David Drake - Killer

As the merchant turned to face Lacerta, one of the bearded guards used his own blade to swat the loosely held sword from Vonones' right hand. Vonones shook himself and drew stiffly upright, expecting the worst.

Lycon would have vaulted out of the basin, but the water and his weakness trapped him so that he stumbled. He no longer had normal control over his body. It was a puppet whose strings he could play, but every motion was unexpectedly delayed. He bent to brace himself on the fountain coping. The water still bubbling from the pillar washed blood from his thighs. He was aware of it for the first time.

Lacerta stared at the beastcatcher and swore. The order he barked to the nearest men of his troop was a curse in itself. Two of the big Germans paused long enough to sheath their swords. Lycon had started to clamber out of the basin, embarrassed by his lack of agility but too exhausted to care much. The net still hung from his left hand. Gripped in his right was the lower half of the baton. The lizard-ape's teeth had scarred the smooth ivory as they slid along it before finding purchase. The parallel gouges stood out down to the shattered end of the stump. Those same teeth would have cut far deeper into the bones of Lycon's forearm, and the muscles of that arm would have been no more to them than grass to a scythe blade.

The armored guards caught Lycon, one to either wrist and armpit, and hoisted him unceremoniously from the fountain. His laced boots squelched as the Germans thumped him down in front of the Tribune. Another man shoved Vonones forward.

"Caught one of the lizard-apes," said Lycon drunkenly. "Got it right here. It's a little beat up." He held out his net.

The net was badly torn, far more so than Lycon had expected would be the case. The lizard-ape chick had chewed away all the cords within reach of its teeth. Because the chick had been enwrapped and not merely entangled in the net, that had not even freed its head. Similarly, the claws had been sharp enough to make ragged tears in the immensely strong silken cords, but even so the fibers had reknotted into new patterns in the violent struggle. Lacerta took the net from Lycon, but he found it impossible to unwrap the tangled fabric because of the damage.

The damage to the creature within the net had quite clearly been fatal. In death, the thing seemed even smaller than Lycon had supposed. It probably weighed little more than ten pounds, granted the unnatural density of its flesh, and it reminded Lycon of a drowned cat. The last blow of the wand had crunched the chick's skull, but the eye that remained open still glared with unslaked hatred. Even in death, it projected the feeling of a scorpion caught under a boot, not only lethal but strong-a mistake the universe had spawned in some black pit or poisonous desert.

Lacerta paused in unwrapping it, as he began to get a better look at what he held. There was something on his hands, colorless but slimy, like the track of a slug. His aristocratic face worked in disgust, and he thrust the burden toward one of the German troopers with a curt order.

"You killed it, beastcatcher," the tribune accused, in anger that swelled to burn away the disgust and fear that soiled his emotions. His hands wiped themselves compulsively on the studded leather apron that hung to protect his thighs. "You were to capture the animal, but you killed it. I saw you."

Lacerta's eyes flicked reflexively toward the netted thing that one of the stolid Germans was trying to untangle as directed. Seeing the creature again made the tribune's face draw up in a flinch, and he quickly looked away.

"Had to draw the mother in," Lycon mumbled. "That's just one of her brood. The rest are cooked by now." Not even he could have understood his own words. Two of the guards still held him, and that was probably fortunate. Otherwise he would have fallen. Louder and more clearly, the hunter said: "N'Sumu-tell them that we had to get the adult where you could… you could catch her. That was the one we were after-the adult sauropithecus."

The bronzed Egyptian squatted at the edge of the catch basin. There were spectators about him, but none of them had moved closer when he ordered them to lift the stone plate for him. Now N'Sumu balanced the slab on edge with one hand, while the index finger of his free hand seemed to point into the opening. After a moment, he waved his palm slowly over the gaping hole.

Men and women knocked down moments ago by the flashing bolts of power that had missed the escaping sauropithecus were now beginning to stir upon the cobblestones. A few of those who had escaped the swathe were kneeling beside victims, weeping and chafing wrists to raise a pulse. Those who had been too slow to get out of the lizard-ape's path lay about where they had fallen, blood seeping in widening pools beneath them. What the crowd had made of it all was beyond conjecture.

Nothing burst out of the sewer. The gurgle of water and the waste it bore toward the Tiber was loud and alone in the pause before N'Sumu dropped the slab back into place.

He stared at Lacerta with an arrogance that made the tribune seethe. "I believe my authority has precedence here, Tribune. See to this rabble, while I give orders to my staff concerning the Emperor's sauropithecus. I'm sure that any problems arising from tonight are entirely within my capacity to deal with."

Down the street behind them, one wall of the burning building collapsed inward, closely followed by the remaining walls. Sparks gushed and dripped back as if the dying apartment block clawed at its neighbors. The sky-reaching inferno did not spread beyond its pyre, however, only cooled and fell away upon its dead.

Rome was fortunate, this time. That danger had contained itself.

But from beneath the lid of a catch basin hundreds of feet from where the phile had last been seen, eyes watched the mounted guards begin to clear the streets of the frightened mob. Its eyes focused upon one man out of all the crowd there, and the stone slab quivered as the clawed hand holding it ajar began to tremble with fury.

"The only reason you two are not lion-bait in the Amphitheater right now," said N'Sumu firmly, "is because I said I needed you. Lacerta wanted all three of us thrown into the arena. He was not pleased when he was made to recognize that my authority from Domitian was greater than his."

N'Sumu resettled himself in Vonones' chair, then added: "The next time there's a screw-up, I'll feed you both to Lacerta. Understood?"

"I'm certain there will be no further difficulties," said Vonones with practiced urbanity. Inwardly the merchant was furious with the Egyptian's casual assumption of his office. "I'm sure Lycon and I have the situation well in hand." He hoped that was so.

"Just hold it!" snapped Lycon, reacting as Vonones had feared he would. "What's this about a screw-up!"

It had been past dawn by the time they had made their way back to Vonones' compound to regroup from the debacle at Mephibaal's loft. N'Sumu had ridden with Lacerta to the palace to settle matters with Domitian. Vonones had paid out the thousand sesterces to Silvius, indicating to the Watch Centurion that discretion regarding the night's events might earn a bonus. Lycon had pitched himself onto a couch and slept as if dead, too exhausted to see to his injuries. When Vonones had awakened the hunter upon N'Sumu's return from the palace, Lycon was in too much pain to care particularly whether the Egyptian had managed to placate the Emperor or not.

Now Lycon was a scorched and tattered spectre smeared with filth and dried blood. His mood was considerably worse than was his physical appearance.

" We didn't screw things up!" Lycon snarled. " You were the one who gave the order to go after the lizard-ape by night. You are supposed to be the master sauropithecus hunter- you should have known that the damned thing would likely be away from its lair and hunting at night."