by David Drake
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.
Chapter Sixteen
"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."
"Of course I was fully aware of all that," N'Sumu responded. "But my decision was to capture the sauropithecus before it changed its lair. I had no idea that the creature had already begun to produce a brood."
"Then don't forget that we did a damn good night's work in wiping out all traces of that brood," Lycon persisted. "Our lord and god may wish to have a lizard-ape or two for his entertainment in the Amphitheater, but not even Domitian would long be amused by the spectacle of a hundred of the murderous killers on the loose here in Rome."
Vonones chose this moment to interrupt. Any distraction might help to forestall a fight between the other two. While Lycon might be reckless of the fact that N'Sumu held their lives in his hand, Vonones had not forgotten.
"There in the loft," Vonones broke in. "Just what was that we saw . . . with Smiler?"
N'Sumu regarded him blankly for a moment, then chose his words. "The sauropithecus is somewhat akin to a species of wasp, in that the female lays her eggs within the living body of a helpless host. You understand, the region of Africa in which the sauropitheci dwell is so abounding with other dangerous predators that any normal sort of nest would surely be destroyed. Often I have seen elephants whose bodies have been infested with the larvae of the sauropithecus."
"Certainly, there are always new wonders to come forth from Africa," temporized Vonones, praying that the beastcatcher had mastered his anger. "Is it true, as has been written, that in a certain region of the interior there lives a race of men whose heads are in the center of their bodies?"
"This is certainly true," said N'Sumu. "Many times have I hunted in their lands."
"And is there also a race of men who can hurl lightning bolts from their hands?" demanded Lycon. No sooner had he spoken than he began to regret his audacity.
N'Sumu considered the two men impassively, and Lycon had faced death too often not to recognize that he again faced death in this moment.
"There are many secrets known to the priests of Egypt," said N'Sumu finally. "It may be even that some of the secrets of the gods are known to certain ones among us. It would be well for you if such powers remain a secret. I suggest that you both forget whatever you think you might have seen last night."
"And are you priest now as well as hunter, Egyptian?" wondered Lycon boldly. Vonones shot him a pleading glance.
"And who are you to inquire of me, man!" sneered N'Sumu. It was time to put an end to dangerous lines of thought. "I am master here! At my whim, you and your household are fodder for the arena! Remember that! I won't remind you again."
Vonones laid a firm hand on Lycon's arm, urging the hunter to let matters rest. Lycon subsided, but the merchant had the sensation of standing upon the slope of a volcano whose next unexpected rumbling would bring annihilation.
"The simple fact remains that your man dropped the lantern that destroyed the sauropithecus' lair, thereby ruining our chances of lying in wait there for the mother's return to the loft." N'Sumu was unconcerned over the consequent human casualties and suffering, just as he chose to ignore his own panic that night. "Thanks to your blundering, we don't even have a live chick to offer to the Emperor. Well, then—I'll not dwell upon past mistakes. What matters is the present, and I want to hear your suggestions regarding our next move."
N'Sumu paused and smiled his ghastly smile. Lycon found the expression as reassuring as a shark's gaping grin. "After all," the bronzed Egyptian said, "you are my field experts. I rely upon your advice."
"We can continue our reward offer for information on the lizard-ape's kills," Vonones suggested quickly, avoiding the stark look on Lycon's face. "And we can offer a reward for sightings. We know now for certain that the lizard-ape is here in Rome—you were perfectly correct about that, N'Sumu. We'll search for its new lair, now that we know what to look for."
"The sauropithecus may not seek another lair immediately," N'Sumu argued. "She had implanted her eggs within the one called Smiler only yesterday. She won't be able to produce another clutch for about ten of your days, and if conditions are not favorable she can refrain from doing so for an interval of many days. It seems most probable that the beast will remain in hiding for now, moving about by night in search of another secure lair.
"While we could play a wai
ting game again, I don't think we can count upon the Emperor's patience much longer. Domitian seems ready enough to accept slaughter in the streets and even on his own estates—although it may be just as well that no evidence remains of what we found in the loft. However, your lord and god expects results, and if we don't produce the sauropithecus very soon now . . ."
"Our lord and god won't limit his attentions to just Lycon and me," Vonones warned. "You may be a stranger here, but that won't spare you from Domitian's displeasure. Maybe you'd better get a head start back to Nubia now, and leave this lizard-ape to professionals."
"We don't need to play a waiting game," broke in Lycon—not so much in an unfamiliar role of peacemaker as due to the fact he had been only half listening to the other two. "We know where the lizard-ape bolted for cover. We'll track it from there."
"Track it?" Vonones considered the idea. "Through the sewers, you mean? But there's miles and miles of them. And there's water."
"Easier than tracking it in open country," the hunter went on, "where it could just as easily hide its trail by swimming a stream or taking to the trees. We'll need some dogs—several packs of dogs—and we'll need enough men to break up into groups as needed. You know how the other animals hate the lizard-ape's scent—trailing it through the sewers will be easy with dogs. We'll corner the damn thing and . . . capture it with nets."
N'Sumu might have missed Lycon's hesitation, but he nevertheless reminded the beastcatcher: "Just make certain that the sauropithecus is not harmed in any way. As you have pointed out, I have a personal stake in our success as well. How quickly can you be ready to move?"
"Vonones?"
The Armenian considered for a moment. "I'll send word to Galerius—although he'll be expensive after that mess on the Emperor's estates. And we can call in some of our trackers from along the Tiber—that will take time, but we may as well bring them all in from the field now that we know the lizard-ape is in Rome."
"Take too much time," Lycon protested. "By the time Galerius gets here from Ostia and we've pulled in all our men from the countryside, the trail will be cold. We need to be after the thing right now, and I can't see waiting much past noon."
"The men are exhausted after last night."
"Show me any man of them who hurts worse than I do, and I'll buy him a day in the baths to rest up." Lycon's sooty grin was as horrid as N'Sumu's smile. "Come on, Vonones. We're running out of time. I can get us dogs from the Amphitheater right now."
Vonones shrugged. "Then we'll regroup here with all the men we can bring in and whatever dogs we can find—say, an hour after midday—and see what we've got. Is that to your satisfaction, N'Sumu?"
"The plan might work," said the Egyptian. "Let us hope that it does. Make certain that no time is wasted in assembling the tracking parties. I shall rejoin you at midday."
N'Sumu uncurled from Vonones' chair. He reached down and picked up the broken corpse of the sauropithecus chick, still enwrapped in Lycon's net. The Egyptian had managed to recover the creature from Lacerta—in itself a testament as to his authority over the Tribune.
"What are you going to do with that?" Lycon demanded.
N'Sumu stared at him impassively. "Why, take it back to my apartments and eat it."
"Eat it!" Vonones gasped.
"Of course. Why else would my people hunt sauropitheci? They are delicious when prepared with a sauce of pepper, lovage, caraway, laser, honey, pine nuts . . ."
"But the thing has fed on human flesh!" Vonones protested.
N'Sumu favored them with his widest smile, and left them standing uneasily in Vonones' office.
* * *
After a moment Lycon swore and lowered himself painfully onto a bench. "The Superintendent of Sewers," he said in a tired voice, "once told me they'd been working on the lines ever since there was a city here—six hundred years, eight hundred, depends on who you talk to. He thought I ought to go hunting for some of the rats his crews found. Said they'd do just fine in the arena, fighting leopards and the like. I finally decided he wasn't joking."
"Look," said Vonones. "I can see to getting the men and the dogs and whatever nets and weapons we'll need. It's going to be several hours at best before we can move. Why don't you get cleaned up and catch a few hours of sleep? You aren't in any shape to net peacocks, let alone go following hounds through miles of sewers after a creature that . . . well, things aren't going to get better if we do manage to corner it."
"Things will sure as hell get worse if we don't," Lycon pointed out. "And anyway, when did you last get some sleep?"
"I haven't been wrestling with lizard-apes in public fountains," Vonones told him. "And you really should get those wounds looked after—that hand looks like a lump of raw liver. Come on, Lycon—if you're too exhausted to chase this thing down, you know none of the rest of us are up to the job. And if we fail, then we are all of us . . ."
"All right," Lycon yawned, too fatigued to argue further. "I'll go to the baths, get cleaned up and have a good rubdown, maybe sleep a few hours until we're ready to move."
"And take my litter," Vonones urged. "No, don't argue. It will save time all around, and you can nap on the way. I'll be busy here, and I'll send a messenger for you as soon as you're going to be needed. Might even stretch out for a short nap myself." The last was a lie, but the dealer wanted Lycon to get some rest at any cost.
"All right," decided Lycon. "I said I'd go." A memory stirred in his tired consciousness. "I'll be at the Baths of Naevius—that's not far from here, is it?"
He paused, not wanting to voice his thoughts. "Vonones, what do you think of N'Sumu?"
"I've known," said Vonones, and hesitated. Then: "I've known of people who claimed to be magicians."
"I've known of people who were magicians," Lycon stated in what was not precise agreement. "Still, I never knew a magician who did what N'Sumu did with his hands—not just by touching people, but at a distance."
Vonones bit his lip. "I don't believe in the gods, Lycon," he said, with his face twisted in a frown of concern. "Not like that, but . . ."
"Let's just pray that N'Sumu is a friendly god—or magician," Lycon said. "At least, friendlier toward us than toward the lizard-ape."
Chapter Seventeen
N'Sumu rented a suite of rooms on the second floor of an apartment block in rather a better neighborhood than that of last night's conflagration. The block included another thirty or so similar apartment suites, most of them broken up and sublet to other tenants. That the strange Egyptian was wealthy enough to occupy an entire suite of rooms by himself did not excite half as much curiosity as did the scandal that N'Sumu lived there without a single slave to serve him—at least, none had ever been observed to enter or depart, although at times questionable sounds were to be heard from within the Egyptian's chambers.
There was a window overlooking the courtyard, but it seemed to be masked with some sort of curtain, and no one could catch any glimpse of what was within even when the shutters were open. This was not surprising, since the screen that blocked out this sun's dangerous ultraviolet radiation also insured complete privacy from any human range of vision. Another field had been calibrated to trigger sensations of fear and unease in any human who approached too closely. If this would not discourage a potential intruder, there were other measures inside the apartment that would terminate any unwelcome visit. N'Sumu had returned one night to find the corpse of a thief, obviously one who had been too drunken to react to artificially induced fear but not so drunken that he could not reach the window. The body lay broken upon the stones of the courtyard, and when the other tenants assumed that the thief had slipped and fallen, N'Sumu did not disabuse them.
N'Sumu unlocked the door of his apartment with the cumbersome key he had been given—after first disarming his own security system by means of one of the devices from the belt he wore beneath his tunics. Once inside, he reactivated all systems. Heretofore his concerns were limited to the chance intrusions and prying curiosi
ty of this world's aboriginal populace; since the night past he now harbored a very real dread in the form of a blue-scaled killer that now had sensed the presence here of its original captor. The situation on this assignment was definitely deteriorating.
RyRelee—or N'Sumu, as he was known to the natives of this world—dropped the corpse of the phile hatchling onto the floor of the barely furnished room and began to pull off the stifling folds of his native clothing. That accomplished, the emissary stripped off the most accessible portions of the bronze-colored protective sheathing he wore over his natural scales—sheathing both a disguise and a protection from the deadly ultraviolet radiation of this scalding hot planet. Carefully he removed the major segments of the mask that enclosed his head. He dared not attempt to make himself any less uncomfortable, as it would take too long to reassemble all of his cosmetic features, and RyRelee had too much to do before he rejoined his native helpers.
The emissary considered them. Their cooperation seemed to be as necessary as it was frustrating. It wasn't that they blundered badly, the two of them. On the contrary, their competence and the way they chose to apply it were dangerous to RyRelee's plans. That was the problem, after all: they made choices instead of doing as they were told, the way Class 6 natives ought to do when given orders by a civilized life form. The plump one, Vonones—he seemed to be soft and safe enough to deal with, but RyRelee had witnessed the aborigine's courage, and he now recognized the shrewd cunning behind the merchant's overt attempts to be conciliatory at all times. The other, Lycon, too often reminded the emissary of a phile; this native was competent, ruthless—and too dangerous for RyRelee's comfort.
No matter. The emissary had already decided that the two of them would not outlive their usefulness to him. If they survived the phile, RyRelee meant to finish them himself—or better yet, leave them to a slower death at the hands of their enemies among the other natives.
RyRelee examined the molds that had matured in his crudely improvised incubator. They were unpalatable, as were the bricks of refined native foodstuffs, but at least they had begun the process of breaking down the complex structures that otherwise would have made even the refined residues as digestible to the emissary as a mouthful of straw to one of this world's aborigines. He managed to ingest enough to help assimilate the fortified concentrates of his stores, then washed it all down with osmotically filtered water. Again he cursed the Cora for allowing him only minimal field equipment: no artifacts must be discovered by the autochthones.