Pile of Bones (20 page)

“I did want to see you,” Ingrid said. “Not just you, though. All of you. There isn’t much time to explain, so I’ll just have to show you.” She touched Neil on the shoulder. “Mr. Leonard Cohen, I need you to take your Lego down the hallway.”

“Why, Mama—I mean, Ingrid?”

It was laughable how he pronounced her first name, as if he truly were a visiting poet, and she was just there to give him a campus tour.

“This room isn’t the best for Lego,” she explained. “But if you go all the way down to the end of that hallway”—she pointed—“there’s a Lego Square. It’s invisible, but if you look carefully, you should find it.”

He squinted down the hallway. “A Lego Square?”

“Try to find it. When you get hungry, you can have a yogurt.”

Neil hesitated, but the lure of the unseen square was irresistible. He packed up the Lego and carried it down the hallway.

Carl expected her to pull something mysterious out of her purse, like a flash drive with forbidden data, or the schematics to a building. Instead, she leaned forward, pulling up the leg of her pants. It was a practiced motion, as if she did it all the time. Carl saw that she had a thin scar running from knee to ankle.

“Is that from a knife?” he asked.

“No. A sword.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I received this wound in battle. It was a lot deeper than it looks now, and I couldn’t get to a medicus in time. Even if I had, they might not have been able to do anything. I’d already lost a lot of blood. So I crawled to the house—the one pressed against the city wall. Felix taught me how to use it. I crossed over. The bleeding stopped, but the scar’s still there.”

“That’s”—Shelby’s eyes widened—“why you wear the greave.”

“Exactly. Scars prove that you’ve survived, but that particular one never healed all the way. The armor protects it.”

“You’re the miles.”

“Fel. That’s her name. Our name.”

Shelby was staring at her. “I can see it now. In the eyes, and the jaw.”

“The more time you spend there,” Ingrid said, “the easier it becomes to recognize someone in both worlds. Seeing Andrew for the first time, I had the feeling that we’d met before. Then I saw you hiding behind that pillar, and the images just clicked, like two photos superimposed on each other. The three of you were searching for Felix. Domina Pendelia sent you.”

“How deeply is she involved in this?” Carl asked. “I don’t trust her.”

“A better question,” Shelby said, “might be why Ingrid is here.”

“I should think it would be obvious.” Ingrid covered her leg. “I’m here to join you.”

“We’re not a company. I mean, with you, I guess we would be. Still—”

“Basilissa Pulcheria has been confined to her quarters. Very soon, Latona is going to finish what she started. You three are the only people who have the faintest idea of what’s going on here. Felix seems to think that you have something, and I trust him. Normally, I’d never be part of a company. I don’t play well with others. But for now, I think we should work together. The four of us stand a chance of freeing the basilissa.”

“Maybe Latona will let her go,” Carl said lamely. “Aren’t they like sisters, or something? Maybe this will all blow over.”

“Latona wants Pulcheria dead. She’s going to blame it on the Gens of Artifices—that’s why she used the killer bee.”

“How do you know about the bee? You weren’t there.”

“I was. You just didn’t see me.” She looked at Shelby. “I watched you shoot that arrow, though. Well done.”

“Thanks,” Shelby said. “I—got lucky.”

“You rolled at the right moment. That’s more skill than luck.”

“I still don’t see why Latona needed to do all of this,” Carl protested. “Rulers kill other rulers all of the time. It’s a staple of monarchy, or sisterhood, whatever they call it in Anfractus. If she wanted Pulcheria dead, she could have just killed her while she was sleeping.”

“Then she’d have a civil war on her hands,” Ingrid said. “But that creature, that buzzing little miracle of gears, allows her to spread the blame in two directions—the artifices, who made it, and the silenoi, who were drawn to it like dogs to a whistle. Both gens will fight about it, while she moves in to claim Pulcheria’s throne. Latona’s mother wanted the same thing, but she could never figure out how to avoid war.”

“What happens if she takes Pulcheria’s throne?”

“She takes her city, as well. Egressus. For the first time in centuries, one basilissa would control two cities. That breaks the balance.”

“The rules would start to dissolve,” Andrew murmured. “Maybe they’re already dissolving. What if the only thing that divides us from the park is ourselves? Our collective desire to keep the worlds separate? If the balance is broken—”

“Everything crashes together.” Ingrid looked at him thoughtfully. “I have noticed, lately, that it’s been harder to separate myself from Fel. I thought it was just my issue, but maybe it’s happening to everyone.”

“The silenoi could really be hunting on this side.”

Her eyes widened. “Silenoi in Regina?”

“I’ve been dreaming of lares. I swear, the other day I thought I saw one, in the cafeteria, nosing through someone’s leftovers. The coyote attacks, the dreams—and all of us have been acting”—he looked momentarily at Carl—“a bit out of character, if you’ll pardon the expression. Maybe it has something to do with Latona.”

“Why would she want to dissolve the boundary?” Shelby asked. “When you enter the park, you become a different person. You escape from your life here. What would be the point in merging those two worlds?”

“I think it has something do with the lares,” Andrew said. “I can’t quite work out what, but she’s planning some kind of epic crossover. Latona wasn’t born in Anfractus. At one time, she still lived on this side of the park. I guess she needs something from her old neighborhood.”

“Or she just wants to make the whole world a park.”

They all looked at Shelby.

“That would be—crazy,” Carl began.

They were silent for a while.

“Imagine it, though,” Andrew said. “Without the division, everything on this side of the park would be overrun with silenoi, spadones, and little gods. It would be like a cross between Final Fantasy and Thunderdome.”

Carl looked at Ingrid. “No offense—but why should we trust a miles? You’re in the service of the basilissa.”

“We’re all more than we seem. You should realize that by now. This miles kept you from being captured, after a meretrix delivered you from the arx. Our places on the wheel guide us, but they don’t define us.”

“Mama!” Neil’s voice drifted down the hallway. “Mr. Leonard Cohen would like a yogurt and a Five Alive, please.”

“Your profile never mentioned a kid,” Shelby said. “We’ve exchanged at least a dozen e-mails, and you didn’t say anything about him.”

“It felt like more of an in-person conversation.”

“It doesn’t make a difference, you know.”

“That’s easy for you to say now.”

“It’s the truth.”

She stood. “I have to give the poet his yogurt. His uncle gets off work in a few hours, and then I can drop him off for a sleepover. After that, we should head back.”

“I never thought of arranging child care around the park,” Shelby said.

“I don’t visit every night. But things come up. Luckily, he loves his uncle, which eases the sting of someone else tucking him into bed.”

“Ingrid!”

She withdrew a miniature yogurt and juice box from her purse. “I wouldn’t murder someone to gain control of a city. But I would do it for a nap.”

“You—” Carl began uncertainly. “I mean, you could sleep for a bit in my room, if you wanted. I’m sure we can watch him.”

She didn’t even hesitate. “Perfect. His favorite topics are day care, Lego, and Greek history. I’ll see you in forty-five minutes.”

They watched her walk down the hallway. She bent down to hand Neil his snack, kissed him on the cheek, and then disappeared into Carl’s bedroom. She closed the door. Neil looked up at the sound. Realizing that his mother was indisposed,
he calmly walked back into the living room, holding the yogurt in one hand, the juice box in the other.

“The mist leaves no scar,” he said.

They stared at him as he chewed on the straw. Then his expression gradually changed, as if he’d only now become aware of his surroundings.

“What square is this?” he asked.

L
IGHT STREAMED THROUGH THE SLATTED WINDOWS
of the abandoned house. Babieca had come to think of it as the house with no insula, a wayward gosling abandoned by its mother. He was used to seeing his alley, and it felt more than strange to open his eyes to this place, dust-choked and unfamiliar. His bare feet shifted on the uneven floor. There was a faded fresco on the southern wall, but its actors had long since crumbled away. He could just make out the foliated borders, along with something that may have once been a leaping dolphin but was now a smudged blue crescent. The rest was shadows and broken plaster. He turned, about to say something to Roldan, and found himself looking instead at the naked miles. He’d grown used to seeing his friends this way, but her presence made him self-conscious. He turned away for the sake of modesty.

“It’s fine,” she said. “We’ve all been to the thermae.”

“That’s all well and good,” Morgan replied, “but we’re also used to appearing alone, in the privacy of our blind corners. This business of materializing together is unnerving.”

“That’s the usual way. There are only a few places in the
city where it’s possible to cross as a group. Felix taught me how to do it but also warned me that it can be dangerous. If you rely too much on these places, you can lose your alley. You’ll simply forget where it is. Our alleys are safe spaces—blind corners, as you call them—but this house is exposed.”

“I’d like to quit debating this and get dressed,” Babieca said. “Please say you weren’t lying about our clothes being here. I have no wish to walk naked through the Subura.”

The miles knelt down and lifted two flagstones, revealing an alcove beneath the floor. Because she was naked, her action resembled some unearthly feat of strength, a trial of Fortuna that you’d expect to see immortalized in marble. Trying not to stare too fixedly at her muscular arms, Babieca realized that she could probably defeat them all bare-handed. Morgan would give her some trouble, but Fel was ultimately stronger than the sagittarius. He shifted his gaze to the fold beneath the floor and was relieved to see his cithara and tunica. Felix’s instrument had been interesting to play, but he preferred his own.

“Thanks for not selling our things.”

“Aside from the bow, it wouldn’t have been worth the trouble.”

“What? The strings alone—”

“Shut up and put your bloody clothes on,” Morgan said.

They dressed awkwardly, trying to ignore the strangeness of the moment. At first, Babieca kept his eyes on the dolphin smudge. Gradually, though, he found himself stealing glances at the bodies around him. In the apodyterium, looking was encouraged, but here it seemed brazen. He couldn’t help it, though. His curiosity was too powerful. He saw that Morgan’s breasts were small, with dark brown nipples. Her arms were dusted with light hair, and she had a curious constellation of freckles on her back. Roldan’s white backside reminded him of two marble bookends he’d seen once in Domina Pendelia’s tabularium. He avoided looking at Fel, worried that she might break his arm if she caught him staring. He was dimly aware of a less hostile side to her, something almost maternal, but he couldn’t quite remember where he’d seen it.

The thought of losing his alley made him nervous. It was the only safe space in the city, the one spot where nobody could find him. On that first day, the warmth of those filial stones had kept him from going crazy. He’d stood in the alley with arms crossed, bare ass pressed against the dimpled wall. It was strange to think that Egressus, ruled by Basilissa Pulcheria, had its own maze of alleys. He’d understood from the beginning that there were other cities, but even if he’d been able to afford passage by ship, the haunted harbor made things very difficult. Only a handful of vessels docked, and they never stayed for long. Travel by foot wasn’t really an option. Even beneath the sun, it was easy to lose your way in the forest. Once night fell, you became a target for silenoi, and worse.

“Have you been to Egressus?” he asked Fel. It was a random question, but now seemed like as good a time as any to ask. They were all slightly askew. It’s harder to lie about something when you’re halfway out of your clothes.

“No,” she said, fastening the leather straps of her greave. “Felix has, I think.”

“Is there anything Felix hasn’t done? He’s practically a miracle.”

“He helped you when no one else would. You owe him a debt.”

“Don’t be so quick to paint him in bright colors. He helped us from the shadows, at no cost to his reputation. I didn’t see him running to protect the basilissa. In fact, if I remember, I saw him disappear in the opposite direction.”

“He was looking for me. He knew that the other miles would attack you, or turn you in for the reward. Apparently, I wasn’t smart enough to consider that. I helped you because Felix said you were good people.”

Babieca wasn’t sure how to reply. “Thank you,” was all he said.

“You can thank me properly if we survive.”

“All right,” Morgan began. “I understand that you’re taking a risk to help us. I don’t know you very well, so please don’t be offended by this question, but—why, exactly? If
this goes wrong, you could face exile from the Gens of Miles.”

“Your gens could do the same thing. What’s your reason?”

“Well, I’d like to avoid a civil war, if possible. And it was my arrow that saved Pulcheria, so it might as well be my stupid decision that keeps this plan going. You’re not really part of it, though. You could easily walk away.”

“You’re right,” Fel said. “You don’t know me very well. If you did, you’d realize that I don’t walk away from people who need my help.” When she smiled, there was a trace of bitterness to it. “Anyway, my gens doesn’t accept me. There’s a story behind that, but now isn’t really the time.”

Roldan was staring uneasily at the door. “You said this wasn’t a protected space. Does that mean that someone could enter at any moment?”

“Not a lot of people know about this house. From the outside, it doesn’t look like much. I doubt anyone’s going to come charging in.”

“It’s fascinating,” he said. “I always thought that to leave the city—I mean, to really leave it—you had to return to your alley. But this place acts like a sort of bridge. Could we go anywhere from here?”

“Felix understands it more than I do. All I know is that if you still remember the other world, you can cross over. It depends on your willpower, though. The longer you stay in Anfractus, the harder it is to remember what came before.” She looked at Babieca. “You’ve spent the least time here, which is why you were able to cross on the first try.”

“How sweet,” Morgan said. “You’re almost virginal.”

“If only that were true.”

The miles fastened her scabbard. The helmet they’d seen her in previously must have belonged to the Hippodrome, for she was bareheaded now. Babieca caught Morgan staring at her again. Her desire was anything but subtle. He couldn’t imagine the sagittarius in bed with anyone, let alone a miles. The rivalry between their gens made even friendship inadvisable. Would Morgan pursue it? He’d never heard her speak of desire for anyone else. Then again, Roldan hadn’t
volunteered any such information, either. Until yesterday, Babieca realized, he’d thought of both friends as insubstantial, devoid of appetite. Because they didn’t visit the basia or talk about their erotic conquests, he’d thought them flat and sexless. But they had their own unspoken intensities to deal with.

Roldan was still looking at the door. Babieca wanted to say something to him, to reassure him somehow, but the words caught in his throat. Everything had seemed simple when they were together, like two joints gliding into place. They’d made something with bright edges, a sealed mechanism dancing on its own. Apart, they had only words. Babieca had always preferred notes to nouns. Both deceived, but you had to forgive music, because it was older and somehow more necessary than conversation.

Fel turned to Morgan. “You and I are on equal footing. We both carry a die. We both have a gens behind us. I get the sense, though, that you’re the leader of this company. So I’ll defer to you. How should we proceed?”

Morgan looked surprised for a second. Uncertainty flashed across her eyes.

Roldan stepped forward. “We’ll follow you. Whatever your decision is.”

“I reserve the right to haunt you,” Babieca said, “should this turn out badly. That aside—I’ll do what you ask.”

She nodded slowly. “Good. Each of you has a unique strength, and if we combine them, we may actually succeed. Our first step should be recovering that killer bee. As long as Basilissa Latona controls it, she can loose another swarm of silenoi on Pulcheria.”

“Silenoi hunt in packs,” Roldan said, “not swarms. You’re mixing metaphors.”

“Thank you for that clarification.”

Babieca raised his hand.

Morgan gave him an odd look. “You can just speak.”

“With your leadership being official and all, I just wanted to make sure that I was following protocol. I wouldn’t want to—”

“Don’t press me, lyre-boy.”

“Very well. I think we should go back to the artifex. She knows more than she was willing to admit. I could see it in her eyes when she was talking about that thing. It filled her with curiosity. And the eunuch must have had some reason for choosing her.”

“She could easily betray us.”

“To whom? Narses? The girl’s implicated—she’s the one who gave us the fucking bee. If she tries to sell us out, she’ll end up rotting alongside us in the carcer. The other prisoners will find all manner of unseemly uses for someone like her. I think she’ll keep quiet about what we’re planning.”

“I’d like to hear more about that,” Roldan said. “What comes later, I mean, once we’ve spoken with the artifex. How are we getting back into the arx?”

“One plan at a time,” Morgan replied.

It was clear that she didn’t know the answer, but Babieca wasn’t as worried as he might have been. The Arx of Violets had many subtle points of entry. Like any fortress, it was designed to resist a frontal attack. Its murderous curves allowed invaders to be herded in, like cows led to the slaughter. But there must have been a postern gate, a tunnel, some passage that could be used for the transfer of supplies. The lime-walled undercroft, full of food and other precious things, must have been accessible from the harbor. In stories, the basilissa were always fleeing by boat—no mention was ever made of them leaving by the front gate.

“What do you know about this artifex?” Fel asked. “Besides the fact that she’s curious and probably wants to save her own skin.”

“Well”—Babieca cracked his knuckles—“we know that she’s tired of fixing fountains for the basilissa. She was manipulated by the eunuch, just as we were.”

“Don’t sound so surprised. That’s their job.”

“She’s young,” Morgan said. “But smart. I’m inclined to agree with Babieca. She may not be an ally, but we’re in the same cauldron.”

“What’s her name?”

Morgan managed to look slightly chagrined. “We don’t know.”

“Excellent. You want to charge into the Gens of Artifices, demanding to speak with an unknown girl. That couldn’t possibly fail.” She turned to Morgan. “Not that I’m questioning your decision, of course.”

“It’s morning.”

The miles frowned at Roldan. “I can see that. Because I have eyes.”

Her tone failed to bother him. “What I meant was, because of the hour, she won’t be in her quarters. Instead, she’ll be at the tower, paying respect to Fortuna. We may not know her name, but we’d still recognize her.”

“Fel has a point, though,” Morgan conceded. “Storming the tower in search of a red-haired girl is no better than roaming the halls of the gens.”

“We don’t all have to hang about,” Babieca said. “I can go alone. The lot of us would attract attention, but nobody’s going to notice a single trovador. They’ll just assume I’m playing for coin. Musicians are always underfoot.”

Fel didn’t seem totally convinced. “Even if you find her, what’s to keep her from screaming when she recognizes you?”

“He can be charming,” Morgan said. “At times.”

They left the house and walked toward the edge of the Subura, where the Tower of Artifices was located. The sun was punishing, and it gave them the excuse to lower their hoods. They formed a tight circle around Morgan, trying to obscure her appearance. Both the aedile and the arquites would be looking for a renegade sagittarius, but the rest of them might still escape notice. Babieca doubted that the tale told by the tower guards—involving a magic lyre and a fainting mechanical fox—had been received as anything close to an accurate report. It sounded like the type of story you’d make up after being caught asleep at your post.

Fel was probably known to the other miles, but that could
work in their favor. Even if they disliked her, as she’d suggested, her presence lent them a certain respectability. A meretrix would have been better, but a miles certainly worked in a pinch. As they made their way through the crowded streets, Babieca felt for the first time that he was part of a company. Two of them were die-carriers, and another could speak to lares. His cithara was obviously the weak link, but he possessed something else, something more valuable. Unlike the auditor, the miles, or the sagittarius, he had no reputation. Most people ignored him, because he was simply the entertainment. That gave him freedom to move about unchecked.

They reached the tower. A few younger artifices were milling around the entrance, playing with gear-driven toys that sputtered steam. Babieca turned to Morgan.

“Wait close by. I’m not sure how long this is going to take, but if things heat up, you should be prepared to run. Don’t wait for me.”

“We absolutely won’t,” Morgan replied.

“I was expecting the tiniest bit of resistance.”

“Just go. Try not to make her scream or throw you out a window.”

He approached the entrance. The artifices glanced at his cithara, then returned to urging on their machines. Babieca walked up the spiral stairs. Builders hugged the walls, intent on assembling or stripping down devices. Tiny brass wheels and other mechanical entrails littered the stairs, and he had to look closely to avoid them. One of the artifices was working on a tripod with golden wheels. The tripod gave a sudden lurch, its wheels grinding, and Babieca realized with a start that it could move on its own.