Glenda Larke - The Heart of the mirage

I gave no sign of surprise. I'd heard stranger stories about even more unlikely people; it was the kind of thing those of the Brotherhood often learned about others. 'She came and asked for Mir Ager?'

Achates nodded. 'She'd already seen him. She was at the slave auction and he took her fancy then. Couldn't have suited her better when he ended up in the cells, condemned to death. She came down the day before the burning. I didn't want her to go to him, not after all that had happened, but she can be a nasty bitch.' He shrugged. 'So I let her have her way. After all, he had enough chains on him for a whole coffle of slaves and I checked to make sure they was tight. I let her into the cell and waited outside, like I always do. Usually she comes out looking like a legionnaire that's just had the free run of a brothel, but not this time. She was as white as fruit-pith. Reckon he'd just about scared the piss out of her. She hasn't been back since. Ask her about him, and see what you get. But don't say I was the one as told.'

'The Brotherhood never reveals its informants,' I said. 'All right, Achates. That will be all. See that the other man I want to talk to is sent in, will you?'

Brand ushered the second legionnaire in a moment later. His name was Ciceron, a centurion nearing

retirement who obviously resented having his competence called into question by a member of the Brotherhood – or, for that matter, by anyone. 'That Mir Ager died,' he said flatly. 'He was burned to death. This man who's wandering around creating problems for us elsewhere is someone else. I reckon Mir Ager is just a title. When the first one died, another took it over. There's no mystery, no fantastical escape, still less the resurrection of a dead man.'

'Why was there so much smoke at his execution?' I asked neutrally.

'I checked the wood beforehand,' came the defensive reply. 'It was dry. The only thing I can think of is someone sprinkled something on it for its nuisance value. The smoke was awful: horrible choking black stuff. I tell you, Mir Ager was burnt to a cinder, but he probably suffocated to death in that smoke first.'

'Were any of the crowd near the fire?'

'No. The pyre was ringed with legionnaires, at least until the smoke started – then they just ran. They couldn't do anything else. But it was Kardi slaves who collected the wood and brought it to the square in the first place. They could have tampered with it.'

'How was Mir Ager tied?'

'His hands were manacled to one another behind the stake. What else was necessary?'

'He seemed to have a knack of freeing himself from locked manacles,' I said mildly. 'Did you search the ashes afterwards for bones?'

He exploded. 'No, we did not! Why should we? The man was dead. It is customary just to shovel up whatever is left, ashes and all, and throw it into the sea so no one can gather the remains for burial. We don't want these people to make martyrs out of their

criminals. Come to think of it, though, I did see a legionnaire retrieve the manacles, what was left of them. They had cracked and bent, the fire was so hot once it got going.'

'Who did the shovelling? Legionnaires?'

'Hardly. Slaves, naturally.'

Slaves, who might not have mentioned an absence of bones for reasons of their own. I almost sighed in exasperation; it was going to be hard to prove what had really happened, one way or the other. Had he died… or not? I said, 'Describe Mir Ager for me.'

'Tall, brown hair and eyes, your colouring, Legata – and fit – he had an athlete's body. He looked surprisingly alert for someone who had been tortured. Smelled as high as a rotting midden, of course. Everyone does after being in the torture cells. But he wasn't as weak as they usually are.'

'Did he speak?'

'I asked him if he wanted the prayers of a priestess, and he laughed.'

'Anything else?'

He hesitated. 'Well, when I ordered a legionnaire to light the fire at his feet, he said, "You'll be hearing of me, Centurion. Don't think to rid the Exaltarchy of me so easily."'

'What did you take that to mean?'

Ciceron grimaced. 'That the Kardis would use his name to rally support for their damned insurgency. There was an unusually big crowd at his execution, and the crowd was resentful. The place bubbled like water on the boil – it was almost frightening. To be quite frank, I was glad of all that smoke. It cleared people out of there.'

'Did you actually see the man burning? Be careful how you answer.'

'Well, no,' he said reluctantly. 'I can't say I did. When the smoke started I had to step back along with everyone else. My eyes were streaming, I was doubled up with coughing. By the time the smoke was gone, the flames were fierce and you couldn't see anything in there.'

'You don't think he could have been an immortal?'

He gave me a look as if I had taken leave of my senses.

I nodded. 'Thank you. That will be all.'

The man left, his resentment drifting after him, and Brand looked across at me. 'Was he telling the truth, Legata?'

I picked up the weapon, still wrapped in the pelt.

'Oh yes, as far as he knew it. But if by some miracle

this Mir Ager freed himself, neither Ciceron nor

, anyone else would have noticed. Or so it seems to me.'

'Do you think he did escape?'

'I doubt it. I suspect Ciceron is right. Mir Ager is merely a hereditary title, and we have to look for whoever has inherited it. Let's go back to the Prefect's house. I want to have a word with the Prefect's wife next.'

'What are you going to do with the sword?'

'Nothing for the time being, except keep it hidden. But it's apparently a formidable weapon. Imagine if we could discover how to use it and make others like it. If we can't, well, it might serve a purpose as bait. If Mir Ager did escape, if he's still alive, then I rather think he would give a lot to have it back. If he died, well, perhaps the new leader will want it just as badly.'

'If he's still alive, then he's to be feared,' Brand warned. He eyed the wrapped sword uneasily.

'So am I,' I said grimly. 'So am I.'

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'You wanted to see me?' Domina Fabia was reclining on the divan in her private quarters and, although polite, she did not bother to rise when I was ushered in. She was highborn, after all, and I was merely adopted. It was a subtle distinction some people loved to make.

I said, 'If I may.'

'Of course.' She waved a languid hand at another divan. 'This heat is so debilitating, I think. Would you like me to call a slave to fan you?'

'No. I would prefer this conversation to be private.'

She raised a surprised eyebrow, her highborn arrogance quick to flare. 'What can you have to say?'

'You know I hold rank in the Brotherhood?'

'Yes.' She began to cool herself gently with a scented fan.

'The Brotherhood keeps its secrets. Our job is to hear of trouble before it happens, to trap traitors before they have a chance to damage the Exaltarchy. We do not judge. We merely pursue the truth. We keep many secrets.'

'So?' she drawled.

'So, I want to know what happened when you went to see Mir Ager in his cell before his execution.'

There was the faintest of pauses in the fanning motion of Fabia's hand, but no other reaction. 'I did no such thing.'

'I know you did, Domina. You asked this man to service your need, and I believe he turned you down. I wish merely to know what he said. It may be of use to me.'

'How dare you insinuate something so, so disgusting!' Her indignation was false; she was all anxiety.

She reached for the silver bell on a side table, but I was there first, closing my hand over hers. 'No,

Domina. You don't want anyone else to know of this. This is between you and me. Do you know what it is to defy the Brotherhood? Have you any idea what it would do to your husband's career? I can see to it that you never leave Kardiastan. Or I could tell your husband – all of Tyrans, in fact – that you visited the lowest scum of the prison cells.'