“Calpurnia—”
“It was the only choice I had, a gamble. Whelan told us where and when he’d been transported. And who better to help me find my husband than Joe Arlen?”
69
Ancient Pompeii, AD 79
HABITUS STARED ACROSS the booth at the back of the bakery, his face set like it couldn’t quite express what his brain was telling him. Achillia was glad there were no other customers. It was nearly nightfall and the baker and his staff were clearing up. Soon they’d be heading upstairs to their flea-infested mattresses. “So you killed a pimp,” he said, slowly. Flexing his jaw like he wanted to shout but knew that he couldn’t, not with the baker and his staff so close by. “And then you ran amok through the brothel. But you didn’t manage to kill a man who was busy fucking some whore?”
Achillia didn’t flinch. “He wasn’t there for sex.”
“So you say.”
“Why would he be? He’d have enough slaves at home.”
“New wife. Funny creatures.” Habitus shook his head. “A brothel,” he repeated, like he still couldn’t believe it. “I’m beginning to see why they don’t let you off the leash in Rome.”
Achillia shrugged. “There was an incident.”
“Huh. I’m sure there was.” Habitus paused. “So, Denter’s friend. Would you recognise him again if you saw him?”
Achillia thought for a moment. “I’d recognise his cock.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“You didn’t see it.”
Habitus glared across the table. Achillia ignored him. “So this Abderite was cremating his dead father,” she said. “As the flames started to go out, he rushed home to his sick, penny-pinching mother. To see if she wanted to save some money, and get cremated at the same time.”
Habitus was unamused. “Always the laughter lover.”
The fat baker approached the booth, a small boy by his side. A cripple by the looks of him, dressed in little more than rags. The baker took hold of the back of his neck and pushed him forward.
“He says he’s here to see you.”
Habitus nodded, and waved away the baker. The fat man didn’t move. “I don’t want to see him here again,” the baker said, looking down at the boy. “And we’ll soon be dowsing the lights, so make this quick.”
“Fine,” Habitus replied. He held the baker’s gaze until he backed away. The boy took a couple of steps closer. He seemed frightened, his one good eye flicking between the two of them. The other remained quite still in its socket.
“You have news?” Habitus asked.
The boy nodded. “He’s gone.”
Achillia leant forward. “Who?”
The beggar boy’s eye switched back to Habitus. “Marcus Villius Denter.”
Achillia slapped the table with the flat of her hand. “Where?” Habitus waited for her anger to subside. “What did you see?”
“Some men came to the house looking for him,” the boy whispered. “There was a lot of shouting. The big man was there. He waved them away.”
“Barbatus?”
The boy nodded. “Denter had already gone though. He left on a horse like he was in a big hurry.”
“Do you know where he went?”
The boy shook his head, his body rigid as if expecting a blow.
“The men at the door,” Habitus continued. “Could you hear what they were saying?”
The boy nodded.
“Well?”
“Said Denter had tricked them.” The boy’s good eye switched to Achillia. “Said he’d brought someone with him to kill them. Some woman.”
Habitus leant back in the booth and started to laugh. He reached into his tunic for a few coins, which he passed to the boy. Then he pushed the remains of his food to him. “Eat it,” he said.
Achillia couldn’t hide her confusion. “I don’t get it.”
“If you cut Barbatus in half,” Habitus explained, “you’d probably find him filled with purple dye. He’s the emperor’s man here.”
“But his son-in-law’s a republican.”
“And what would you think if you invited a man into your group and some butcher turned up to slay your friends? They don’t know Denter was the target.”
“I’d think I was betrayed.”
“They wanted revenge, but Denter has already run away.”
“But not Barbatus.”
“Barbatus doesn’t run,” the boy said, scooping the last of the food into his hands. “Barbatus runs from nothing.”
Achillia thumbed towards the door. She was about to tell him to fuck off, but the beggar boy was already on his way. “Smart lad,” she said.
“You can always find them,” Habitus replied. “Easier money than playing on people’s sympathies. Especially in a town like this. You should make more use of them, now you’re getting on a bit…”
“Careful…”
Achillia thought of the Sibyl’s voice and what it had told her. “Maybe you have another cripple who can find out where he’s gone?”
“No, I think it’s obvious.”
“Really?”
“Denter’s family comes from a town called Herculaneum. Just north of here, on the other side of the bay.”
Beneath them, the ground shifted slightly. Just a small tremor, but it was enough to make Achillia grip the edge of the table. “Shit,” she whispered.
Habitus ignored her. “You think you’ll miss again?” he asked.
Achillia felt her grip tighten. The carving she’d made the night before was still fresh on the wall beside her. She still didn’t understand it. “I can promise you this,” she said. “Marcus Villius Denter is never coming back to Pompeii.”
70
New Pompeii
“THE MAN’S DANGEROUS.”
“We have him contained.”
“Where?”
Calpurnia took a deep breath. At the far end of the corridor from where they stood outside the paradox chamber, several geese came into view where NovusPart’s old control villa met the newer, Roman buildings. The birds hissed. “I’m not a fool, Pullus.”
“McMahon and Whelan acted for a very good reason…”
“They didn’t act at all,” Calpurnia reminded him. “You call this Arlen mad, like Caligula or Nero?”
“So you have been listening.”
“All men corrupted by power, Pullus. Power. A madman is only dangerous if he has a sword or an army. Arlen has neither. We have him contained. He doesn’t have access to the device. Everything is done via the Greek.”
“And so Arlen is now working to save your husband?”
Calpurnia nodded.
And what else is he working on?
Communication with the past. Backwards transmission of information. NovusPart hadn’t been able to achieve it, but what if their boy genius was back behind the controls? Working away with a fully functional device?
Footsteps echoed into the corridor, cutting off his thoughts. Nick turned to find Marcus and Habitus heading towards them. Although the frumentarius’s face was set like thunder, the boy wore his usual grin. He seemed victorious.
“Marcus,” said Calpurnia. “Go back to your room. Wait for me there.”
The boy didn’t stop, Habitus suddenly looking more like muscle hired for aggression than for protection.
“Marcus—”
“Show her, Habitus.”
Habitus reached into the folds of his tunic and slipped out the NovusPart cellphone. The one that Harris had asked them to get from the stores. The one that had rung with the message from the future. The signpost to who controlled the NovusPart device. Calpurnia lurched forward, but Habitus tucked it back out of reach.
“It will be me, Mother,” Marcus said. “So now you’ll go and call off the Greek. Your husband—”
“Your father,” Calpurnia interrupted, her voice cold.
Marcus jabbed his finger at Pullus. “He’s my father!”
Pullus ignored the angry gesture, his concentration locke
d on Habitus. As usual, the bodyguard was armed, a sword at his waist. And yet he appeared quite calm, like he was waiting for matters to play out. “The men in town making lists,” Pullus said. “They’re working for you, aren’t they?”
Marcus just rolled his eyes like a teenager would at a parent who’d only just started to understand.
“So are you going to kill them all?”
The boy nodded. “I’ve already started! I executed the first five myself. It will be me, Pullus. When my mother dies, it has to be me. All the great emperors of Rome eliminated their enemies. I’m going to make sure the future won’t have a choice.”
“When Calpurnia dies,” Pullus repeated, “New Pompeii will be ruled by two duumviri. The change is already happening, and the Ordo is not going to follow a teenage boy.”
“Caligula—”
“Caligula was loved by his people,” Pullus replied quickly, knowing Marcus was well versed in his Suetonius. “A descendant of Augustus and the son of a war hero. But the people of New Pompeii barely know who you are. And whilst your grandfather was respected, he wasn’t loved. So no, they won’t follow you. And if you start killing everyone you think may be in your way, it won’t be long before you end up dead yourself.”
“No,” Marcus said, shaking his head. “I’m just like you and Mother. I can’t be killed. I have the NovusPart device.”
“Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like Habitus is the one actually holding the phone.”
For a few seconds, no one said anything. The grin froze on Marcus’s lips, and then he turned slowly, hand out as if asking for something that he knew wouldn’t be given.
Habitus’s calm expression finally broke. “Always Pullus, isn’t it? Always Pullus who works things out?”
The bodyguard shoved Marcus to the floor. Almost immediately, Calpurnia ran forward. Habitus moved so fast Pullus barely saw the sword suddenly in his hand. “We can’t change the future,” Habitus said, his sword suddenly glistening crimson.
Calpurnia crumpled. The Empress of Time. Dead. Gone. And no one had intervened. No one had reached back in time to stop the assassin from killing the person he was meant to protect. Habitus the bodyguard.
The Imperial spy.
Frumentarius.
“We’ve already heard their voices,” Habitus said, walking over to where Marcus sat shaking on the floor. Pullus tried to move but the muscles in his back suddenly tightened, and he knew he wouldn’t make it in time. Habitus slammed his sword into the youngster’s throat, freezing a look of impotent rage on the boy’s face. “They’ve already demonstrated they exist. And there’s nothing we can do to stop them from speaking.”
Pullus snapped his attention back to Calpurnia. He half expected her to rise again, phoenix-like. “So you fancy yourself as the new Sejanus?”
Habitus smiled. The comparison seemed to amuse him. “The Emperor Tiberius cut himself off from Rome, just as Calpurnia did from Pompeii… but really, Pullus? Sejanus was a simple thug. He would have been far wiser to kill the Emperor and keep a pliable heir under his will at Capri.”
Pullus tilted his head towards Calpurnia and her son. “The people won’t follow you without them,” he said. “Despite everything, they still owe her for saving them from NovusPart. What do they owe you?”
“What did the people of Rome owe Sejanus? Nothing. So let me ask you this: who has seen Calpurnia these last few years, other than a handful of people? And who has seen her son? Virtually no one. So to all intents and purposes, they can remain alive in her villa. Maybe I could even use one of your crippled boys as a stand-in puppet. And the best bit? All it took was a handful of men with no loyalty to the old regime.”
Pullus sneered. “Waldren?”
“A fair trade,” replied Habitus. “In exchange for useless bits and pieces left over from NovusPart, he sent me some of his best men. Of course, he thinks he’ll use one of them to get to the NovusPart device, but that’s the game, isn’t it? And it’s one I’ve always been good at playing. Maybe I’ll up the stakes by skipping them through quarantine and sending one of them home with the shivers. I take it your friends back home don’t fully realise the fences protect them just as much as they protect us?”
Pullus blinked. Didn’t move. Spy. An Imperial spy. And then he remembered something from his first visit to the old slave market. Just seconds after he’d spotted Habitus and asked about his former occupation. Habitus had hesitated before giving his name. Maybe still confused by the transportation and fall of NovusPart, but a spy nonetheless. He’d given a false identity. He could have been called anything.
Anything at all.
Habitus’s smile grew broader. “It’s a very common name,” he said, perhaps realising. “And soon there’ll only be one person in this town called Marcus. And they’ll be holding an old NovusPart cellphone. Ready to make calls into the past, whilst controlling the future.”
“You really think so?”
Habitus let out a snort. His grip seemed to tighten on his sword, the muscles in his arm bulging. “I’ve always been told you’re the man who can’t be killed.”
Pullus again looked at Calpurnia and Marcus. A small pool of blood had already formed to cover the concrete around them.
“Except I think I’ve figured out how to kill you, Pullus.”
There was no mist. Just like when he’d faced down Popidius’s man, there wasn’t anything to indicate a transportation into the future. But the big difference between now and then was that there was no fear in Habitus’s eyes. The frumentarius had already taken a chance on Calpurnia and Marcus, already proven to himself that he really did control the future. Still, even if it only bought him some time, it would be worth it. A few moments to think about the words written in the Temple of Fortuna Augusta.
“I’d be surprised if you had the courage to kill me yourself.”
Habitus didn’t respond. Instead he just tossed his sword onto the floor. It scattered across to Pullus and came to rest by his feet.
Pullus looked down at the blade, confused. “You want me to fight you?”
“You’ve lost, Pullus. Your household is butchered, and you’ve allowed Calpurnia and her son to be killed. Now it’s time to answer your own question. That thing you’ve been struggling with for the last fifteen years. Are you a Roman, or are you a coward?”
The sword lay there, covered in Calpurnia’s blood. Marcus’s blood.
There was no mist surrounding it. He was alone. And maybe Habitus was right.
“It’s the Roman way. You’ve lost here. And you’ve lost at home as well, Nick Houghton.”
Pullus stared at the sword. Even with it, he wouldn’t be able to beat Habitus. The frumentarius was too strong. Too fast. Too used to killing people.
“The new men from the convoys have told me some interesting things about you,” Habitus said. “They say you’ve been accused of doing something disgusting. I must admit, I don’t fully understand – but I do know you can’t go home. But maybe if I was just to bundle you on a wagon and let them take you? How would you like to live the rest of your life under that cloud?” Habitus smiled. “But no doubt your family would help you? Or your friends?”
Pullus remained silent. He no longer had any friends. Any family. He thought of his father, and felt something inside of him crumble. But most of all he thought of the words in the Temple of Fortuna Augusta.
“Not that your remaining life will be very comfortable,” Habitus continued. “Waldren told me he’d found a way to ensure your compliance. Something to do with your father? Something he said he could slip into your food, some sort of new disease?”
Pullus felt his limbs tighten, and his jaw lock. It crunched free again seconds later, but by that time he knew it was already too late. Insurance policy. Waldren had told him he had an insurance policy, but then he’d made his careless remark: You shouldn’t worry about Chloe. Not for a while, at least.
Waldren hadn’t meant to imply he’d taken her to
the Novus Institute – he’d simply been revelling in the fact that he’d soon have more serious concerns. Because you have the same disease that’s warping your father’s body, the spy should have said. But he’d simply not had the chance to apply the real pressure. Nick hadn’t given him the time.
“Waldren described it as something that would cripple, but not kill you,” Habitus continued. “Which would give you time to think and finally betray Pompeii.”
“I don’t quite…”
“He was going to tell you he had a cure,” Habitus said, clearly taking pleasure in the explanation. “A man who’s desperate will do just about anything. Especially when he’s seen someone close to him killed by the same disease. But you should know now that there isn’t one. Waldren was just going to dangle the idea in front of you and make you grasp for it.”
Pullus remembered the sanatorium. All those people suffering from a new illness that turned people to stone.
And the blade was right there in front of him.
There was nowhere left for him to go.
71
Road to Ancient Herculaneum, AD 79
You will find the daughter of Manius Calpurnius Barbatus.
You will save her husband Marcus Villius Denter by taking him to meet Balbus in Herculaneum.
* * *
ACHILLIA WOKE. FOR a few seconds her head spun. The words of the Sibyl thumped inside her brain, the force of the instruction sudden and heavy. But the spinning of the earth hadn’t been caused by the Sibyl. And it hadn’t been what had toppled her from her horse.
Horse.
Achillia got to her feet and dusted herself down. The damn thing had bolted, taking with it her saddle bags and her sword. She’d have to continue her journey on foot, and kill Denter using nothing more than the dagger at her belt. Which was doable, but she preferred entering unfamiliar towns carrying something with a greater range of thrust.
She took a few steps, trying to sense if any bones had been broken. She felt sore, but her limbs seemed to move freely. She rolled her shoulders, tested her sword arm. She lunged, arm out, as if to stab someone.
Empire of Time Page 27
