Kelli Stanley - The Curse-Maker

Footsteps hurried along the pavement. Papirius was jogging along, not a dignified gait for a head priest. My head throbbed just from looking at him. He was followed by three underpriests. He looked from one to the other of us, his eyes lingering on Gwyna.

“Papirius.”

“Arcturus. What-what’s all this about? I understand it’s urgent.”

“You could say that. Take a look in the litter.”

He drew his eyebrows together. “I don’t like games. What do you want?”

I shrugged, and it was worth the jolt. “There’s a hard way and an easy way for everything, Papirius. I’ve got a concussion, and frankly, I don’t give a good goddamn which you choose. I was giving you the easy option. Since you don’t want to play…” I nodded to the litter bearers. “Bring it out.”

The tall, brawny men threw aside the drape; each grabbing an end of Faro, and lowered him like a sack of barley on the pavement. A small crowd was starting to gather. Flies already.

“What-what are you-that’s-”

“That used to be Faro Magnus. The former necromancer. I don’t think you can be a dead necromancer, do you? Seems like a conflict of interest.”

I reached in the litter and brought out the tin mask. I laid it next to Faro. “Maybe you didn’t recognize him without this.”

Papirius dragged his eyes up to meet mine. Little braziers of hatred burned behind them. “Why did you bring this-defilement-to the temple? What did you do … kill him?”

I rubbed my chin. More onlookers were starting to buzz their way in.

“No, Papirius-but someone wants me to think I did. One of the slaves found him on my doorstep this morning, and I’m not about to defile-as you like to put it-the governor’s villa with a corpse that was even more unsavory when it was alive. Your temple’s a little more used to dead bodies.”

Gwyna moved closer to me until she could feel my arm next to hers. Getting angry made my head feel better, and there was always plenty to get angry about around Papirius.

He stood there, robes stiff and irritable, fingers curved into a ball of frustration. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to get Grattius down here. Secundus, too-and Octavio and any other men on the council who know anything about the supposedly haunted mine. Faro was murdered because of it.”

“Meanwhile, you’re just-you’re just-”

“I’m just going to stand here and wait for you. And leave Faro the Great exactly where he is.”

He snapped an order to the other priests, cast a venomous look in my direction, and pivoted away, his robes trailing in the wind behind him.

Mutterings were getting louder, and the bodies and wagging tongues were making the temperature rise. A tight cluster was forming around the corpse. I ordered the bearers not to let anyone touch the body or get too close.

I whispered to Gwyna: “Are you all right? We’ll have to wait.”

She murmured: “Don’t worry about me.”

I squeezed her hand from beneath my tunic fold. A throaty laugh choked off suddenly. I wasn’t sure if it was because Sulpicia noticed the corpse or Gwyna.

She threaded through the growing crowd. “Arcturus-Gwyna. What is-what is that? My God-”

“It’s Faro the Great. He was left in that condition on our threshold this morning.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Getting some answers.” She raised her eyebrows, but there was more wariness and fear in her face than surprise. Her eyes drifted over to Gwyna and took her in like someone checking an inventory list. The smile was a little strained.

“I’m surprised you’re here. Don’t you find this all-distasteful?”

So she’d heard about the dinner party. Gwyna wove her arm into mine, smiled.

“Actually, yes-but I’m devoted to my husband. You know how it is.”

Sulpicia reddened. I changed the subject to something other than husbands and corpses.

“Where’s Vitellius?”

“I’m not sure. I was on my way to the baths when-”

“Sulpicia? Sulpicia!”

Not Vitellius. The young stonecutter shoved his way through the mob, his eyes bent on Sulpicia’s red hair.

“I thought I saw-”

He suddenly realized he was in a small clearing with four people. The growing crowd was packing in closer. Drusius flushed a becoming shade of rose, and Sulpicia’s mouth curled suggestively at the corners.

“ Salve, Drusius.” She could say a lot in two words.

Drusius nodded to me, bowed to Gwyna. She smiled, and Sulpicia immediately started brushing stone dust off his old tunic as if it were a candidate’s toga. He turned his head, finally seeing the body.

“Goddamn-Faro Magnus. Was he killed? Here?”

“He was killed, where I’m not sure. He was left on my doorstep. Thought I’d share the news.”

He stared at me. “I suppose you know what you’re doing.”

“Faro was murdered because of a dead lead mine haunted by live miners. Except it wasn’t lead, it was silver.”

Excited hum from the seventy-strong herd pressing in around us. Faro was more popular dead, but so was everybody in Aquae Sulis.

Drusius stepped forward excitedly. “Does this mean you found out something about my friend-Aufidio?”

“I think he was murdered. Because of the mine. Like Faro.”

He nodded. “Let me know if I can help. Who are you waiting for?”

“Priests. Council members.”

Drusius moved over to stand beside me, lowered his voice. “By the way-something I wanted to tell you. Remember I said there was something odd about Dewi-you know, the simpleton boy? When he died?”

“Yes?”

“Well, he kept saying there were ants crawling on him. Over and over. That’s what he said. Thought you’d want to know.”

More squeals and grunts, and an occasional thwack. Sulpicia clutched Drusius’s arm. Papirius was using a willow whisk to clear his way. Following him were Octavio and Philo.

Philo’s eyes were moist and concerned, mostly on Gwyna. Papirius wore his usual frown, more severe as the occasion warranted. Octavio gave Faro a quick glance and shudder, and spoke first.

“I don’t understand what this is about. Papirius said something about the mine. What does that have to do with-him?”

A sound that could curdle mother’s milk stabbed the humid air. An angry keening. Gloating in it, satisfied malice. A younger voice ululated in harmony.

“Mur-der-er! Mur-der-er!”

The crowd divided. She didn’t need a whip.

Materna hauled her beetle-eyed bulk with surprising grace into the center of the circle. She wailed again, a long, shrill cry, and tottered over to Faro. Then she slowly knelt and laid herself on top of his body. Secunda echoed her mother. The bearers were helpless. They didn’t want to touch the women.

I shoved Papirius aside. “Get up.”

She lifted her yellow jowls to the sky and shrieked again. The crowd was stunned and silenced. Then she pointed a fat, shaking finger at me.

“Murderer!”

Collective gasp. Whispers rose like moths to lamplight. I was about to get my fingers dirty and pull her up by the hair when someone else pushed passed me.

“Rise, you miserable old bitch. Rise and get off him. Or I swear before Sulis and Diana-I’ll rip your eyes out of your skull here and now.”

Gwyna’s voice didn’t quaver. All sound ceased. Slowly, Materna picked herself up from Faro’s dead body. Secunda was already standing by the outer fringe of the crowd.

I looked at Materna. It wasn’t easy. “Where’s Secundus?”

Someone shoved him forward from where he was hiding. Eager hands joined in, pushing him sideways until he almost fell. He finally reached the circle and crawled over to stand in Materna’s shadow. He couldn’t look up.