Pile of Bones (15 page)

Felix waited for them near the gate. He stood on a curb, wearing his mask and a topaz tunica. Roldan wasn’t looking at him, for some reason. He seemed to stare fixedly at a point just beyond Felix’s right shoulder. Babieca looked him up and down but said nothing.

“Salve,” Felix said. “Are you ready?”

“There’s been a slight change of plans,” a voice replied. They turned to see Domina Pendelia descending from her sedan. “The boys are with me. Wherever the sagittarius goes is her business, although I’d caution against hiding behind tapestries. They look pretty, but they won’t protect you from a sword thrust.”

“Domina Pendelia.” Felix inclined his head. “I’d forgotten entirely that you were involved in this.”

“I’m involved in everything. And weren’t you planning to abandon these poor souls once you reached the atrium?”

“Not exactly.” The fleeting expression of guilt on his face told Morgan that the domina had been right. “I would have kept them within reach.”

“For shame. They’re people, not pieces. It’s rude to move someone from their home space without even asking them first.”

“What side of this are you playing?”

“Every side.” She took them both by the arm. “If these two can keep their heads, the night should pass amiably.”

One of Roldan’s sleeves had come down again. Felix fixed it. Roldan finally looked at him, but only for a second.

“Remember what we talked about,” he said. “We’re here to observe. If something goes wrong, the miles will take care of it.”

“If you believed that,” the domina said, “you’d never have invited these three. The miles don’t know what’s coming.”

“And you do?”

She smiled. “I’m prepared for anything.”

They approached the miles at the gate. Domina Pendelia announced them. The miles glanced at their tablets, then nodded, letting them through. Felix followed, and the miles didn’t even consult their tablets. The presence of the meretrix was assumed. When they saw Morgan, they looked bored. Just another sagittarius. They waved her through without a second glance, and for once, she was happy to be invisible.

Felix fell into step beside her.

“You’re the leader,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“They tend to follow me, but I’m not sure I’d call myself that. You can’t lead a non-company. I’m more of the head rabble-rouser.”

“They listen to you, at any rate.”

“What are you driving at?”

He gave her a look that she couldn’t quite decipher. “Roldan has abilities that may be harmful to him. I think you should watch him carefully tonight. There will be a lot of competing powers present, invisible, but not inaudible—at least not to him.”

“You think he’s in danger?”

“I think he’s vulnerable. That’s all.”

“Do you care for him?”

“I’m not sure I understand the question.”

“I know that you do.”

“I find him interesting. He has potential. I’m not boxing Fortuna, though. Running the basia with Drauca leaves me little time to pursue my own desires, whatever they might be.”

“You gave him a present.”

“A knife is utilitarian. It’s no love token.”

“Depends on the lover.”

They passed under the first balcony. The number of sagittarii had doubled, and Morgan put up her hood to avoid being recognized. Although extra bows were always appreciated during events such as these, her presence wasn’t technically required. If the arquites saw her, she might dispatch Morgan to the battlements. There was certainly no good
reason for her to be skulking around the oecus, where most of the banquet would take place.

“We should part here,” Felix said. “If you want a good vantage point—”

“I’ve got a nicely shadowed clerestory in mind,” she said. “You aren’t the only one familiar with the Arx of Violets.”

“Of course.” He gave her a small smile. “May Fortuna smile on you.”

“And you.”

She reached down to adjust her tunica. For a second, her finger grazed the outline of the obsidian arrowhead. Morgan looked up, and instead of Felix, she saw two blurry outlines standing before her. The first was recognizably the meretrix, but the second was a nude stranger without a mask. She peered at them both in confusion. Some part of her had seen the stranger before, but he was on the tip of her mind, like an annoying crumb. She blinked to clear her eyes, and Felix was a single image again.

They went in opposite directions. He was heading for the oecus, which would already be full of guests. Morgan’s route was more circuitous. Keeping her hood up, she made use of the shadows, trying to avoid the glaring lamplight. The fewer people who recognized her, the better. Once, she heard a group of sagittarii approaching. She ducked behind a pillar, waiting for them to pass. They were all complaining about how they wouldn’t see any of the banquet.

You could,
she thought,
if you were willing to hide, like me.

After they passed, she climbed to the second-story balcony. She followed it toward the oecus, until it began to widen. Morgan smelled smoke and delicious food. She found the corner that she’d been looking for. The stones held a whiff of piss. A broken lion’s-head fountain was attached to the wall. Its dry basin was covered in dust, and one of the lion’s ears had a crack in it. There were old rinds and mouse droppings on the floor. Nobody would think to watch the banquet from this spot.

She looked down, and for a moment, the dazzling scene
took her breath away. The oecus—where the basilissa normally held court on her pneumatic throne—had been converted into a space for dancing and pleasure. Courtiers, meretrices, and dominae circled each other, winking like small fires or bits of precious silk. Trestle tables had been set up, and they were covered with delicacies of every sort. There were silver trays with dormice rolled in honey, sausages grilling on braziers, and plates full of large spotted eggs with spiced yolk inside. Fish swam in hot sauce, next to rabbits decorated with caps and wings. There was a massive pig, roasted together with her babes still attached to her teats. Morgan assumed that some kind of birds had been sealed within the mother’s body, and when the time was right, they would fly forth singing. Everyone loved that.

The basilissa sat on her throne, which was raised only a few feet high this time—a deferential gesture to the crowd. She was dressed in a tight-fitting chlamys, with gold-threaded shoes that turned up at the toes. Her diadem was encrusted with rubies and sardonyx. Two strands of pearls fell from it, dangling across both shoulders. In addition to that, she wore an emerald choker and belt of interlocking golden ovals. A ceremonial dagger hung from the belt, although Morgan couldn’t imagine that she’d ever drawn it. She was surrounded by miles carrying swords and halberds.

Beyond them, spread out but still visible, was a ring of sagittarii. Their rust-colored cloaks made them resemble leaves that had only fallen haphazardly into a circle. The arquites wasn’t there. Many of the bows were spread throughout the arx, to compensate for the dozens of miles who’d been diverted to this room. There was a slim chance that anything would get past the two rings of defense, but Morgan was still nervous. Her mind raced. Should she have brought a longbow instead? The short bow was faster and easier to string, but it wouldn’t penetrate armor. The gnomo’s arrowhead could do incredible damage, but even if her aim was true, she had only one of its kind. If she lost it, Roldan would go crazy. Surely it was bad fortune to misuse a gift from the lares.

Domina Pendelia and Babieca had found a space by one of the trestle tables. Roldan was dutifully holding a wine vessel. Babieca was caught up in conversation with a young spado, although she couldn’t make out what they were saying. Behind them, a group of spadones were playing some game that involved green balls and a cup. Morgan scanned the room for Narses. He stood a short distance from the throne. Occasionally, he would lift a flagon to his mouth, but she could tell that he wasn’t actually drinking from it.

If only Babieca were that clever.

She heard pipes. Then two giant silver platters were carried out, made in the likeness of Fortuna’s wheels. The day wheel had six different types of food, corresponding to the six day gens. The spoke of the sagittarii held arrow-shaped pastries, while the spoke of the medica held wild cabbage, for encouraging digestion. The spoke of the spadones held raw bull testicles, which must have been the kitchen’s idea of a joke. Narses did not appear amused. Morgan had to remind herself that not all spadones were completely gelded. Their desires often depended on how they’d been cut, and when. The night wheel had a stranger assortment of delicacies: blood-soaked grapes for assassins, swan necks for meretrices, and rinds for the furs who would sneak in after everyone was asleep.

Servants passed by with silver chafing dishes, plates full of olives and honeyed pastries, finger bowls with snow-chilled water. Bumpers of wine and mead cruised the oecus, as if the drinks themselves had grown wings. Morgan felt her stomach beginning to complain but ignored it. There’d be time to eat later, and she’d sampled enough of Domina Pendelia’s food to at least keep herself awake. Still, it seemed unfair that she couldn’t at least try one of the arrow-shaped pastries, which were dedicated to her gens.

“Are you enjoying the view?”

Morgan jumped. She hadn’t heard anyone approach. She looked in both directions but saw nothing. Then she looked down. A mechanical fox sat at her feet. He was a marvel of gears and shining cogs. His eyes were two black orbs that
swiveled in delicate cases. He raised one of his paws, and she watched in wonder as the hinges and gears articulated silently. His tail was an intricate chain that moved on its own. Those black eyes regarded her, and Morgan couldn’t tell if she was looking at an automaton or something with a soul. It seemed wise to accept the latter possibility, so she inclined her head in a polite gesture. She wasn’t sure exactly how to show deference to a fox.

“Hello. Are you Propertius?”

“How did you know? Most people can’t tell me apart from Sulpicia, my sister.”

“It was just a guess.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

She was suddenly aware of the fact that Propertius was, for all intents, a spy for his mistress. He would be analyzing whatever she said. As she looked at him now, it didn’t seem as if he had any weapons or hidden abilities, but the fact that he could talk was sobering enough. Automatons could make noises and perform simple motions, but Propertius was a different thing entirely. His dark eyes watched her every move. His builder had given him the spark of life, and he was indisputably the oldest thing in this fortress. She needed to be careful.

“It all looks lovely from up here,” she said.

“The rest of the sagittarii are below, or on the battlements.”

“I’m—”

Morgan looked into his eyes. The lie that she’d been about to weave suddenly tangled in her mouth. Propertius had no expression, and that was somehow worse than a disapproving look. “I’m here to protect the basilissa,” she admitted. “And my friends. I think something’s going to happen tonight. I can’t explain it, but I can feel it.”

“You aren’t supposed to be here.”

“Not technically.”

The fox seemed to consider this. He flicked an ear, and in the silence of the piss-stained clerestory, she heard his mechanism whisper. As she listened more closely, she could
hear the various sounds of his articulations. His whole body sang.

“Propertius!”

It was Eumachia’s voice. Morgan resisted the urge to swear. That was why she hadn’t seen the basilissa’s daughter below. She was fox hunting, as usual. The girl emerged from the shadows, wrinkling her nose as she got closer. “What is that—” Her eyes widened slightly when she saw Morgan. “Sagittarius, why are you here?”

“I’ve already asked her that,” Propertius said. “Her reply was not particularly edifying, but I believe that we can trust her.”

Eumachia drew closer to the edge of the balcony. She wore two smaller strands of pearls in her hair, to match those on her mother’s diadem. Her stola, however, was dusty and even had holes in places. Fox hunting could be dirty work, it seemed.

“Look at them all,” the girl said. “They don’t even care that it’s twilight. They’ll stuff themselves until they burst all over each other, like rotten grapes.”

“Why aren’t you with them?” Morgan asked.

“Does it look like I belong there?”

“You’re the daughter of the basilissa. You should be at her side.”

“She has Narses for that.” Eumachia’s voice had a hint of anger. “She doesn’t listen to me, anyhow. Not ever.”

Morgan returned her attention to Roldan and Babieca. The former was filling the latter’s cup, and looking fairly unimpressed about it. Domina Pendelia had maneuvered them into conversation with a courtier in a bright saffron tunica.

“Who are you looking at?” Eumachia asked. She leaned casually over the stone rim of the balcony, which made Morgan nervous. The last thing she needed was to explain how she’d let the daughter of the basilissa plummet onto Fortuna’s wheels below.

“Nobody.”

“Don’t lie. You’re looking at those three over there. I’ve seen that woman before, the one in the black dress.”

“Have you?”

“She hangs around the atrium with the others. They never see me there. I listen to them talking about my mother.”

“I’m sure they only say good things.”

Eumachia fixed her with a look. “I’m nearly ten. Don’t talk to me as if I were a baby.”

Morgan suppressed a smile. “You’re right. I’m sure you’re old enough to understand that some people like to gossip and say foolish things.”

“Not everything that they say is foolish.” Suddenly she grinned. “Why don’t we see what they’re saying right now?”

“I have to stay here.”

“That’s fine. We can listen through the fountain.”

“What?”

“Eumachia,” the fox said sternly. “I showed you that trick in secret. You aren’t supposed to share it with anyone.”

“You said we could trust her.”

His tail clinked against the ground. “I’m not right about everything.”

“Come here,” Eumachia said. “I’ll show you. It takes practice, though.”