Lest Darkness Fall (3 page)

            "You mean, how many
years since the birth of Christ?"

            "
Hoc ille
— that's
right."

            "Well, now — I don't
know; five hundred and something. Better ask a priest, stranger."

            "I will," said
Padway. "Thank you."

            "It's nothing,"
said the man, and went about his business. Padway's knees were weak, though the
man hadn't bitten him, and had answered his question in a civil enough manner.

            But it sounded as though
Padway, who was a peaceable man, had not picked a very peaceable period.

            What was he to do? Well,
what would any sensible man do under the circumstances? He'd have to find a
place to sleep and a method of making a living. He was a little startled when
he realized how quickly he had accepted the Tancredi theory as a working hypothesis.

            He strolled up an alley to
be out of sight and began going through his pockets. The roll of Italian bank
notes would be about as useful as a broken five-cent mousetrap. No, even less;
you might be able to fix a mousetrap. A book of American Express traveler's
checks, a Roman street-car transfer, an Illinois driver's license, a leather
case full of keys — all ditto. His pen, pencil, and lighter would be useful as
long as ink, leads, and lighter fuel held out. His pocket knife and his watch
would undoubtedly fetch good prices, but he wanted to hang onto them as long as
he could.

            He counted the fistful of
small change. There were just twenty coins, beginning with four ten-lire silver
cartwheels. They added up to forty-nine lire, eight centesimi, or about five
dollars. The silver and bronze should be exchangeable. As for the nickel
fifty-centesimo and twenty-centesimo pieces, he'd have to see. He started
walking again.

            He stopped before an
establishment that advertised itself as that of S. Dentatus, goldsmith and
money changer. He took a deep breath and went in.

            S. Dentatus had a face
rather like that of a frog. Padway laid out his change and said: "I ... I
should like to change this into local money, please." As usual he had to
repeat the sentence to make himself understood.

            S. Dentatus blinked at the
coins. He picked them up, one by one, and scratched at them a little with a
pointed instrument. "Where do these — you — come from?" he finally
croaked.

            "America."

            "Never heard of
it."

            "It is a long way
off."

            "Hm-m-m. What are these
made of? Tin?" The money changer indicated the four nickel coins.

            "Nickel."

            "What's that? Some
funny metal they have in your country?"

            "Hoc ille."

            "What's it worth?"

            Padway thought for a second
of trying to put a fantastically high value on the coins. While he was working
up his courage, S. Dentatus interrupted his thoughts:

            "It doesn't matter,
because I wouldn't touch the stuff. There wouldn't be any market for it. But
these other pieces — let's see —" He got out a balance and weighed the
bronze coins, and then the silver coins. He pushed counters up and down the
grooves of a little bronze abacus, and said: "They're worth just under one
solidus. Give you a solidus even for them."

            Padway didn't answer
immediately. Eventually he'd have to take what was offered, as he hated the
idea of bargaining and didn't know the values of the current money. But to save
his face he had to appear to consider the offer carefully.

            A man stepped up to the
counter beside him. He was a heavy, ruddy man with a flaring brown mustache and
his hair in a long or Ginger Rogers bob. He wore a linen blouse and long
leather pants. He grinned at Padway, and reeled off: "
Ho, frijond,
habais faurthei! Alai skalljans sind waidedjans
." Oh, Lord, another
language! Padway answered: "I ... I am sorry, but I do not
understand."

            The man's face fell a
little; he dropped into Latin: "Sorry, thought you were from the
Chersonese, from your clothes. I couldn't stand around and watch a fellow Goth
swindled without saying anything, ha, ha!"

            The Goth's loud, explosive
laugh made Padway jump a little; he hoped nobody noticed. "I appreciate
that. What is this stuff worth?"

            "What has he offered
you?" Padway told him. "Well," said the man, "even I can
see that you're being hornswoggled. You give him a fair rate, Sextus, or I'll
make you eat your own stock. That would be funny, ha, ha!"

            S. Dentatus sighed
resignedly. "Oh, very well, a solidus and a half. How am I to live, with
you fellows interfering with legitimate business all the time? That would be,
at the current rate of exchange, one solidus thirty-one sesterces."

            "What is this about a
rate of exchange?" asked Padway.

            The Goth answered: "The
gold-silver rate. Gold has been going down the last few months."

            Padway said: "I think I
will take it all in silver."

            While Dentatus sourly
counted out ninety-three sesterces, the Goth asked: "Where do you come
from? Somewhere up in the Hunnish country?"

            "No," said Padway,
"a place farther than that, called America. You have never heard of it,
have you?"

            "No. Well now, that's
interesting. I'm glad I met you, young fellow. It'll give me something to tell
the wife about. She thinks I head for the nearest brothel every time I come to
town, ha, ha!" He fumbled in his handbag and brought out a large gold ring
and an unfaceted gem. "Sextus, this thing came out of its setting again.
Fix it up, will you? And no substitutions, mind."

            As they went out the Goth
spoke to Padway in a lowered voice. "The real reason I'm glad to come to
town is that somebody put a curse on my house."

            "A curse? What kind of
a curse?"

            The Goth nodded solemnly.
"A shortness-of-breath curse. When I'm home I can't breathe. I go around
like this —" He gasped asthmatically. "But as soon as I get away from
home I'm all right.

            And I think I know who did
it."

            "Who?"

            "I foreclosed a couple
of mortgages last year. I can't prove anything against the former owner's, but
—" He winked ponderously at Padway.

            "Tell me," said
Padway, "do you keep animals in your house?"

            "Couple of dogs.
There's the stock, of course, but we don't let them in the house. Though a
shote got in yesterday and ran away with one of my shoes. Had to chase it all
over the damned farm. I must have been a sight, ha, ha!"

            "Well," said
Padway, "try keeping the dogs outside all the time and having your place
well swept every day. That might stop your — uh — wheezing."

            "Now, that's
interesting. You really think it would?"

            "I do not know. Some
people get the shortness of breath from dog hairs. Try it for a couple of
months and see."

            "I still think it's a
curse, young fellow, but I'll try your scheme. I've tried everything from a
couple of Greek physicians to one of St. Ignatius' teeth, and none of them
works." He hesitated. 'If you don't mind, what were you in your own
country?"

            Padway thought quickly, then
remembered the few acres he owned in down-state Illinois. "I had a
farm," he said.

            "That's fine,"
roared the Goth, clapping Padway on the back with staggering force. "I'm a
friendly soul but I don't want to get mixed up with people too far above or
below my own class, ha, ha! My name is Nevitta; Nevitta Gummund's son. If
you're passing up the Flaminian Way sometime, drop in. My place is about eight
miles north of here."

            "Thanks. My name is
Martin Padway. Where would be a good place to rent a room?"

            "That depends. If I
didn't want to spend too much money I'd pick a place farther down the river.
Plenty of boarding houses over toward the Viminal Hill. Say, I'm in no hurry;
I'll help you look." He whistled sharply and called: "
Hermann,
hiri her
!"

            Hermann, who was dressed
much like his master, got up off the curb and trotted down the street leading
two horses, his leather pants making a distinctive
flop-flop
as he ran.

            Nevitta set out at brisk
walk, Hermann leading the horses behind. Nevitta said: "What did you say
your name was?"

            "Martin Padway — Martinus
is good enough." (Padway properly pronounced it Mar
tee
no.)

            Padway did not want to
impose on Nevitta's good nature, but he wanted the most useful information he
could get. He thought a minute, then asked: "Could you give me the names
of a few people in Rome, lawyers and physicians and such, to go to when I need
them?"

            "Sure. If you want a
lawyer specializing in cases involving foreigners, Valerius Mummius is your
man. His office is alongside of the Æmilian Basilica. For a physician try my
friend Leo Vekkos. He's a good fellow as Greeks go. But personally I think the
relic of a good Arian saint like Asterius is as effective as all their herbs
and potations."

            "It probably is at
that," said Padway. He wrote the names and addresses in his date-book.
"How about a banker?"

            "I don't have much
truck with them; hate the idea of getting in debt. But if you want the name of
one, there's Thomasus the Syrian, near the Æmilian Bridge. Keep your eyes open
if you deal with him."

            "Why, isn't he
honest?"

            "Thomasus? Sure he's
honest. You just have to watch him, that's all. Here, this looks like a place
you could stay." Nevitta pounded on the door, which was opened by a frowsy
superintendent.

            This man had a room, yes. It
was small and ill-lighted. It smelled. But then so did all of Rome. The
superintendent wanted seven sesterces a day.

            "Offer him half,"
said Nevitta to Padway in a stage whisper.

            Padway did. The
superintendent acted as bored by the ensuing haggling as Padway was. Padway got
the room for five sesterces.

            Nevitta squeezed Padway's
hand in his large red paw. "Don't forget, Martinus, come see me some time.
I always like to hear a man who speaks Latin with a worse accent than mine, ha,
ha!" He and Hermann mounted and trotted off.

            Padway hated to see them go.
But Nevitta had his own business to tend to. Padway watched the stocky figure
round a corner, then entered the gloomy, creaking boarding house.

-

            PADWAY AWOKE EARLY with a
bad taste in his mouth, and a stomach that seemed to have some grasshopper in
its ancestry. Perhaps that was the dinner he'd eaten — not bad, but unfamiliar
— consisting mainly of stew smothered in leeks.

            The restaurateur must have
wondered when Padway made plucking motions at the table top; he was
unthinkingly trying to pick up a knife and fork that weren't there.

            One might very well sleep
badly the first night on a bed consisting merely of a straw-stuffed mattress.
And it had cost him an extra sesterce a day, too. An itch made him pull up his
undershirt. Sure enough, a row of red spots on his midriff showed that he had
not, after all, slept alone.