Pile of Bones (4 page)

“‘Ungelic is us,’” Andrew whispered. It seemed suitable for multiple occasions.

After class, they delivered tutorials. He tried to keep his students distracted with images. In the end, he got sucked into describing a medieval shoe for twenty minutes, and discussion of the poem was rushed. They practiced alliteration, and then he let them go. Afterward, he reunited with Shelby, who confessed that she let her students talk about dire wolves.

“We were sort of on track. At least they were thinking medieval.” She checked her phone. “Carl is stuck at some kind of wine-and-cheese thing for the History job candidate, and he needs us to rescue him.”

They made their way into the multipurpose room of the History Department. Everyone was gathered in a semihostile circle around the candidate, who was eating Swedish meatballs and looking nervous. Carl hid next to the cucumber slices. He smiled when he saw them. Shelby grabbed him by the arm, and they squeezed through the circle of masticating academics.

The cafeteria had turnstiles, which made them feel like they were walking into a Zellers department store. He and Shelby made for the salad bar, while Carl got a burger from the counter known as the “fixin’s station.” Once they’d paid, they took their customary table near the back.

Andrew stared at his plate. For years, he’d had the same lunch at the cafeteria: potato salad, watercress, sweet pickles, coleslaw (his substitute for fiber), pickled beets, and croutons. He liked orderly things with pleasing textures. Ever since he was a first-year undergrad, he’d come to this cafeteria to talk about ideas. His friends also liked to discuss relationships, but he preferred to talk about words themselves rather than the ways that people misused them.

“Remember our first meal here?” he asked.

“I was sitting at this table, crying,” Shelby replied.

“You’d overextended your credit card at the bookstore.”

“I didn’t have any money left. I couldn’t pay my rent.”

“You were a hot mess.”

“I’d like to think I still am.”

Carl turned to me. “Please eat some protein.”

“There’s protein here.”

“I don’t think you know what protein is, Andrew.” He put half of his burger on my plate. “Here. It will make me feel better if you eat it, or at least part of it.”

“You’ll be hungry.”

“I’ve still got fries coming. They just had to change the oil.”

He took a bite of the burger. “Will you sleep better now?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Can we talk about the knife?”

Shelby looked around the cafeteria. “Most of these people are distracted. I guess it’s safe to park here for a bit.”

“Okay—what about that fibula?” Carl asked. “It lit up like an unholy Christmas tree. What do you think it does?”

“There’s no way of knowing,” Andrew replied. “The lares aren’t specific. If we want to find anything out, we’ll have to ask the meretrix.”

“The Subura is big,” Carl said, “and full of dead-end streets that only go somewhere if you know the right people. We can’t visit every basia. It’ll take all day.”

“We only have to visit the best ones. Did you see what he was wearing? He’s obviously high up in the gens.”

“All the more reason for him to avoid contact with us. Some of the houses won’t let you past the front doors without a sizable donation.”

“We could use part of our savings to get in.”

“What savings?” He turned to Shelby. “There are meretrices at the arx. Could you talk to one of them?”

“They won’t tell me anything. People who spend time with the basilissa aren’t in the habit of giving away information.”

“Maybe you’ll run into him.”

“We’d run into him in the Subura,” Andrew said.

Carl shook his head, silent while a cafeteria employee
dropped off his fries. When they were alone once more, he said, “I don’t think it’s a good idea to wander around, looking for a meretrix that we know nothing about.”

“Well.” Shelby looked at both of them. “There is one person who might know. She’s probably still angry about that whole desertion thing, though.”

“I don’t think so.” Carl waved a fry, as if to emphasize his point. “We’re not going back there. She’ll murder us.”

“Not if you pay her for lost wages.”

“She’s right,” Andrew said. “Domina Pendelia used to brag about visiting the arx. She and the meretrix probably run in the same circles.”

Carl looked miserable. “She’s going to take every last coin. And she might not even tell us anything useful.”

“She likes you,” Andrew reminded him. “Wear something that shows off your arms.”

He returned to playing with his croutons. It was fun to soak them in pickled beet juice until they were purple. Then he could pretend that they were alien food cubes. A flash of something caught his eye. He looked over at the nearest table, just as an empty tray fell off the edge, clattering to the floor. As he watched, the tray seemed to move an inch forward. He squinted. The tray didn’t move again. Not a soul had noticed. It must have been—

“Andrew?” Shelby frowned at him. “Were you listening? I asked what edition of
Beowulf
you were using.”

“Chickering,” he replied absently, still staring at the tray. “It has a bit less verve than Heaney’s translation, but it’s more accurate.”

“I never thought of Anglo-Saxon verse as being particularly high in verve,” Carl said. “Anything employing a case system is too rich for my blood.”

“Spanish comes from Latin, which has a case system.” Andrew stared at the tray, willing it to move again. “Once you get the hang of how nouns decline, it’s very efficient.”

“I prefer my nouns to stand still. What are you staring at?”

He looked up. “Nothing.”

For a moment, he imagined what would happen if lares took over the cafeteria. The salamanders could certainly help keep the pizza warm. The gnomoi could handle any necessary renovations, and the undinae would enjoy all the excess runoff from the soda dispensers. Andrew was trying to puzzle out what union the creatures would fall under when he realized that everyone was getting ready to leave. He’d barely touched his meal. He speared a purple crouton. A cafeteria worker collected the errant tray, setting it by the garbage.

H
IS ALLEY WAS THE SAME
. T
HE DEBRIS HAD
shifted slightly, but he still recognized everything. He didn’t quite understand the utility of this moment, the crossing, which always left him in the same place. Morgan and Babieca had their own alleys, in different vici. It didn’t make sense that a city ruled by chance would allow this. He guessed that it represented a neutral square, a place to start from. The city held infinite alleys. They’d meet at the clepsydra soon, but this moment was his. The golden moss was incandescent. He smelled fish and smoke. People were shouting, wheels were smacking the cobblestones, but it all seemed far away. The alley was what he’d always wanted. His personal honeycomb, never changing.

Via Dolores was full of traffic. Wagons jammed the curbs, and several litters were jostling for pride of place on the street. This was the time for sending messages and visiting patrons. Chances were good that Domina Pendelia’s front door would be unlocked, in anticipation of morning obeisance. If they could get into the atrium, they had a chance of making her listen. Her minor infatuation with
Babieca might prove distracting, and Morgan’s presence would lend a touch of respectability.

When he got to the clepsydra, Morgan was waiting for him. The heat was climbing, so everyone clustered around the fountains. As he stared at the water, he noticed a cracked die, floating. It couldn’t mean anything good.

“He’ll be late,” Morgan said. “It’s his special talent.”

“He also makes us money. We can’t really complain.”

“He’s going to argue. Maybe he won’t come.”

“He always comes.”

“Roldan, why exactly are we doing this?”

He looked surprised. “You defended the idea.”

“Returning the knife is honorable, but it leaves us broke.”

“You still have your stipend.”

“That covers food and bow repair.”

“You can have my emergency boot coin.”

“The money isn’t my only concern. After what happened in that house, I’m not sure it’s in our best interest—”

“Nothing here is in our best interest. Anfractus eats people. Why do you think there are so many furs? They’re small-time hunters, looking for conies like us. That’s all we are to them. If we want to change that, we have to play the game.”

“Returning a knife won’t get you into the Gens of Auditores.”

Roldan bit off his reply when he saw Babieca coming. She was right, of course. Domina Pendelia wasn’t going to be happy to see them. Even if she knew the meretrix, why should she help them? You didn’t become a citizen by giving away secrets for free.

“So?” Morgan looked at Babieca. “What’s your alternative plan?”

“I don’t have one.”

“You weren’t going to suggest that we sell it and split the profits?”

“Nobody would buy such a fine weapon from the likes of us. After dark, maybe, but not while the sun’s out.” He shrugged. “If you and Roldan want to do this, fine. There will be other jobs, but this is the first thing that’s seemed like—I don’t know. A quest?”

Roldan looked at Morgan. He could tell that she’d been thinking the same thing.

“Maybe nothing will happen,” he said. “But nothing is all that’s been happening to us for months, and I wouldn’t mind changing that.”

“That’s not—” She stopped herself from saying something. “I mean, if we’re all in agreement, there’s no sense arguing.”

“You were about to say something.”

“I really wasn’t.”

“I don’t hate change.”

“Roldan—”

Babieca raised his hands. “Let’s just go. We can decide who was right after she chains us all to the hypocaust.”

They made their way to the seventh insula of Saxum. Domina Pendelia’s house was two stories, with a covered balcony. Morgan knocked on the blue door. After a moment, a member of the house staff opened it. Roldan didn’t recognize him.

He could be my replacement. I’ll bet he has steadier hands.

“Do you have an audience?” he asked.

“We’ve come to pay our respects to the domina,” Morgan replied.

“Is she your patroness?”

“Not exactly. We have a gift for her.”

He looked at Morgan’s bow and quiver. “A sagittarius bearing gifts? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“I think she’d be interested in seeing us.”

“My lady is quite busy.”

Babieca withdrew a coin from his sleeve. “Of course she is.”

He examined the coin, then tucked it away. “You can wait in the atrium while I locate her. Don’t be surprised if she doesn’t come, though.”

“Her whim is our pleasure.”

They followed him through the entrance. Morgan gave him a look.

“What?”

“How many more coins do you have hidden away?”

“We’re inside. You’ve got nothing to complain about. Plus, Roldan—”

“I already know about his boot bank. It’s
your
personal treasury that I’m interested in. You complain about having to spend money while it falls out of your sleeves.”

“This tunica has many pockets. That’s all you need to know.”

The atrium was a bit smaller than the last one they’d visited, but she’d painted new frescoes in their absence. One of them was nearly pornographic, if you tilted your head. Couches were arranged next to a small table, which bore a glass ewer of wine and a tray of sesame balls.

Babieca poured himself a cup of wine.

“Stop that,” Morgan said. “Stop it. That spread is for guests.”

“We are guests.”

“No, you’re both deserters. Why would she want to feed you?”

“That’s a good question.”

Domina Pendelia stood in the entrance. She wore a dark blue stola with red fringe. He wondered how many insects had perished to make those strips of crimson. Her sandals were intricately laced, with bright buckles. Her jade earrings had faces, one smiling, the other sinister. Nobody spoke for a moment. Roldan could hear water dropping in the cistern. Then Babieca put down his glass and took a step forward.

“We’re back,” he said. “Did you miss us?”

She walked over to them. Her wig made her the tallest person in the room.

“You left in the middle of my bath,” she said.

“We’re very sorry. An urgent matter came up.”

“You stole from me. Everything you’re wearing is mine.”

“Easily remedied.” He slipped out of his sandals, then began to unhook his belt. “It’s only fair that you should have your property back.”

He was about to pull off his tunica when she grabbed his arm.

“Are you mad? I don’t need a scene in my atrium.”

Babieca smiled and stepped back into his sandals. “Too bad.”

“Domina.” Morgan withdrew a small leather purse. “I can vouch for them. Here’s what they owe you in lost wages.”

She stared at Morgan. “These two are no company for a sagittarius. What purpose do you have in being here?”

“It may become clear in a moment. For now”—she extended the purse—“I imagine you’ll find use for these coins.”

Domina Pendelia took the purse and opened it. “This is barely a third. How do they plan to pay off the rest?”

Before he could lose his nerve, Roldan stepped forward and spoke. “We’re sorry, Domina, for the trouble we’ve caused you. But we need your help. And I think you’ll find what we have to say more than compelling.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Roldan, Domina.”

“Roldan.” She smiled thinly. “Of course. You speak to the lares.”

“Yes, Domina. When they’re willing to listen.”

“Did you ever speak to them on my behalf?”

“I had a few conversations with the salamander in your hypocaust chamber. She encouraged the fire, in exchange for milk and pumpkin seeds.”

She blinked. “Isn’t that something? Are there other lares in my house?”

“There’s a gnomo in your garden. He doesn’t do much, but if you gave him some marble, he could probably make you a nice frieze. Something to make your neighbors jealous.”

Domina Pendelia gave him a long look. “You’ve become more interesting. And I did just order some rose marble from Egressus.”

“If he’s here, I can ask him about it. Then, perhaps, we could discuss the matter that brought us back to your doorstep.”

She considered it for a moment. Then she took the coins and handed the purse back to Morgan. She opened an etched ivory drawer in the table and deposited the money.

“Let’s go to the garden.”

They followed her down the hallway, which opened to a columned peristyle. Light bathed the myrrh and olive branches. Just as she’d said, there was a square of blushing marble on the table next to the lemon tree. It was good bait for gnomoi, though some of them refused to breach ground for anything less than a carbuncle.

“The stone is exquisite,” said Domina Pendelia. “I was going to a hire a mason, but—” She looked at him uncertainly. It was a change from her customary indifference. “How much do the lares charge for something like this?”

“It varies,” he replied. “Stone is a gnomo’s chaos. He may see the work itself as payment. They always take something, though.”

Roldan sat down and tried to listen past the wind and the faint street noise that lingered beyond the house. Marble was like pastry to the gnomoi. He must be close. After a few seconds, he heard something, like a soft tapping. He looked at the marble again. The lemon tree cast shadows across its pink planes. The tapping grew louder as he listened. One of those shadows had a very odd shape. He could feel something there. It wasn’t particularly interested in him, but it knew that he was listening.

“The stone is beautiful,” he said. “Don’t you think?”

The tapping stopped.

Delectable striae,
a voice said.

“It came all the way from Egressus.”

The gnomo said nothing.

“Their quarries are legendary,” he continued. “Do you see how the stone is nearly translucent? Like a rose spun from glass. Whatever you made from it would last forever.”

There was more silence. Then:

Why make something for you?

“Not for me. For the domina of this house.” Roldan gestured to her. “She would be honored and delighted to display your work.”

Her statuary offends me.

He sighed quietly, then turned to Domina Pendelia. “He has a problem with your statues. If you get rid of them—”

“Are you mad? They cost a fortune.”

“They’re very nice,” Babieca interjected, “but they’re not doing anything for your reputation. An original piece by a gnomo would be the talk of the insula.”

She made a face. “Can I at least keep the Wheel of Fortuna? It has a water feature.”

I hate that one most,
the gnomo whispered.

Roldan shook his head. “They all have to go.”

“Oh, very well.”

He turned back to the slab of marble. “She agrees. Your creation will be the garden’s new centerpiece, with no pretenders competing for attention.”

It will take time.

“There’s no hurry.”

Touch the stone.

He blinked. “Why?”

“Why what?” Morgan whispered. “What is it asking?”

Touch the stone,
the gnomo repeated,
and we are done.

Slowly, he laid his palm on the marble. It was cool to the touch. Then he felt the pressure of a hand on top of his, smaller, but strangely heavy. The invisible hand pushed. There was a strange pinch in his fingertips. Then his hand sank into the marble, as if it were soft clay. His whole arm went numb. He bit his lip to keep from crying out. Dark spots gathered at the corners of his vision. He heard the voice again, much clearer than before:

The salamander spoke of you.

His teeth were chattering. “What—did she say?”

You have a dangerous talent.

“I don’t understand.”

Don’t trust water.

Then the pressure disappeared. The stone rippled as he lifted his hand. The numbness was replaced by tingling, then vicious pins and needles. The gnomo was gone.

Domina Pendelia was staring at him. “What just happened?”

“We made a deal,” he said. “The gnomo will make
something for you. Tonight, I think. They generally work at night.”

Unexpectedly, she touched his hand. “You’re cold.”

“Yes.”

“I thought—I mean, it looked as if—”

“That’s never happened to me before.”

Babieca placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“I think so. It said something strange to me, though.”

“What?”

“Don’t trust water.”

“Does he have something against the fountains?”

“I have no clue.”

“Odd. Should we leave an offering of some kind? More apple skins?”

“No. I think it’s happy with the stone.”

Domina Pendelia looked at him with newfound interest. “I’ve met auditores before. I’ve heard them mumbling to themselves in corners, talking to spiderwebs. That was different, though. I felt something. I believed it was there.”

“I’m no auditor, Domina. You said as much yourself. Only an eavesdropper.”

She smiled. “Let’s go back to the atrium. I hate to talk on an empty stomach.”

Domina Pendelia sent for food, and it arrived in vast quantities: roast boar with a fruit glaze, hot chickpeas, wild cabbage, grilled sausages, and swan pastries, which Morgan avoided because they made her uncomfortable. They drank wine from goblets with suggestive carvings; Roldan’s had a picture of two lovers being spied on through an open window. Although they’d eaten in this house before, it had always been downstairs, where the rats gathered in a hopeful circle at their lamp’s edge. This was the first time they’d actually dined with the domina herself, and it was a very different experience. She told wry jokes, asked them about their lives, even flirted cautiously with Babieca, who was more than receptive. Maybe it was Morgan’s presence, maybe she really had been impressed by his conversation
with the gnomo, but for the first time, Roldan felt that they were seeing the real domina.

The man who’d met them at the door reappeared. He glanced at the three of them, and Roldan was surprised by the hostility in his look. Everyone knew that Anfractus ran by virtue of an insidious class engine. New arrivals had no gens to protect them, no money, no friends. They could steal to survive, but the Fur Queen was known to deal swiftly with those who encroached upon her territory. The most common solution was to labor for someone else, someone like Domina Pendelia, who needed people to stoke her hypocaust, peel her oranges, and deliver furtive tablets to her many lovers throughout the city. The jobs never paid well, but they certainly helped fend off starvation. They’d taken a chance when they left this house. If Morgan hadn’t discovered them, who knows what they would have been reduced to?