The Curse-Maker (37 page)

“We didn't all kill Bibax, Favonianus.” The priest's voice was icy. “I was under the impression that we were here to find out who did—not to be lectured like a pack of naughty schoolboys.” He looked around the room to the accompaniment of several murmurs.

My smile was enough to shut them up. “Very true, Papirius. You didn't all kill him. One of you did. I'll sort out the crimes for you, since some of you may not be able to count that high. One—the crimes of murder and blackmail. Committed by Bibax and an unknown partner.”

Vitellius leaned forward and licked his lips, his balding head glistening with sweat.

“Crime two. Bibax and his partner were employed by Materna—to get rid of Aufidio, and any other minor problems for the mine. Materna knew every dirty secret in Aquae Sulis and made them all that much dirtier. She used people, that's how she got her kicks. She used Faro, who helped spread rumors about the haunted mine.

“Dewi was probably a test case. She suspected how it worked but wanted to make sure. So she cursed the boy, and when Bibax tried to blackmail her, he finally found something more foul and rotten than himself. Materna was a hulking mass of envy and hate. Power was her desire, and cruelty was her lover, and Aquae Sulis gave her both. For a time.”

I stared at Secundus. “I don't think there's a person in this room who isn't glad she's dead.”

He held his daughter and looked through the wall. I wondered what he saw.

“Materna was at the crux of every crime in this city—until
Ultor.
He's crime three. Somebody killed Bibax. Was it his partner? Or someone else? Someone they were blackmailing, perhaps?”

My eyes lingered on Sestius. His mouth was open, froth on his lips.

“I was asked to solve Bibax's murder, and do it in a hurry. Then Calpurnius was killed. He tried to join the murder team, the oldest business in the world. Still killed by
Ultor
—still crime three.

“Faro was next. Materna ordered him murdered. Seems her cock wouldn't crow for her. She ate him instead.”

Secunda began to make noise. Her father hushed her, held her tight. She struggled. It was too late for that.

“The person who helped her was Bibax's old partner. Remember him? Doomed to be used, to be blackmailed?

“She tried to frame me for Faro's murder, stupidly, in a hurry. Then the mine pulled out, and we were next on the murder list. My wife and I. Instead of killing us, though, Bibax's partner decided to get rid of Materna. To free himself. From a long history of bowing and scraping, always playing the master but living the life of a slave. First to Bibax, then to Materna, but always—always to … Papirius.”

I looked at him. “Isn't that right, Octavio?” I asked. My voice was gentle.

Prunella needed a drink. Badly. Her hands shook as she held on to his arm. “What—what does he mean?”

“You needed money. You're a gambler. It's a disease with you, and it's eaten away your life like a leper's face. You sold land to Philo—for cheap, because you needed the money. But he won't buy more. The mine's gone. You were an orderly and knew enough about medicine and drugs to help Bibax. Above all, you had access. Access to the baths.”

He took a step toward me, but Ligur and Draco blocked his way. He looked from side to side, trapped.

“You could blackmail people here. Leave notes. Listen to conversations while you scurried through the walls like a rat. I don't know what Bibax remembered about you—maybe you embezzled some money, maybe you murdered a man—but he used you, didn't he? Used you to murder.”

Prunella collapsed in a heap on the floor, crying and hanging on to his legs. He stared at me, looking straight ahead. Papirius drew away from him.

I said softly: “You killed them all, Octavio. You and your greed, your hate, your desire for power. Materna recognized it. She smelled it, rooted it out. She used it—and you—like everybody did. So you killed her.”

Ligur and Draco stepped behind and around Prunella and held his arms. Papirius looked at me. I nodded. He motioned with his hand, and slaves appeared from the other room. They took Octavio from my men. Still he said nothing.

“Arcturus—Arcturus—are you sure…” Philo sounded worried.

“Yeah, Philo. I'm sure.”

Papirius led Octavio away. Prunella screamed, throwing herself in front of them, and Draco helped pick her up. We all watched as if it were a play. Which, in a sense, it was.

Footsteps echoed on the stone, and we could hear the creak of the big door shut behind them. Voices erupted, and some—like Grattius and Sestius—took the opportunity to drift away.

Secundus and Secunda sniped and quarreled, voices filled with bitterness. They finally left, the daughter casting one more baleful look over her shoulder at me, before she gathered her mantle around her and glided out of the room.

It was about the sixth hour of night. The warm human bodies left the bath, and cold took their place, curling up against the yellow stone. I listened again to the lap of the water.

Sulpicia and Vitellius walked ahead slowly. Drusius kept behind them, sulking. As they crossed the opening—the window where she'd thrown her bracelet—she looked up. Her voice rose, panic in it, filling the room.

“What—what's that—do you see it, Vitellius? That white thing…”

Drusius and Philo rushed to the window. The figure of a woman hovered over the spring. As white and cold as a good death. The mouth opened, and a sound came out.

“Philo … Philo…”

His hand crept up to his face. “Oh—my—God—”

“Philo—why? Why did you—did you make me—”

Tears welled and ran down his fine-boned face. He leaned as far as he could through the window, the others backing away. Stretched his long, dexterous fingers toward the vision.

“It was for you, Fulviana—the temple—don't you see—it was for you—”

His back arched suddenly, as stiff as if he were already dead. He turned around, light burning behind his eyes.

“You see her—don't you? You see her, Arcturus? You understand. The temple. I could make it up to her. I—I waited, all these years, until I could start over, and I found Aquae Sulis, and I was happy. Until … until Bibax came.”

He turned his head to look again, to make sure she was still there. She said nothing to him, but her gown was still billowing on the wind. A gust blew in from the spring where she hovered, floating.

He looked again at me, excitement contorting his face. “But I found a way to make it better. He remembered me—from Hispania. But the money—I could get money, and build the temple—for her. I only agreed on sick people. Or old people. The boy—he was better off. And I could build it, Arcturus, and she would come to me—and she has—don't you see? Don't you understand?”

He turned back to the vision, but it wasn't there anymore. He swung his head in a panic.

“I understand, Philo.”

“But where is she—she isn't there—where…”

Then the horror of it hit him, and hit him hard enough to make him crumple, and his long, lean body folded like a lady's fan. There was nothing left in Philo. The delusion, the hope, the guilt, the love, the hate. All gone.

Papirius came out of one of the other rooms with Octavio. They looked at him. He was still kneeling on the floor.

He raised his face to mine. “Where's Gwyna?” He asked it with tenderness.

“She was—she was outside, Philo.”

He nodded, his fingers playing with a ring he always wore. Papirius and Octavio didn't know what to do. I heard light steps and looked up to see my wife, a gray mantle covering the filmy white gown. She was staring at Philo, her eyes full of tears.

He sensed her before he heard her. A smile lit his features again.

“Fulviana,” he said softly.

She held a hand out to him. He took it and stood up.

“You have to go with Papirius and Octavio, Philo.”

“Yes, my love. You'll be with me?”

She looked at me. I nodded. Then she stared into Philo's eyes. “I'll be with you, Philo.”

He nodded, and almost looked like himself—but the eyes weren't the same.

For a moment, he seemed to see Gwyna as she really was. He looked at Papirius, whose face was longer and graver than usual. Draco and Ligur were waiting in the background, but he wouldn't run. Not Philo. Not even this Philo.

Then he looked at me, and his forehead creased with recognition. He reached out a hand, touching her green necklace. He gave Gwyna a smile—a smile of triumph, even of happiness. A smile of love.

Then he twisted the top of his ring and shoved it in his mouth. He was dead in less than half an hour.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Even in death the bastard craved drama. Trust Philo. Always playing god, down to the end.

“He justified everything in order to build that temple. He bought most of the property down there to make it happen. That's what made me suspect him. He'd lied about not knowing where Bibax lived, because he owned the property.”

“Did he really—really kill everyone?”

We were at home, no sleep possible.

“Bibax probably killed Aufidio by himself. Philo—at first, anyway—only agreed to kill people who were already sick or old or infirm. You remember what he said at dinner? He told himself they were better off—that he was helping them.”

“You mean like Sestius's aunt?”

“Exactly. No one thought she was sick. Sestius made a comment about it—said she was more ill than anyone knew. A woman like that would always go to the top doctor in town. Who was Philo.”

She folded her hands in her lap and stared at them. “Ardur—do you think Philo wanted you to find out?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. He lied about the
strychnos,
pretended not to be sure about Materna's symptoms. He knew the drug—it's used in temples like his Endovelicus all the time. The worshipper eats a little and thinks she sees the god. Maybe he wanted to be caught, wanted it to be over. I know he didn't want to kill us. Or at least you.”

“So he killed Materna instead.” She shivered. “How he must have hated her.”

“The slap that day was real. She took over Bibax's role—and made him pound nails into Faro's skull. And he was protective of you. Wanted you.”

“Because I looked like Fulviana.”

“Not only that, Gwyna. I think Philo loved you for yourself.” She leaned over and kissed my lips. It had been difficult to say. “He could never kill you. Or see you suffer. I think that's why he tried to help me. If he had more time, of course, he might've convinced himself you'd be happier with him. Then he could've gotten me out of the way. Materna hated you, and was cruel to you, and that made him hate her all the more. That's why he made her suffer.”

“What did Bibax remember, to get him involved in the first place? He must have blackmailed Philo with something.”

I hesitated. “I think something to do with Fulviana.”

“But he loved her!”

“And was responsible for her death.”

She shook her head. “I don't understand it. What about the young girl? The one that met Faro?”

I scratched my chin. “I'm glad you were the only one who remembered that. I left it out with Octavio. Philo's servant girl.”

“I remember. Were they lovers?”

“Probably. He was a man, after all.”

She squeezed my hand. “So the girl picked up and delivered things—”

“When he needed her to. She doesn't know anything. I'm sure he never confided in anyone—he was too smart—and what I said about the baths, when Octavio was playing his part—that could really apply to anyone in town. Everyone goes there, every day. Access wasn't a problem.”

Her brow wrinkled. “Ardur—”

“Yes, my love?”

“I don't understand why he signed those sheets
‘Ultor.'
Because he hated Bibax? It doesn't make sense.”

It was almost the first hour of morning. I said it slowly.

“Because he didn't kill Bibax. Or Calpurnius.”

“What? Who—”

“Fulviana—the woman he loved—the woman he said he couldn't save, when she became pregnant—”

“What about her?”

“She was another man's wife.”

*   *   *

The light was rising over the hills, casting a pale pink light on the yellow soil. The shop was closed. Dust covered the counter.

I tapped on the door; nobody answered. I thought we'd try the spring.

We found him there, leaning against the side of a rail, using it to support his frail body. He was holding a pouch of cut and inscribed gemstones, pouring them one at a time into his hand. I recognized them. His best work, the ones he was saving for the future.

I asked him: “Where's Buteo?”

He turned away from the water. Aquae Sulis was beginning to wake, the sounds of roosters cackling and open doors banging, echoing through the streets. We didn't have much time.

Natta kept his back to the railing, his hand, misshapen from years of work, clutching the pouch. He didn't answer. He looked at Gwyna.

“You brought your beautiful lady, Arcturus? So beautiful. You like the necklace? And the ring?”

She was still wearing them from last night, and her hands drew up to feel the glass between her fingers. He smiled.

“They were hers. Now they are yours. You look—you look very much like her.”

“Natta … where's Buteo?”

The gems rattled in the pouch as his hands shook. “Where you cannot touch him. Where no one can touch him. It was time.”

“But Philo is dead! I told you yesterday I would—I would take care of everything. Why did you—”

“Because it is my right … and because—because, my young friend—it is difficult to stop. Once you have tasted it—tasted the power—it is hard to end it, and Buteo became a part of it. Part of the curse, the
homo maledictus
you have been looking for. So I gave him something—something to help him sleep.”