Kelli Stanley - The Curse-Maker

He was wrapped up in several mantles, but he uncovered his mouth. The voice was middle-aged, smooth, educated. A Roman voice. “I wanted to meet you, and I believe you wanted to meet me.”

“Who the hell are you?”

The voice laughed. “A direct question-but not a direct hit. Let’s just say I own the shovel.”

So the syndicate had come out to play. I got a little closer to the horse. “It wasn’t hard enough. What makes you think you are?”

He pushed some more cloth off of his face, probably trying to see me better, but he left enough to keep him completely in shadow. His voice not quite so amused. “We’re not wrestlers. You’re a doctor and I’m a businessman. I’m not looking for your soft spot. If I were…”

He lifted himself up in the saddle slightly and turned to look at the house. My hands were slippery around the pick. I tried to control my voice. He couldn’t see my face, either, not clearly.

“What is it you want?”

“I told you. To meet you. Weren’t you looking for me?”

“No. I don’t give a fuck about you. You’re legion bait. I suppose you mean I made enough noise, you heard from Grathus-and came to find me. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Well, it gives us an understanding. So now that I have found you-”

“You’re trying to decide what to do with me.”

The figure was silent for a moment, as if it were throwing a die and waiting to see what turned up. “The governor is leaving. But you knew that.”

“So?”

“So you’ll need new friends. People who can protect you. You’ve angered a good many people. The procurator-”

“The ex-procurator. Is that how you got your mining contract?”

He sat up stiffly. “I thought you might be intelligent enough to-”

“You thought I might be bought-but I don’t worship money. I also don’t work with men who won’t show their faces and hire killers and rot out towns like the plague.”

Outrage poured through the layers of clothing, his gloved hand a tight fist on the reins. His voice was soft. “You could afford that pose-once. But now … now, Arcturus-you’ve got a wife. Maybe a family coming. Will you spit on money then? Or will you run to the governor-who won’t be in a position to help you?”

“Say what you came to say and get the hell out of here.”

He watched me for a long minute. It came out abruptly. “We’re leaving town. Pulling out. The mine is closed.”

“What do you mean, leaving town?”

“I mean no investment. No temple, no bath. Our dealings with Aquae Sulis are through. Our local representative-”

“Grattius?”

A derisive rasp. “Grattius is a buffoon. Our representative got a little out of hand. Aquae Sulis isn’t a good place for business anymore. So I came by-as a courtesy-to let you know you can call the legion in whenever you want. They won’t find anything. The silver’s all gone.”

“You underestimate the legion.”

“You overestimate the governor. He’ll be in Rome soon, and no one will give a good goddamn about a little mine in a little corner of Britannia.”

“You seem to know Agricola. Or maybe think that you do.”

I could see his teeth in the dark. “I know enough.”

“Who’s the local representative?”

The teeth got bigger. “You’re the clever doctor. You figure it out.”

We stared at each other for a few seconds. Finally, I said: “Is that all?”

“For now. I’ll be going. Don’t try to stop me-there are seven men in various locations around the villa, all skilled mercenaries and very well armed.”

I’d moved closer to his horse a few inches at a time. I looked up at him. “I don’t want to stop you. I want you to get the hell off this property.”

“You made your noise, native. It was loud enough for us to pay you a call. If I hear you again, you won’t be shouting.” He paused for a minute, then added softly: “You’ve got a weak spot now, hard man.”

He tried to rein in the horse, but I grabbed the bridle. “Let me give you some information, since you’ve been so helpful. If you fucking bastards ever even look at my wife, you’ll be begging me. And it won’t be to go on living.”

The raspy chuckle bit my ears. “But you would never know, Arcturus. You wouldn’t be there-and she wouldn’t tell you.”

I buried the hook in his leg. The leather shin wraps ripped, and I felt the flesh quiver. Then I yanked the hook forward, dragging it around the circumference of his calf, until I was in danger of hitting the horse.

He screamed and clutched at it, and by instinct I ducked. An arrow whizzed by and stuck in the hawthorn tree. Another one flew from the rock where my men were but missed. Down on the path, I heard shouts and a clank of metal.

He was holding on to his leg, galloping down the hill. Footsteps ran by chasing him. I shouted for the servants to grab what they could and follow me. Somebody lit a torch, and we ran down the pathway until we could see a group of men in a circle. Draco and the slaves. They were holding four mercenaries at sword point.

Draco’s face lit like a torch when he saw me. He’d spotted their men and circled behind them. Then he found their horses and figured capturing the mounts wasn’t the same thing as an outright attack. When he heard the shouts, he tried to avenge my death. Fortunately, I was around to appreciate the effort.

The walk back up the hill felt like a triumph. The slaves started to sing, the burliest ones nudging the mercenaries forward with sword points. I sent one of the others to the legion outpost. Soldiers would pick up the men in a few hours, but meanwhile they’d be bound and gagged and harassed by the servants.

When the procession reached the front of the house again, I saw Gwyna standing in the door. She was holding a knife. “Ardur-I was so worried. My God-you’re wounded-”

Everyone was quiet while I looked down in the torchlight at my new tunic. There was a bloodstain on the right side.

I reached in and pulled out the hoof pick. A chunk of leg was still attached.

“Not mine, sweetheart. Just a souvenir from our visitor.”

The slaves shouted, some waving swords in the air. I heard “curse” several times, and someone was earnestly explaining to one of the women that I had magical powers and couldn’t be killed.

I handed the pick back to Lineus, who gave it to Marchoc. Draco was explaining to Ligur where to keep the prisoners-the woodshed-and how far apart they should be and how often they should be given water.

I wasn’t going to bother with questioning them. Too many questions tonight. Besides, they were mercenaries. They wouldn’t know the Aquae Sulis contact. They could help the legion track down the syndicate-maybe. If anybody cared to find it. The bastard was right about that.

Gwyna was grabbing my arm and leading me inside. “Sit down-let me-”

“What are you doing?”

“Taking care of you. I thought I’d give you a bath, and then-”

“Just get me my old tunic. We’ve got a dinner appointment.”

She stared at me, her mouth open, until I closed it with a kiss. She kissed me back, and I didn’t care if the servants saw. Another faint shout rose from outside.

God, I was hungry.

We were about an hour overdue. I leaned against the cushions. The litter swayed to the steady footfalls of the bearers, but I wasn’t in the mood for a lullaby. I’d come close to killing a man. I was hungry for food, still hungry for blood. Always hungry for my wife. I watched Gwyna as she gazed out at the soft rain.

She was wrapped in a shiny golden tunic that glittered when she moved. A twilight-colored mantle draped her shoulders. She wasn’t hiding anything in that outfit.