“A mystic,” said Achillia, letting the old joke roll around her tongue before spitting it out, “told a woman whose sick boy was dying that her son would soon recover and live a long, fruitful life. ‘Come back tomorrow for your fee,’ said the woman. The mystic was horrified. ‘But what if he should die in the night?’”
“I don’t care for your humour.”
“And I don’t care for your ignorance,” Achillia replied. She swept her arm around the small, dirty space. The room she’d found for them teetered on the top of an apartment block that was starting to collapse, the wooded joists half rotten, the plaster on the walls sodden with damp. She breathed in deeply, to make the point that the stink of the previous occupants – and probably the ones before that – still hung around them. “It’s so different for you, isn’t it? In Rome, in your fine houses and fine clothes. But people die all the time, in wars, having babies, in the street. Who knows – maybe we’ll both get a fever tonight and be dead tomorrow? But by the fucking gods, I am not going to go quietly. And if the choice is between me and someone else… that person will end up dead, every time.”
“My mother pushed five babies and only two survived,” said Trigemina, lifting her head from her knees. “So we’re not so different.”
“Bullshit.”
Trigemina didn’t say anything for a moment. She put her hands to her head and momentarily recoiled when her fingertips felt her bedraggled hair. “So we stay here for a while,” she said. “We wait, and then we run. Is that it? Is that the plan?”
Achillia shook her head. “There’s no plan,” she said. “Just like there’s no plan for us from the gods. No fate. No fucking Sibylline destiny. We survive today, and then we think about tomorrow.”
“We’ll need food. And more money than we were able to take from the house.”
“Leave that to me. You’ll need to stay here. You can’t be seen.” She glanced about her. “There’s a piss pot in the corner. Don’t shit in it.”
Trigemina nodded, and finally seemed to start taking in her new surroundings. “It’s lucky you found this empty.”
Achillia rose to her feet, her head just about missing the low ceiling. “If anyone comes looking for a guy called Hermeros,” she said, “just tell them he departed.”
“And where are you going?”
“The Sibyl told me to find a guy called Manius Calpurnius Barbatus. I think it’s time I introduced myself.”
29
New Pompeii
PULLUS STEPPED OUT of Naso’s house and onto the street. The mob outside had long since dissipated, no doubt following Scaeva’s last journey to the forum. If the former aedile had any friends left, he could at least hope they would help him to his destination. Or bring his sword to meet him.
“So we have to wait before going to see Popidius?” Taedia asked.
Pullus nodded. “Yes. I gave Naso a few hours with him first.”
“Then where next?”
Pullus wasn’t sure. There were a few other names he suspected might be in the business of collecting NovusPart paraphernalia. But given the number of objects being brought to the duumvir’s mansion, maybe it was better to leave that to Naso and just wait to sort through whatever junk was brought to him. And yet there was something nagging at Pullus. A sense there was something else out there. Something he’d missed.
“Scaeva was running for duumvir,” Taedia said suddenly. Pullus frowned, irritated that his line of thought had been disturbed. “Hmm?”
“Duumvir,” Taedia repeated. “Scaeva was standing for duumvir.”
Pullus shook his head. “No, the elections are only for the aediles.”
“I saw the posters,” Taedia said slowly. “Most were for the posts of aedile. But Scaeva was definitely campaigning to be duumvir.”
Pullus grunted. He hadn’t taken note of the individual posters. “Then he’s an idiot,” he said, “trying to depose a man to whom he owes money.”
“But there should be two duumvirs, shouldn’t there? Just like the Empire had two consuls.”
“Yes.”
“Then they could have shared the position.”
Pullus started walking. “That’s not how Naso works.”
“Calpurnia didn’t much like him.”
“Who?”
“Scaeva. I think she’ll be pleased.”
Pullus glanced back at his shadow, then noticed a group of men approaching. To his surprise, he recognised Popidius, surrounded by his slaves and freedmen. The young aedile had clearly been waiting for him to finish with the duumvir. However, after promising Naso that he would allow him to speak to Popidius first, this was going to be a tricky conversation to explain.
Beside him, Pullus caught Taedia smirking. “Popidius,” he said amiably, then nodded back towards Naso’s property. One of the duumvir’s doormen was already watching. “An unpleasant business.”
Popidius didn’t reply until he’d got much closer. “Yes. Scaeva wasn’t my favourite member of the Ordo, but his children didn’t deserve to suffer so.”
Pullus nodded, smiling out of politeness and hoping it didn’t appear too much like a grimace. He was already hoping Naso’s man would report to his master that this meeting had been a result of the aedile’s initiative, and not his.
“We are soon to have elections,” Popidius continued. “I am again standing for aedile.”
“I’ve seen the posters. You must be confident?”
The aedile flashed an arrogant smile, which was confirmation enough. Although Pullus didn’t spend much time in town, he knew the young aedile was popular. He did a decent job of keeping the town clean, and had organised good entertainments at the arena. The ladies seemed to like him too, although unfortunately for him they had no vote. “I wonder if I could tempt you to support my campaign?”
Pullus shook his head. “You know I remain neutral.”
“There’s nothing to stop a god from choosing a side.”
“I’m not a god.”
“But you have a lot of followers, and there are a lot of voters at your temple.”
“It’s not my temple,” Pullus corrected, thinking about all the people who went regularly to sacrifice at his statue at the Fortuna Augusta. He glanced again at the duumvir’s doorway. A second member of Naso’s household was now watching them.
“Most people associate you with Calpurnia and Naso,” Popidius continued, seeming to mull the situation out loud. “But, then again, neither of them have to bother being elected.” The aedile paused, giving time for a reply that didn’t come. “Will you be in town long?”
“Just until I’ve completed Calpurnia’s instructions.” Pullus tried to steer the conversation away from politics, and towards a more pertinent subject. “How is your search for NovusPart material going?”
Popidius shrugged. “Fine,” he replied. “A strange order to receive from our Augusta, but we will carry out her instructions, as always.” He paused. “Let me know if you reconsider endorsing my campaign… or perhaps you will be courteous enough to return to your villa for the election day?”
Pullus blinked, surprised. “Pardon?”
“Naso’s told me he’s backing another candidate,” Popidius said, his tone suddenly lacking in charm. “Sextus Cordus. And now you’re here, and Calpurnia has allowed Naso’s men free rein in the town.”
“You know the two things aren’t connected,” Pullus replied, a little too defensively.
“But the people don’t, and you being here doesn’t help. Think on that, Pullus. Think on that.”
The aedile gave a short bow and turned back to his men. Pullus waited for a few seconds, just long enough to see the doormen disappear back inside Naso’s townhouse, and then continued on his way. Taedia scurried behind him. “Can he talk to you like that?” she asked. “Being just an aedile?”
Just an aedile, thought Pullus. Just one of the three most important men in town.
He didn’t answer the question. Instead he switched his thoughts to
NovusPart and their time in New Pompeii. McMahon and Whelan had used several locations to control the town. Calpurnia had converted their villa into her own private palace. In the town, however, they’d run things from a series of townhouses, the most important of which he now owned himself. But there were others: unfinished townhouses belonging to Whelan and other important NovusPart employees.
“Where are we heading?” Taedia asked.
Her questioning had begun to irritate him. Perhaps he shouldn’t have allowed her to talk so freely. He doubted Calpurnia gave her such an opportunity. But if she spotted something he’d missed – like the election posters – it would be worth it. He could go back to his villa and let the world get on without him again. “We’re going to take a look at the NovusPart townhouses,” he said. “Whelan’s to be specific.”
“Whelan? One of the two men that ran NovusPart?”
“There were three actually.”
“Calpurnia mainly talks about Whelan and McMahon.”
“McMahon, Whelan and Arlen,” said Pullus, slowly. Maybe Calpurnia had primed Taedia, provided a list of questions to her agent designed to stir the pot, just to see what would come to the surface. “Or Arlen, McMahon and Whelan, as I think it probably really was.”
“I’ve never heard Calpurnia talk about anyone called ‘Arlen’.”
“He’s the reason you’re here. He invented the NovusPart device.”
“And the other two took it from him?”
Pullus cast a sideways look at her. Quite a leap, if she’d not been told. “In a manner of speaking,” he said. “So we were just left with McMahon and Whelan. Things would be so much easier if we could talk to them again.”
“I heard you killed McMahon?”
“It’s more complicated than that…”
“And Whelan?”
Pullus heard the screaming as the drill tore into the top of Whelan’s skull.
“You’re going to talk to Whelan?”
Pullus had to remind himself that just because she overheard things didn’t mean she understood them. And if Calpurnia had set her up to be a sounding board, then so be it. At least it was cathartic. “We tried that a long time ago,” he said. “If he’d been less of a soldier, then he might have seen sense and told us something useful before they killed him.”
He looked round, but froze when he saw the confusion on Taedia’s face. He didn’t even register the next few words as she spoke them. He only saw her lips move as they sought to form the air into a statement. “But Whelan’s not dead, is he?”
30
Naples
“It’s all too easy to fall in love with the Romans, and all too easy to forget the things that would make any normal person’s stomach turn. The executions, the slavery, the sexual grooming of children. What sort of man could continue to turn a blind eye to that level of cruelty? What sort of man is Nick Houghton? Is he really Decimus Horatius Pullus?”
Anonymous posting,
Bureau of Roman Affairs Intranet
NICK WOKE SUDDENLY. It was pitch black. His brain idled for a few moments as he struggled to figure out where he was. Then it came back. Chloe’s spare room. He was still in Naples. Not Pompeii.
He let his head fall back into the pillow. No matter the length of his visits, his brain always failed to adjust. And yet there was something odd here. He’d been disturbed by something more than the ambient noises of the modern world.
Nick kicked off his bed covers, and stumbled across to the window. Drawing the curtains, he peered out at the apartment block opposite. Lights were coming on in several rooms.
He thought back to his visit to Pompeii and the Gabinetto Segreto.
NovusPart.
A simple word. An anachronistic word – scratched into a fresco two thousand years out of its time, and buried in Pompeii. The answers to the real questions remained elusive: how had it been written? What did it mean? Would they find more?
Nick let out a slow breath. In the apartment block opposite, more lights flicked on. Until that moment in the Gabinetto with Fabio, he always thought he understood the NovusPart device. The “rules” of temporal transportation had been the one thing NovusPart had appeared to be open about: objects and people could only be moved forward in time, and the focal length was thirty years. The device couldn’t move anything from the immediate past into the present. Thirty years had to pass before something or someone could be transported forwards. And there was no going back. Time went in one direction.
Forwards.
Forwards, not back. Had they been lying to him? Nick closed his eyes. He doubted it. Whelan had screamed as he’d been made to talk. And yet he’d still not revealed everything. He’d still held onto the one or two elements that had kept the full potential of the device from them.
Nick turned at a noise from the door. A figure stood framed by the hall light. Chloe. The realisation didn’t stop his heart from kicking.
“Shit,” he said.
“Sorry…”
Nick looked down. He was in his underwear, and suddenly felt exposed. “You couldn’t sleep either, huh?” he said.
“Something… I don’t know what it was. Jack’s still asleep.”
“So we’re both having bad dreams,” Nick said.
“Did you see the news today? What’s doing the rounds again?”
Nick nodded. He lacked a direct connection to the boards but, even so, it was hard to ignore the discussions about New Pompeii. “There was a small demonstration outside the site,” he said. “After we’d left. Fabio told me all about it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Nick said. “Between the timeline conspiracists and the kooks dressed in sheets, it’s really no wonder the rest of the world would prefer it if we just disappeared.”
Chloe raised an eyebrow. “Kooks dressed in sheets? And when you do it, I suppose those sheets become something else entirely, eh?”
Nick gave a mock scowl. “Of course.” He paused, then ploughed ahead. “Fabio took me to the Gabinetto Segreto.”
Chloe looked at him blankly. “Aren’t you a little old for all that? Surely you’ve seen enough Roman erotica to last a lifetime.”
Maybe she hadn’t been told. Maybe what she’d said to him was true: she was just a babysitter. But when he wasn’t visiting Naples, they had to keep her occupied doing something. He needed to find out just how much she actually knew about the Bureau. “They found a fresco buried in amongst the new digs,” he said, carefully. Trying to sense any hint of recognition before he revealed Fabio’s secret. “It had the word ‘NovusPart’ scratched onto its surface.”
Chloe froze. Which meant she really didn’t know, he was almost certain. “Shit,” she said, finally. “Shit. What does that mean?”
For Fabio, it had been a simple conclusion: proof Calpurnia was indeed tampering with the timeline, and a reason to put Nick under pressure. But despite what Fabio thought, it could actually mean any number of things. That was the problem: it was always tempting to draw a conclusion from a single data point.
“It means NovusPart reversed the flow of time,” he said.
“You told me things could only be brought forwards. Time moves forward.”
Nick shook his head. “It doesn’t mean anyone travelled back.”
“But then who wrote that word? Who would know what it meant?”
Nick didn’t know and he wasn’t going to jump to any conclusions. Not yet, anyway.
“It could be a hoax,” he said.
Chloe’s expression had changed, shock replaced by confusion. It took him a few moments to realise she was accessing the boards. He waited a few moments, no longer surprised at the speed she was able to pull information, but no longer jealous she was able to do so. It wasn’t technology that he particularly wanted or needed. And, given the recent issues of controlling infection, the time for signing up for implants had long since passed.
“What’s the matter?”
“I’d put an alert on
your Who’s Where status so I’d know when it got updated,” she answered, her eyes still unfocused. “I’ve just received the ping.”
Nick felt mild surprise but nothing more. So someone had located him. “Have you told the security team?”
“No, not here,” she said, her eyes suddenly back in the room. “You’ve not been anywhere without me, have you?”
“Just Pompeii, with Fabio.”
“He didn’t take you to the Vomero district?”
Nick shook his head.
“Probably someone fooling around then,” Chloe said. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Goodnight, Nick.”
Nick watched her go and then turned back to the window. He took hold of the curtains, ready to pull them back into position. The apartment block opposite him, however, was still coming to life. Lights were being switched on across the building. He wasn’t the only one jolted from sleep.
And he suddenly knew what had disturbed him and Chloe.
31
New Pompeii
“MY FATHER SCRAPED a small hole in the ringleader’s skull,” said Calpurnia. “He did it slowly. Carefully. Kept him alive and screaming. Then he filled his cranium with molten lead until it flowed out through his eyes.” For a second, Calpurnia’s gaze met his, and Nick felt his entire body shudder. Her voice sounded so cold. So detached. But, of course, she wasn’t speaking from memory. Someone must have told her. Let her know Barbatus had allowed her mother to die, and then had gone on to murder his opponents. “The Emperor Gaius once said: ‘It’s not enough they die; they have to feel themselves dying’.”
Pullus tried to leave, but was forced to watch as Barbatus first showed Whelan the tools, then explained how they’d use them.
They cut and shaved Whelan’s hair. Then the scalp came away like peeled fruit. Whelan’s eyes bulged in their sockets and his limbs strained against the chair to which he’d been tied. The NovusPart security chief didn’t talk. He just sat shaking. He tried to break free, until finally – slowly – they started to grind at the bone. Then he started shouting, started screaming. Knowing he was going to die, he was determined to get his message across: Don’t let them alter the timeline!
Empire of Time Page 12
