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.”

“Dream about all those denarii. What else?”

“Well, long about the fourth or fifth hour of the night, I look around from the dice game—I’m not winnin’ that one so easy—and I see this young girl come in here. Now, we don’t usually get young ones at the Nymph—them whores out there are all old enough to jerk you off before you knew you was hard, and this one was young and pretty.”

“What about Faro?”

“That’s it. She came for him. That’s who he was waitin’ for, because he follows her outside like a dog. I want to see if she’s goin’ up against the wall, but it ain’t like that. When I get outside, she’s gone, and he’s holdin’ a note, starin’ at it. So I say, ‘Where you goin’ so late?’ thinkin’ he’ll never answer me, but he just looks at me funny and says, ‘Where we’ll meet again.’ Then he climbs on the horse and rides off.”

He gave me a look that was supposed to tell me something. “I guess you know what that means.”

“Yeah. Is that it?”

He swigged the wine again. “Ain’t it enough?”

“Yeah.” I stood up, and Draco echoed me. “Thanks for the game.”

He grinned. “Glad you thought of it.”

I lowered my voice. “Be careful. Funny things happen in Aquae Sulis, especially to people who talk to me.”

His nut-brown skin paled a little, but he shrugged and drank some more wine. “I can take care of myself. Be seein’ you.”

Draco and I walked out into the night. It was cold. The moon was playing hide-and-seek with some clouds. I turned to him. “You up for a long hike?”

His brow wrinkled. “Where are we going?”

“To the place where Faro was murdered. To where we all meet again.”

He still looked puzzled.

“The cemetery, Draco. We’re going to the cemetery.”

*   *   *

The walk was long, and my head still hurt. A seabird lost in a cloud somewhere shrieked, and Draco jumped. His eyes were whiter than the pale shadows he halfway expected to see.

Romans have an uneasy relationship with dead people. On one hand, they like to dress up in death masks once a year and imitate their famous relatives. On the other hand, they make signs and throw beans around the house during the Lemuria in order to keep dead family members—the ghosts of all those mothers-in-law—out of the house. Some people say ghosts are black, some people say they’re white. Some say bad luck, some say good luck. Only, nobody—and that means nobody—wants to meet up with one of them.

Unless you’re a necromancer. Then you’ve got a temporary address in the city of the dead—and it wasn’t a ghost that made it permanent for Faro.

The cemetery was to the northwest, up a long hill with a low incline. Whenever the moon came out enough, I could see Draco clutching the handle of his old gladius as if it were his mother’s hand.

A path large enough for carts led through the graves and monuments. I paused on the road, directly across from a marble tomb. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. Faro was told to meet someone here. Most likely to raise a ghost. Either he was very stupid or he trusted the lure. A woman—a young, pretty woman.

“Draco—let’s split up.”

I could hear the gulp. “All—all right. What do you want me to look for?”

“Horse tracks. A horse. Anything that might have anything to do with Faro. Let’s light the lamps.”

I pulled the corks out of the holes in the lamps and lit them with some flint. It took a few tries. The wind was kicking up. Dark tree branches bent closer to see what we were doing.

The lamps were small enough to fit in our tunics, so they didn’t give out much light, but it was something. “If you find anything, yell. Don’t go too far—this place is huge. Just keep your eyes on the lights.”

I was turning down one of the larger paths when I heard Draco make a small sound.

“What is it?”

“The—the lamp. Is it—I’ve heard ghosts—ghosts follow lights. Is it true?”

I rubbed my face with my free hand. “Draco—ghosts can’t hurt you. They’re dead, remember?”

“But—but they can curse—and haunt you—and your dreams—”

“We’ll be lucky to get any sleep at all tonight, so don’t worry about your dreams. Worry about some bastard knifing you from behind.”

He took a deep breath, then walked off in the opposite direction. I crouched down to examine the ground in front of me. Horse hooves, and recent. I kept to the path and found a pile of horse manure. Bent down and rubbed some in my fingers. Dry, but still clumpy. Could be a day or two. Could be Faro’s horse.

I walked some more, noticed the graves were getting poorer. The largest monuments were always along the road, so anyone who walked by could see how prestigious you’d been, and might forget you were dead. Too bad you couldn’t.

I wondered where Draco was. Ghosts never bothered me. Mainly because I figure we make them up. Probably because we need something more frightening than daily life.

Smaller path to the left. Small wooden markers. A few offerings of broken dishes and bread crumbs advertising the thin, flimsy lives of the poor.

I shook my head to clear it, which was a mistake. Stood for a while, listening to the wind. No trees in this section. Faro wasn’t gullible enough to believe anyone would pay him to raise anything here but dirt and tears. Both of those you can get for free.

I walked back down the road, this time along the right, the graves on this side not quite as desperate. Up in the distance, I could make out Draco’s small light. I looked down and noticed fresh dirt. Followed fifty paces ahead to a newly dug mound. Next to it, on the ground, was a wooden frame with a canvas covering, head shaped. Faro’s last stand.

I stooped over the grave with the lamp to see who he’d been planning to raise. I should’ve known. Calpurnius.

No horse hooves in the fresh soil. Probably tied up at a small tree in the distance, closer to the main road. I turned to face the light and shouted. A breeze came out of nowhere and seemed to swallow my words. I shouted again. “Draco! Over here!”

The light was getting dimmer, and heading in the wrong direction. A cold, clammy hand grabbed my shoulder, and the hair on my neck stood up and immediately fainted.

“Mast—Arcturus. It’s me. Draco.”

When my heart climbed back down my throat, I said: “How the hell did you get here so quickly?”

“What do you mean?”

I stared at him. “Draco—weren’t you…”

I pivoted, and looked toward where I saw the light. Nothing there.

Fear and puzzlement spread over his face. “I was behind you, in that section.”

He pointed to an area immediately to my left. The hair on my neck started to rise again, until I slapped it down with my hand. The concussion. The goddamn concussion.

“Well, you’re here now. This is where Faro was headed—where he met someone. Any sign of the horse?”

He shook his head. “No, but I found some tracks on the road, going back to town.”

I rubbed my chin. “The tanner said it was a nice horse. I’ve got an idea where we might find it.” I stared at Calpurnius’s grave. “Let’s go. Bring the frame. It’s what the mask was nailed on before someone pulled it off and nailed it on Faro.”

Draco picked it up and tucked it under his arm. Neither one of us said a word until we were out walking on the road again, the lamps out and the gibbous moon leering at us from behind a wad of cloud.

“Mas—I mean, Arcturus. Did you—did you see something?”

“Holes in the ground with dead people in them.”

“No. I mean—when you thought you saw—”

“Forget about it, Draco. I’ve got a concussion. I get confused easily.”

He was quiet for a minute and then spoke again. “Are we going home now?”

I didn’t want to think about the cemetery. What I needed what a good solid meeting with some flesh and blood. A quivering mass of flesh that avoided me this morning.

“No. We’re going to pay a late visit to a duovir. Let’s go see what Grattius is hiding.”

The thought of scaring the hell out of him cheered our footsteps back to town.