In Numina: Urban Fantasy in Ancient Rome (Stories of Togas, Daggers, and Magic Book 2)

by Assaph Mehr

  “Don’t get smart with me, young lady!”

  While I was curious about how an argument regarding yours truly might turn out, I decided it was best to interject at that moment. I coughed, and said, “May I make a suggestion that might satisfy you both?”

  They both turned to me, glaring fiercely. I had to rethink the wisdom of my recent action and my past record with women in general. Out loud I said, “Aemilia, you want to experience some real magia, of the kind not normally allowed to women, at least inside our city’s sacred boundary, right?”

  She nodded, and I continued. “I have something to offer you, then. Your mother and I agree that coming at night to witness the curse in action is too perilous. We know that there might be some wild and dangerous manifestations and I will be far too busy dealing with them to protect you properly. But I can arrange a taste of what I will be experiencing. Your argument gave me the idea for how to trace the origins of the curse. It will be quite safe, and so long as you are not near the source you’ll be fine. I’ll give you this taste away from the haunted houses and any danger and afterwards you’ll return here.”

  Aemilia didn’t appear entirely convinced and this was a deviation from the purely academic activity Cornelia had in mind, so before either of them could speak I added, “I will still need help in devising a ritual to contain the curses as we discussed, in dealing with the source. You can assist me with the research, and, if I deem it safe enough, I will arrange for you to watch me perform the curse’s undoing from a distance.”

  Neither of them looked particularly pleased, but they agreed nonetheless.

  ***

  I decided to postpone finding the lead merchant.

  Our investigations down that avenue would be more productive if we found a sample of the metal sheets used. Instead, we headed to the Street of the Embalmers to visit my acquaintance and master herbalist, Akhirabus. As my discerning readers may tell by his name, he comes from far off Mitzrania. They have a bit of an embalming fetish there, preserving the corpses of their dead for centuries. They believe that when the animus leaves the body, it still needs that physical earthly manifestation in order to function in the afterlife. Or, at least, that’s how I understood it. All sounding a bit exotic to most Egretians, who prefer cremation to inhumation. Still, in a city as large as ours there was always a need for people with special skills in handling corpses.

  Although Akhirabus’ profession was embalming, his passion was herbalism. His mind retained information as comprehensive as you’d likely find in any library and he had enough scrolls and codices to complement his knowledge and rival the best collections. The veneficitores of the Collegium Incantatorum might have taken a dim view of someone like that, except that he was doing brisk business in supplying them with ingredients of the finest quality for their potions and poultices. For every rhone that rose and wanted to rid our city of ‘unnatural foreign influences,’ there were ten members of the college who owed Akhirabus favours. And so, his shop remained open through the years, its modest facade hiding a most unusual collection.

  As we entered, our noses were assaulted by the plethora of smells and scents competing for attention. I had been there on many occasions and was overwhelmed anew each time. I stood awhile, letting my eyes adjust to the gloom and my mind adjust to the urgent messages of my nose. I peered sidelong at Aemilia as the expression on her face changed with every waft of air that brought new smells to her attention. Her eyes narrowed, her brows furrowed then shot up, her expression lightened, and a quizzical look crossed her face — a succession of curiosity, surprise, disgust, and pleasure in each heartbeat.

  Akhirabus’ assistant came to greet us and soon we were seated in his study at the back, amidst his most treasured scrolls and samples.

  Akhirabus did not let me jump straight to business. “Please, you must first tell me how you met this charming young lady.”

  “Aemilia is the niece of my current employer. In fact, it was upon her recommendation that he hired me,” I said.

  “But to what do I owe the pleasure of her visit today? You are always running your errands in a solitary fashion, never accompanied by the clients you service.”

  “I am here to keep him honest,” Aemilia responded. And before I could respond, Akhirabus erupted in such good-natured, hearty laughter that I could do naught but join him.

  Akhirabus wiped the tears from his eyes and said, “You will have your hands full then, though I can’t tell if this is a bad thing or a most enjoyable one,” he said with a wink. Aemilia blushed.

  “Back to business, if you please,” I said. “I am after some psilocybe mushrooms. I would trust no one but you to do the correct identification.”

  “And which would you like? If you come to me, I assume you are not in need of the garden-variety semblances. I have psilocybe semilanceata in stock and at a good price, but if it’s cyanescens that you want I’m afraid the price will be rather higher.”

  Being on an all-expenses-paid commission, I normally would have preferred the finer stuff and bluntly charged it to Valerius Flaccus, but I was conscious of Aemilia’s watchful eye. “Psilocybe semilanceata would do just fine. Although,” I paused for effect, and felt Aemilia’s gaze on me. “Perhaps in this instance we should go instead with the cyanescens. I will need all the refinement I can get for the use I have for it. I was thinking maybe even letting the young girl try it, and her uncle surely would approve of the extra cost for the sake of his adored niece.”

  Akhirabus raised an eyebrow and turned to appraise Aemilia anew. She looked surprised, and her lack of understanding was plain. “Are you sure?” he asked me. “The lady seems too young, too —” he waved a hand in the air, looking for words, “— Egretian, to know what do with it.”

  “I will be there to guide her. She was adamant that she needs to report to her uncle that I am not cheating him out of his money, but with theory and no practice she can’t quite follow in my footsteps. I thought this way she would gain the perspective she so strongly desires.”

  “Very well.” Akhirabus chuckled softly at Aemilia’s puzzlement and addressed her as he said, “I shall give you my best psilocybe practically at cost — provided you return one day soon and tell me of your experience.”

  ***

  “What was that all about?” Aemilia persisted as we made our way out of the shop and down to the Porta Fulvia.

  “You wanted a taste of magia, right? And I need to be able to detect the traces left by the nightly hauntings. I have explained to you that I don’t have the visus verum, so I cannot just follow the invisible marks from an animated mural to the source of its power. Even the vision of graduate incantatores is coloured by their specialisation, and most would find it hard to concentrate on the effect we’ve seen. But there are ways to enhance this. These methods, while based on folk remedies, are actually used by the Collegium. The masters and teachers use it in a controlled environment to open the students to the perception of magia. While the folk recipes are inexact and have dubious, sometimes even fatal, results, the Collegium has refined the practices. Instead of wild visions, the apprentices get an insight. They can then practice with it in mind. Attaining sensitivity to magia is akin to finding a black cat in a dark room while wearing a blindfold. This way, you at least know what a cat looks like.”

  “And how would that help you now? I thought you’ve already been through basic training at the Collegium.”

  “True,” I said, “but it can help me in two ways. First, when used carefully, it can heighten my sensitivity to the flows of magia. It won’t be quite like the true sight, but it will be enough for me to track the source.”

  “And the second way?” Aemilia asked.

  “It will keep me employed by fulfilling the promise to both your mother and you. I will let you try some this afternoon. It will not be the full guided tour of an apprentice at the Collegium, but it will give you a tast
e of the true nature of magia, without the risk of exposing you to anything too dangerous. Now hush, for the place we are about to enter does not normally see women of your class.”

  We were standing in a narrow alley off an odd-shaped public square near the Porta Fulvia. Above the door hung a sign of an amphora with eels sticking out. This was the Pickled Eel tavern, the favourite haunt of my old army buddy Crassitius, and where he ran his business.

  We entered and Aemilia made a strangled gurgle at the overpowering smell of rancid wine, old boiled-cabbage, and overly-garlicky sausages. “So far, all the places you stopped at were cheap but decent. What is this place? It smells horrid.”

  “We’re not here to eat anything,” I answered. “We are here to pick up some help for tonight. My friend Crassitius owns a stable of ex-gladiators.”

  “Why not get one of my mother’s bodyguards?”

  “Because I don’t trust them. You’ve seen how your uncle’s agent’s enforcers reacted. I need someone I can rely on to pull me away, if things get ugly.”

  We shuffled our way to the back, where I found Crassitius engrossed in a game of tali.

  “How is this game played?” Aemilia asked.

  “There are four dice made of sheep knuckle-bones. Because of their uneven shapes, they can roll on one of four sides. Those are numbered from the largest to the smallest as one, three, four and six. The value of the throw depends on the combination.”

  Crassitius’ turn came. He scooped the knuckle-bones into a wooden cup, exclaimed “Vultures circle to the left, Venus keep my hand deft!” and tossed them from the cup onto the table.

  The gathered men leaned in and peered at the dice. By the loud groan that escaped Crassitius’ lips and the chuckles from the rest of the group, I knew I would not be getting a discount tonight.

  “Why don’t you take a break, Marcus Crassitius, and earn some honest money instead?” I called to him.

  “Ha! Felix! The day you make recommendations of honest work is the day the gods piss fire down on us!”

  “Still closer than the day you win at tali,” I retorted. “Calling upon Venus to guide your dice. If that goddess had any consideration for you, she wouldn’t make even the ugly whores charge you double!”

  “Well, she certainly has been smiling at you recently,” he said as he turned his gaze to Aemilia. His eyes went up and down her youthful frame, missing nothing. His leer made her blush.

  “That,” I said, “would be the honest work I mentioned. I will need some muscle for tonight, but one with some brains as well. Not overly superstitious would be a preference.”

  “Muscles, easy; brains, a possibility; but not superstitious? Unlikely.”

  “What about Borax? He was quite alert and useful when I hired his services the last time,” I said.

  “Borax has been tentatively commissioned for tonight. I could perhaps change his booking — if the price is right.” Crassitius then proceeded to name an astronomical sum.

  “You always were a mentula of a sore loser when it came to dice. For that amount I should be able to buy a trained gladiator outright!” I said.

  “Possibly, but none so accomplished and not in time for tonight,” he retorted.

  We argued a bit more, but Crassitius knew he had me. I needed a bodyguard I could trust and he played on it. No mention of our shared army past would sway him.

  “This is ridiculous,” Aemilia suddenly piped in, turning to Crassitius. “You like betting on dice, yes? We each throw the dice once. If I win, we pay you half of what you ask, which is still probably twice what the gladiator is worth for one night. If you win, we’ll pay the full price, in cash, without further delay.”

  Crassitius eyed her for a moment. “The money I can already get,” he replied. “How about you pay full price — and I get one kiss from you?”

  “Done,” said Aemilia before I could object. I gazed at her and then at Na’ama standing a step behind. I could only imagine what Cornelia would do if — when — the slave girl reported this.

  Crassitius produced dice and a wooden throwing cup.

  “Let the host go first,” said Aemilia.

  Crassitius gathered the knuckle-bones, shook them in the cup, exclaimed “With libations of wine and honey, Iuno Moneta protect my money!” and threw the dice. “Ha! A triple Senio! Three sixes! Beat that!” he exclaimed gleefully.

  Without a word Aemilia gathered up the bones and placed them in the cup. “Magna Mater make this right, aid your servant in her plight!” she intoned like an expert, and cast the knuckle-bones on the table.

  The dice stopped rolling and I started to laugh. “One of each number! The Venus Throw, the luckiest of them all! You were right, Crassitius, Venus must be smiling down on us.”

  “This is not my day for bets,” Crassitius grumbled. “I’ll send Borax to your place by nightfall. Now go away already and let me get pissing drunk.”

  Chapter IX

  “Where to now?” Aemilia asked as we climbed to the crest of the Meridionali.

  “I thought we’d stop by my house, so I can prepare the mushrooms for tonight. I will let you have a taste, as promised. I’m afraid you will have to make your way to your mother’s domus by yourself, though, as I have to preserve my strength for tonight.”

  “Could these mushrooms let me experience the visus verum?”

  “Under competent guidance, yes. But I think you would be the first to point out that I hardly qualify as competent,” I chuckled at Aemilia. “No, tonight’s experiment will let you experience some of the magia flows, but in the same way that riding an unbroken mare is like driving a chariot at the races. It’s going to be a wild ride, so don’t expect refinement or control.”

  She knitted her brows. “And you’re sure it’s safe?”

  “What happened to your eagerness to try real magia? Don’t worry, people have been using those mushrooms for visions for aeons. Of course, not everyone retains their sanity, but we will only let you try a tiny amount — hardly enough to risk damaging your mind. Entirely up to you, of course,” I said, and sped up my pace a little so she wouldn’t catch my smile.

  We soon reached my home, where I unlatched the front door and let Aemilia, her slave girl, and the bodyguard in. “Dascha! We have guests for dinner!” I cried.

  Dascha ambled into the vestibule, and croaked, “One lady for the dining couches, domine, and two to dine with me in the kitchen? Oh, this one looks saucy. Probably too good for you. I’ll cook something nice, then. Oysters should do the trick.” She leered a little.

  I was amused at Aemilia’s sharp intake of breath, though whether at Dascha’s impertinence or her appearance, I wasn’t certain. My housekeeper was in her late seventies with but a handful of yellowing teeth and a permanent squint.

  “Was that your slave or some strange crone?” Aemilia asked.

  “Bit of both, really. Dascha has been with my family for years, since my father was a child. Perhaps because of this, she never quite accorded me the respect a master should expect from his slaves. Right now, she is my cook and house-keeper.”

  “She looks like something that belongs far away in a hut in some sacred grove,” said Aemilia.

  “Ha! I doubt any numina would want her as a priestess! But it does explain why she’s still with me.” And to Aemilia’s puzzled expression I added, “Because no one would buy her off my hands.”

  ***

  Aemilia sent her bodyguard to the kitchen, but her girl stayed with her as decorum dictated. In my study, I cleared a pile of scrolls from a chair for Aemilia and placed the packet of mushrooms on my desk, before assembling the necessary paraphernalia.

  Despite summer’s heat, I lit a brazier and fanned its flames, then placed a skillet on it and started to work.

  “Do you need to chant anything?” Aemilia asked. “Are you channelling the magia into the mushrooms? Activa
ting them in some way? The spices you’re adding, are they a special mix, your own recipe? And why eggs? Don’t folk incantations require blood sacrifice?”

  “I don’t need to chant or activate anything, the psilocybe will do that for us,” I answered as I washed the mushrooms, selected one and sliced it finely. “Some incantations work better with blood, but this isn’t an incantation. The spices are nothing more than salt and pepper, and a touch of oregano. You could probably chew on the mushroom by itself to the same effect, but they are rather vile unless cooked. The only secret here, as any campfire cook will tell you, is a splash of milk with the eggs. I am, in fact, making nothing more complicated than a mushroom patina.”

  I prepared a single portion from one mushroom and an egg. I needed to calibrate the potency of the concoction for tonight, so a single bite would give me an idea of the quantities I should use. I didn’t want to take too much at the insula and end up a gibbering idiot while the ghosts that haunted the place ripped off my limbs and eviscerated me.

  “Are you ready?” I asked Aemilia. She nodded, and I handed her a tiny bite of the mushroom and eggs on a spoon.

  She took it gingerly and sniffed it. “Smells almost like a regular patina, though there is another faint smell that comes with it, which I can’t quite place”

  “The word you’re looking for is farinaceous. It’s a starchy smell, in addition to the normal earthly, dank smell of fungi. Now chew and swallow.”

  Aemilia took a breath, closed her eyes, and placed the morsel of food in her mouth. She chewed carefully before swallowing. “How long until it takes effect?” She asked.

  “Not long. Describe what you see and feel.”

  “Well, I see you and this room. There is nothing special. Except that the light outside seems a bit brighter. Why is it so bright suddenly?” Aemilia rose and walked out of my study and into the garden. My house was modest, using a traditional floor plan. In the first section were the utility rooms and slave cubicles around the atrium, and in the other half was a cosy peristyle garden, surrounded by family rooms and the kitchen at the back. My study separated the two halves. From the garden, there was no view to speak of — just a patch of washed-out blue sky.