Stricta once worked—seem palatial. I contrasted the memory of last December with what was in front of me. Draco's nostrils wrinkled at the odors from the side of the building. A shed out back left nothing to the imagination. My imagination wasn't that good.

We sipped vinegar for an hour, watching the blue-bodied flies buzz around the matted hair of various drunks. The Nymph was tucked around the corner and down a block from the main marketplace, in a low wooden building with a tattered roof. It squatted in the street and clung to the adjoining apartment house like a old woman taking a piss at the public latrine. The latrine smelled cleaner.

No one who came to the Nymph had heard there were baths in town. And no one who visited the shed cubicles stayed for long. The whores were professionals. They ran it like a three-minute legion drill.

The barman was grumpy until I overpaid him. I could always buy nice. After that he got out his better bottles of vinegar and found a piece of cheese with no maggots. He watched us, though, and he was curious. No one with money ever came into the Nymph. At least not anymore. Now it was about as exclusive as the Cloaca Maxima.

Draco's eyes were swimming with the gnats in his cup of
posca.
I raised my lips to the wooden cup and pretended to sip. The door opened, and a small man in dirty leather walked into the room. His eyes were sharp.

I made a noise to Draco. He quit thinking about Coir and looked up. The man was at the bar, having a word with the black-toothed barkeep. I reached under the table for my pouch and untied it without bringing it out into the open. Then I took four small dice out of it and whispered to Draco.

“What's he doing?”

“Ordering something. Looks like soup.”

“Is he watching us?”

“I think so.”

I straightened up, rolled a die, and said loudly: “A six. That means I get first toss.”

Draco looked at me, nodded, and dug out some coins from his pocket. I threw the four dice, and one of them came up six. I plucked out a
sestertius
and threw it in the middle of the table. “All right. Your turn.”

Draco glanced around nervously, and the four dice slipped through his fingers. Two sixes tumbled out. I laughed obnoxiously and slapped the table. “That's two more you owe the pot. Pay up.”

I wasn't watching Leather Man, but his eyes were cold. He'd wait some more. I sped things up a little.

“Mine again. How about we play for real money? A
denarius
for your sixes, my friend. Now that's a gentleman's wager.”

Draco's eyes flitted nervously back and forth, but he remembered his part. “All right. I—I just got paid, anyway.”

I showed everybody my teeth and tossed the dice. Four ones—the Dog. “Shit. You got the luck. Four
denarii
to the pot for throwing the goddamn
canis.
Go on. See if you can win it.”

Draco took the dice in his large hands and cupped and shook them so they'd rattle around. Some of the drunks raised bleary eyes, awakened by the sound of chance. He threw. Two sixes.

“Well, that's half my own back, anyway.” This was getting expensive. I'd better set a limit. With a sideways glance toward Leather Man, who was leaning against the counter and watching us in the open, I said: “I've only got three more
denarii.
What've you got?”

His mouth opened slightly while he thought about it, and I stared into his eyes, willing him to keep the number low. “I—I've got five more. That's all.”

Eight
denarii,
plus the six already in was fourteen. I wouldn't go higher until I knew what it was I was buying.

“Not any longer, friend. Kiss 'em good-bye—you just lost your chance to kiss anything else!” I jerked my head toward the headquarters of the three-minute special with a knowing leer and tossed the dice. Two more sixes. Almost there.

“Goddamn it! Where the hell's Fortuna? Banging some son of a bitch in the shed?” I shoved the dice toward Draco and put two more
denarii
on the table.

“Go on. See if you can roll it.” I was using loaded dice, of course, but I'd also told Draco about how to roll them so the number would come up. He tucked his thumb into the cup he'd made of his hands. Three sixes leered at us. I leaned forward. Time to get on with it.

“You're down to two. I'm down to one. Whaddya say we put it all in and throw one more time?”

A calloused and filthy hand plonked down on the table. Rheumy brown eyes stared hungrily at the pile of coins. The man stank of shit, piss, and salt, and it wasn't because he was at the Nymph. It oozed from his pores like sweat. Probably a tanner.

The voice was raspy. “I want in on that game.”

I eyed him, keeping up appearances. “You didn't build it. You don't build, you don't play for the win.”

He untied a thick leather bag from his belt and tossed it on the table. “This'll cover the bet.”

I said softly: “How do I know you're good for it?”

He looked over at Draco. “You got a big friend. And you're not so small yourself. How do I know you won't jump me to get it back?”

Now for the real gamble. He wasn't stupid. Either the information would be good or I'd need Draco for more than a game of
iactus.

“All right.” I said it grudgingly. “But let's do it right. Let's use a cup. You got one?”

“Flaccus does.” He walked to the bar and came back with a worn and dented leather cup. I gave him the loaded die.

“See who rolls first. First winning roll takes it.”

He rolled, and a six came up. I groaned. “Goddamn it.”

Draco took the die. He rolled a three. I rolled a four. I handed it back to Leather Man. I took out my supposedly last
denarius
and Draco took out his, and we threw them on top of the mound of coins.

The tanner put the dice in the beat-up cup and shook them just right. He rolled, and they came out spinning. Draco and I—and Flaccus, who wandered over—watched them drop.

“A one—a two—a five—and a three!
Iactus Veneris!
A Venus Toss! Goddamn it, but you're a lucky bastard!”

He was fingering the
denarii
and quickly stuffed them in his pouch. Draco scooted his chair back a few inches and let his arms dangle to the side. I threw a nasty smile at the tanner.

“Least you could do is buy us some wine, seeing as you won all the money. I figure you owe us that much.”

He glanced back over to where Flaccus was behind the counter and said nervously, “Yeah. I'll join you.”

We watched as he went back to the counter where the barkeep was busy serving leftover vomit. They whispered to each other for a few minutes, and I gave Draco a few looks that were supposed to mean something.

He came back with a jug of wine. I kept an eye on Flaccus while the tanner crouched on a stool. We all three leaned in close.

“I got the note,” I murmured. “You got the money. What do you know?”

He swished his wine around the leather cup. It was the same one he'd tossed from. “Not so fast. How do I know you won't—”

“You don't. Just like I don't know that Flaccus over there doesn't have a large club or a small knife for when we walk out of here. But you've got the money, and if it means anything, I'm a man of my word. If it doesn't mean anything, there's not a goddamn thing I can do for you.”

He stared at each of us in turn. “Drusius said you're all right, and I guess that's good enough for me.” He took a swig of wine. “I hope I ain't sold too cheap.”

“Not unless you can tell me who killed Faro and everyone else in this goddamn town. Now talk.”

He leaned forward. “All right. Faro was in here last night.”

“This place? Not the type.”

“Yeah. That's why I spotted him. Lot of money, too, bought the best Flaccus got. But he don't get drunk or laid. It was like he was waitin' for something.”

“Did he talk?”

Leather Man shook his head. “No. Nice-lookin' horse outside, though, and a kit packed. Has this ugly wooden thing tied to the saddle, and I ask him about it. He says it's a ghost-raisin' mask.” He shivered. “I'm gonna have bad dreams thinkin' about it.”