Like Fire Through Bone (4 page)

“Do you wish me to call Doctor Kasim?” Vasilios asked once Panagiotis was safely tucked up in bed.

“No, no.” Panagiotis waved his hand dismissively. “I just need a little rest.” Vasilios nodded, although he didn’t like it, and Panagiotis coughed painfully and then sighed. “I heard you punished that eunuch over in the women’s quarters who was caught stealing.”

“Yes.” Vasilios folded his hands in front of him and stared hard at the floor.

“You didn’t cut off his fingers, did you?” Panagiotis said.

Vasilios shook his head. “He is young. And cutting off his fingers would lower his worth considerably. I had him flogged instead. He’ll bear the scars from it, and hopefully they will be enough of a reminder that he won’t do it again.”

“Hmm…,” Panagiotis said, not sounding convinced, and for one sick moment Vasilios feared he was about to be ordered to cut the young eunuch’s fingers off regardless. Then Panagiotis sighed and settled back against his pillows. “I know why you choose to be lenient. I, too, believe in lesser punishments in favor of letting the young learn from their mistakes, as you are amply able to attest, but I do worry that your softheartedness will lead you astray one of these days. I need you to be firm with them, Vasilios. I am not able to see to such things myself anymore. Damianos and Lukas have their own households to look after, and Anthimos has not proved himself capable of taking on such responsibilities yet. If you were anyone else, I would not ask this of you, since your condition means you cannot be expected to perform a man’s duties, but I trust you above all others, and you have never given me reason to regret that trust.”

Vasilios bowed low at that. “I will endeavor to be more firm with the household eunuchs and servants, if it pleases you, my master,” he said, voice soft, and Panagiotis smiled.

“Even when you were young and newly cut, you pleased me, Vasilios,” Panagiotis told him, then closed his eyes. “Leave me now. I need to rest.”

Vasilios bowed again, then made his way out of the room as quietly as possible, and closed the two great doors behind him.

I
T
TOOK
him several weeks to find a seller possessing land that fit Markos’s description. Then a little more time to arrive at an offer the seller was likely to accept. He was careful to run each plan by Damianos and Panagiotis and to not move forward until he had their approval. Panagiotis spent more and more time confined to his bed these days. Vasilios worried about him and spent more of each day overseeing the running of the house and of Panagiotis’s business.

He had too much to do, Vasilios thought, as he sat at his writing desk with the papers from the seller drawn up in front of him. Really, he should send a serving boy with the papers to Markos’s house while he oversaw the wine shipment that was being delivered to the kitchens. Yet Panagiotis had said Vasilios would bring the papers, and the Gods help him, he was going to be a tiny bit selfish, do what he wanted to do, and follow those orders to the letter and go himself.

Outside it was raining. Vasilios stood, took up the papers, and wrapped them in sheepskin to protect them against water damage. He tucked the bundle of papers under his arm and headed down the stairs, nodding at the guards as he passed.

At the front door, he stopped and took the black linen scarf he wore draped around his shoulders. He pulled it up to cover his head and wrapped and tucked it until it was well secured. Then he turned to the older guard who stood at the door.

“Tell Bröndulfr to let those who might need to know that I am gone to deliver business papers to General Markos Özdemir’s house and I will be back when my business with the General is complete.”

The guard bowed slightly. “Do you need someone to accompany you?” he asked, and Vasilios shook his head.

“I should be fine. It is a short walk.” He opened the door and made his way out into the front courtyard and across to the gate. He nodded to the guards who stood, cloaks pulled up against the rain, and they nodded back, swung open the heavy iron gates, and allowed him to make his way out into the street.

After the relative calm of the house, the busyness of the streets was always a shock. Even here in this section of the city, which was mostly huge villa complexes, servants ran back and forth down the streets. Bodyguards walked ahead of their masters or mistresses, clearing the way, while some members of the elite were carried on lecticae by their personal eunuchs. There were also soldiers on horseback, wearing the insignia that marked them as officers pinned to their right shoulders where it secured their cloaks.

Vasilios wove between the groups of people, avoiding both horses and lecticae while trying not to be splashed by muddy water. Luckily he had not been lying when he’d told the guard it was not a long walk. Markos’s house was higher up the hill that led to the Imperial Palace, but it was not as big as Panagiotis’s sprawling complex.

“I am here to deliver business papers for the General from Panagiotis Xarchakos,” Vasilios told the soldier at Markos’s gate, who nodded and let him in.

Vasilios made his way across the small courtyard and knocked on the door. An older serving woman opened it.

“I am from Panagiotis Xarchakos’s house, with papers for the General,” Vasilios told her.

“Then I suppose you better come in.” She stood back from the door, and Vasilios inclined his head politely before stepping into the house. “His lordship is in today, so you can give the papers to him directly,” she said and then turned and headed down the hall without waiting for him to answer.

Vasilios hurried to follow after her, his stomach flipping and fluttering uncomfortably. He hadn’t expected to meet with Markos face-to-face, although he’d hoped.

They stopped in front of a wooden door. “What is your name?” the older woman asked, sounding impatient.

“Vasilios Eleni,” Vasilios said, and the woman’s lips pressed into a tiny frown, but she opened the door anyway.

“Vasilios Eleni, from the house of Panagiotis Xarchakos, with papers for you,” she said briskly, and stood back so Vasilios could enter.

Eyes fixed on the floor, which was covered by a beautiful mosaic in brilliant blue and white, Vasilios slipped into the room and then went to his knees.

“I have the papers regarding the land you requested us to procure for you, General Markos Özdemir,” Vasilios said, without looking up.

“Vasilios Eleni.” Markos’s deep voice was soft, with a hint of exasperation. “Do stand up. I do not want to have this entire conversation while you are kneeling on the floor, refusing to look at me.”

Vasilios hesitated, then stood, his hands folded in front of him and his eyes still on the floor.

Vasilios heard Markos stand. “Come over and sit,” he said, and Vasilios hesitated again, trying to figure out what would be worse, going along with this complete breach of etiquette or disobeying Markos.

He finally moved across the room, then hesitantly folded himself onto the couch. Markos moved, and for a moment, Vasilios thought Markos was going to sit beside him, and he froze, unsure what on earth he was supposed to do. Luckily Markos sat on a carved wooden chair.

“Would you like tea?” Markos asked. “Did you walk here from Panagiotis’s house? It’s raining quite hard out there.”

“Yes, I walked,” Vasilios said, keeping his voice soft and his eyes downcast. “But it was no trouble, my lord, and I do not need tea, although it is gracious of you to offer.”

Markos stood and walked to the door, and Vasilios heard him speak, voice soft, to the servant outside before coming back.

“Thank you for bringing the papers over,” Markos said as he returned and sat again, and Vasilios hastily unwrapped the documents from their protective skin and handed them across to Markos.

Markos took them, and Vasilios listened to the delicate paper rustle. “So this is how far from the city?” Markos asked.

“About an hour by horse,” Vasilios said. “And the villa is in good condition. There was once a vineyard, but it has not been well maintained.”

“It sounds promising,” Markos said. “Have you spoken to the seller about the price?”

The door opened, and the same older woman who’d let Vasilios in entered, carrying a tea tray. Two tiny china cups sat next to a tall silver urn with a spout set into the side. These urns were designed to hold extremely strong, dark tea. It smelled expensive, and Vasilios frowned. He couldn’t refuse it, now that Markos’s servants had made enough for the two of them.

“Do look at me, Vasilios,” Markos said, reaching for the teacups. “I know I’m asking a lot of you here, but I hate to talk to someone when I can’t see their eyes.”

“No, it’s not that you’re asking too much.” Vasilios forced himself to look up, and Gods, Markos was exactly like he remembered, brown skin darkened further from a lifetime of military service, hair steel gray, eyes an even darker gray, features that should have been severe or imposing, but Vasilios thought they made him look refined. He was dressed in a short tunic with the loose-fitting wool trousers favored by people of the Northern Isles.

“It’s just that I don’t want to cause offense, my lord,” Vasilios finished, sounding a little weak, and he clenched his hands within the folds of his tunic.

Markos shook his head and poured the tea. “I really doubt you could cause me offense,” he said. “I am rather notorious for my breaks with convention.” He smiled, which caused fine lines to appear at the corners of his eyes. Vasilios worked hard not to fidget or blush, and he dropped his gaze to the tiny delicate teacup Markos pushed in front of him.

The door opened again, and Markos looked up, a frown smoothing out those tiny lines and making him appear much older.

“Patros Athanasios,” the serving woman said, gesturing to a young dark-haired man in full military uniform—chain-mail shirt, steel greaves, hard leather vambraces, and woolen cloak.

Vasilios wished he was still kneeling. It was strange and nerve-wracking enough to step this far beyond propriety in front of Markos, but in front of other people was even worse.

“Patros,” Markos said, sounding tired and not happy.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, General.” Patros’s gaze flickered to Vasilios and then away. “But they’ve found a body.”

Markos swore low in the language of the Northern Wolves and then stood. “The same as before?”

Patros hesitated a moment. “Yes.”

“Have you sent word to the Bishop?” Markos asked.

“I did,” Patros said, and Markos turned toward Vasilios.

“I am sorry,” he said, his voice becoming softer and gentler. “But this is urgent business I must attend to.” His fingertips lightly brushed across the back of Vasilios’s hand, startling enough to cause Vasilios to look up quickly and then away. “I will go over the papers you have brought, and we will speak of this another time.”

“Yes, of course, General Markos,” Vasilios said. Keeping his eyes firmly downcast, he slid quickly off the couch, onto his knees again, and bowed to Markos and Patros.

“Another time, Vasilios Eleni,” Markos said, deep voice still gentle. “Phyllis will see you out.”

He turned away then, and Vasilios listened to the sound of Markos’s and Patros’s boots against the tiled floor as they left the room and headed down the hall. When he was sure they were no longer there, he looked up at the older woman, Phyllis, he assumed.

“You best come with me.” She didn’t appear any happier now than she had when she’d showed him in. “Unless you want to finish your tea.”

“No.” Vasilios rose to his feet and smoothed down the front of his tunic—it was the rich rust red he’d carefully chosen that morning. “I will leave now.”

She nodded and led the way back out of the room to the front door. She opened the door for him.

“God’s blessing upon your house,” Vasilios said softly, and she nodded, short and curt.

“And on yours,” she said and then all but slammed the door behind him.

Vasilios made his way through the rain, across the small courtyard, and out onto the street.

“D
ID
you hear?” one kitchen servant asked another, the day after Vasilios’s meeting with Markos. “Lord Dianos’s third son’s wife just had a baby, and the little one was stolen away, poor dear.” She leaned closer to the other serving woman, lowering her voice. “They are saying in the market that they just found the body a few days ago.”

Both serving women shook their heads and tsked. Vasilios cleared his throat, causing them both to startle and turn around guiltily.

“Your time,” he said, keeping his voice level but with a warning, “could be better spent doing your work rather than gossiping about other people’s misfortune.”

They both ducked their heads, muttering apologies, and Vasilios moved on to inspect the latest delivery of mutton for the night’s meal.

T
HAT
night Vasilios woke sobbing again.

Even awake, he could still hear the terrified cries of children echoing through his head, and the image of the dark figure with dead, decaying skin who stole children away was imprinted against the backs of his eyelids. The dream had been different tonight. This time, the creature had slipped into a house, traveling silently down hallways to where a young mother slept with a baby. The creature had passed its hand across the mother’s eyes and then pried the baby from her grasp and spirited it away into the night.