by Will Panzo
“I didn’t feel anything until a second before the spell triggered. This man was skilled. He cast quickly, before any of us had time to think.” Cassius flexed his arms, tested their range of motion. The physician had given him a tincture to help with pain. But the tincture, coupled with his blood loss, made him faint, and the pain still lingered, dulled and ever-present just below this haze.
“Except you,” Piso said. “Who had time to shield himself from the fire, right?”
“That was pure instinct. Had I even thought about what was happening, I would have been too slow to cast. It’s Hoka’s fault, if you ask me. He should have been more careful. He was careless, and he got those men killed. I barely made it out of there myself.”
“Still, you made it out. Better shape than the others, all things considered.” Piso made to swat at Cassius’s arm but thought better of it and slapped the table instead.
Cassius did not flinch. He stared into Piso’s eyes.
“You think this is a double cross? I left five of Cinna’s men dead in that hall.”
“Which is, of course, hard for me to verify. The bodies being in Hightown.”
Cassius made to reach into his cloak, and Piso stiffened. Cassius checked himself and Piso nodded and Cassius slipped his hand into his wrap and withdrew a pouch knotted with a drawstring. He dropped it onto the table, where it landed with a wet thud.
“What’s this?” Piso asked.
“Your proof.”
Piso lifted the pouch by its strings. He untied it and peered inside, his face impassive.
“Scalps,” he said. “This is your proof?”
“That’s right.”
“This doesn’t mean anything to me. I have no proof these came from Cinna’s men. At the risk of sounding devious beyond redemption, what’s to convince me you didn’t turn my men over to Cinna and bring back their scalps as proof for your lies?”
“Count them,” Cassius said flatly.
“Didn’t you hear what I just said? It doesn’t matter how many there are if I don’t know who—”
“There were eight of us. Me and Hoka and six others.”
“And how many scalps are here?”
“Twelve. Hoka, plus your six, plus the five we killed at the gaming hall.”
“You scalped my men as proof of your loyalty?”
“I figured you’d question me. It’s ugly, but it had to be done.”
“I believe I just felt something I haven’t felt in ages,” Piso said.
“What’s that?”
“A chill up my spine.”
There was a knock at the door.
“What now?” Piso roared.
The door flew open, and the man standing in the entranceway was red-faced and out of breath. His tunic was torn, and he had blood on his head although he did not appear to be wounded.
“Sorry, sir,” the bloodied man said. “But there’s a riot in the Market. Legion’s been fighting a fire there for an hour. There was some looting, then a mob formed.”
“How many is it?” Piso asked.
“Two hundred maybe, sir. Legion’s only got fifty men there now.”
“Is the mob getting the better of them?”
“Hard to tell.”
“Go find Dexius,” Piso said. “He should be in the barracks. If he’s sleeping, rouse the bastard. Then tell him to take a hundred men down to the Market, armed. Ten killers as well.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell him he’s to wait in the avenues just south of the Market. If any of the mob crosses over, he’s free to defend himself. But he shouldn’t make a move otherwise.”
“What if Cinna goes into the Market?” Cassius asked.
“What?”
“If Cinna goes to help the legion, and you don’t, how will that look?” Cassius asked. “It might seem to Vorenicus that you were leaving his men to get cut to pieces in the Market.”
Piso shook his head. “If my men and Cinna’s men are in the Market together, there’s going to be trouble.”
“Did one of yours start this fire?”
“Not on my orders.”
“Well, then, probably one of Cinna’s did. And to cover that up, Cinna might offer the legion aid. Then he can pin this on you and win Vorenicus’s favor.”
“Sir,” the bloody messenger said, “do we know this was arson?”
“I can feel it in my goddamn bones,” Piso said. “Tell Dexius to take his men into the Market to aid the legion. If Cinna’s men are there, he’s not to confront them unless attacked first.”
“Sir, as sure as I’m standing here,” the messenger said, “that’s going to end in bloodshed.”
“Don’t question my orders. Just act on the task you’ve been given.”
The messenger nodded and left the room.
“Gods almighty.” Piso rubbed his temples. “It never ends.”
11
“Want some wine, sir?”
The boy with the shaved head, the one Cassius had met his first night in Lowtown, held a bottle of wine tucked against his chest. He glanced about the dining hall nervously.
“No, thank you,” Cassius said.
“It’s good wine, sir. You should try some.”
Cassius fixed the boy with his stare. “No. Now run along.”
The boy placed the bottle on the table.
“Someone wants you to have this bottle,” the boy whispered. “It’s yours. No charge.”
“Who wants me to have this?”
“I couldn’t say.”
Cassius retrieved a half-silver piece from his coin purse and passed it to the boy.
“I don’t have a name,” the boy said. “But she wants to meet in Butcher’s Lane in the east end.”
“All right.”
The boy looked over the table, which was set with a plate of fish and bread, a bowl of warm stew, all untouched.
“Are you hungry?” Cassius asked.
“They won’t let me eat in here. They beat me once for lifting scraps of bread.”
“Answer my question.”
“I’m not going to let you bugger me just because you gave me stew.”
“Watch your mouth.” Cassius pulled up a stool. “If you do, you can stay and eat. No one will beat you while I’m here.”
The boy settled himself at the table. He spooned the thick stew. He looked around the room.
“Is something wrong?” Cassius asked.
“They’re staring at me.”
“You get used to it.”
• • •
From the plaza, he could see smoke rising in the north. It curled slowly, spreading like a drop of ink in water. The men gathered in front of the barracks were talking of the fight this morning. Some were geared in chain mail and some wore iron helms and, to a man, they spoke of the help they could have done.
“Makes no sense. Sending in a hundred men to get chopped to pieces.”
“Could have sent in five times as many.”
“Everyone wanted to go.”
“The old man better not send me into no fight without backup. ’Cause if I live through it, he’ll wish I didn’t. I’ll slit his throat for him.”
Cassius passed through their ranks in silence.
The streets of Lowtown were nearly deserted. Shops stood shuttered, small markets abandoned, and no children played in the lanes. The silence made him uneasy, and the feeling of being watched returned. He wondered if this was a product of being in Scipio or of the work he was doing or if the thoughts he tried to deny at night were true and he was losing his mind.
In Butcher’s Lane, he came upon two mastiffs fighting over a bone. They shied at his approach, teeth bared, then growled as he passed.
The lane had been abandoned quickly. Carcasses of pigs and cattle
still lay quartered on chopping blocks. Gutted chickens hung from poles. The metallic smell of blood was sharp in the air.
A soft voice called to him. At first he thought it was the voice that accompanied his seizures, but then it came again, louder this time and more clearly female. He crossed the street and the front shutter of a shop opened and Sulla was in the window, motioning him inside.
She wore a man’s tunic, drab gray and oversized, with her hair braided and tucked under a small cap. Her face and arms were filthy.
He climbed into the window, and she closed the shutter behind him.
The shop was a single open room with a low ceiling. There was a cellar door in the floor and a large counter in back with a top scored by slice marks. An array of knives, cleavers, and meat hooks hung tacked to the wall.
“Is this your place?” Cassius asked.
“Yes,” Sulla said. “Yes, it is. You’ve guessed my master plan. Bide my time until I could open my very own butcher shop. And now I’ve asked you here to be my partner. What do you say, Cassius? We’ve had a rough go of late, but I just know we can make an honest living, you stupid bastard.”
“Iustus is dead,” he said offhandedly, as though this followed from Sulla’s remark.
“And what of Hoka and the others?”
“What do you care?”
“I’d like to know the particulars,” she said.
“Everyone is dead.”
On the floor by the counter lay a large rucksack. Sulla kneeled and opened it, rooting inside.
“You’re hurt,” she said.
“I’ll live.”
“You sure of that? After that fire this morning, I have a feeling there’s going to be more bloodshed.”
“You did a good job with that.”
“Go to hell.” Sulla lifted a small wineskin from the sack. She uncorked the skin and drank.
“Why would you say such a thing?”
“Don’t patronize me. I’m not some stupid kid to be congratulated by you. I know what I did this morning. I saw the fires. I saw what followed. Good job doesn’t describe it.”
“Are you having regrets?” Cassius asked.
“Have you been to the Market?”
“I haven’t.”
“There were bodies everywhere.” She pressed her thumbs to her temple, as though trying to massage away a headache. Her palms covered her eyes. When she dropped her hands, she looked tired. “Did you know that would happen?”
“How could I have known?”
“Don’t match a question with a question. Say something. Declare yourself. Did you know that would happen?”
“I suspected.”
“How?”
“Vorenicus made it clear there was to be no more fighting in the Market. I knew that, and knew he’d be the first to respond to a fire. I saw him pull people from a burning building once.” Cassius fished inside his cloak for the box of horn. He snuffed a pinch of the gray powder. “When word of the fires reached Piso, knowing that the legion would be on the scene, I mentioned that the fire might be a ploy by Cinna. He responded by sending men into the Market. He knew that Cinna would take that poorly, especially after last night’s killing, but he was left with no choice. He had to act or risk getting outmaneuvered by Cinna. So he acted, and everything else followed in course. The fighting between both sides. The legion trapped in the middle. All of it.”
“Piso could have said no.”
“The decision was already made for him.” Tightness seized Cassius’s chest. He took a few deep breaths, and it subsided. “He needed only to respond in the manner that hurt him the least. It was out of his hands.”
“Any number of things could have gone differently.”
“And if they had, I would have corrected my play accordingly. But there wasn’t any need to. The only thing I wasn’t certain about was you.”
“Well, then, to hell with me for playing along,” Sulla said.
“If it helps, know that it wouldn’t have stayed quiet long. Tomorrow I’d have found another reason for Piso’s and Cinna’s men to be in that Market with the legion between them.”
She turned her back to Cassius and ran her hands along the countertop. She pulled a knife the size of her forearm down from the wall and tested its blade with her thumb.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“Why did you help me?”
“Answer a question with a question one more time, and I’ll cut your precious hands off.”
“I’m trying to illustrate a point. Why did you want to help me?”
“I didn’t want to help you,” she said. “I needed someone to take care of Iustus.”
“You could have found a dozen other people to do that. But you came to me. And you came asking a favor so that I would ask you one in turn.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Self-deception is dangerous, Sulla. I won’t tolerate it in a friend.”
“Are we friends now?”
“We’ve killed for each other. That makes us more than friends. But since there isn’t a word for what we are, let’s stick to familiar terms.”
“Remember the other day, when you told me you were switching sides and heading to Lowtown?”
“Yes,” Cassius said.
“You said something to me then.”
“There are debts; and then there are debts.”
“That’s what you said.” Sulla lowered her gaze. “And you said it knowing about my father, from Lucian or from somewhere else, didn’t you?”
Cassius did not respond.
“I had a dream about him that night,” she said. “Long time since I dreamed of my father. I was so happy to see him. Sad, too. But when I woke, I was embarrassed by the whole thing.”
“There’s nothing wrong with missing the dead.”
“I’m not the little girl he knew. I don’t know that he’d be pleased to see me.”
“You’re a survivor,” Cassius said. “He’d respect that.”
“Maybe. Surviving is important. But again, there are debts; and then there are debts.”
Cassius nodded.
“I thought that maybe helping you a bit would be the right thing to do,” Sulla said. She looked up again and met Cassius’s stare. “And then I thought that was stupid. And then I figured if you could help me with something first, then it wouldn’t be stupid helping you. It would just be good business. Now are you going to tell me you planned it all that way? Saying one sentence to me like that, at some damn dogfight, knowing it would lead to all of this?”
“Guilt is very powerful,” Cassius said, his voice bitter and knowing.
“I don’t like to be used.”
“I wasn’t using you. I was giving you the chance to help that you wanted but didn’t know how to ask for.”
“After seeing those bodies today, I know helping you isn’t the right thing to do.”
“Better to let Piso and Cinna run this city? To let them kill at will?”
“Don’t do that,” she shouted. “Don’t misdirect me. I’m talking about the deaths in the Market today. That’s blood on your hands, and on mine, as much as the bosses’.”
“It’s different.”
“Killing is killing. You had a hand in the proceedings.”
“But they kill to maintain power.”
“And why do you do it?”
“For justice,” Cassius said.
“Are you the arbiter of right and wrong now?”
“No, but the people I work for are.”
“Who do you work for?”
“The senate in Antioch City.” Cassius clenched his jaw as though steeling himself, as though he had uttered the lost name of a wrathful god, and the very act of saying this aloud would cause some terrible doom to befall him, a bolt of lightning may
be or maybe a meteor.
They stood in silence.
“No,” Sulla said finally. She still held the massive knife. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I’m an agent of the Falcon Guard.”
“The consuls’ secret police.”
“I’m the first wave of an offensive planned by the mainland legion. My job is to act as an instigator. Get the bosses fighting amongst themselves, then drag Quintus’s forces into the fray.”
“Why?”
“To weaken all parties against an eventual coup.”
Sulla set down the knife. She stared at Cassius, then looked away.
“The senate is going to send forces down here?” She squatted, wrapped her arms around her stomach. She looked like she had just been gut punched.
“Commanded by General Tremellius from the northern front. Three legions’ worth.”
“Why now? They’ve got plenty of reason to want Quintus gone. But the bastard’s been here for years, and they never raised a hand against him.”
“I don’t know,” Cassius said. “Maybe one of the consuls has plans for this place or thinks it will give people something to talk about in the next elections. Or maybe Quintus was just late with a bribe. The reasons don’t matter to me. I’m here to do a job.”
“Kill as many potential resisters as you can, in the shortest time possible, is that it?”
“I’m here to see a legitimate governor installed on this island. To see these criminals brought to justice.”
“You should see your face when you say things like that.” She stared up at him. “This look comes over you. Like a boy glimpsing his first pair of tits.”
“Don’t mock me.”
“Don’t get self-righteous.”
“Someone has to be held accountable for this place,” Cassius said.
“Even if it means killing innocents?”
“Can you think of another way? Because I’d hear it.”
“Piss on you,” she said.
“I’m almost finished here. When Quintus learns of the fight this morning, he might mobilize his forces immediately.”
“You don’t sound sure of that.”