by Will Panzo
It had been quick. He had used fire, which was quiet enough, and there had been only brief screams. The flash did not worry him because the room had no windows.
He rose to his feet and stood holding his belly. He made his way to the overturned table. Some of the coins there were charred and melted into odd shapes, and the banknotes were ruined but for a single bill worth twenty-five silver pieces redeemable at a bank in Meroe, a Shona port town in the Southern Kingdoms.
He checked each of the bodies and found little of value beyond the ornate knives. One man held a corn husk filled with thin cigars, another a snuffbox made of horn. Inside the snuffbox was a fine, gray powder, and Cassius snuffed a pinch and his face grew numb. Garza root, a powerful stimulant.
He snorted, the taste sharp and rank in the back of his throat, then tucked the snuffbox under his belt.
Surveying the room, he found himself discomforted by the sight of the charred eyes and the open mouths, but there was no deeper revulsion and he considered this a victory and the first sign of something he could not yet name. A kind of transformation. He thought on the word he was looking for but could not find it and realized that maybe there was not a word for it yet.
He rose and felt dizzy, his head throbbing. He doubled over and coughed until his eyes watered. He spat something dark.
As he descended the stairs, he broke his necklace and left the octan on the bottom step. Then he exited the house, closed the door behind him, and headed for Hightown.
• • •
“Quit whining. I’ve seen bee stings worse than that.”
Cassius lay naked on the bar, a towel draped over his groin. He was breathing in short gasps and focused on the ceiling. The physician stood at his side, needle and thread gripped in one hand and a bowl of soapy water nearby.
Lucian sat at the opposite end of the bar, eating broiled chicken with his hands.
When the wound was stitched, the physician applied a clear salve, then a bandage made of clean, dry linen. He helped Cassius sit up.
“Clean it twice a day and dress it,” the physician said. “If it gets red or starts to leak, come see me. And take it easy for a while. Give those ribs time to heal.”
Cassius paid the physician three silvers, and Lucian walked him to the front door, then locked the door and returned to his meal.
Cassius climbed off the bar. His legs were bloodstained, his pubic hair matted with dried blood. He dressed in a fresh gray tunic supplied by Lucian, his back to the barkeep.
“Goddamn it, boy,” Lucian whispered.
Cassius turned. “What?”
“That scar.” Lucian sat staring.
“A souvenir from earlier times,” Cassius said, his voice hard-edged. “When I was young and stupid.”
“Not like now, when you’re old and wise and servant to a big boss like Cinna.”
“Is that the word on the street?”
“Yesterday, Sulla came to say that Cinna was looking for you. And tonight you show up with your belly sliced open. I’m no fool, boy.” Lucian picked his teeth with a sliver of chicken bone. “And I’ll say this about your new employer, he’s a thug. Mix with men like that, and you put your goddamn life at risk. Not to mention your honor.”
“What do you know of him?” Cassius tore a piece of bread from a loaf set on a nearby plate and chewed it absently, the bread drizzled with oil and garlic.
“As much as anyone would want to know. And I’m telling you to be careful. All business in Scipio is corrupt. But it’s also corrupting.”
“What does that mean?” Cassius asked.
“It’s hard to explain.” Lucian licked his fingers, wiped them on the front of his tunic. He filled his cup from a bottle of wine then filled a second cup. He motioned for Cassius to sit by him, and Cassius did. “You’d have to live your whole life here to understand. And that’s a fate I wouldn’t wish on anyone.”
“So why do you stay?” Cassius sniffed the wine in his cup.
“The same reason everyone stays. I can’t make it elsewhere. Which is why I have trouble understanding you. And worse, I worry that if you stay, you’ll become like the rest of us.”
“I’m stronger than most,” Cassius said. The words sounded convincing to his own ears. He wanted to believe them.
“So is your new friend Cinna. And look what this island did to him.” Lucian gestured for Cassius to finish his wine and Cassius did and Lucian refilled his cup. “Not a topic for polite conversation, though.”
“You won’t offend my delicate sensibilities.”
“This was years ago,” Lucian said. “Back before the Uprising. Before the island had two bosses, and Quintus still ruled from the city. The island was a frontier province, long forgotten by the mainland. A cesspool even then.”
“And who was Cinna then?”
“Just some merchant from the mainland. Nobody important.”
“A shopkeeper?” Cassius asked.
“That surprises you, does it? Well, it’s true. That goddamn grotesquerie you see oozing its way through his bar”—Lucian thrust out his already sizeable belly, twisted his face into a leer, grunted lasciviously—“that’s what this city made him.”
“How?” Cassius scratched at his bandage.
“When he landed, there was some unrest with the Natives, as there often was. These were the Natives who lived in the city, not the tribes from the jungles. Those had been beaten back by Quintus’s father a generation before, driven so deep into the jungle, they were almost myth. At the time, Natives in the city outnumbered Antiochi three to one. And they were restless. They rioted, killed soldiers, anything to disrupt the rule of law.”
“Quintus’s rule,” Cassius said.
Lucian nodded, downed another cup of wine. “Our young friend Cinna disliked Quintus’s rule as well. And he was rich enough to do something about it. So he aided the Native troublemakers, helped organize them. Regimented their training, planned attacks, offered bounties on legionnaires. All the while acting to the public as an honest merchant.”
“Seems a lot of trouble for one man.”
“He had help,” Lucian said. “From Piso.”
Cassius sucked his teeth.
“Like I said, this was a long time ago, boy.” Lucian stared off into the middle distance, then nodded, confirming something to himself that Cassius would never know. “Cinna and Piso were friends then. They organized and operated a dozen Native gangs, managed their own Antiochi mercenaries, and ran legal businesses that were making them rich. Illegally, they ran protection rackets.”
“And since they planned all Native attacks, they could offer better protection than the legion.”
“Exactly. Pay, and you were spared. Refuse to pay, and you were targeted.”
“That’s genius,” Cassius said.
“I admired it at the time, too.” Lucian leaned off his stool and spat. He wobbled. Cassius steadied him with a hand. “Cinna and Piso were great at portraying themselves as champions of the Natives’ cause. Their moves were covert, but for those of who knew what they were doing, they played the role of revolutionaries, not men grabbing for power.”
“Those of us who knew what they were doing?”
“You have to understand, the conditions of the Natives were terrible then, worse even than they are now.” Lucian sighed, stared into his empty cup. “They were slaves in everything but name. You couldn’t buy and sell them. Officially, they were citizens at this point, living on Antiochi soil, even if they didn’t see it that way. And the goddamn Republic would never tolerate open slavery of its own subjects. Foreigners? Certainly. And before conquering a people? Of course. But after the land was part of the Republic, Antiochi law protected the Natives. In theory, at least. In truth, their lives were worthless.”
A single peal of thunder sounded in the distance. It began to rain, the downpour lou
d on the roof of the bar.
“You didn’t answer the question,” Cassius said.
“Certainly they were right to want change. And maybe they were right even to try forcing it through bloodshed. Hell, I don’t know anymore, if I ever did. But that was the state of things then.”
“And you?”
“I was a fool.” Lucian looked to Cassius and then looked away. He grabbed the bottle of wine. “Eager to change this terrible world. If you want to make money, that’s fine. I’ve no qualms about that. But I wasn’t content to work for wealth. Sell myself for gold like some—” The barkeep waved the bottle.
“So you weren’t a bartender back then?”
“I was Piso’s man.” The barkeep made to fill his cup but stopped and raised the bottle to his lips instead. “First time I’ve said that aloud in years.”
Cassius set his hand on Lucian’s shoulder. The barkeep lowered his head.
“I thought I was fighting for something worthwhile. Live long enough, and you’ll see how rare it is to believe in something enough to risk your life for it. And you’ll see how dangerous that belief can make you.”
“So how did things get to be like this?” Cassius asked.
“Piso and Cinna grabbed for more power than they could handle. Quintus ruled from the city then. The legion’s fort was still in the jungle, and Quintus split his time between both places. In the fort, he was unreachable, completely protected. But the city was different. One day, there was an attempt on his life at the council hall. He was wounded terribly.”
“Piso and Cinna were behind it.”
The barkeep shrugged. “Who knows? Neither ever claimed responsibility, but who else could it have been. Afterward, Quintus retreated to the fort. Withdrew his entire army. Left the city undefended against the Native gangs.”
“It must have been chaos.”
“There were riots for days,” Lucian said. “The mob was inexhaustible. The city belonged to Cinna and Piso for a week. A whole damn week. And then Quintus mobilized his legions. Before the coup, he had been fighting a guerrilla war. But after the Natives took the city, he changed his strategy. He marched out of the fort with his entire goddamn army. Twice as many men as Cinna and Piso, and better trained and better equipped. He sacked the city in two days, turned most of Hightown to ash.”
Cassius started to speak but then fell silent. When he spoke again, his voice was husky, strained.
“What was the city like?” he asked.
Lucian wiped his face with the back of his arm. He took another swig from the bottle.
“He slaughtered them all,” Lucian said. “Civilians, women, children. None were spared. The Native army collapsed and went back into hiding. Quintus had no way to fight an army hidden among his own citizens. So he built gallows in the town square, held public executions for days. Killed thousands. Natives and Antiochi alike. Foreign merchants. Anyone suspected of aiding the Uprising. Anyone he couldn’t trust. All to force people to talk.
“They found that Sulla’s father was aiding the Uprising and beheaded him in the plaza. We served together us two. He had a family. A terrible thing.”
“Is that why you trust her?”
“She’s not the type to forget the help I offered her family,” Lucian said. “Not much help, but all I could spare.”
“And where were Cinna and Piso during this?” Cassius asked.
“Hiding. Planning. They were going to stage a mass exodus of the Native army. They bribed a pirate armada to transport the men to an island near the Turmii Straits. Once there, they would set up camp, train, reequip, hire mercenaries, and plot another attack.”
“They were going to start a civil war?”
“Piso was an old army man himself,” Lucian said. “His family had connections that ran to the high council in Antioch City. Quintus, on the other hand, had never been to the homeland. Had never set foot in the senate. He simply took his father’s place when he died. His men stayed because they were loyal to him, but his country was another matter.”
“So Piso and Cinna thought they’d be able to topple Quintus,” Cassius said. “Then get the support of the High Senate to install themselves as the new leaders of Scipio. And since no one cared about this province anyway, there wouldn’t be much resistance.”
“Not so long as the bribes continued to flow.”
“So what happened?”
“The day of the exodus came, and the ships arrived as planned,” Lucian said. “Two dozen of them. I’ll never forget the sight of them speeding toward the docks of Lowtown. Emboldened by the fleet, the Native armies fled their homes en masse. Most had never revealed themselves. Not publicly anyway.”
“Weren’t you scared of the legion?”
“We knew it would be a fighting retreat. But Quintus had no navy. He couldn’t chase us to sea. And once the ships appeared, our ranks swelled. We couldn’t have beaten the legion, but we could have fought them off long enough to make it onto the ships.”
“But you didn’t make it onto the ships,” Cassius said.
“Never even docked.” Lucian shook his head. “They anchored a half mile out at sea. Watched us fight the legion for a whole day. And after we were beaten, the ships sailed the hell away.”
“What happened?”
“It was all a trick. The ships arrived long enough to draw the Native fighters to one place. And then the legion showed and slaughtered us. Cinna and Piso double-crossed the Natives.” Lucian drank the last of the wine, then upended the bottle over his open mouth.
“Why?”
“For Scipio.” The bottle slipped from Lucian’s hand, shattered as it hit the ground. He laughed bitterly. “Piso and Cinna wanted the city. So Quintus gave it to them. In return, he demanded they sacrifice the Native army. Piso and Cinna got to be bosses, and Quintus got to punish the Natives. Everyone won.”
“But you said Piso and Cinna don’t really run this town,” Cassius said.
“They don’t. This is Quintus’s town. He outmaneuvered them again. He offered to let them rule so long as both those bastards were beholden to him. The council would remain to keep up appearances but wield no real power. Cinna and Piso agreed to his terms.”
“Because they never really wanted to help the Natives,” Cassius said. “They were just using them to grab for power.”
“Exactly.”
“So how could Quintus trust them to be peaceful?”
“He didn’t,” Lucian shouted. “He knew they were lying about serving him. Once they were in control, they would build their goddamn forces again, waiting to stage another coup. So he drove a wedge between them. He split the town in half. Piso got the docks. Cinna got Hightown. Of the two, the docks are worth more. Plus, Hightown was in ruins.”
“So Cinna became resentful.”
“Both bosses had to pay tribute to Quintus.” Lucian snatched Cassius’s mug. He patted his stomach, loosed a wet belch. “Piso could afford his, but Cinna couldn’t. Not with most of his land destroyed. So Cinna did the only thing he could to survive.”
“He attacked Piso,” Cassius said.
“And that’s what started the first of the wars between Piso and Cinna. It’s been like that ever since. Sometimes, there is peace, like now. But then Quintus raises the tribute, and both bosses are forced to take more from each other.”
“Which leads to fighting. Which leads to killing. Which weakens the forces of both bosses so that neither can challenge the legion directly.”
“All while Quintus grows fat in the jungle.”
Cassius shook his head. “This place is a nightmare.”
The barkeep raised his mug. “Let’s hope we all wake up screaming someday soon.”
LEARN TO BE STILL
In Celembria, they called him Doe Eyes. He was a boy of six, and he made his home in the narrow alleys near the docks, s
leeping amongst stray dogs for warmth. During the day, he subsisted on half-eaten scraps of food scrounged from garbage heaps or else stole apples and pears from fruit vendors. He wore only a threadbare tunic and a pair of sandals, his hair mangy and unkempt. His breath stunk always, and the dogs he slept with gave him fleas. But the women in the red house said he was beautiful, and they named him Doe Eyes.
They might have called him by his given name, but the boy had refused to speak for the last six months, not even to offer his name. His mother had warned him to be wary of strangers and to answer none of their questions. Your speech will give you away, she said. He listened.
His mother had made him promise to keep quiet around others and to run if he felt scared. Most importantly, she made him promise to be strong. His mother was gone now, but every night, he prayed she would return, and every day, he kept his promises to her.
On the outskirts of the docks stood a house with windows lit by red lanterns. A young woman named Flavia lived in that house. She was tall and heavy, with olive-hued skin and dark hair that hung down her back in long, loose ringlets. The first time he met Flavia, the boy saw her knock a man unconscious with a single punch.
The boy was wrestling with a dog over a ham bone that day. A small crowd of old men and beggars had gathered to watch the contest, standing about and cheering, most for the dog. The boy had gotten a two-handed grip on the bone, but the dog was tireless, and the boy was near to losing the contest when he heard a shriek from the crowd. He turned to see Flavia shoving through the press. A raggedy beggar with a wide straw hat tried to stop her from interfering, and Flavia punched him in the face, a clean punch that sent the man reeling. Still charging forward, she kicked the dog in its ribs and the dog slunk away and the boy looked up at her, the bone held before him, and she shouted for him to drop it, her scream scared instead of angry, as his own mother’s had been the time he brought her a snake he had found near an old well. The boy dropped the bone, and Flavia grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the crowd and pulled him all the way to the house lit by red lanterns.