The Curse-Maker

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The words echoed, pounding on my skull from the inside. I climbed out of bed. There was only one of Gwyna this morning, and that one was scared.

I said: “I didn’t hurt him, Gwyna. Not enough for this.”

“I know.” She shivered. “Go-go see him, Ardur. And-and if you could-could tell me what I should-”

I took her by the shoulders.

“Nothing, goddamn it-you’re doing nothing. Just … just help me get dressed.”

She grabbed one of my comfortably dirty tunics and helped me get it on so that the cloth didn’t touch my aching head. I sat on the bed while she dug for a mantle and laced some sandals on my feet.

I reached a hand out to touch her face. “Where is he?”

She stood up, giving me a look I remembered from childhood. “I’m coming with you. You’re injured, and-and I have to see it-see it through.”

I wouldn’t win the argument, so I shut my mouth and followed her through the house. The slaves were huddled in the triclinium.

I said in an undertone: “Where’s Lineus?”

She whispered: “Outside.”

Lineus was clinging to the wall of the house like a man in a leaky raft. Stallions in the garden, wives missing all night, the head of the house gone on sudden trips and returning at odd hours with donkeys-nothing made him blink. Until now. He stared at me, eyes wide and unseeing.

“Lineus. Listen to me. I found an illegal mining operation yesterday. This man was part of it.” I thought explaining might help. If only someone would explain it to me.

“Sir-sir-”

“Gwyna will take you inside. Wait with the others in the triclinium. Try to calm them down, all right?”

He swallowed, moving his mouth like an asphyxiated fish. I looked at Gwyna. “Would you mind…”

She was staring at Faro’s body, tore herself away. “Come along, Lineus.” She said to me in an undertone, “I’ll be right back. I’ll-I’ll help you.”

As soon as the door was closed I bent down, unsteady on my feet, crouching with my knees bent so that no blood would rush to my head. Pushed myself to hurry, to shove the pain aside.

His face was still bruised where I hit it. Purple, swollen, skin tight, protruding pink and gray tongue. Not so handsome anymore.

Strangled. Like Bibax, only quicker and cleaner. I moved his head out of the way to check the neck. Stiffness starting to settle in the lower jaw. I tried to close the popping eyes, staring dully into the world beyond. He’d finally arrived. I wondered if he recognized it.

Eyes wouldn’t close. They needed coins to weigh them down. Appropriate for Faro. I shut his jaw, leaving enough room for a fly to escape. Not the nastiest thing that ever came out of his mouth.

His hair was plastered against his temples and matted with fluid. I risked getting dizzy again and bent closer. Flinched backward on reflex, almost falling over. There were nail holes in his skull.

Something had been attached and gently pounded in-not hard enough to crack any bone, not deep enough to drain a lot of brain. The holes hadn’t bled much, so it was done after he was strangled.

I looked away for a moment. I’d seen worse things that I couldn’t remember at the moment. Lying a few feet away from him was a tin mask, larger than life size. I picked it up. Two nails in the back.

I rocked a little, bracing myself on my knees, and stood up to examine it further. Ritual, of course, not theatrical-actors don’t like wearing nails. Neither do priests or necromancers, for that matter. Maybe it was normally attached to some sort of wooden frame.

I flicked at the tiny bits of skin and coagulated blood that still adhered to the metal. The door creaked, and I jumped. Draco was hovering behind Gwyna.

“How’s Lineus?”

“Better.”

“Good.”

Gwyna’s eyes were drawn back toward Faro’s body. “Have you…”

“I’m in the middle of it. He was strangled, about the same time I came home last night, or a little earlier. Then this mask was tamped on his head. Probably right before he was brought here. Draco? Can you help me?”

I crouched back down on the ground and set the mask aside, moving like an old man. Draco squatted next to me. Gwyna stood on the doorstep, watching us.

Faro was wearing traveling clothes. A heavy cape with a hood, sturdy breeches under a tunic. His arms and legs were splayed, awkward in death. Looked like he’d been dropped in a hurry.

“Flip him over, Draco.”

With an easy motion, Draco turned the body over and lowered it noiselessly to the ground. The back of the cape was very dirty. Bits of grass and horse manure clung to it, and the hem was caked in damp, fresh earth.

“Go through his tunic. See if you can find anything.”

Draco looked a little scared, but his big hands moved with surprising dexterity. He found a worn leather pouch tied to Faro’s belt.

“Go on. Untie it and give it to me. Keep looking, particularly for papers. Check his hands, too. Don’t worry-they’re not stiff yet.”

The pouch was heavy. All coins. I poured a few into my palm. A hell of a lot of money for a traveling necromancer. Draco came up empty, and I double-checked Faro’s hands. Nothing. Not even any hair. Whoever killed him was quick and professional.

I stood up again. I wouldn’t be able to do that trick too many more times today.

“Stay here. I don’t want any more tracks on the path than necessary.” Draco stood next to Gwyna, rubbing his hands down his tunic over and over.

The wide path up to the villa was still soft and damp. Footsteps. More footsteps. Not too large, not too small, nothing unique. All I knew was that he wasn’t seven feet tall, four hundred pounds, or walking with a limp.

Small cart tracks ran about halfway up the hill, near some blackthorn trees. The wheels were uncooperative, as were the horse hooves. No missing shoe nails, no crack in the wheel, mended so that it made a distinct impression in the soft dirt. So much for goddamn footsteps and horse tracks.

The pile of horse manure showed they stayed a while. My homecoming spoiled their plans, and they had to wait until the lights were off. Careful, patient murderers.

I was out of breath when I reached Gwyna and Draco, and braced myself on the door frame. Exhaustion and concussion. No time for it. I turned back to look at the body. Faro had all the time in the world.

“He was brought here last night in a cart. They waited around because the lamps were lit.”

Gwyna’s hand grasped my arm. “Should we-should we bury him?”

Everything between my ears hurt like hell, but it worked well enough for me to know what was next.

“No. That’s what they want. They expect us to hide it. To act guilty. Draco, get the litter. We’re taking Faro the Great back where he belongs.”

* * *

Lineus gave us the details before we left. He opened the door just before dawn to check the stable slaves. At first he thought it was a drunk. Then he moved closer and realized it was something worse. The mask was still on the face, and through a combination of curiosity and morbid compulsion, Lineus pulled it off. Then he threw up. One of the other slaves woke Gwyna.

She wrapped Faro in a sheet. I let her do it, but I didn’t like the look on her face, a kind of tenderness mixed with revulsion. As if there had been something between them.

It was toward the end of the second hour when our little parade entered the temple precinct. Wind from the west, storm on the way. Women were streaming into the baths; the tents and stalls creaked and flapped, some empty. The spring bubbled, a smell of thunder mixing with the tang of the water, the blessed, blessed water. Bathers to baths, hopeless to health, maggots to flesh.

All the actors were in place today, but someone else would have to play the necromancer.

I parked the litter bearers in between the spring and the temple. Found a stray priest and told him to get Papirius. We waited a few moments, Gwyna staring at the waters, remembering the last time she looked at them.

Footsteps hurried along the pavement. Papirius was jogging along, not a dignified gait for a head priest. My head throbbed just from looking at him. He was followed by three underpriests. He looked from one to the other of us, his eyes lingering on Gwyna.

“Papirius.”

“Arcturus. What-what’s all this about? I understand it’s urgent.”

“You could say that. Take a look in the litter.”

He drew his eyebrows together. “I don’t like games. What do you want?”

I shrugged, and it was worth the jolt. “There’s a hard way and an easy way for everything, Papirius. I’ve got a concussion, and frankly, I don’t give a good goddamn which you choose. I was giving you the easy option. Since you don’t want to play…” I nodded to the litter bearers. “Bring it out.”

The tall, brawny men threw aside the drape; each grabbing an end of Faro, and lowered him like a sack of barley on the pavement. A small crowd was starting to gather. Flies already.

“What-what are you-that’s-”

“That used to be Faro Magnus. The former necromancer. I don’t think you can be a dead necromancer, do you? Seems like a conflict of interest.”

I reached in the litter and brought out the tin mask. I laid it next to Faro. “Maybe you didn’t recognize him without this.”

Papirius dragged his eyes up to meet mine. Little braziers of hatred burned behind them. “Why did you bring this-defilement-to the temple? What did you do … kill him?”

I rubbed my chin. More onlookers were starting to buzz their way in.

“No, Papirius-but someone wants me to think I did. One of the slaves found him on my doorstep this morning, and I’m not about to defile-as you like to put it-the governor’s villa with a corpse that was even more unsavory when it was alive. Your temple’s a little more used to dead bodies.”

Gwyna moved closer to me until she could feel my arm next to hers. Getting angry made my head feel better, and there was always plenty to get angry about around Papirius.

He stood there, robes stiff and irritable, fingers curved into a ball of frustration. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to get Grattius down here. Secundus, too-and Octavio and any other men on the council who know anything about the supposedly haunted mine. Faro was murdered because of it.”

“Meanwhile, you’re just-you’re just-”

“I’m just going to stand here and wait for you. And leave Faro the Great exactly where he is.”

He snapped an order to the other priests, cast a venomous look in my direction, and pivoted away, his robes trailing in the wind behind him.

Mutterings were getting louder, and the bodies and wagging tongues were making the temperature rise. A tight cluster was forming around the corpse. I ordered the bearers not to let anyone touch the body or get too close.

I whispered to Gwyna: “Are you all right? We’ll have to wait.”

She murmured: “Don’t worry about me.”

I squeezed her hand from beneath my tunic fold. A throaty laugh choked off suddenly. I wasn’t sure if it was because Sulpicia noticed the corpse or Gwyna.

She threaded through the growing crowd. “Arcturus-Gwyna. What is-what is that? My God-”

“It’s Faro the Great. He was left in that condition on our threshold this morning.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Getting some answers.” She raised her eyebrows, but there was more wariness and fear in her face than surprise. Her eyes drifted over to Gwyna and took her in like someone checking an inventory list. The smile was a little strained.

“I’m surprised you’re here. Don’t you find this all-distasteful?”

So she’d heard about the dinner party. Gwyna wove her arm into mine, smiled.

“Actually, yes-but I’m devoted to my husband. You know how it is.”

Sulpicia reddened. I changed the subject to something other than husbands and corpses.

“Where’s Vitellius?”

“I’m not sure. I was on my way to the baths when-”

“Sulpicia? Sulpicia!”

Not Vitellius. The young stonecutter shoved his way through the mob, his eyes bent on Sulpicia’s red hair.

“I thought I saw-”

He suddenly realized he was in a small clearing with four people. The growing crowd was packing in closer. Drusius flushed a becoming shade of rose, and Sulpicia’s mouth curled suggestively at the corners.

“Salve, Drusius.” She could say a lot in two words.

Drusius nodded to me, bowed to Gwyna. She smiled, and Sulpicia immediately started brushing stone dust off his old tunic as if it were a candidate’s toga. He turned his head, finally seeing the body.

“Goddamn-Faro Magnus. Was he killed? Here?”

“He was killed, where I’m not sure. He was left on my doorstep. Thought I’d share the news.”

He stared at me. “I suppose you know what you’re doing.”

“Faro was murdered because of a dead lead mine haunted by live miners. Except it wasn’t lead, it was silver.”

Excited hum from the seventy-strong herd pressing in around us. Faro was more popular dead, but so was everybody in Aquae Sulis.

Drusius stepped forward excitedly. “Does this mean you found out something about my friend-Aufidio?”

“I think he was murdered. Because of the mine. Like Faro.”

He nodded. “Let me know if I can help. Who are you waiting for?”

“Priests. Council members.”

Drusius moved over to stand beside me, lowered his voice. “By the way-something I wanted to tell you. Remember I said there was something odd about Dewi-you know, the simpleton boy? When he died?”

“Yes?”

“Well, he kept saying there were ants crawling on him. Over and over. That’s what he said. Thought you’d want to know.”

More squeals and grunts, and an occasional thwack. Sulpicia clutched Drusius’s arm. Papirius was using a willow whisk to clear his way. Following him were Octavio and Philo.

Philo’s eyes were moist and concerned, mostly on Gwyna. Papirius wore his usual frown, more severe as the occasion warranted. Octavio gave Faro a quick glance and shudder, and spoke first.

“I don’t understand what this is about. Papirius said something about the mine. What does that have to do with-him?”

A sound that could curdle mother’s milk stabbed the humid air. An angry keening. Gloating in it, satisfied malice. A younger voice ululated in harmony.

“Mur-der-er! Mur-der-er!”

The crowd divided. She didn’t need a whip.

Materna hauled her beetle-eyed bulk with surprising grace into the center of the circle. She wailed again, a long, shrill cry, and tottered over to Faro. Then she slowly knelt and laid herself on top of his body. Secunda echoed her mother. The bearers were helpless. They didn’t want to touch the women.

I shoved Papirius aside. “Get up.”

She lifted her yellow jowls to the sky and shrieked again. The crowd was stunned and silenced. Then she pointed a fat, shaking finger at me.

“Murderer!”

Collective gasp. Whispers rose like moths to lamplight. I was about to get my fingers dirty and pull her up by the hair when someone else pushed passed me.

“Rise, you miserable old bitch. Rise and get off him. Or I swear before Sulis and Diana-I’ll rip your eyes out of your skull here and now.”

Gwyna’s voice didn’t quaver. All sound ceased. Slowly, Materna picked herself up from Faro’s dead body. Secunda was already standing by the outer fringe of the crowd.

I looked at Materna. It wasn’t easy. “Where’s Secundus?”

Someone shoved him forward from where he was hiding. Eager hands joined in, pushing him sideways until he almost fell. He finally reached the circle and crawled over to stand in Materna’s shadow. He couldn’t look up.

“Here’s your latest entertainment, Secundus.” I turned to the head priest.

“Where’s Grattius?”

Papirius’s lips were thin. “He-he wouldn’t open the door.”

“What do you mean, he wouldn’t open the door?”

“He won’t come out. He’s barricaded himself inside.”

I chewed over the latest bit of information. It tasted as rotten as the town itself.

“I’ll find him later. We’ve got one duovir here.”

I pointed to Faro and raised my voice. “Something nasty was left at my door. Maybe it was so this-lady-could make a dramatic entrance.” I pointed to Materna, who swallowed like a poisonous toad.

Secundus couldn’t speak. More whispers and nervous giggles popped and gurgled like the bubbles in the spring.

“This is a sort of town meeting place, and this is a sort of town meeting. I’m here to tell you a few things. One: Faro here was a part-time necromancer and full-time fraud.”

A gasp this time. Some angry hisses. Still, they were eager for more.

“He confessed to me that he’d been hired to spread gossip about a haunted mine. A mine owned by some sort of syndicate-and members of your own town council.” I had to wait for the shouts to die down.

“Faro also confessed to other crimes, even more cruel and malicious.” I looked at Materna. Philo and Sulpicia both glanced at Gwyna. “I traveled down to the mine itself yesterday, based on what Faro told me. When I got there…”

I paused, waiting for the crowd to quiet down again.

“When I got there-I was attacked. Because I found that the mine was actually working, actually running, and hauling out more silver than lead.”

A few people toward the rear melted away. I wondered if it was something I said. The mob got loud again. Some refused to believe it; some said they knew it all the time.

Drusius was still standing next to me, and murmured: “So that’s why they killed Aufidio.” Sulpicia disappeared into the crowd, after handing the stonecutter a note. Papirius and Octavio tried to look shocked.

“That’s not all.” I had to shout it. “I returned home in the middle of the night. This morning, one of the slaves found the dead body of Faro Magnus-whom I’d last seen at the duovir’s house.” I pointed to Secundus. Then I looked around the crowd and raised my voice as loud as I could.

“If anyone knows anything or saw anything to do with Faro, particularly last night-please come forward. There is a substantial reward.”

Someone shouted, “How much?” above the excited cacophony.

“Denarii, not sestertii. Depends on the information.”

Materna came to play a scene. She began with another inhuman shriek so shrill that the people in the front row held their ears. Words and spit flew with equal venom.

“I say it again: Murderer! You hit him! You threatened him! And he’s found at your house! Murderer!”

Gwyna took a step forward. I held her back with difficulty.

“Now, Materna-Arcturus wasn’t even home when this murder took place, and he’s here by authority of the governor, as you know. He’s helping us investigate. He didn’t kill Faro.”

She looked at Philo appraisingly. His voice carried weight with the crowd, but I didn’t want or need his help.

“Secundus! Did you or did you not witness my interrogation of Faro Magnus?”

The genial horseman of a couple of days ago was nowhere to be seen. He cringed under the malignant auctoritas of his wife and stepped forward like a man at his own crucifixion.

“Yes. I did.”

“Did he admit the haunted mine was a hoax?”

“Yes.”

“Did you tell your wife what he said?”

“Y-I-no. No, I didn’t.”

His wife ignored him. She stared at me and said it softly.

“But you had all the motive. You wanted to punish him. You wanted to kill him. Because he revealed the truth about-”

Philo slapped her. She held a hand up to the red mark on her yellow cheek, her mouth open. I wasn’t sure whether to shake his hand or punch him in the teeth. Defending my wife was not a job I shared with anyone. Other than my wife.

Papirius cleared his throat. “Are you through? Can we-dispose of-”

“Go ahead. Do you recognize the mask?”

Papirius eyed it as though it were a poisonous snake. “No. It isn’t a temple mask.”

Secunda answered, surprising everyone. She whispered: “It was the ghost-raising mask. The metal part. He-he used to wear-”

She broke down and threw herself on what begot her. Materna seized the opportunity to make motherly noises, clucking and muttering, and finally withdrew, leaving a slimy trail in her wake.

I watched her leave, then said: “Bury the bastard.”

The crowd disbursed, reluctantly, Faro’s magnetism still irresistible. Drusius hurried off to find Sulpicia.

“Philo-thanks.”

He stopped smiling at Gwyna long enough to turn toward me. “Of course, Arcturus. Only thing to be done. What’s next?”

“Rome will want to know who’s been cheating her. My guess is everybody. First I’ll find Grattius. Then I’ll talk to Secundus. If he manages to survive tonight with his wife.”

He shook his head. “What an utterly wretched, ugly woman. I had no idea.”

“The goddamn town is bathed in ugly. Materna’s just the prime example.”

He laid a hand on my arm. “I’d like you both to come to dinner. Not tonight, obviously, but-well-Aquae Sulis being what it is, I thought-”

“You thought it would help recuperate our ailing reputations and calm gossip. I appreciate it. Though what the crooked bastards that run this town think of me isn’t the foremost thing on my mind.”

He smiled. “Valete, Arcturus, Gwyna.” He turned and left, walking quickly toward the baths.

Gwyna took my arm and stood on tiptoe to get a better look into my eyes. “Come on, Ardur. Let’s go home.”

I signaled the bearers. We walked alongside the empty litter, through the dusty, crowded streets, people staring at us. We passed the edge of the sacred spring, and I felt a gentle drop on my head. I looked up, said a prayer of thanks to the thick gray clouds.

The rain came down. But it couldn’t wash the dirt away from Aquae Sulis.