Pile of Bones (5 page)

We were in the same position,
he wanted to say.
And it’s not as if we’re flush with coin at the moment. Now she’s throwing delicacies at us, which you had to prepare, but once we leave we’ll be back on the bottom of the wheel.

Everything was cleared away. They reclined on couches, and Roldan was grateful to be even slightly horizontal, because the wine was reaching his brain. He was aware of the scant distance between himself and Babieca, who was still—incredibly—eating candied figs. The domina had a couch to herself, and Morgan had chosen to stand, unwilling to be within less than a few feet of her bow and painted quiver. She kept her eyes on the hallway that led to the atrium, silently following the movements of the house staff.

She’s always on the battlements,
Roldan thought.
She’s good at her job—it’s why the Gens of Sagittarii accepted her. She has focus. Unlike us.
He looked again at Babieca, who had three perfect droplets of wine on his tunica, like a bloody print.
Morgan watches. Babieca consumes. I wait. I just wish I knew what for.

“Now that we’re comfortable,” the domina said, “I’d like to know what convinced you to come back here. I could still
report your desertion to the aedile. Showing up at my doorstep wasn’t without risk.”

Her mention of the aedile reminded him of last night. Why would the commander of the watch appear at an empty house? It seemed improbable that someone as busy as the aedile would send a group of miles to recover jewelry. And if it was destined for the basilissa, what need would he have to intercept it?

It did light up. And the salamander knew that they were coming. Why would she tell the gnomo that I had a dangerous talent?

Morgan took this as her cue to rejoin the conversation. She walked over to their couch and stood in front of Babieca, as if to bodily prevent his words from reaching the domina.

“We were hired to test the veracity of an item—something on its way to the basilissa. Roldan, as you’ve seen, has a way with lares, so he provided the proof.”

“What sort of item?”

“A fibula.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Someone hired an auditor to test a brooch? That seems like a waste of a surreal conversation with invisible creatures.”

I’m not an auditor—

He didn’t say it this time. It was pleasing to be mistaken for one.

“Deadly things can come in small packages,” Babieca said. “It practically caught on fire when Roldan touched it.”

“We got it from an artifex,” Morgan continued. “She told us to deliver it to a friend of the basilissa, who was waiting for us in an empty house. The friend turned out to be a meretrix.”

“That stands to reason,” Domina Pendelia replied. “Some of her most powerful allies happen to be members of that gens.”

“The fibula burned with green light—it must have come from the salamander that Roldan was sweet-talking. Immediately after, we heard voices at the entrance to the house. The aedile himself was at the door. We hadn’t been there
long, so they must have left around the same time we did. They knew of our meeting with the meretrix.”

“Where was this house?”

“Vici Secreta, fourth door of the second insula.”

Her eyes glittered slightly. “Domina Niobe owns that entire block.”

“Is she also a friend of the basilissa?”

“She wishes as much. She’s a treacherous slut who enjoys playing games.” Domina Pendelia frowned. “What role might she be playing? If the meretrix is truly a friend of the basilissa, perhaps she hopes to increase her reputation by acting as go-between.”

“There are already plenty of those,” Morgan said. “We’ve got an artifex, a meretrix, and an absentee householder.”

“The artifex was nervous,” Babieca added. “She met us at the Hippodrome, where the crowd might act as a shield. As soon as Roldan took the fibula, she was gone.”

He’d been floating slightly, due to the wine, but he looked up at the mention of his name. He remembered the dueling miles at the Hippodrome, the smell of the throng and their wild cries, the steady gaze of the spado.

“Didn’t her warning about the basilissa seem a bit hollow?” he asked. “From what little I know about the family’s history, her mother was far more terrifying.”

“She may know nothing of this gift,” Domina Pendelia replied. “The basilissa receives trinkets all the time, from her suitors across the city and beyond. She probably spends most of her day unwrapping shiny things from desperate people. One more fibula on the gleaming pile wouldn’t arouse suspicion.”

“Could it be a weapon of some kind?” Morgan asked. “Or poisonous?”

“I touched it, and I’m fine.” Roldan looked thoughtful. “It had some kind of power. Almost as if it were alive. I’ve never felt anything quite like it.”

“Until today, you’d never stuck your hand into a piece of marble,” Babieca replied. “Those listening skills are taking you in all kinds of mad directions.”

“Was she truly an artifex?” Domina Pendelia asked. “The woman who gave you the fibula? Or was she simply a gemsmith?”

“She wore the tunica of the artifices,” Roldan replied. “And she looked exhausted, like most builders do.”

“Aside from fixing the machines in the Arx of Violets, and minding the fountains, there aren’t many jobs for an artifex. She wouldn’t be the first builder to supplement her income by dealing in gems.”

“It didn’t have any gems,” Roldan said. “It was a plain silver fibula, with the likeness of a bee on a bunch of grapes. Does the basilissa even like bees?”

“I’m not exactly her confidant.”

“But you’ve been to her parties. You spoke of them often.”

She managed to look slightly awkward. “I’ve been in the same room as her, but she’s never graced me with more than a few words. Her group is a tight engine, virtually impenetrable. She only mingles with old citizens, and I haven’t lived here for so long. She’d probably still consider me a new householder.”

Roldan thought it must be strange to live in Anfractus day and night. Like them, Domina Pendelia had once lived beyond the city. She’d spent half of her time in another world. Did she have a family? A career? When someone became a citizen, they vanished from that other place, whose particulars he could barely focus on. It was strange to think that people might be searching for the domina, might be dreaming of her, praying for her return. Or maybe she’d left nothing behind at all. Disappearing would be easy, if that were the case. But to be a citizen, you needed to endure the night, full of venom, arrows, and crooked lares. How had she done it?

The domina turned to Morgan. “You still haven’t explained to me how you managed to fall in with these two. If the Gens of Sagittarii knew that you were making money on the side, they’d punish you. Perhaps they’d even expel you.”

“You know a lot about the gens for someone who isn’t a
member.” Morgan lowered her gaze slightly. “With all due respect, Domina.”

“Perhaps I once was a member—of that gens, or another.” She smiled. “That would be a story for another time, though. Stop dancing around my question. What is your part in this, sagittarius? Why are you helping these nemones, clever as they are?”

Babieca sat up. “We’re not nemones. We may not belong to a gens, but that doesn’t make us nobodies.”

“
Nemo
means ‘without a gens.’ That makes you both nemones by definition. It’s no grave insult. Anfractus runs on nemo labor. It’s a temporary condition—for some, at any rate.”

“We don’t think of ourselves as nemones.”

“Because you have a sagittarius with you? Because you’re no longer shoveling coal or chasing rats out of my undercroft?” A flicker of the old domina had returned—perhaps this was the true version after all. “Meeting her was a lucky turn of the wheel, but that’s all.” She looked at Morgan again. “Now, my dear—you’ve eaten my boar, drunk my wine, and I’ve asked nothing in return. However, it is customary for strangers to repay their host with a story. Do you really want to violate the laws of hospitality?”

Morgan started to protest—then thought better of it and nodded. “Of course not, Domina. You’ve been very kind.”

“She misplaced her quiver,” Babieca supplied.

Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “That wasn’t quite the way of it.”

“She was in her cups—”

“The domina asked for
my
story, not your inebriated version of it.”

Babieca raised his hands. “Of course. I’m an unreliable narrator.”

“I was with a companion,” she continued. “We’d both spent our day on the battlements, and we wanted to share a few drinks. It was a festival day, though, and all of the respectable cauponae were full. So we tried the Seven Sages. While we were drinking, we set our quivers under the bench.
I had to use the necessary. When I returned, both quivers were gone, along with my companion.”

Domina Pendelia looked confused. “Why would he take yours?”

“He was going to bet it in a game of Hazard,” Babieca said. “Roldan and I were sitting at a nearby bench, and I saw him take it downstairs. He had a grin like a pig in shit. We followed him, and Roldan created a distraction—what did you do, again?”

“There was a salamander, asleep under the brazier,” Roldan replied. “I convinced her to set fire to the dice. It’s not easy, but stone will burn if the fire is hot enough.”

“At any rate,” Morgan said, “they helped me recover my arrows. It was peculiar. I realized that a member of my own gens had betrayed me, not even for money, but for the mere possibility of money. These two—” Roldan could see that she was about to call them nemones but then stopped herself. “They helped me without any promise of reward. They seemed like far worthier company than the jackass who’d tried to gamble away my arrows.”

“The wheel often makes an odd turn.” Domina Pendelia smiled. “Look at the three of you—practically a company. You only lack for one.”

“
Nemones
can’t be part of a company,” Babieca said. “A blind spado would have more luck than us finding a quest.”

“Oh? You seem to have found one already.”

Morgan reached into her quiver and withdrew the knife, which she’d wrapped carefully in linen. She laid it on the table. Domina Pendelia examined it with interest. Her eyes fell to the gems encrusted in the hilt. If she knew where to properly fence such a piece, she could probably afford to redecorate the atrium from top to bottom. Roldan could almost feel her adding sums and managing possibilities. Finally, she looked up from the blade.

“Where did you get this?”

“It belonged to the meretrix,” Morgan said. “He lent it to Roldan. In the middle of the chase, we all forgot about it.”

“This is no courtesan’s toy. Its owner must have enemies.”

“We thought you might recognize it.”

“Why? Because I spend my time at court studying weapons?”

“No,” Babieca said. “Because the make of the weapon suggests wealth and power. This meretrix has to be part of—what did you call it?—the basilissa’s
engine
. Her inner circle. Why else would he need such protection? Surely, you would have noticed a masked man who spoke with her, maybe even danced with her?”

“The court is full of people in masks. That’s nothing new. Meretrices have always been a fixture in the Arx of Violets.”

“The mask was—distinctive,” Roldan heard himself say. “It was silver, with delicate filigree, and precious stones around the eyes. It reminded me of the moon.”

“It sounds like the meretrix made an impression on you.”

He looked down. “That’s not important. We can’t simply carry his knife around—if we’re caught with it, we’ll answer to the aedile. There’s no point in trying to sell it. If we return it, he might tell us something more about the fibula.”

“Wouldn’t it be safer to remain ignorant?”

“Everyone here used to be ignorant—until we found ourselves alone and naked in a strange alley. Were things really better before Anfractus? Was that bliss?”

Domina Pendelia looked at the dagger again.

“I slept better,” she said. “In that other life.”

Roldan hoped she might say more. Instead, she opened the ivory drawer, withdrawing a wax tablet and stylus. Roldan stared at them both enviously. She wrote a quick message on the tablet, which she handed to Morgan.

“Take this to the black basia, in the Subura. There’s a guard who watches the door—she used to work for me, ages ago. Show her this, and I believe she’ll let you in. Her shift doesn’t start until twilight, so as noncitizens, you’ll be cutting it close. There won’t be time to take in much of the scenery.” She looked at Babieca when she said this. “If you
throw the dice true, you may just find the one that you’re looking for.”

He could tell that she knew more than she was saying. Had she recognized the dagger? He thought that he’d seen something in her eyes when he was describing the mask. Desire? Fear? He didn’t know her well enough to read her silences.

“Thank you,” Morgan said. “We’re in your debt.”

“Yes.” She reached for more wine. “You most certainly are.”

The sky was beginning to darken by the time they left Domina Pendelia’s. Had they really spent the whole day there, eating and comparing shadows? Time didn’t always flow smoothly in Anfractus. It had the habit of escaping from you, like a cat, leaping swiftly through the open space of an unguarded door. Babieca had matched the domina cup for cup, but she had a surprisingly high tolerance for her own wine. Now he was a bit unsteady. He put his arm around Roldan, leaning on him for support. His breath smelled of cloves and raspberries.

“I’m at the Arx of Violets tomorrow,” Morgan said. “I won’t be able to meet you until it’s time to visit the Subura. Will you be able to stay out of trouble in the meantime?”

“Roldan’s going to keep me safe,” Babieca said. “He’s got a knife, remember? And if we run into trouble, I can either sing or get naked. Both have the element of surprise.”

“Yes. Play to your strengths.” She turned to Roldan. “You heard what the domina said—we won’t have much time once we reach the basia. We can’t just wave a knife around, asking if anyone’s seen its owner.”

“Maybe the guard will recognize it. Failing that—do you think there’s some secret room full of labeled masks? That would be our best bet.”