Elements 03 - Monsters of the Earth (25 page)

Trebianus turned, then turned back again. “Or leave it open, I don’t care!” he said. “There’s nothing to steal here, and I’m going to tear it down anyway. Only by all the gods,
cleanse
it, master. I’ll pay more than the property’s worth just to have the things here gone for good. And there
is
something here!”

“Then we had best be about our work,” Lucinus said. He held the boat in one hand and the basket with the rest of his paraphernalia in the other. “Lord Varus? Will your attendants…?”

“No,” said Varus. He turned. “Coccius?”

The understeward was standing just beyond arm’s length, facing outward. He spun and bowed to Varus.

“You have an idea of what we’ll be doing here, Coccius,” Varus said coldly. “You and your men will be a distraction for me, perhaps a dangerous distraction. I suppose it’s already obvious that you’re of no use?”

“Ah, yes, Your Lordship,” said the understeward. He was a short man and from his accent a Sicilian. “We’d been wondering what you might want us to do.”

“For my own safety, I want you to return to the house,” Varus said in the same tone of haughty command. “I’ve told Agrippinus that I would probably do this.”

If he didn’t phrase his directions this way, there was a fair chance that the escort would refuse to leave. They were certainly afraid of magic, but that was an unknown quantity. They faced a certainty of crucifixion or being thrown to the beasts if they abandoned the young master in a dangerous situation, and
that
was a certainty.

“Agrippinus knows about this, Your Lordship?” the understeward said in relief.

“Yes,” said Varus. “I gave him instructions in writing as we left.”

“Right,” said Coccius. He turned and said, “We’re heading back for the house, boys! It’s the master’s orders!”

“Are you sure…?” said one of the escort in a thick Thracian accent. He was a hand’s breadth shorter than any of his fellows and slightly built; presumably he had been included for his enthusiasm.

“Look, d’ye want to take the place of that bloody goat, ye fool?” a comrade called. The Thracian looked blank, then trotted away with the rest.

Lucinus watched the escort leave with a sardonic expression. To Varus he said, “If you’ll lead the goat, we can get to work. You’ll probably have to drag him.”

“All right,” said Varus. He loosed the rope from the gate handle. The goat pulled backward but was too frightened to make a real effort to escape.

Varus wasn’t sure how he would describe his feelings. He wasn’t excited, certainly. It was more a matter of being resigned—and perhaps mildly curious about the outcome.

“There are shovels in the garden where workmen left them,” Lucinus said. “Can you use one, Your Lordship?”

“It’s a simple adaptation of an inclined plane, isn’t it?” Varus said with detached amusement. “I should be able to master the principles involved, yes.”

“Then if you’ll close the gate behind us,” Lucinus said, “we can get started.”

Varus followed, smiling faintly. He found that he could drag the goat with reasonable ease if he lifted it by the halter so that its forefeet didn’t touch the ground.

“Be philosophical, my caprine friend,” Varus said. “You may well be the best off of the three of us before the day is over.”

Lucinus looked back with an unreadable expression. Varus smiled a little more broadly.

*   *   *

“
I
T’S THE ONE WITH THE
beige
stucco,” said Kurnos, the foreman of the three gardeners whom Corylus had joined as a fourth. Corylus grunted understanding: it was the house that Lucinus had shown to him and Varus in a vision.

The path to the back of Melino’s house was more of a farm track than an alley. This far from the city, not all the houses had walls around their back gardens. A few servants were already at work as the crew passed; often there was an exchange of greetings.

“There’s four guards outside and they got the gate closed,” said Nothus, a one-eyed man who was missing the toes on his left foot. He looked at Corylus and added, “That something to do with you, kid?”

“I hope not,” Corylus said. “But if I knew everything that was going on, I wouldn’t be here.”

He grinned: he wasn’t doing anything unlawful, and he wasn’t much worried about private punishment if Melino learned the truth about him. The crew carried hoes and shovels, and Corylus was pretty sure they’d stand beside a friend of Baucis against a few hired guards.

“Hey, Xerxes,” Kurnos called. “What you all doing out here?”

“Hell if I know,” said a guard. “Admetus and me are pulling a double shift, and there’s supposed to be a whole extra crew hired from Ajax’s gladiator school to take over at sunset.”

“Roxolanus says we’re supposed to watch out for lizards,” said another guard with a puzzled expression. The guards carried light shields and six-foot spears intended for thrusting rather than throwing, as well as the swords Corylus had seen in Lucinus’ vision. “I wonder if he meant snakes?”

“Well, we’re here to water plants, that’s all,” Kurnos said. “Hey in there, open up!”

“It’s Kurnos, Glabrio!” Xerxes called. “Let ’em in.”

“Roxolanus is your captain?” Corylus said in a general fashion. He figured it was safe to show mild interest since the guards had brought the name up.

“If you ask him, he thinks he’s god come down from Olympus,” said Xerxes, lowering his voice slightly as the bar rattled on the other side. “Or wherever Sarmatian gods live.”

Nothus spat in the dirt. It was probably a comment.

A guard inside pulled open the gate. He’d leaned his spear against the inner wall, but his shield was attached by a strap to the shoulder of his breastplate to take some of the weight off his left arm. He didn’t speak as Kurnos led in the crew. Neither did the guard at the far end, near the door into the house.

Corylus swept an expert eye over the garden. It was of herbs, some of which were unfamiliar to him. Instead of piped water, there was a well with a basin below it; separate channels led from the basin to the eight planted rows.

Besides the herbs, there was a rose arbor against one corner of the house and an umbrella pine shading a bench at the other corner. Corylus tapped Kurnos on the shoulder to get his attention, then walked toward the pine. Kurnos opened one of the basin’s watercocks, while the other two lifted water from the well and poured it into the basin.

Corylus glanced at the house, but there was nothing unusual about the outside. Louvered shutters closed the windows in the upper story. It might be possible to see out through them, but he probably couldn’t view the interior even if he stood on the stone tie course between the floors.

There had been a row of trees down the middle of the garden, but they had been cut down within the past two years, probably when Melino rented the house and planted his herbs. The low stumps hadn’t been removed. They had been fruit trees, but Corylus couldn’t tell more without touching them. He thought of walking closer, but that would be too much like walking over a battlefield and closing the eyes of the corpses.

Trees die and people die; that was the way of existence. What was important right now was to prevent all trees and all people and all
life
from being swallowed down crystal jaws.

The pine’s broad canopy would throw a dappled shadow over this corner later in the day. The marble bench was weather scarred; the relief of grapes and vine leaves was worn or covered by black corrosion. The tree must be older yet.

Corylus laid his palm on the trunk, his back to the house. His mind slipped into the tree the way water rose from roots to the topmost needles, permeating the wood.

An old woman waited for him in green silence. In a firm voice she said, “You’re welcome here. But what has such a likely lad to do with an old woman like me?”

“I came to this garden to learn about the owner, a man named Melino,” Corylus said. “He’s a magician, and he’s—he
may
be—planning to release the Worms of the Earth. I hope you may help us stop him.”

The pine sprite laughed. “Loose Gaia’s children, that one?” she said. “No, not him. He went to the Otherworld. He came back with a demon inside him and a greater demon on his finger, but he’s no enemy to the world. Earth will take her revenge, but not through him, I think.”

“I…,” Corylus said. “I had been told otherwise.”

He had stopped himself from saying, “Are you sure?” which would have been insulting as well as foolish. Though dryads looked human to his eyes, they didn’t feel the human need to lie.

“That one is no more a man than you are,” the pine mused. Dryads considered names superfluous; few of those whom Corylus had met could remember—see any reason to remember—what one human called another. “He’s as cruel as a man, though.”

She looked at Corylus. He wasn’t sure whether or not there was emotion behind her lined features.

“Are you cruel?” she asked.

“Mistress,” Corylus said, bracing himself stiffly. “I’m not cruel by choice, but I’ve been trained as a soldier. In a hard situation, I’ll act as I must.”

The sprite laughed. Like her speaking voice, the sound was more mellifluous than one would expect from someone so gnarled and ancient.

“The lightning does the same,” she said. “Shall I complain about the lightning? All things die. But that one.…”

Briefly behind her flashed a background of the garden in past years. Six fruit trees were in flower down the center, flanked by rows of hollyhocks and delphiniums.

“The apples and the pear, they were silly things, but they did no harm,” the pine said. “I came to like listening to them chatter. That one had them cut down for no reason, just for another row of aconite and one of wormwood. He would have cut me down as well, but sometimes he sits on the bench and I shade him.”

“You say that there is danger from the Worms, but Melino is not behind it?” Corylus said, wrenching his mind into the new direction. “Do you know who
is
behind it? Or what is?”

“Does it matter?” the old dryad said. “This one is afraid to die, but all things die.”

She smiled again. In a more urgent tone she said, “The man approaching you is not your friend.”

Corylus was back in the world that his body had never left. He turned, ducking under the whistling spear shaft. The loaded butt hit the tree trunk and bounced back. The huge Sarmatian swinging it yelped as the shaft vibrated in his hand, stinging like a burning coal.

Roxolanus, the guard captain who thought he was a god.
The Sarmatian was in full-length armor as though he were riding his horse toward the army of Carce, as he probably had done in the past, and as Corylus had watched his fellows do.

“Do you think Lord Melino pays you to stand around?” Roxolanus said. His long coat was of scales of auroch horn sewn to overlap on a backing of leather. The skirts fell to his boot tops while he was standing, but they were split in the middle so that he could fork his saddle. “After I beat you to an inch of your life, I’ll throw you out into the ditch where lazy bastards belong!”

The gardeners were probably none of Roxolanus’ business, but Corylus had met his share of officious officers before. He’d met Sarmatians too.

The gardeners and the other guards were running toward the trouble, so Corylus had to finish it fast. “Your mother’s too ugly for a whore so we use her for a toilet!” he said in Sarmatian.

“What?”
said Roxolanus. Corylus’ Sarmatian was rusty and he’d never been fluent in the language, but he’d clearly gotten his point across. “You little worm!”

Roxolanus lifted the spear over his head, preparing to pin Corylus to the pine tree. Corylus lunged forward, putting all his weight behind the hoe whose blade he’d planted in the Sarmatian’s crotch, through the slit in his armor. He stepped aside as Roxolanus squealed, doubled up, and fell forward.

“Keep away!” Corylus shouted. He tried to shout, anyway. He was gulping air and too focused on his immediate enemy to care what else was happening.

The Sarmatian wore a peaked cap covered with boars’ tusks. It slipped askew when Roxolanus hit the ground with his face. Corylus kicked it away, reversed his hoe, and rapped the Sarmatian across the lower skull with the handle. He could have cut the man’s spine with the blade, but he’d caused enough trouble already.

Roxolanus twitched and went still.
Hercules! Maybe I killed him after all.

Corylus backed away, gasping through his open mouth. He thrust the hoe into the ground to help support his wobbly knees. The whole business had taken only seconds, but it had taken
all
of him for those seconds.

His surroundings came into focus again. To his surprise, the gardeners and the remaining guards had stopped at a distance from him. Roxolanus was moaning, so he would probably live. He might sing at a higher pitch, but that was all right.

“And who are you?” said someone behind Corylus. “Since I don’t believe you’re a gardener.”

Corylus turned and straightened. He had his breath back, or enough of it.

Facing him was Melino, whom Corylus had seen in Lucinus’ visions. In the flesh Melino seemed older, though his face was even more boyish than Corylus had thought.

Melino wore a long shimmering-white tunic. On his left hand was a ring whose ruby flared momentarily brighter than the sun. His fist was clenched, holding the ruby toward Corylus like a shield—or the point of a spear.

“My name is Torquatus,” Corylus said. “When I’m attacked, I respond. I’ll leave your grounds now.”

“Oh, no,” said Melino. “I have a much better use for you.”

CHAPTER
VIII

“Come inside,” Melino said abruptly, gesturing toward the door through which he had appeared. The back porch of the house was walled with a carved wooden screen; it allowed someone inside to look onto the garden while remaining in shadowed anonymity.

Corylus was still holding the hoe; he stretched it out so that Kurnos could take the hickory handle. He would have liked to keep it with him, but that would be impolitic, and he didn’t imagine that it would help very much against the ruby ring. Whatever the ruby did.