Elements 03 - Monsters of the Earth

by David Drake

  “I told you about Melino,” Lucinus said. He bent to pick up another clod and crushed it with his thumb. “He has returned to the Waking World with the demon ring. My uncle sent him to bring it from the Otherworld, but Melino stole it himself. The demon gives him great power, but the ring alone does not have sufficient power to loose the Worms.”

  Lucinus tossed the pulverized clod into the air as a yellow-gray haze. He muttered under his breath, “Flames dance in her marrow and lust wounds her breast!”

  The vision sucked Corylus in wholly, and the world around him vanished. He was watching a dinner party. He didn’t recognize any of the men, but Hedia and Alphena reclined on the right-hand couch and the handsome youth on the cross couch was in animated conversation with Hedia.

  They were flirting. Corylus didn’t have to hear the words to know that from the body language, from the gestures, from Hedia’s flashing smiles. She looked radiant.

  “That was last night,” said Lucinus’ voice, filling the image. The words had no echo.

  The vision sucked into a vortex, then re-formed as a rented sedan chair made its way down the Naples Road out of Puteoli. The curtains were drawn, concealing the female passenger’s face and torso.

  “Melino has become a demon,” Lucinus said, “and he works through a demon. He gains power for his magic by blood and pain, and he uses a female counterpart to effect his spells.”

  The sedan chair in the vision stopped in front of a house of moderate size with a high-walled garden in the rear. There was nothing exceptional about the dwelling save for the pair of guards wearing swords and body armor who were lounging in the entryway. That wasn’t strictly illegal—the armed men were on the householder’s property—but it was extremely unusual and risked being reported to the imperial authorities.

  The Emperor spent more time on the island of Capri, nearby in the Bay of Puteoli, than he did in Carce, and he was a notably paranoid man. Corylus for one wouldn’t want to presume on what the Emperor considered sufficient evidence that someone was planning the armed overthrow of the Republic.

  “In order to release the Worms,” Lucinus said, “Melino must gain the Book, which my uncle replaced on Zabulon’s Isle. He is enlisting a confidante to help him do this—and to destroy all life thereby.”

  The woman from the hired chair was concealed beneath a full veil, but a servant had been walking behind the vehicle. She followed her mistress up the flagstone walk. The servant was unquestionably Syra, Hedia’s chief maid.

  “This will happen today,” Lucinus said. “In days or even hours, Melino will have the Book unless I can forestall him. That is all the time we have, and all therefore that Mankind has!”

  The vision twisted into itself, drawing Corylus’ soul with it for an instant. He was back in Lucinus’ garden, back in the Waking World. Gasping, he fell to his knees, then reached out to grip the rough trunk of the peach tree again. This time the touch of the wood was to settle him rather than to settle the faintly smiling sprite within.

  Corylus opened his eyes—he didn’t remember closing them—and got to his feet. To his surprise Varus seemed undisturbed by the experience; he was helping to support Lucinus, who was even more wrung out by this experience than he had been by the vision he had created the day before.

  “Are you all right?” Varus said to the magician.

  “Yes, yes,” said Lucinus snappishly. “Just let me get my balance. There.”

  He straightened and stepped away from Varus. Stress explained his tone, but Corylus wasn’t—he realized with a smile—willing to give Lucinus the benefit of the doubt.

  Though at this point—his smile faded—Corylus was furiously angry with Melino, whom he had never met. In all logic, he had even less reason for that than he did for disliking Lucinus.

  Lucinus walked inside without asking his guests to accompany him. Varus looked at Corylus and raised an eyebrow; Corylus grinned—seeing the magician’s exhaustion had improved his mood—and gestured his friend ahead of him.

  Lucinus seated himself on a chair facing the table and apparently realized for the first time that there were only two chairs in the room. He looked startled.

  “Gaius, you take it,” Corylus said. He backed against the sidewall and waited, holding his staff. Plaster that had flaked off the brick core crunched under his heavy sandals. He wondered what sort of frescoes had once decorated the house of Carce’s greatest poet.

  Lucinus looked at Corylus. In a fierce voice he said, “Melino is using Lady Hedia to gain Zabulon’s Book. His spells protect the interior of his dwelling from my observation, but you’re a man. You can imagine what is going on—besides the magic.”

  Corylus didn’t speak. He kept his face expressionless—he hoped it was expressionless—as he glanced at Varus.

  “I don’t believe…,” Varus said in a deliberate voice, “that my mother could be coerced into aiding in harmful magic. As for what else the Lady Hedia may do, that is none of my business until she requests me to become involved. As for you…”

  He gave Lucinus a slight smile. It looked like an expression one might see on the face of a reptile.

  “If you make any further comment which could be considered a reflection on my mother’s character, I will have you punished. I would not dirty my own hands with you—”

  “I would,” Corylus snarled. I really am angry.

  “—but I will have some of Father’s servants beat you to whatever they consider a sufficient degree. Do you understand?”

  “I understand,” said Lucinus. To Corylus’ surprise, he smiled also—much as he had when Corylus and his friend started up the walk. “Now, Lord Varus: Do you understand? Do you understand that unless I have your help, Melino will gain the Book and will have the power to do whatever he wishes?”

  He paused. “You do not have to believe me that he, or at any rate the demon wearing his flesh, wishes to destroy all life, though that is true,” he said. “But that Melino will have the power to do whatever he wishes—do you believe that?”

  Corylus believed him. He didn’t like Lucinus—the fellow was bumptious and patronizing—but he was completely believable, as much because of his flaws as despite them. He seemed too full of himself to see the need of lying, and he was beyond question a magician.

  But it wasn’t Corylus’ decision. He said nothing, instead looking again at his friend.

  “What do you envisage me doing?” Varus said quietly, meeting Lucinus’ eyes.

  “We will go to Carce,” Lucinus said. “I have arranged for us to begin our real journey there. If we can leave soon—”

  He gestured, apparently indicating the garden and the visions he had created in it.

  “—it would be better than not.”

  “We can leave tomorrow morning,” Varus said. “I’ll inform Father that I’m returning to Carce in normal fashion. There’s no reason to concern him.”

  “And I’m coming with you,” Corylus said, his fingers tightening on his cornelwood staff. He glared at the magician.

  “As you wish, master,” Lucinus said with a shrug. “You may do anything you please here in the Waking World. When Lord Varus and I set out for Zabulon’s Isle, however, you will have to find your own way. The boat will only hold two, so you could not join us. Not even if you were a magician greater than me.”

  “Gaius?” Corylus said. “Is that true?”

  Varus looked at him sadly. “I don’t know, Publius,” he said. “I’m not a magician. At least not a magician by study; I don’t know what I am now.”

  His face hardened. “I think it may be true,” he said. “I would be very glad of your company, my friend, but just for your presence. I’m not concerned about Master Lucinus attacking me.”

  “There will be much to fear,” Lucinus said, smiling at Corylus. “Nothing that your undoubted strength would be of any use against, however.”

  Varus lifted his chin in agreement. “Stay home, Publius,” he said. “There’s enough happening that I don’
t doubt you’ll find a use for your talents.”

  “There is one thing that Master Corylus could do that is beyond my abilities and yours, Lord Varus?” Lucinus said, cocking an eyebrow at Varus.

  “Speak, then!” Varus said.

  “Melino has protected his dwelling and garden against spells,” Lucinus said, including Corylus in his explanation. “But he has guards who live in separate housing, and he has gardeners come in to care for the herbs growing behind the house. A man of Master Corylus’ sort might be able to talk to the servants when they’re off-duty and learn something about his plans.”

  “There’s an umbrella pine in the back corner of Melino’s garden,” Corylus said, recalling the vision. “Yes, that’s something I might be able to help with.”

  “I’ll leave our house on the Bay at dawn,” Varus said to the magician. Corylus noted again that while his friend was a scholar in all senses of the term, he didn’t dither in making up his mind. “I’ll pick you up. Have whatever you need ready to load. If there’ll be more than will fit in two carriages, tell me now.”

  “I will have very little,” Lucinus said. “I’ll need one of the goats, but I think I will take both for safety’s sake.”

  “As you please,” said Varus. He raised an eyebrow. “Publius? Do you have more to do here?”

  “Let’s go,” Corylus said, gesturing his friend toward the door and the waiting cart.

  Corylus had work to do back in Puteoli. He grinned at the thought.

  He had no right to be jealous of Melino’s friendship with Hedia. Hedia had made a very clear offer to Corylus when they first met, and Corylus—who had done foolish things, but never anything as foolish as becoming involved with a senator’s wife, let alone the mother of his closest friend—had rejected her.

  Nevertheless, Corylus was jealous. He was too intelligent to deny that truth even when it was embarrassing to him.

  He grinned more broadly.

  * * *

  “YOUR DAUGHTER HAS COME HOME, Your Ladyship,” Syra said quietly to Hedia. “Balbinus himself is escorting her to you, as you requested.”

  Hedia nodded without turning around. She hadn’t directed the chief steward—or anyone else—to escort Alphena to her when she returned; she had merely said that when Lady Alphena arrived she should be informed that her mother would like to see her. Hedia hoped the girl wouldn’t be offended by the servants’ presumption, but it couldn’t be helped now.

  Realistically, someone who was determined to be upset could always find a reason. That would have been a description of Alphena a few months ago, but more recently the girl had been a pleasure to be around. She remained her own person with her own interests, skills, and opinions, but she had ceased to be a screeching brat.

  Which made the coming discussion all the harder.

  “Yes, Mother?” Alphena said as she walked around the marble bench where Hedia sat facing the fishpond. “Balbinus said you wanted to see me.”

  Hedia turned. She intended to offer a pleasant smile anyway, but the sight of the steward on the back porch of the house with an agonized expression brought her to the edge of open laughter. Obviously, Alphena had decided she didn’t need an escort to find the fishpond and had made her wishes known to Balbinus in a sufficiently forceful fashion.

  It serves him right for his presumption.

  “Sit down, dear,” Hedia said, patting the bench. As expected, two of Alphena’s servants placed a red plush cushion on the marble under the direction of the girl’s chief maid, Florina.

  Alphena obeyed, crossing her hands primly on her lap. She was still wearing the outfit in which Hedia had sent her with her brother to the Cispius house: a rose-colored tunic with a white wrap. Her sandals were white leather and very chic, but their soles were thick enough to allow the girl to walk or even run comfortably on stone streets.

  Hedia’s smile turned inward. There have been times recently when I would have been better off in sturdier footwear. Perhaps as Alphena has learned from me, I should learn from her.

  “Do you mind a little sun, dear?” Hedia asked.

  “What?” said Alphena. Instead of blurting, “Of course not!” she went on politely, “No, Mother. I don’t need the parasols.”

  At home in Carce Alphena practiced swordsmanship daily in the gymnasium at the back of the town house. Hedia hadn’t objected—she knew to pick her battles—but besides the unladylike tan, the equipment rubbed the skin. Some of the calluses were obvious in a lady’s daily routine; others would only be seen under conditions of greater intimacy—but that was a matter for the girl’s eventual husband.

  Hedia sighed internally. At least she hadn’t had to worry that Alphena would refuse to sit with her in direct sunlight.

  “Leave us,” Hedia said. She glanced up at her chief maid. “Syra,” she said. “My daughter and I wish to be alone. See to it.”

  Hedia didn’t raise her voice. Nor did the maid—but Syra spoke with the authority of her mistress, and the urgency of her whispered demands cut like a hooked whip … which was what the overseer would apply in the evening to the back of any servant who hadn’t responded as quickly as Syra thought Lady Hedia would have wished.

  A fish had noticed her. It came to the surface; immediately several more joined it. All Hedia really cared about fish was how they tasted. It was an article of faith among fashionable cooks that no dish should resemble the creature that provided the flesh, so she couldn’t even tell which of these she would like for a meal.

  The servants had withdrawn into the house. That didn’t mean that mother and daughter had real privacy, but it was more or less possible that they did.

  “A man once told me that King Midas had the ears of a donkey,” Hedia said as she watched the fish gape hopefully. “The only person who knew was his barber, whom he swore to secrecy. The barber had to tell someone, though, so he spoke the secret into a well.”

  She met Alphena’s eyes. The girl looked puzzled.

  “But the reeds around the well heard him, and now reeds all whisper, ‘Midas has donkey’s ears,’” Hedia said.

  She smiled reflectively. “I wasn’t impressed by the man,” she said. “But I still remember that story. I don’t remember nearly as much about most men.”

  “Mother?” Alphena said. She’s completely at sea … and I’m trying to avoid my duty.

  “I’m going to ask you to do a very hard thing, dear,” Hedia said. “I want you to go back to Carce immediately.”

  “What?” said the girl, jerking back in surprise. “But Pandareus and I have just found something that, well, may help with my dreams and whatever Varus saw. As soon as he and Corylus get back, we’re going to tell them!”

  “I’m sure Master Pandareus will be able to inform them by himself,” Hedia said. With no hesitation that another person would have noticed, she continued, “I’m going to be involved in my own affairs soon. I’m going to be spending time with Melino, the magician we met last night.”

  Alphena went from being hot with frustration to cold with disapproval. Her face would make a study for an artist, Hedia thought sadly.

  “I’m telling you this,” Hedia said aloud, “not because it has bearing on the danger that concerns us, though it does, but because I probably won’t be able to pay the necessary attention to you. I won’t be able to pay attention to you and Publius Corylus.”

  “Mother!” Alphena said. She half-stood, then forced herself to sit down again.

  “I know what it is to be young…,” Hedia said. There was only seven years’ difference between her age and her stepdaughter’s, but they had been seven eventful years. “And I know that the excitement of working with an attractive man can translate into other excitement.”

  “Mother, I would never do that,” Alphena said earnestly. Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

  “Even so,” Hedia said. “It would become known.”

  She looked down at the fish. A complicated system of tide pools and siphons filled the pond and changed
the seawater regularly. The engineer who oversaw the work had been very pleased with it, and Hedia had found the engineer pleasing for a time.

  “You might survive a fling with Corylus,” she continued, “though it would harm your marriage prospects. Corylus would be destroyed. I would see to it that he was destroyed, dear, even if I suspected my daughter had been the aggressor in the business.”

  “You would do that?” Alphena whispered.

  “Yes,” said Hedia. “And I would regret it, because I have great liking and respect for Master Corylus. So. Will you leave the Bay at once?”

  She didn’t add “of your own free will,” though that was the truth of the situation. An open threat would put the girl’s back up, but she knew Hedia well enough by now that she had probably heard the unspoken words.

  “I think…,” Alphena said deliberately. “That you’re imagining that I’m a younger edition of you, Mother. I’m not. But I believe you have my best interests at heart. I will leave in the morning, for Carce—or at any rate, leave the Bay. And Corylus.”

  Hedia didn’t move for a moment. She had been poised for a tantrum, and tears had seemed even more likely.

  She had not been prepared to hear the girl analyze her motives as coolly as if she were judging the tricks and tells of a gladiator in the arena. Alphena didn’t sound angry, just slightly superior. Which perhaps she had a right to be.

  “Thank you, Daughter,” Hedia said. She rose to her feet. “Now, I think that I’ll get ready to go out. Syra?”

  Alphena walked back to the house. She was going to change, probably, since she wasn’t comfortable in the garments required for public.

  Whereas Hedia herself …

  She stretched in the sunlight as her maid joined her. “I will be wearing a full cloak when I go out this afternoon,” she said. “But under it, I think … perhaps the pale green?”

  “With what undergarments, Your Ladyship?” Syra said as they too started for the house.

  “I’m not sure,” said Hedia. She smiled. “I’m not sure that I’ll wear anything at all.”