Kelli Stanley - The Curse-Maker

“He’s-he’s inside.”

I looked over at Philo. “Have you-”

He shook his head before I could get the question out. “No. I-I turned him over, saw that it was too late, and suggested we get you.”

I grunted and headed down into the drain. Small steps were built into the rock for the cleaners, who would come along and replace missing bricks or repair leaks to the pipe whenever the sluice wasn’t open. The wide, half-pipe channel carried the bulk of the water and mud through the hole. In the darkness of it, presumably in the channel, was the body of Calpurnius.

I looked up to where they were all staring down at me, and held up a hand.

“Somebody give me a goddamn lamp.”

Philo handed me a two-wick portable with a sturdy handle and a picture of Apollo and Daphne carved on it. The light was flickering, and the cold, dank air from the black hole of the drain threatened to snuff it out permanently.

I shielded it with my left hand and walked in, stooping half a foot so I could fit. The acrid odor of the burning wick blended with the volcanic bite of the water and the clean smell of wet earth. The walls were still wet and slippery a couple of feet up the sides, and a fine brown and yellow silt oozed along the channel like snail slime. I got about five feet in and finally saw Calpurnius.

He was lying facedown in the channel, his legs bent behind him in an unnatural pose by the force of the water and mud that had run over him. Poor bastard. The water didn’t leave him any cleaner.

His robe was caked in silt, his thin hair coated with it. His hands were bent into claws, as if he tried to scratch his way out.

I set the lamp down gingerly, and hoped like hell it wouldn’t blow out. I had just discovered that I didn’t like drains.

Calpurnius was heavier than he looked, and there wasn’t much room to maneuver. I tried not to let his head hit the terra-cotta when I wrestled him over, but his legs and arms smacked the hard surface with a thump.

“What’s going on? Are you all right, Arcturus?” Philo’s voice echoed weirdly in the muddy tunnel.

“Yeah. I’ll be a few minutes.”

I thought for a minute the lamp was playing tricks on me. Calpurnius’s face was twisted into something inhuman. The tongue extended, lips drawing over teeth in a grimace of absolute horror. Mud filled the mouth and nose and eyes, which had been open when the water came.

I felt his hands. They hung toward his side and were curved as if he tried to scratch himself. Stiffness wasn’t fully formed. The drain was cold, but the water and mud were warm. That made it hard to tell.

Neck was splotchy. Ground-in dirt on the back of his head, what looked like blood. I felt the skull gingerly. The skin was broken along the back. Shit. I should’ve caught it earlier. I didn’t want to flip him again.

I lifted his arms and took a closer look at his fingers and the heel of his palms. There-more skin torn. Both hands. Confirmation. No need to check the legs.

I stood up and nearly cracked my head. I was running out of time, and missing something. The lamp was wavering with uncertainty. So was I.

I bent down again quickly, tried to scoop water from the channel into my hand. I poured a few drops on Calpurnius’s face. Not enough. Not nearly enough.

I tore a piece of his wet robe, using a jagged piece of flint that lay in the channel. His nose and his mouth disgorged finger-fulls of silt and mud. Then his mouth threw up a piece of lead.

It was wedged in, like Bibax’s, but was a thick, rectangular piece that could’ve come straight off a pipe. I pried it out between Calpurnius’s tortured lips and dunked it in the channel. Under the lamp I could just make out a thick, straight line dug in with a stylus. I tilted the lead until it caught the flame just right. It read ULTOR in capitals.

I tucked it into my tunic. One last place to check before we moved the body. I rubbed the mud out of Calpurnius’s eyes until I could see some of the iris. The rims were red and inflamed, like they always were-one reason he looked like a rat. But underneath the mud the skin glistened faintly, as if an unguent or cream had been rubbed in. That was before he was dragged facedown into the drain. Dead.

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?”