Kelli Stanley - The Curse-Maker

I was staring at the sickly yellow of the sunshine on the temple wall when I heard the whoosh of a long, old-fashioned robe and looked up to see old Memor walk by. I hadn’t seen him since the first dinner with Grattius. I was glad he wasn’t dead.

“Memor-Memor, wait.” I ran to catch up to him. For an old man, he could move fast.

“Can I help you with something?” His pale blue-white eyes peered closer.

“It’s Arcturus, Memor. The doctor. The one who’s trying to solve the murders.”

“What? You’re still here, young man? Why haven’t you gone home-can’t you find the villain, and have done with it?”

“There are too many. That’s one problem.”

He looked as though he could suddenly see me. “Yes-I told you so once. The curse. The curse on Aquae Sulis.”

He made a sign against the evil eye and turned to leave in a hurry.

“Wait-I want to ask you something.”

He paused, his back still to me, his creaky voice wary. “What do you want? I’ve told you what you need to know.”

I put my hands on his shoulders and turned him around to face me. “You’re a haruspex. Probably one of the few in Britannia-we don’t get much call for your gift in the North.”

“That is true.”

“In your professional opinion … is the source of the evil here-in the temple?”

His shrunken body seemed to grow in height. Or maybe I’d bent too close to the oculist creams. “You know your stories, boy. Think of the Hydra.”

“You mean all the different-”

“I mean one body. Many heads, heads that grow back, but with one body. It makes the curse grow. It is the curse.”

He held out a withered arm and lightly brushed my shoulder. “Memory lives longer than men do, and it feeds both love and hate. Until sometimes-sometimes-they become one.”

He hobbled away quickly, leaving me with a headache. Never ask a haruspex a direct question. All you get is lines lifted from the Sibylline books, and no smoking tripod to help you figure out what the hell they mean.

I rubbed my forehead. Love and hate. Memory. Feeding on a nice diet of bile mixed with greed and apathy. The mine was crooked. So what? The mine was money. Bring it into Aquae Sulis, build another bath, take some free lead. Turn a blind eye. They’re easy to come by-just buy some of this ointment.

I shook my head and walked on. I wasn’t there yet.

Senicio came out from below the Sacred Spring, smelling like wet earth. He heard my foot fidgeting on the stone before he saw me. He looked up, turning white beneath the layer of pipe sludge he was wearing as a cloak.

I tried to smile. “Senicio. Salve. They told me you were cleaning the pipes. I thought I’d wait.”

He scratched his hair, spreading some of the slimy green algae through it. Picked at the wart on his left cheek. “I-I told you everything that morning-”

“I know. You were very helpful.”

He looked at me doubtfully, as if no one had ever said that before, and he didn’t quite believe it, either. “So-so what do you want? Why’dya want to see me?”

I leaned back and held up the wall.

“Because I figured a man like you-a man serving the goddess-a man with-uh-powers, powers of observation-a man like you probably saw more than he realized at first. You’re important, Senicio.”

His mouth turned downward, and he looked around nervously. That line should’ve had him puffing and preening by now. Something smelled funny. Something more than him.

I backed off a little. Time to try another tactic.

“I need your help. I’m-this close.”

I should’ve known altruism wouldn’t work in Aquae Sulis. He looked away, picking his nose. I was running out of patience, so I got tough.

“Look, goddamn it, answer some questions and I’m through. I’ll give you money for a decent meal-like your old friend Calpurnius.”

The name of the dead man scared him. He looked around, making sure no one could hear. “All-all right. What do you-whaddya want to know?”

The curse was a tendril, reaching out to dark corners and unlikely throats, strangling any goodness out of them. It was green and rank, and sticky to the touch-and it was all over Senicio.

“The night you saw Calpurnius-you said he was celebrating. Why?”

His neck started to itch. “Because-because he was drinking-eating-spending money-”

“So? Maybe he felt like it. Sometimes men will do that even when they’re miserable. He said something to you, didn’t he? What was it?”

The itched moved to his collarbone. “Uh-I can’t really remem-”

“You remember. Tell me, goddamn it, or-”

A small squeal whistled between his teeth. I didn’t have to touch him-luckily for me. He looked both ways down the path and spoke in a whisper.

“I-I don’t know how you knew, but-but he did say something. Said he’d moved up in the world, and was celebrating-celebrating a new-a new business.”

“Did he say what kind?”

Senicio shook his head, and some mud splattered on my tunic.

“N-no. At least-”

“What? What else?”

“He said-he said something funny. That’s why-that’s why I remembered it. He said it was the oldest business in the world-and he was taking it over.”

He looked behind me toward the temple. “Can I go now?” he whined.

I dug for my pouch and gave him a few sestertii.

* * *

I had a lot to think about on the way to Bibax’s place. I tried to shove it aside, but it kept coming up in my mouth like vomit.

So Calpurnius turned nasty. Maybe he always was. He was greedy and smart and poor-and the Aquae Sulis curse whispered a lot of promises.

There were at least three possibilities about what he meant. Which one made all the difference in the world. But I didn’t want to think about Calpurnius-not right now. It was time to focus on the man who dragged me into this.

Bibax always knew about the lead. Easy enough to figure-Materna got word to him, or his confederate, as partial payment for services rendered. A couple of years ago she pulled a string and left a message for Grattius. Grattius gave the order to Bibax, and Bibax made sure Aufidio would never be back in town to ask any more questions about boundaries.

The other crimes-Sulpicia’s husband, Sestius’s aunt, and maybe more-had nothing to do with the mine. They seemed like a private arrangement, a kind of retirement benefit for murderers. Kill a relative, blackmail the survivors. Forever. I wiped my forehead. Maybe it was getting warm.

Grattius never got touched for money. Because Bibax-and maybe his unknown helper-knew Materna was behind it all.

Materna knew who the partner was. That’s who she left the note for.

I nodded to myself, my feet in a hurry to get to his insula. Bibax and partner were in business for themselves. Then Materna-always hungry for pain-Materna figured out the scam. She twitched her web, and the other little spiders came running. She liked it like that.

She used Bibax and the other killer to help her keep the mine under control. Just like she used Faro. Just like she used poor, foolish, overblown Grattius. She rooted out every crooked scheme, every twisted motive, every tainted man in Aquae Sulis. So she could own them. Own their souls. If they had any left.

The bad taste in my mouth wouldn’t go away. I was staring at a dingy insula, the yellow stone native to the town looking like the too-thin skin of a too-thin man with liver problems.

I started on the ground floor, but the only person home was a woman busy with a colicky baby. Her eyes kept straying back toward the crib. No, I don’t remember. Probably the upper floor. The door slammed.