The Curse-Maker (19 page)

“Who pays you?”

He shook his head. “That's all I can tell you. I mean it. Go ahead and ruin my face, if you'd like, but—but I can't tell you anymore.” He tried to straighten his tunic.

“Where is it? The mine?”

“I can tell you that. Then—then you can see for yourself. It's about fifteen miles from here. Right off the Sorviodunum to Iscalis road. There are a lot of mines in those hills. This one—this one is the farthest one north, about seven miles from Iscalis.”

I stood up and said softly: “Do you ever hear voices at night, Faro?”

He looked scared again. “What do you mean?”

“Not dead ones. Living voices, full of pain and misery. Pain you've put there. That's the only thing you bring to life. And sometime soon it's going to drown out the sound of anything else.”

He was already looking old. I turned to Secundus and Mumius. “Don't repeat this to anyone. Especially your wife, Secundus.”

He started to sputter again. “My wife—my wife—you're—you're going to believe—”

“Yes, I believe him. Your wife takes a malicious pleasure in watching other people suffer. I'd—watch what you eat, Secundus. Just watch what you eat.”

Secundus and Mumius gaped at me. Faro was staring at the ground, trying to read his own future.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Materna wasn't anywhere to be seen or smelled. The road home was a blur, and Gwyna was reading a letter in the
triclinium
when I walked in the door.

“What happened? Are you hurt?”

“No. That's Faro's blood.”

She needed to hear it, and hear it in full.

“That bitch. That unholy bitch. So we were just there for her ‘amusement.' I wonder how she found out—it must have been the baths. I tried to wear loose clothes. Or maybe it was Sulpicia—”

“I don't think Sulpicia would've told her. What about Philo?”

She looked at me sideways. “Ardur—don't blame Philo for everything. It's not that hard to figure out. Everyone knows we don't have children, and I—I—”

I leaned forward to kiss her. “You're the most beautiful woman in Britannia, and people talk. Forget it.”

She squeezed my hand, and changed the subject. “So Faro is connected to the mine?”

“Yes. That's where I've got to go.”

“Now? But—” She thought about it and nodded her head. “You're right. I'll go with you.”

“You can't. This is dangerous.”

“So is Aquae Sulis,” she said drily.

“Gwyna, it's a hard ride, and I don't know what I'll find when I get there. Please—for me—stay here and see what you can find out. And take two slaves with you, wherever you go.”

“Well, Agricola seems to have an endless supply. But don't you—don't you want to hear the news from home first?”

She waved the tablet in her hand.

“Is it from Bilicho?”

“Yes. And Stricta.”

“Are they all right? Is Hefin all right?”

“Of course. Bilicho says Hefin needs more friends his own age—you know how important age-mates are—what is it, Ardur?”

I wiped my forehead. My head hurt. “I don't know. Nothing, probably.” I tried to be interested. “What else did they say?”

Gwyna stared at me and smiled as if she could see through me. Which she could.

“Your mind's not here. You can read it later. Go on and change. I'll tell the servants to pack you some food. I want to know exactly where this mine is, and what road you're taking.”

She committed it to memory and sent me off to the bedroom. It took her considerably longer to do whatever she was doing than it did for me to put on my leggings, boots, and traveling cloak. I told one of the slaves to pack a club and
gladius
on Nimbus where I could get to them in a hurry. I stuck a dagger in my belt as an extra precaution. My foot hurt from tapping on the floor when she returned with a medallion.

“Wear my necklace, and think of me. It'll help protect you from whatever's there.”

“I think of you constantly.”

She smiled and put it around my neck. “Go on, Ardur. It's already the fifth hour of day. You want to get there before dark, and that's hill country. You'll have to go slower than you'd like.”

I bent down and kissed her gently. “I miss you already.”

She plucked at my sleeve. “Ardur—did Faro—did Faro say what made him choose—a boy?”

I raised her face to look at me. “The law of averages, my love. Faro is a fraud. He admitted it.”

She gave a small nod. Her hand squeezed mine, and she stood on tiptoe to kiss my cheek. “Go on. Nimbus is waiting for you. And be careful!”

I smiled at her and walked outside. The air was fresh, with a threat of winter rain in it, the sun shining thin and pale through the clouds. A good day to travel—and find out who the hell was haunting the haunted mine.

*   *   *

The countryside around Aquae Sulis was some of the most beautiful I'd ever seen. Wooded hills filled with ash, elm, oak, and holly stood sentry over lush green meadows, bright with the boisterous colors of fall.

Nimbus and I enjoyed getting out of town. A kind of creeping melancholy unwound from around our necks. By all rights, Aquae Sulis should be a lovely place. Maybe one day it would be.

I thought I heard a horse behind me once or twice, and when I climbed a hill, I caught a glimpse of dust in the distance. Nimbus flared her nose and gave me a worried look. I patted her on the shoulder. I wasn't unprepared.

It was about two hours before sunset when I finally found the mine, but it already felt too late. Shadows from the hills were stretching toward the valleys. The peaks would keep the sunlight for a little while longer.

A small, rocky path meandered from the main road, passing by two other operations that looked closed. The trail itself was clear of debris, except for a log dragged across the road to block it. I didn't believe in trees that conveniently fell across unused paths. Especially when the dirt was tightly tamped and there weren't any weeds.

About three or four miles farther—up a steep shale-and-rock ledge the scrawny pines were barely able to cling to—I found the last stop in the trail. I was hoping it would be, in more ways than one.

Like most things the Romans get personally involved in, mining was big business, and this had been no small-time operation. A large, rectangular shaft marked the opening in the side of the hill. It was framed with wood and, from the size of it, probably led to several horizontal and deeper vertical galleries inside. That's where the Roman was supposedly killed—and where he was still supposed to walk.

I got off of Nimbus and bent down in the light dust. Somebody was walking around here, all right, but I didn't think it was a dead Roman.

Somewhere above me a kestrel shrieked, and I jumped. The wind was getting ready for the evening. Nimbus's ears pricked forward, and she nickered softly. I wondered at what.

I walked around, looking at the wood beams stretched on the ground. It was an artful arrangement. Everything looked deserted—except, like the roads, there weren't any weeds around the wood. Disturbed earth grows weeds like the Hydra grows heads, if the ground is ever let alone. This place felt about as lonely as the Circus Maximus.

My feet crunched on something as I walked toward the entrance, and I bent down to see what it was. A clay cup, exactly the kind used to extract silver from lead.

This was supposed to be a lead mine, not a silver mine. And it was supposed to be closed.

I rubbed my finger inside the bowl of the cup. Fine metallic dust covered the tip. He sure as hell was an energetic ghost. Maybe he was trying to scrape up enough cash to pay the ferryman.

I tucked the cup in my saddlebag and took out my favorite club. No metal to catch a gleam of failing light; big enough to crack a head. I just hoped it wouldn't be my own.

I walked slowly toward the mine opening, my feet crunching on bits of charred wood and broken cups. The cave loomed open like a Cyclops's mouth. Busy mine. Fire marks scarred the rock around the hole, where they'd used fire and water to crack open the mountainside, Gaia's wealth spread out for the taking. On the ground, fifty feet from the entrance, there were embers of fresher vintage. Still glowing. Someone built a fire and didn't want any smoke.

I repositioned the club in my right hand. He'd be nearby. I flattened against the side of the mountain and inched toward the entrance.

Nimbus nickered again. A sturdily built man in a thick, filthy tunic, face covered in dirt and lead dust, cautiously crept out of the opening. He was going for my horse.

I waited until he was in front of me. Before I could land a blow on his back, he heard or felt me behind him and spun. There was a long, sharp knife in his fist.

The club landed on his arm. He yelped, dropping his hand, but didn't drop the knife. Quickly it passed to his other hand. Just what I liked, after an all-day ride. An ambidextrous knife-fighter.

We stood and watched one another for a minute. No feints, no circling, no snarling. He was a professional. I was, too—but not with clubs.

I said: “Why don't you show me around?”

He looked at me, face too dirty for expression.

“Why not?” He motioned with the knife toward the cave. “After you.”

I laughed. “I'm not that stupid. We go in side by side.”

He shrugged. “Sure. Whatever you'd like.”

We walked beside one another, keeping a distance. He was getting more confident. Maybe he'd make a mistake. Hopefully before I did.

I knew the cave would be dark, and my eyes would need time to adjust. So I started blinking them quickly, and he got a little closer. Probably figured there was dirt in my eyes. When we reached the outside of the cave, I faced him, so that I was standing sideways. I could see a little way in, and still watch him.

A shuffling noise came from inside, and the unique odor of donkey hit my nose.

“What's the donkey for?”

He spat on the ground. “Stubborn bastard. Works the screw pump, keeps the water out.”

“So you're down pretty deep.”

He eyed me. “Yeah. We're deep enough. Wanna see?”

I smiled. “Not tonight.”

The donkey was on a short tether and started to walk toward the light. There were raised, bloody welts on its back. Hip bones stuck up where they shouldn't, ribs protruding through the scarred scruff of fur. It raised a hopeful, bleary eye toward the waning sun.

He raised his knife toward it, still watching me, and made a movement like he was going to hit it. The donkey's head flinched, and it took a step backward.

“So that's what you do for fun, all the way out here. When you're not stealing lead and silver, that is.”

He spit again. “What I do—and what I do it to—is none of your goddamn business.”

I was too angry to be careful. Fuck careful. I'd take this bastard, and I'd take him now. He saw it in my face.

He lunged for my side, but I swung the club low, figuring he'd think I'd go for his head—the most satisfying, but hardest target. It caught him on the side and back of his knees, and he fell backward with a yell.

He tried to grab his knees in reflex, but I already had mine pushing down on his chest. I smashed his hand against a helpful boulder and watched it crumple. It wouldn't hold a whip for a while. He couldn't breathe much, and whined between his teeth, and the knife finally came loose. I scooped it up and tucked it in my belt. I was breathing hard.

“Get—off—me!” he hissed.

I was beginning to like hitting people like him. I punched him in the face. Twice. My knuckles got scratched when the teeth broke off. Then he was out. He'd be eating a soft diet of donkey shit for a long time to come.

I climbed off and looked down at him. He obviously couldn't give me any information, but he wasn't worth carting back to town. I doubted he knew the kind I needed, anyway. The rest I could see for myself.

I walked into the cave, and the donkey shied away from me. I held my hands up to her and untied the greasy, grimy rope she was moored to.

There were niches all over the walls for lamps, and a few looked like they worked. Clay cups were stacked in the corner. Pitch-lined buckets, copper pails, and chisels and picks were strewn against the sides of the cave. It led into a back gallery that looked at least as large—probably where they kept the water pump.

I led her out. She didn't want to trust me, but she'd seen what I'd done and took a chance. I got her outside and gave her some water and most of Nimbus's oats. Nimbus gave me a dirty look and sniffed at the donkey as if she smelled bad.

I put the donkey on a long tether, securing it around a spiny dogwood branch. She was in bad shape, but I figured freedom would help her get down the mountain.

The bastard was still unconscious. I fought an urge to kick him when I walked back inside. It was getting dark, and I took some flint and lit one of the lamps along the wall. Started to walk toward the other gallery.

A crunching noise behind me made me spin. Nobody. Probably the donkey. I breathed again. When I reached the arched opening, I found the reason for the ghost.

Silver. A lot of it. Unmarked ingots, not stamped, no money going back to Rome. Rome wouldn't like that. She never liked people who cheated on their lease.

A silver mine, not a lead mine. Cousins, sure, and incestuous ones, too—you could get the silver out of the heavier metal with fire and the clay cups. But this was more than extraction. This was a good-sized vein.

I turned around to leave and the world went black. Somebody was digging for something in my own head. And he was using a pick.

Goddamn it. I screwed up. There were two of them …

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I opened my eyes and saw exactly what I expected. A stubbly-faced man with worried eyes stared down at me in the dark as if he were waiting for something. The black fog around him started to clear, and I wondered why the ferryman looked so damn big. Then a pain that made my toenails quiver shot through my head. I was alive. I squinted. The ferryman looked familiar.