Empire of Time

by Daniel Godfrey

  Amel nodded, chewing slowly, savouring the food. “But don’t you think it’s odd that you come to the site and just stumble across it?”

  “Not really.”

  “The odds just seem a little long.”

  “When the site was first being uncovered, Pompeii attracted kings and aristocrats from all across Europe. On every important visit, something wonderful would be found right at their feet.”

  “But that was all set up, wasn’t it? The guides knew where… oh, shit.”

  She understood. A message from the future, transmitted into the past. They’d known where he’d be standing on a certain day and put the clue right under his nose, even if they hadn’t been able to completely protect it from the damage of the volcano, or the passage of so much time.

  “So what else do you want to know?”

  Amel looked away. Nick already knew what she wanted to ask. It was inevitable really. Even Chloe sometimes skirted around its edges. “I own about thirty slaves,” he said.

  Even as he said it, part of him couldn’t believe what he’d just admitted. The words didn’t belong in a modern restaurant in a modern city full of tourists and traffic jams.

  “I don’t know if I can justify it to myself, so I’m not going to try and explain,” he continued. “I’ve read what people say about it. And when I’m here, I agree. When I’m there though, it’s different.”

  “How is it different?”

  “It’s normal.”

  “How can owning another human being be normal?”

  “It’s… look, I seem to remember that when the world first found out about New Pompeii, some classicists criticised NovusPart for not owning slaves.” His observation didn’t draw any reprieve. Nick thought about downing his wine to take the edge off. “It’s not something I can change,” he said finally. “Rome was – is – a nation of slaves. Most families had former slaves as part of their ancestry. And I need them to run the house, the villa, the farm. It’s just a different time…”

  “This is our time,” Amel said. “Ours. Not theirs.”

  There was anger in her eyes, and the age gap between them suddenly seemed to widen. She still had the spark of something in her, the mindfulness not to accept the status quo, whereas he suddenly felt part of the problem.

  “A few years ago I was lucky enough to go on a trek into the Amazon,” she said. “We met up with a tribe who still lived there. On the second night, we found out they were going to kill a baby just because it had been born with a cleft palate. They thought it was a sign of evil spirits or something.” She paused. “Would you have done anything? Said anything? Just watched them get on with it?”

  Nick shrugged. “I guess there’s a principle of not interfering.”

  “It wasn’t a nature documentary,” said Amel. “It was a baby.”

  “Then yes,” said Nick. “I would have done something. Maybe. I don’t know.”

  Amel cleared her throat. “Do you… do you use your slaves for sex?”

  The expensive lamb provided by Fabio was slowly going cold. “No,” he said. He tried to hold her gaze. She seemed to believe him.

  “And Calpurnia?”

  Nick gave a shallow smile. “We’ve never been an item,” he said. “But if we had been, that would be fine, wouldn’t it? I mean, she’s a grown woman. Nothing like owning slaves, or sleeping with them.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “I’m not Marcus’s father, either.”

  “I didn’t ask that.”

  “But that’s where you were heading.”

  Amel stayed silent for a moment then winced, her expression one of regret. “Shit,” she said. “This isn’t going how I’d hoped.”

  42

  NICK DROPPED INTO the passenger seat of Chloe’s vehicle, and watched Amel walk back towards Pompeii’s security perimeter. His lunch partner was moving quickly, arms folded in front of her, looking more than a bit annoyed. Perhaps at herself, perhaps at him. Probably a mixture of the two.

  Fabio had come to his rescue. A message had come from the office in Naples, and he’d had no choice but to break up their “business” lunch. At first Nick had thought the Italian had sensed the growing tension, but he’d looked truly apologetic. Only afterwards had Fabio realised his timing had been unintentionally perfect. Nick had taken the opportunity to break things up.

  “I take it things could have gone better?” Chloe asked.

  Nick shrugged. “It probably went as well as could have been expected.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’ll be gone in a few days anyway.”

  Chloe didn’t respond, and started to programme the vehicle to make a quick loop around the site, and then head back to Naples. No doubt she was keen to avoid the crackpots and kooks on the main drag out of modern Pompeii.

  “Fabio sounded rushed,” Chloe said, absently. She reached again for the vehicle’s controls, ready to guide it out into the traffic. Nick stopped her, taking hold of her forearm and guiding her hand away from the dashboard. He had suddenly realised he had all afternoon, and little to do. And Fabio had been unexpectedly called away.

  Chloe twisted towards him. “What?”

  Nick paused for a moment, letting his brain tick over. “Can you check my Who’s Where status again, please?”

  Chloe looked annoyed, but the sudden vacantness in her eyes let him know she was complying with his request through her implant. “Still the same,” she said. “The Vomero district.”

  “But have you read the full entry?” Nick asked. “Including the date stamp?”

  Chloe’s eyes flicked left and right, the automatic reading reflex still there even though it wasn’t needed. Just like when Nick kept glancing at his damn wrist. “Shit,” she whispered.

  “It hasn’t been telling us where I’ve been, has it?”

  “No.”

  “It’s saying where I’m going.”

  Chloe’s eyes focused on Nick’s. “We’ve got to tell Fabio.”

  “No.”

  “He’ll want to know, Nick.”

  “The NovusPart Institute – the organisation run by Arlen’s mother – is based in the Vomero district. And I’m guessing my Who’s Where status says I go to Vomero now, not wait for Fabio to give his permission. Which won’t be forthcoming anyway.”

  “Just because Who’s Where says you’re going somewhere, doesn’t mean you have to comply.” Chloe chewed her lip. “Shit, Nick. This is my job we’re talking about.”

  “The risk is small. Fabio won’t find out, he won’t think to check your Who’s Where status. And so what if he does? Tell him when you get back, if you want to. Tell him I insisted.”

  “Do you even know what the NovusPart Institute is?”

  Nick hesitated. He didn’t. Information about it online had been sparse, with only brief mentions of it on the other NovusPart-related blogs. “No. Fabio didn’t exactly want to give me the details.”

  “It’s a hospice. Rich people go there to die.”

  How does that fit with McMahon, Arlen and Whelan?

  “Fabio was probably trying to protect you,” Chloe continued. She looked at him sympathetically. “Given your personal situation.”

  Nick nodded, and stared out of the vehicle towards the ruins of old Pompeii. He could just about see over the wall and towards Vesuvius. “When does Who’s Where say I arrive?” he asked.

  “About 2pm.”

  “And how long will it take to get there?”

  Chloe set a new destination on the dashboard. The computed journey time matched.

  “Then I guess you need to make a decision,” Nick said. “Which are you more: my friend, or Fabio’s?”

  * * *

  Chloe pulled the vehicle to a halt next to the kerb, but her grip on the wheel didn’t loosen. She’d been checking the “self-drive” system for the entire journey, checking the system wasn’t engaged. Checking it wasn’t tracking their movements.

  Nick glanced out of the window and took
in the building they’d parked up alongside. The NovusPart Institute had clearly been set up with a healthy budget, and was built in the style of a Roman temple, or at least the frontage was. Behind the marble façade, the architecture transformed into an elongated hall of glass and steel.

  “I don’t know how long I’ll be,” Nick said. He kept his eyes fixed on the building. Above the Corinthian-style capitals to the six fronting columns, the words NOVUSPART INSTITUTE had been carved into the stonework of the pediment. Underneath, much smaller but still visible, were the names of Arlen, McMahon and Whelan. And two faces – one at either end – turned in opposite directions.

  The faces of Janus.

  “They’ll recognise you.”

  Nick tried to smile. He was sure they would, but that wasn’t really the point. Chloe wasn’t going to change his mind.

  “I’m going to have to move,” Chloe said, eyeing a parking meter. “I’ll be on the first turn up the road.”

  “No, stay here,” Nick replied. He got out of the car and looked back at Chloe. She still had tight hold of the wheel. “If anyone challenges you, just flash your Bureau card and tell them I’m inside.”

  Chloe looked as if she wanted to argue, but Nick didn’t give her the chance, shutting the car door and striding up the Institute’s steps without a backwards glance. Ahead of him, hidden from the road by the shadow of the portico, the building’s glass doors slid open.

  Nick shivered as he entered the lobby. The building’s air conditioning was turned up high, and the shock made him come to an immediate halt. Who’s Where had told him he would be here, and he’d come, just because someone had updated his status and predicted he would follow it.

  “Sir?” The receptionist on the front desk craned her neck to catch his attention. “Do you have an appointment?”

  Does she recognise me?

  “No,” he said, scanning the lobby. The front desk sat squarely in the centre of the space. Down either side were generic statues of various Roman deities. He spotted two depictions of Venus, coyly pulling a towel across her chest and letting it drape between her legs whilst looking back over her shoulder as if being watched. The back of the lobby was dominated by a huge sculpture of Atlas holding the world atop his shoulder. “No,” he said again. “I don’t have an appointment.”

  The admission didn’t seem to faze the receptionist. Instead, she cocked her head and started speaking, seemingly to someone else in the building. Nick frowned. Her vacant expression meant she had a direct connection to the boards. A simple receptionist. So it wasn’t just show: the NovusPart Institute had plenty of cash.

  Another woman appeared through a door in the rear of the lobby, summoned, Nick presumed, by the receptionist. She positively floated towards him. Kooks in sheets, was what he’d said to Chloe. But this woman was pulling it off. White robes trailed behind her and delicately offset the darker shade of her skin. The only thing that seemed out of place was her hair, which had been cut into a short, distinctly un-Roman bob.

  The woman stopped short of him and waited, her expression a few notches above sombre, just enough to indicate a degree of sympathy. It wasn’t clear if she recognised him. Nick swallowed, remembering why most people would visit the institute. He recalled what Habitus had so often told him: If you’re going to lie, at least stir in some truth. “My father,” he said, immediately full of regret and guilt. “He’s dying.”

  The last word caught in his throat as the bluntness of his own words hit home. The full meaning. With his mother already gone, it wouldn’t be long before he was left on his own.

  The woman nodded delicately. “Perhaps we should discuss your requirements somewhere a little more private?”

  43

  New Pompeii

  PULLUS STOPPED AT his household shrine and stared deep into the recess. The actions he performed there were usually more for show than anything else. Something the rest of his household could observe, and confirm in their minds he was a good Roman.

  Not today.

  Today he stumbled over his words, and felt his arm steadily shake as he offered the stale bread to the flame. He caught the eye of one of the lares guarding its sanctuary. The little thumb-high statue seemed to be mocking him. How many times had he woken in the night thinking about what they’d done to Whelan? How many more times would he now find himself thinking about how he’d been left to rot in that cell?

  “You’re back.”

  Pullus turned to find Galbo standing behind him. His steward looked deeply concerned, and was leaning heavily on his staff. “You don’t look well. I take it you were right?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “That was pretty much going to be my answer to your question.”

  “What question?”

  “Popidius,” Galbo explained. “He’s definitely been confiscating things that used to belong to NovusPart. But he’s no collector; there’s nothing in his house. It goes out almost as soon as it comes in.”

  “He’s giving it straight to Naso?”

  “No.”

  “His slaves told you that, I presume?” Both of them knew information based on slave gossip could be surprisingly accurate, but it only went so far. “What do you think of him?” Pullus asked.

  “Popidius?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s young.”

  “And just finishing his first term as aedile,” Pullus said. “He could look forward to many more, if he keeps his nose clean.”

  Galbo didn’t say anything, and Pullus knew his steward couldn’t quite place what was wrong in all this. Why had the aedile taken the tablet from the baker but left everything else? And why had he done so days before Calpurnia had issued her order to go through the NovusPart artefacts?

  “You’ll need to prepare another guest room,” Pullus said, changing the subject. “Marcus is here.”

  Galbo’s brow furrowed. “Here in town? In Pompeii?”

  “Yes.” Pullus allowed himself a smile. “He’s gone to the theatre.”

  “On his own?”

  “Habitus gave him a couple of bodyguards. We’ll need to get more food in. Send for another pig, or something.” He shook his head. “Something’s not right here.”

  “Yes… Calpurnia doesn’t normally give him free rein.”

  “Not Marcus. Something’s not right with Popidius.”

  “Facts are few.”

  “Celer the baker told me he’d started gathering NovusPart material long before the instruction came from Calpurnia.”

  “He could have been lying.”

  Pullus shook his head, thinking about Celer’s daughter. Was she dead by now?

  He heard laughter from the garden. Pullus turned at the sound, and caught a look of regret on his steward’s face.

  “What’s going on?”

  “She was in your room. Going through your things.”

  “Taedia?”

  Pullus took a last look at the larium, and then circled past Galbo into the tablinum. The garden beyond was arranged around a central colonnade, the columns wrapped in vines. Taedia stood beside one of the columns, her lips moving silently, counting leaves.

  It was a relatively minor punishment, torment rather than torture. No doubt Galbo would have told her he already knew the number of leaves, and that she would face a more serious punishment if she didn’t reach the same value. Her task was being made that much harder by two other slaves who were calling random numbers at her and laughing. One of them was Primus. The other was a boy with rickets whose name Pullus always struggled to remember. He was carrying a large bag of food, no doubt just back from the market.

  “She was in your room,” Galbo repeated.

  Pullus lowered his voice into a tight whisper. “She’s Calpurnia’s informer.”

  “She’s your slave.”

  “Do we know what she found?”

  “No,” the steward admitted. “When she was found she was staring at your wall oracle. The tele-vision. It was hard to tell where she’d
been looking, except that she’d been through your clothes.”

  Pullus nodded. Taedia was still counting, the two slaves behind her trying to put her off. Neither of the boys had noticed him, and at once he was disappointed. All the slaves in his household had been pushed out by other masters: Galbo for being too old, the other two because of their physical deformities. They should have appreciated how lucky they were, rather than taking pleasure in another’s punishment.

  Galbo cleared his throat. “They’re just doing as I instructed.”

  “But did you tell them to enjoy it so much?”

  “No.”

  Pullus turned to leave. He wanted to get back to his room and count the letters from his father. Check the satchel. Ensure it remained buckled. Who knew what Taedia had seen? “Then have them switch roles,” he said. “And see how much they like it.”

  Galbo nodded, but he had more to say. “There is perhaps another way we could find out what Popidius is up to.”

  Pullus raised his eyebrows. “And you mention this now?”

  “I didn’t want you to take on more dead weight at your villa,” replied Galbo. He gestured at the two crippled slaves. “Or here.”

  “Who’s Popidius selling?”

  “A doorman by the name of Crixus.”

  Pullus thought back to his most recent visit to the aedile, but it had been months ago, and one man’s slaves looked much like all the rest. “The old chap with the sty on his eyelid?”

  Galbo nodded, leaning again on his staff. “He fell for a line, and let a stranger into the aedile’s private quarters. I’ve heard they’re not expecting anyone to pay much for him. He can’t keep upright for any length of time.”

  Pullus looked again at Taedia, thinking about what she may have found. “Market day’s tomorrow, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then tomorrow we go buy a slave.”

  44

  Naples

  “MY FATHER IS in the city sanatorium,” Nick said. “I’m told he’s only got a few days left.”

  It still wasn’t clear if he’d been recognised. The NovusPart Institute woman seemed to have mastered the art of keeping her face neutral. “Then he needs to be with us, here,” she said.