The Curse-Maker (17 page)

I stood up again, slowly, looked at what had been Calpurnius, and said a small prayer for the poor bastard. I wasn't sure if anyone else would. Then I cradled the lamp and made my way back out of the hole. They were waiting for me.

“Well?”

I ignored Papirius, brushed off some mud. I wished I could brush off the image of Calpurnius's face. I turned to Philo.

“How did you know it was murder?”

He reddened slightly. “The look on his face. I turned him around to see if he was breathing at all. I assumed—well, I assumed with a look like that—”

“You assumed right. He was poisoned.”

Gasps all around.

Grattius shook his fat head. “Poisoned? Somebody poisoned a drain cleaner?”

I could barely make out the small, dirty figure hiding behind Grattius's bulk. I shoved the
duovir
aside and walked over to the man shrinking in the shadows.

Papirius glided over immediately. “This is Senicio. He was the other cleaner who was supposed to work tonight. He found the body.” The head priest gave me a look that was supposed to mean something. “I trust him.”

That made one of us. I rarely trusted men trusted by a man I didn't. Senicio quaked in his sandals, his feet looking like the bottom of an ugly statue.

“You found the body?”

“Y-yes, sir. Calpurnius—Calpurnius never showed up.”

“Were you supposed to meet him here? What time?”

Papirius intervened again. “Sixth hour of night. They empty the spring, and that gives it a few hours to get some water back. We make sure the baths are clean and full before we empty it, as it takes a full day and night to refill.”

I gave Papirius a smile he tried to give back. “Thanks. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to talk to Senicio.”

Senicio shifted his small frame, picking at a wart on his left cheek.

“When was the last time you saw Calpurnius alive?”

He glanced over at Papirius as if to ask for permission, and I moved sideways to block his view.

“When?”

“Last night. Maybe—maybe the third hour, or so. He was eating at a tavern we like to go to. I stopped in for some wine, and Calpurnius was there.”

“Did he act any differently? Or say anything to you?”

Senicio ran his tongue over dry lips. “Uh—no. At least, not really. Nothing specific. He—he just seemed excited, is all.”

“Did you ask him why?”

He shook his head so vehemently that I thought he might make himself sick. “No. I—I just had a drink and left.”

I studied him for a few minutes. The squirming started almost immediately.

“Are you sure he didn't say anything, Senicio?”

“He—he didn't say anything, but—he was eating—what he was eating cost more than—more than usual.”

“He was splurging on a meal, in other words?”

“Yes—that's it. I thought it was funny, you know, why tonight, when we have to clean the drain, and it's not special, or anything. He—he just said he was celebrating.”

Papirius jumped in. “He said he was celebrating?”

The smaller priest cringed. “Yes, sir. That's what he said.”

I changed tactics. “When did you realize something was wrong, Senicio? That was quick thinking.”

The little man expanded under the praise.

“Well, he—he never showed up. I called him, and I went into the tunnel—just a little ways—and didn't—didn't see him, and then Gregax opened the sluice, and I was busy.”

I glanced over at Papirius and made my tone friendly and conversational. “Find anything good? For Sulis, I mean?”

Senicio shook his head again before the head priest could react. “Nothing much. Some gold coins I managed to catch. Heavy things stay in the channel, and that's what I was looking for when I found—when I found—”

“When you found poor Calpurnius. I see.”

I paused a few moments. “Senicio—did Calpurnius have eye trouble?”

“Yes, sir. Most of us do, in fact.”

“Did he take anything for it? Anyone in particular did he see?”

“Not that I know of, sir. He was the suspicious type, if you know what I mean. Liked to try things himself.”

I nodded. “Thanks.”

The junior priest looked like he might fall down. Papirius asked drily, “Are you done, Arcturus? May I send him away to get clean?”

“Please.”

Octavio asked no one in particular, “Should I open the baths, do you think?”

The question brought Grattius to life. “Of course you must open the baths. Nothing to do with the baths, eh, Arcturus? But you never explained yourself. Why would someone want to poison this drain person?”

I brought out the piece of lead from my tunic pocket.

“
Ultor
again?” Grattius exploded. “But we've asked you to stop this
Ultor
business. Bad for the town! Now here it is again!” Grattius glared at me through his piggish little eyes.

Philo said softly: “How do you figure on poison, Arcturus?”

I stared at him. “Same way you did. His expression. He was murdered. The murderer watched him die, then dragged him into the drain. They must've arranged to meet close by.”

“Do you have a guess as to what it was?”

“Aconitum.”

The word sent a shiver through the rest of the men, while Philo looked at me thoughtfully.

“Hecate's poison,” murmured Papirius.

Philo was nodding. “The pain, the paralysis. Even the itching. It makes sense. How was it administered?”

“Probably through an eye cream.”

Grattius exploded. “What about this
Ultor
business, Arcturus? Does this mean
Ultor
's one of these eye doctors, always trying to sell—”

“Not necessarily. In fact, it's possible that this may be the last we'll hear of
Ultor
.”

“What? You know who he is?”

“No. Still, I have a theory, and if Bibax and Calpurnius were killed for revenge, and I'm right about why, I don't think
Ultor
will kill anyone else.”

A broad smile spread across Grattius's face. “Well, that is good news. It would be decent of you to catch 'em, of course, but as long as he stops this murder business—”

He turned to the others brusquely. “Gentlemen, I'm cold. I'm going home.”

He wagged his head at Octavio. “You mind the baths—I'll be in this afternoon, and I want my massage. Nobody needs to know about this priest.” He twisted his neck toward Papirius. “And you—you handle telling the ones that need to know—you know, the other cleaners. Get the body out of there and give it a simple burial. At night.”

He shivered. “This air isn't good for me. See you later, gentlemen.”

He waddled his bulk back up the stairs and the pathway out. Papirius made some priestly noises about taking care of the dead, grabbed Octavio by the arm, and told him to get the furnace slaves, presumably to haul out Calpurnius. They both left, Papirius majestically, Octavio scurrying to do his bidding.

Philo was watching me. “So you think Bibax and Calpurnius were partners, then? Partners in the murders you've uncovered?”

I shrugged. “Makes sense. And if they were partners, then
Ultor
—someone who is being blackmailed, probably, or someone who figured out what they were doing and lost by it—
Ultor
's job is over.”

He thought it over. “I see. You will still try to find him, of course?”

“Try is the operative word.”

He patted me on the shoulder. “I'm sure you'll succeed.
Aconitum
was a brilliant deduction.”

“Not really. It adds to the allure—all the associations with Hecate and the Underworld. Makes it seem like
Ultor
isn't a person.”

We were walking up the ramp toward ground level. The sun finally agreed to make an appearance.

“Shall I see you later today?”

I shook my head. “I don't feel much like the baths.”

Philo smiled sadly. “Death is the ugliest thing in the world, and we see too much of it.”

“Especially in Aquae Sulis.”

He stared at me, patted me again on my upper arm, and walked away. I wasn't sure whether he swallowed the story. The others did, without even tasting it.

The
Ultor
who killed Bibax and the
Ultor
who killed Calpurnius were two different people. That lead was written with capitals, deeply etched. This was a copy of a murder that was just three days old.

Calpurnius was killed because he made an appointment with someone—someone he thought he could shake down. He could collect from that someone to not tell me what he'd figured out, and he could collect from me to tell me a little of it. He played both sides against each other, and got the life squeezed out of him. And the poor bastard suffered. He wasn't feeling any
bono
now.

I took a deep breath and looked at the spring, filling up with the bubbling, eternal water. Time for my interview with Faro Magnus.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Breakfast was ready by the time I got back home, something simple and quick because she knew I'd be in a hurry. She was watching me stuff my mouth with oats and honey. Our eyes met.

“I wanted to talk to you before you left. I don't want what happened—I don't want it to distract you.”

I swallowed hard, reaching for a gulp of cider. “I don't trust Mumius to hold Faro for long. If I don't show up early…”

“I know. I found out things yesterday I haven't had a chance to tell you.”

Deep circles under her eyes this morning. She reached over and put her hand on mine.

“Two people murdered. There's something evil here, and it frightens me. I can't help it. Perhaps, Ardur … perhaps the gods sent you here to fight it.”

She took her hand back and put it away before it could distract me. Then she leaned into the basket chair, tucking her legs underneath her, and stared at her half-eaten breakfast.

I said: “I'll fight, but they—whoever the hell ‘they' are—don't fight clean. They've targeted you. I don't know if it's connected to Bibax, and I don't care. You're my priority, goddamn it. Protecting you.”

She looked away, her voice low. “Of course you protect me. I can protect myself, too. I've been through the worst they can do.”

I swallowed my oatmeal and stood up to hold her, but she waved me back into the chair, face intent.

“About yesterday. Prunella told me the name of the man Secunda was in love with. I didn't think it was important until now.”

“Who was it?”

“Faro.”

“Then why the hell—”

“Why was he at the party?” Her mouth formed a tight, bitter line. “I think Mama was saving him for herself.”

“You mean Materna—”

Gwyna shuddered. “Please, Ardur. Don't mention her name. The sight of her face last night—after—”

“What makes you think Secundus would tolerate—even given the chance that Faro could make himself—”

“Secundus is totally dependent on her. He's afraid of her. Surely you saw that last night. Although I don't think it's come to anything but fantasy on Materna's part, she broke up their romance, hoping to hold on to Faro, and then threw a bone to her daughter.”

“In the form of Mumius. One better left buried.”

“He's not that bad.”

“I'm reserving judgment until I see whether he's still holding the bastard.”

“Faro is very good-looking, you know. It's understandable.” She was looking at her fingernails.

I felt my lips pinch up against my teeth. “He reminds me of Philo.”

She sighed. “You wouldn't say such things if you really knew him. Poor Philo.”

“ ‘Poor Philo?' Why the hell is he so poor?”

“He was worried about me yesterday, but respectful. He spoke very highly of you, and said he'd heard about curse-deaths from patients, but never really paid attention. Thought it was part of the ghost-mine nonsense.”

“So why ‘poor Philo'?”

“Oh, nothing important. He's from Hispania—Lusitania, I think. When he was a young man, he was a temple doctor for a healing god. Endo … Endovelicus or something. And he lost the only woman he ever truly loved.” She looked down at the table and blushed. “He said I reminded him of her.”

I looked around to see what was making the noise and realized it was my teeth grinding. So the bastard made the most out of his age. The smarmy bastard.

Gwyna looked up at me. “It's just a story. Don't be too hard on Philo.”

“Did you find out anything from anyone who didn't want to sleep with you?”

The color in her cheeks increased. “Don't be vulgar. I tried to talk to that boy's grandmother—the one that died.”

“His name was Dewi.”

“She wouldn't tell me anything. Gave me a baleful look, and kept making the sign against the evil eye.”

She shook her head, and a couple of stray blond tendrils tumbled down the side of her face. “The people … the women … they're so afraid. Something needs to be done.”

I stood up, shoving the basket chair aside hard enough to make it squeak. “I'm going to do something right now.”

She looked down at her shaking hands. Behind the grief, anger. The Trinovantian woman I married.

“I hope you can find out who put the son of a bitch up to it. I'd gladly slit his throat myself.”

I took her by the shoulders. “Leave it to me. I'll get back as soon as I can. We can separate ourselves from the Aquae Sulis social scene for one goddamn day.”

She grimaced. “I may as well let the talk spread before I start to wade in it.”

I walked out, leaving her to keep busy with the servants. Action was better for Gwyna. Normal. Not like the lethargy. Fury hit me full force, and my hands—my long, nimble doctor's hands—were clenched and shaking.