The Dark

by Marianne Curley

  Ethan’s outfit is almost completely white, while his hair is black and cut short all over, except for a fringe pulled down over his forehead. A sprinkling of dust falls over us from the ceiling, and we are endowed with the knowledge we need to fulfil this mission. Specialist tools appear in my hands wrapped in cloth, and I understand that Ethan will be a doctor of professional standing, specialising in internal injuries and ailments.

  Ethan turns and points to me. ‘Claudia, my assistant.’ And to Rochelle he says softly, ‘Sempronia.’

  Rochelle moves away from the mirror and dips her head in response. ‘Petronius.’

  The look they exchange is charged with electricity. They would both have to be numb not to feel it. Strangely they appear as if they’re caught in a trance. I may as well not even be in the room! Ethan is first to break contact. A scowl appears on his face as if he’s annoyed with himself. Annoyed with his reaction. He hurries us out of the room. The stairwells take us up to a departure room. A door opens in the opposite wall and the three of us quickly leap.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Isabel

  Rome is incredible. People are everywhere – hundreds of them, going about their business all in a rush. There’s an open market, steaming with hot spicy food. The streets are cobbled and straight, the buildings two and three storeys high.

  ‘Stop gawking,’ Rochelle hisses at me. ‘You’re going to stand out. And ultimately that puts us all at risk.’

  My gaze slides sideways. I wonder what’s eating her? But when I think about it, I guess she’s right. I probably am coming across as a typical tourist. Ethan gives a laugh under his breath. I stick him in the ribs with my elbow.

  ‘Doesn’t this just sweep you away?’ I open my palms to indicate the multitude of people around us. To me, it’s the men that stand out, in their white tunics or togas, slaves trailing behind like bodyguards to the rich and famous. ‘It’s just so alive!’

  Rochelle turns sideways, making sure she doesn’t brush up against a man pushing a cart of vegetables. ‘You’re such a romantic. One day your bubble’s going to burst and you’re going to end up with mud on your face. Life isn’t sweet. It stinks. Just smell it.’ Her nose wrinkles up and I have to wonder where all this negativity is coming from. OK, she’s been through some dramatic changes in the last twelve months, but this bitterness sounds as if it’s specifically aimed – at me, or Ethan. She’s probably just frustrated, unsure of Ethan’s feelings.

  ‘Can you believe that stench?’

  Up until now I hadn’t noticed, too caught up in the excitement of simply being here. But now that she mentions it …‘Phew. What is that?’

  ‘Garbage,’ Ethan says. ‘Sewage too.’

  ‘And something burning, like a building that’s been smouldering for days,’ Rochelle adds.

  We keep walking, a kilometre at least. ‘Does anyone know where we’re going?’

  Ethan points up ahead to a white building of many columns. ‘There, to the left of that temple. Octavius should be staying in a villa that’s just a walk down that road.’

  It ends up a long walk, but no one complains. And I’m not game to ask Rochelle what she thinks again.

  At last we arrive at the front door of a villa Ethan thinks is the one. In a street of large houses, this one is by far the largest of all. At Ethan’s knock the door is opened by a huge man, a slave apparently, wearing a white robe, a stark contrast to his dark African skin.

  Ethan introduces himself.

  ‘The doctor has arrived,’ the slave announces in a strong voice with a bored tone to it. He ushers us into a cool atrium where the floor and sparse furnishings are made almost entirely of marble. As we wait, the slave examines us, a frown forming on his deep set brow. He notices the tools in my hands but doesn’t say anything. After a minute he calls out again, ‘It appears he has brought his entire entourage. Three in all.’

  While the slave’s tone is anything but warm, it’s good to know that we’re expected. At least Ethan is. Finally we’re greeted by a woman who turns out to be Lady Livia herself – Octavius’s wife. An attractive woman, she looks slender in a long dark gown with a sheer red wrap around her shoulders. She welcomes us warmly. Apparently their other doctor recently retired, and her eldest son, Tiberius, a ten-year-old who has lately come to live with them after the death of his father, has come down with some unexplained ailment.

  My spine prickles, and I have to wonder if it’s my sixth sense hinting foul play might be at work, or simply my healing instincts kicking into action. ‘Can we see the boy?’ She looks at me as if I’ve spoken out of turn. ‘It wouldn’t be good to delay, should he be afflicted with something serious, my lady,’ I explain, my face heating up under her glare.

  Livia’s eyes slide down to the implements wrapped in cloth in my hands, then at Rochelle’s empty ones. She’s obviously got something on her mind, something bothering her. ‘These women,’ she says to Ethan, ‘are they both your assistants?’

  ‘This is Claudia,’ he replies, pointing in my direction. He indicates Rochelle next, but before he has a chance to introduce her, the African slave moves in front of us.

  ‘We were expecting two.’ He crosses his muscular arms over his equally muscular chest. ‘The doctor and his assistant only.’

  It appears Mr Carter got it slightly wrong, putting our credibility at risk. To my right Ethan’s hand starts to curl into a fist. He has to come up with a plausible explanation for Rochelle’s presence. It thankfully doesn’t take him long, though I’m not sure Rochelle will be impressed with his brainwave. ‘This is Sempronia. She is … my slave. She’s very talented with her … with her hands.’ He freezes. All three of us do. Other than truth-seeing, Rochelle’s skill is her gift of touch. Her hands are capable of identifying just about everything, especially substances like herbs, powders and chemicals. She doesn’t need light or smell or any other sense to know exactly what’s in her hands. Preparing poison is her speciality. Well, it used to be when she worked for Marduke.

  A silence follows where all I can hear is Rochelle’s breathing, which has suddenly grown noisy.

  Livia speaks first. ‘Very well, she’ll sleep in the slave’s quarters. Wanjala can set a bed up for her.’

  Oh great. How do we get out of this? Isolating Rochelle from us would put her in a vulnerable position. If her identity were to be discovered, there’s no doubt the Order would want her captured or destroyed.

  Ethan’s eyes spin to Rochelle’s. Just identifying her as a slave has left her seriously powerless, let alone singling out her hands as ‘special’. She has to keep a low profile now, that’s for sure. She especially can’t go reacting indignantly. Keeping her eyes low and buried, they skitter across the floor from one end of the room to the other, while she waits for her awkward situation to be resolved.

  Ethan’s shoulders lift, and to Livia he says, ‘If it pleases, my lady, I would like Sempronia to remain by my side. She is already trained in preparing medicinal formulations, and I have many uses for her.’

  Livia glances from Ethan to Rochelle. Patting his arm, she looks at him with amusement. ‘I’m sure you have, Petronius. It will be as you wish. The three of you shall lodge in the guest quarters.’ And to her slave she says, ‘See to it, Wanjala.’

  The matter thankfully closed, Livia speaks to one of the female slaves that have gathered in the atrium, asking where her son can be found.

  Cornelia, a small young woman, explains, ‘Wanjala carried him to a bed in the courtyard, my lady, to give Julia some time to go to the market.’

  The courtyard is located in the centre of the house. As we walk there Livia explains that Julia is the boy’s nanny.

  We find Tiberius sleeping in a shady corner, while his younger brother, Drusus, plays quietly around his couch. Without even feeling the boy, it’s clear from his brightly flushed cheeks that he’s running a temperature. But I have to be careful to maintain my disguise as Ethan’s assistant. I’ve already spoken out of turn once.
So I wait for Ethan to examine the boy first. His training helps him bluff his way through the examination. At last he calls me to assist, explaining how the boy’s chest is internally inflamed and must be kept warm while he listens for the presence of damaging fluid. ‘Lay your hands here,’ he says to me, placing them directly over the boy’s lungs.

  Within seconds I have a clear picture in my head. The boy has pneumonia, his lungs struggling to inflate. One in particular is on the verge of collapsing. ‘It might be easier on the boy if he were to sit up,’ I suggest.

  Ethan understands that I want to get my hands on the boy’s back. As we move the child into position, and I begin working on healing the severe chest infection, Ethan tries to distract the household. ‘We will need several medicinal herbs to prepare the boy’s medication.’

  Livia quickly comes to our aid. ‘The household is well stocked, but if there’s anything in particular you desire, I will send for it immediately.’

  Ethan sends Rochelle to check the stores, giving her an opportunity to look for suspicious items. He then hands me a small vial of coloured liquid he has in his tunic. ‘In the meantime this medicine will start the recovery process.’

  As the slave, Cornelia, shows Rochelle where to go, I give the boy the coloured liquid to drink. It’s a good idea, even though the ‘medicine’ is probably only water or syrup. Ethan knows it won’t take me long to heal the child. All the same, it mustn’t look as if he was healed by magic. And to heal him completely would be a mistake, as we’re supposed to be doctors, not miracle workers. A real herbal mixture should be enough to return him to full health in a few days.

  His temperature reduced, Tiberius feels better and grows restless. He wants to play with his brother, but Livia orders him to keep resting. While she is distracted by her suddenly energetic son, Ethan leans down to whisper in my ear, ‘Was it poison?’

  As soon as he asks a sinking feeling hits me deep in my stomach. Tiberius’s illness wasn’t foul play, but simply a chest infection. Glancing at the boy, I try to shrug off an eerie feeling I’ve done the wrong thing. How could healing a child of something he would eventually overcome anyway be wrong? Would my action be considered as tampering with the past? Suddenly I’m confused. I try to recall what Mr Carter’s instructions were.

  Soon a bustling sound from inside the house gets my attention. Slaves are running all over the place. Livia, in a wonderful mood now that her son is looking better, doesn’t even realise it’s her husband, Octavius, who has arrived home.

  He walks into the courtyard. She sees him at last, and announces his presence using his full title of Gaius Julius Caesar Octavius. He stands still, strong eyebrows lifting. My eyes are drawn to him. His presence is very magnetic, standing there, not particularly tall, but seeming so in his white tunic and toga, his manner calm but purposeful, his hair fairer than I imagined. And there’s something about his eyes that seem almost … divine, in the literal sense of the word, strange as that may sound.

  Rochelle comes back holding a selection of herbs. She sees Octavius and gasps softly. He simply smiles, apparently used to this sort of reaction. Livia takes him by the arm, and brings him over to meet us. Introducing Ethan and me, she goes on to explain how much better Tiberius is feeling since Petronius’s consultation.

  From the corner of my eye I see Rochelle stare at the small boy jumping up and down on his bed.

  Octavius claps his hands three times. ‘Wonderful,’ he says. ‘For your excellent work, the two of you must join us this evening for a sumptuous meal.’

  Rochelle is not invited, but as a slave, she wouldn’t be, and there’s not much Ethan can do about that. A quiet moment later I find myself alone with her in our room.

  ‘So what was wrong with Tiberius?’ Rochelle asks, unfolding a blanket.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  She smirks. ‘You healed him, didn’t you?’

  Her tone is full of accusation. ‘He had an infection. I helped clear it up. It won’t make any difference, OK?’

  The blanket in her hand drops to the bed. ‘Yeah, right.’

  Her attitude irritates. ‘It just happened. Healing has become such a natural act lately.’

  She picks up the blanket and spreads it over the bed. ‘You’d best learn how to control your instincts. Sometimes the smallest mistakes have the largest impact.’

  ‘Well thanks. I feel so much better now.’

  She snorts and finishes making up the bed in silence. And I can’t help thinking if Arkarian had co-ordinated this mission, I wouldn’t have made that mistake with Tiberius, no matter how large or small it could prove to be. His instructions were always so clear. But I really haven’t the right to blame Mr Carter either. I simply should have known. I just hope nothing will come of it, and that I’m worrying myself stupid for no reason.

  I try to take my mind off Tiberius’s sudden good health by asking Rochelle if she minds being on her own tonight, while Ethan and I attend the dinner with Octavius and his family.

  She’s quick to answer, snapping at me, ‘I can handle myself.’

  ‘I know that,’ I tell her. ‘It’s just, I don’t like any of us being separated. I’ve got this weird feeling we’re being watched all the time.’

  ‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’

  ‘Do you recognise anyone?’ I ask this doubtfully. To recognise someone who doesn’t belong in the past, she would have to look deeply into their eyes, which might put her own identity at risk.

  She shakes her head. ‘I’m not going to stare into anyone’s face for more than a brief second.’

  ‘Just be careful,’ I warn her. ‘My sixth sense has shot into overdrive at the moment. I’m getting one eerie vibe after another.’

  The boy, Tiberius, suddenly runs into our room at full pelt, swinging around the two of us and dragging on our tunics. His cheeks are flushed again, but I get the feeling it’s more from play than any lingering chest infection.

  I pull him round to face me. ‘What’s going on? Didn’t your mother tell you not to leave your bed?’

  He looks to the door, his eyes laughing, his mouth an impish grin. ‘But I’m feeling much better!’

  Rochelle figures out his game. ‘I bet your mother doesn’t know where you are.’

  ‘She sent Drusus and that demon woman to look for me.’

  ‘What “demon” woman?’ Rochelle asks.

  He giggles as his younger brother shoots across the open doorway. ‘I can’t see him anywhere, Julia,’ Drusus calls out to his nanny, who runs past in hot pursuit, looking very flustered.

  Tiberius, spotting his nanny, quickly searches the room with his eyes. ‘Hide me, please. That woman is a witch.’

  Rochelle exchanges a look with me, then says, ‘We’ll hide you from your nanny, but only if you promise to go straight back to bed.’

  He agrees and I point to a wicker basket meant to hold our clothes. ‘Here. Jump in.’

  I lower the lid over him just as Drusus charges in, with Julia heaving behind him. ‘Have you seen my charge?’ she asks in a cold commanding voice. ‘He’s supposed to be taking a nap! If he’s well enough to run around he should be doing chores, or working on his lessons.’

  Rochelle and I exchange a secretive look. Drusus runs around the room looking beneath our beds and under clothes lying around. As he goes to lift the lid of the wicker basket, I grab the back of his tunic, stopping him just in time. ‘You won’t find your brother in this room.’ I send him back to the heaving chest of his nanny.

  She grabs the boy’s arm in a firm grip, leading him to the door. ‘If you see the little rascal, tell him if he doesn’t get back to bed, his next lessons will be double in length.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll make sure he hears every word.’

  She gives me a lingering look before taking off with her smallest charge. Tiberius peaks out from beneath the lid of the basket. ‘Is it safe? Is the witch gone?’

  I lift the lid. ‘All’s clear.’

  He climb
s out of the basket, a grin splitting his face from ear to ear. ‘Oh thank you,’ he says with great relief. ‘If there is anything I can do for you in return …’

  Rochelle motions for him to come closer. ‘You can start repaying us right now by telling us why you think your nanny is a witch.’

  His small body vibrates with a shiver that starts at his head and descends all the way to his bare toes. ‘She makes things with herbs and other powders.’

  He has our attention immediately. ‘Sempronia makes things with herbs too, but they’re good medicines. Why do you think Julia makes bad things?’

  ‘Because she makes them in the middle of the night, with him, the big man.’

  Rochelle and I exchange worried frowns over the top of Tiberius’s head. ‘Do you mean Wanjala?’ Rochelle asks.

  Tiberius’s eyes grow wide. ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Have you spoken with your mother about them? Maybe you could ask her to have them dismissed.’

  If these two are working for the Order, dismissing them could be one solution – a means to getting them out of the house until the portal to this time period closes.

  ‘She thinks I don’t like Julia because she’s strict. I’ve had a lot of nannies.’

  ‘Really?’ I ask. ‘So Julia hasn’t been with the household for long?’

  ‘She came only last week, the same day as Wanjala.’

  Rochelle frowns. ‘He has such an authoritative manner, I thought he must have been here for a long time.’

  Tiberius looks back at us blankly. I pat his chest. ‘Well, you’d better go now – straight back to bed. You don’t want that fever coming back, do you?’

  ‘Yes, my lady. I mean, no, my lady,’ he says as he backs towards the door. ‘And thank you again.’ He bows dramatically, and when he lifts his head his eyes are sparkling, his grin huge.

  I can’t help smile at the boy as he runs from the room.

  Rochelle, it seems, has the same feelings about him. ‘The little charmer.’