Kelli Stanley - The Curse-Maker

“Because-because I found something. A note. She left it in the cubicle, and I thought it was an accident. Then when I ran after her with it, she-she took it from me and kn-knocked me down and told me-told me not to tell anyone.” His eyes roamed back and forth between us. “Then I thought of you, and what you said-and I thought-”

“You thought right. You’re a good lad. Now-what did it say?”

He wrinkled his brow. “I don’t read so good, but I wrote down the letters. Here.”

He dug around in a fold of the tunic that didn’t have a hole and pulled out a scrap of tattered bark with writing on the back. He grinned, lopsided. “Somebody left it. One of the depilators told me it was a love letter. I wrote what her note said over it.”

It was hard to make out, and Gwyna sat next to me so we could both try.

“This looks like- finis maybe?”

“Yeah- Finis est. Then- illos -or maybe istos -and I think it says- caede.

We looked at each other. Aeron’s face was eager. “It is important? I know what ‘ finis ’ means-the end-but what about-”

I looked at him. The boy was old enough and poor enough to understand evil. “It says-‘It’s over. Kill them.’ ”

* * *

We had one of the slaves walk him home with ten denarii and two bottles of the best healing wine in Agricola’s cellar. It was enough money to quit working at the baths for a while, provided his mother and father didn’t drink it away.

Gwyna said: “Materna. I felt it. All along I felt it. But the proof, Ardur-how will we get the proof?”

“Without getting killed? I don’t know. The mine man is gone-he won’t be back-and he’s the only one who could identify her as the Aquae Sulis connection. I figure he sent word to Materna they were closing down. Maybe for her to handle any residual problems-like us. He wasn’t here to kill us that night. Just scare the hell out of us. He knew his bull mastiff was on the case.”

“Then why did they fire at you? And the mercenaries-”

“Because I stabbed him. I made the first move. I didn’t like the words in his mouth.”

She leaned forward. “I can take care of myself. I want you to know that.”

“I do know it. That’s not the point.”

We studied each other for a few moments. “All right,” she said grudgingly. “So then what?”

“That’s just it. The missing piece. Materna was leaving that note for someone else. A man.”

“Why a man?”

“Because only a man could’ve strangled Bibax and Faro.”

“But she’s big-and I’m sure she’s strong-”

“Materna is guilty of ordering murder, I’m sure, but she’s not physically capable of carrying it out-at least not that kind. Faro was quick, and muscled for his size. There’s no way she could’ve strangled him.”

“So she was leaving the note for a man. He’d know to go to a particular cubicle-”

“She always uses the same one, that’s what Aeron said-”

“-and he’d be in line-one of the early crowd. Unless he had a slave he could send in to reserve it for him-”

“-which is probably the case-”

“-and then he’d read it, and then…”

I let it dangle. “Then he’d do something about it. Exactly.”

We looked at each other again.

She took a deep breath. “Well, let’s go to town and see who tries to murder us.”

* * *

It took a couple of hours to prepare. We couldn’t trust any food or drinks not from our kitchen. Thank God the slaves were loyal.

Draco woke up late, and I told him what happened and asked him to go with Gwyna. She protested, not too much. She was scared. She’d been the focus of Materna’s bile, and she’d be in the same building, at the same time. If I knew Materna-she would want to watch Gwyna die.

I threw the thought against a wall. It made a small red splat of fear and slowly oozed down to the floor.

Materna, queen of the maggots, empress of the spiders. She’d leave a trail of slime and putrescence in her wake. All we had to do was follow it. Without getting killed.

I kept to my original plan. Start with Bibax. Go to where he lived. On the way, ask a few questions at the temple.

Gwyna and Draco left before I did. We kissed each other with a bit of desperation. I could feel her heart beating.

Trust wasn’t in my upbringing. I didn’t watch comedies, and I didn’t believe in happy endings. Watching your mother die can do that to you. So I figured I’d walk along the cruel streets of Aquae Sulis, my hands ready and my mouth mumbling a few prayers to the goddess.

I took Ligur with me. When we reached the foot of the hill, I sent him on ahead. Heavy footsteps always choked ideas. Gwyna would be mad at me, but that wasn’t exactly a new sensation.

Natta was standing outside his shop. He was leaning on a cane, stooped over more than usual. He didn’t see me at first; then a smile cracked his leathery face.

“Hello, my friend. More jewelry today?”

“Not today. How’s Buteo? His cough better?”

He was staring down the hill toward the town and spoke as though he couldn’t hear me.

“He will never be better.” His tone was final, and almost without pity.

“It didn’t sound that-listen, I know he wants to see Philo, but-”

Awareness flooded his face, and he smiled again. “Do not pay attention to an old man and his rambles. Buteo and I-we had a small disagreement. That is all. Some things-some things are best left wrapped. Hidden. Hidden and forgotten, even when you do not think you can forget. But he is a young man-like you-and disagrees.”

My mouth was a little dry. Maybe Buteo and I were alike in more than age. I put my hand on Natta’s arm.

“Listen-I’m not sure how to say this-but I think you’ll understand. There’s evil in Aquae Sulis, and it’s getting worse. There have been threats. Threats against me-and my wife.”

His eyes narrowed until the thick puffs of skin were all I could see. “Someone-someone has threatened your beautiful lady? No. No. That is wrong. It cannot be permitted.”

“Look, if Buteo knows anything-anything that could help-”

“I will tell him, Arcturus. I will tell him. Now, go-go help your lady. Protect her. Leave an old man to his thoughts.”

He hobbled back to the shadows, his stick dragging against the yellow stone. I stared after him, and waited, but all I heard was the wind, and the skittering of a dry oak leaf as it was blown along the path.

* * *

The rain cleaned the surface scum from the marketplace, not its foulest residue. Desperation called itself hope and tarted itself up in bottles of piss and vinegar, still hawking, still promising. Youth, beauty, health, love-sorry, can’t promise money, unless you use this to kill your aunt.

I looked around. I felt like I’d lived here all my life.

On the way to the temple, I checked the stalls selling eye ointments. Most of them would only blind you temporarily. All of them stank, and any of them could’ve been used to kill Calpurnius.

A few booths, far in the back and huddled in the shadow of the temple, offered dried aconitum root, if you knew the right way to ask. I did. Tell them you’re going away. To a place with a lot of scorpions, and you need something for the sting. Then when they show it to you, under the plank of mildewed wood, you pay them, and pay them well. Then they forget your face, and you forget you just bought deadly poison. Forget, that is, until you need it.

So anybody in Aquae Sulis-anybody at all, with the cash-could buy aconitum. Bibax and his partner-probably ordered by Materna, for reasons I couldn’t figure out yet-killed Dewi with it. Ultor -or a phony Ultor -killed Calpurnius.