by Ruth Downie
"Right. How many people would that include?"
"If you count all the men who've ever been thrown out of Merula's?
Quite a lot, sir. That's before you consider the staff there."
Ruso decided not to mention doctors who had been poisoned by the food. Even if both the girls had been victims of one man with a grudge, that grievance must have been incurred long before his own arrival in Deva. His chances of discovering the right complainant—and quickly—were slim.
"Of course, there might be no connection at all, sir."
"Do you think Asellina really did try to run off with a sailor?"
"To tell you the truth, sir, most people think she led poor old Decimus on a bit of a dance. It would have taken him years to save up enough to buy her. And he's still got fifteen years to serve, so he couldn't run away with her instead—not unless he deserted, and then what would they have had to live on? So, she decided to go with the sailor instead."
"Does anyone know anything about this sailor? Nobody seems to have seen him."
Albanus frowned. "I don't know, sir. It was all looked into at the time. Then it all blew over and everybody forgot about it. Except Decimus, of course. And I suppose the people at the bar." He glanced up. "Perhaps that was why Saufeia thought she'd give it a try, sir. Because she thought Asellina had gotten away with it."
It suddenly occurred to Ruso that he might have been looking in the wrong place for a letter. What if Saufeia had been trying to contact the last successful runaway? "Do you happen to know," he said, "whether Asellina could read and write?"
Albanus shook his head. "I shouldn't think so, sir. From what I hear, Saufeia was a bit unusual."
"She certainly doesn't seem to have been as popular as Asellina."
"No, sir. Of course there are the other theories about Saufeia."
Ruso was beginning to suspect that the hospital staff had spent more time considering this case than the official investigators. "Tell me."
"Well, one is that her own people killed her because of the shame she'd brought on the family by working at Merula's, sir. Which does sort of make sense, because what was a girl who could read and write doing in a place like that?"
"I don't know. From what I hear, she'd probably been hanging around with soldiers for years. Anything else?"
"I did hear a rumor that it was one of the married officers who'd had a fling with her and didn't want his wife to find out what he was up to."
"No name, I suppose?"
"No, sir. But most people seem to think she wandered off, then had an argument with a client who didn't want to pay and he turned nasty."
"Hm," said Ruso. "Well, that seems to cover every possibility."
"Cheer up, sir. If it was any of those, then your housekeeper's disappearance has nothing to do with the others, does it?"
"No," agreed Ruso, scratching his ear. "It doesn't." The thought should have been reassuring, but it wasn't, because it left him with nowhere to look.
"Unless there really is a madman, of course."
"Yes. Thank you, Albanus."
"Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to—"
There was a rap on the door. Albanus opened it and a familiar voice said, "Didn't you get my message, Ruso?"
"Ah," said Ruso. "Priscus. There you are."
Glaring at Albanus, Priscus added, "I specifically stressed that this was most urgent."
"I was just sending him to find you," said Ruso, noting inwardly that his ability—and readiness—to tell lies had improved dramatically since he had come to Britannia. He dismissed Albanus, then motioned the administrator to a stool, while he himself remained seated on the corner of his desk, reversing their usual positions. "How can I help?"
"I haven't come here to ask for help, Ruso. I have come here to tell you how I am going to help you out of a very awkward situation."
Ruso, wondering which of his many awkward situations Priscus had found out about, raised his eyebrows and waited.
"Your missing servant," Priscus continued, unaware of the relief these words offered to his listener. "I take it she hasn't been found?"
"Not yet."
"Very well. I have had notices drawn up. They are being distributed as we speak."
Ruso found himself scratching his ear again. "Notices?"
"Missing slave notices. The usual sort of thing. I'm surprised you haven't done it yourself."
"I was hoping she would turn up," said Ruso, feeling he probably should have.
"Frankly, Ruso, I was also surprised not to be notified of her loss. As custodian of the Aesculapian fund."
Ruso looked him in the eye. "The loan will be paid in full," he insisted. "On the due date."
Priscus inclined his hair in his usual careful manner, and said, "Of course."
Ruso remembered that hair sticking out in a wild clump during his visit to Priscus's house, which it seemed the administrator was going to pretend had never happened. "So, from your point of view," he continued, forcing himself to concentrate, "the girl is irrelevant."
"Nevertheless, as a responsible custodian—"
"Priscus, the auditors can't hold you responsible for my slave running off."
The hand that smoothed the hair trembled slightly, and for the first time Ruso wondered if the man was genuinely frightened of the imperial auditors. "Nevertheless," Priscus was repeating, "as a responsible custodian I should be seen to be taking precautionary measures."
"Very thorough of you," said Ruso, wondering if the administrator stuck his nose this far into everyone's affairs, or whether he was particularly unlucky Surely this couldn't still be revenge for the linen closet? Standing up to terminate the interview, he said, "I seem to be in your debt, Priscus. Let's hope your notices will do the trick, eh?"
65
ANOTHER NIGHT PASSED, and still there was no sign of Tilla's return. During a brief lull in morning surgery Albanus ventured to ask whether his officer was feeling all right.
"Perfectly well, thank you," replied Ruso crisply. "Is there a problem?"
"No, sir," said his clerk, too tactful to point out what Ruso already knew: that several times he had asked patients the same question twice. Sometimes it was because he had forgotten the answer. At other times it was because he had not only failed to register the answer, but had forgotten that he had already asked the question.
By the end of surgery and ward rounds he had seen forty-two patients and had made at least three final and utterly contradictory decisions about where Tilla had gone and what he should do about it.
Midday saw him leave the fort by the west gate, for no other reason than that he had not been that way recently. He had no real hope of catching sight of Tilla. She was either long gone or hiding or . . . he recalled this morning's vow not to speculate about worse fates. Whatever had happened to her, he was going to find her. He strode down to the docks.
The elegant houses stared out through a thin drizzle at a view that held none of the charm it had offered on the morning that the Sirius had brought his belongings. The tide had sunk away to reveal a weed-strewn and smelly expanse of mud flats. The farthest legs of the jetty reached out into the river channel, where a couple of bulbous merchant ships were moored. The sound of hammering came from one of them, and a figure jolting one arm a heartbeat before each of the blows was dangling on a rope slung from the bows. A couple of figures sat on the jetty, swinging their feet in the air and their fishing lines into the water. Closer to shore, a man and a group of barefoot boys were plodding slowly across the mud, heads down, searching for whatever they were collecting in their buckets. A sail mender was plying his trade, sheltered from the drizzle by one of his own creations stretched over a wooden frame. Ruso felt bizarrely disappointed, as if he had expected Tilla to be sitting down at the dockside like a parcel, waiting to be collected.
As he turned to make his way back up the hill, he scanned the many offerings scrawled on the wall of the warehouse on the corner. Amongst the advertisements for lodgings, h
ot food, the visiting slave trader, and BEAUTIFUL GIRLS AND BOYS! DANCING FOR YOU! he read in the much clearer script of a clerk who was used to posting official notices,
RUNAWAY SLAVE
ATTRACTIVE FEMALE, AGE ABOUT 2 0 . FAIR CURLY HAIR.
SLIM. 5 FEET 4 INCHES TALL. RIGHT ARM INJURED, MAY BE BANDAGED.
MISSING SINCE 3RD BEFORE KALENDS OF OCT.
REWARD FOR RETURN OR INFORMATION LEADING TO CAPTURE:
CONTACT G. POMPEIUS PRISCUS, ADMINISTRATOR, AESC. THANKSGIVING
FUND, LEG XX HOSPITAL.
He scowled. The notice read as if Priscus owned her himself. Not even a mention of his own name. The man's presumption passed all bounds of decency. The notice was skillfully worded, though. The words attractive female would blind the eyes of many a potential searcher to the fact that the amount of the reward was not specified—which was just as well. He supposed he, as the owner, would end up having to pay it. He wouldn't put it past Priscus to send him a bill for the sign age as well.
He paused on the way up the hill to ask a fearsomely painted female lolling on a bench outside a whorehouse whether she had seen a woman answering Tilla's description. He had barely got half a sentence out when her owner appeared in the doorway behind her and assured him that yes, they had a girl just like that. If the gentleman would just step inside she would be very pleased to meet him.
"I don't want a girl like her," explained Ruso, "I want the girl herself."
"She'll be whoever you want her to be," promised the owner, leaning closer and leering, "new to the business but keen as mustard—and fresh as a daisy."
A hideous thought crossed Ruso's mind in the wake of this unlikely description. "Let me have a look at her."
The man's smile widened as he beckoned him forward. "Right this way, sir. Satisfaction guaranteed."
"I'm not coming in," explained Ruso. "You've just told me you've got a new girl who answers the description of my missing slave." The man's smile dropped away. "I want you to send her out here."
The man frowned. Ruso heard a creak and a sigh as the painted female got up from the bench. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and a husky voice said, "Want me to get rid of him, boss?"
The man nodded in her direction and introduced her. "Elegantina," he said. "Champion lady wrestler in three provinces. Recently retired."
Ruso twisted around and nodded a greeting to a face held uncomfortably close to his own. "Ruso," he said. The woman was as tall as he was, and probably heavier. He turned back to her owner. "I heard Merula's got raided the other day," he said.
"They didn't find nothing," pointed out the owner.
"No, but they're obviously in the mood to look."
"All my staff are registered."
"I don't doubt your honesty, but you could have been deceived. Let me put your mind at rest."
The man glared at him for a moment, then said, "All right, Ellie."
The weight lifted off Ruso's shoulder as the owner turned into the doorway and yelled, "Camilla! Here! Now!"
Moments later a small creature with badly bleached hair was blinking pink-rimmed eyes into the daylight.
Ruso shook his head. "It isn't her." He leaned forward and put a coin in the hand of the wretched girl, who promptly and automatically handed it to her owner. "If you see or hear anything," he added, wondering how many more miserable creatures were caged like animals in places like this, "the details are posted on the wall down there. There's a reward."
Four days' growth of stubble on his chin gave him a good excuse to visit the barber. Conversation during the shave was limited to the weather and inquiries after the mother-in-law, who was apparently still a mad old bitch but no longer a mad old bitch with a toothache. Once the blade was put away Ruso ran a thumb along the newly-smooth line of his jaw and said, "Have you seen the notices about the missing slave girl?"
The barber untied the towel and shook it. "I heard another one ran off," he said. "Expect she'll bob up before long. If she hasn't cremated herself."
Ruso rose from the stool. "This one is my housekeeper."
The man paused. "Sorry, Doc. No offense meant."
"I know what you think of people who ask questions, but this is important. If anyone knows anything at all about what happened to the other girls, it's his duty to say something. In confidence, of course."
The man shrugged and looked away "Sorry, Doc. Wish I could help."
Ruso fixed his gaze on the one eye. "Try harder. I heard you bought some red hair not long ago."
"Who told you that?"
"Never mind."
"I buy and sell all the time. It's my business."
"It was brought in by a man. I need to know who he was. My girl could be in danger."
The man folded his arms. "Like I said before. I don't buy from murderers. And like I told you, you're going to get yourself into trouble, going around accusing people."
"I'm not saying he did it. I'm saying he could have information."
"If you know so much, why isn't this an official investigation?"
This was getting nowhere. "She's a Briton," said Ruso, pulling open his purse to pay for the shave. "She comes from somewhere up in the hills. I'm hoping she just decided to head for home."
"More than likely," agreed the barber.
Ruso handed over the last of his cash and thanked the gods that tomorrow was payday. "If your wife hears anything . . ." He hesitated, not wanting to say, If anyone offers you any blond curls that aren't their own . . . "Just ignore the official name on the notices," he concluded. "Send a message directly to me. There's a reward."
She'll bob up before long. It was not a cheering thought with which to lean on the damp rail of the bridge and stare downstream at the water swirling along the channels in the mud flats. Ruso had not been gazing for long when he was aware of movement and saw a pair of long brown plaits dangling down over the rail to his left.
"My husband," announced the stranger, "is a good man."
Not sure where this was leading, Ruso decided not to encourage the woman by replying. This was a ploy he regretted as soon as he risked a glance and recognized the barber's wife.
"He looks after his family," she continued, evidently not put off by the silence. "He keeps us all. Even my mother, who treats him like a bad smell. He has done nothing wrong."
Ruso said carefully, "I haven't accused him of anything."
"It was nothing to do with him, you understand? He was not involved. People sell hair all the time. It is business."
"I'm just trying to find my housekeeper," said Ruso. "I'm not interested in anything else."
"They are very loyal to one another," said the woman. "You know what the men are like. Stupid, sometimes, but loyal."
"I understand."
"Would you betray a comrade?"
Ruso watched a dead branch drifting down one of the channels. "If I thought it would save a life, I might."
The branch caught on a mud bank and swung around in the current.
A spur caught in the opposite bank and the branch was stuck, straddling the flow.
He said, "So, it was a soldier."
"A veteran."
"And this was shortly after the last girl disappeared?"
The woman nodded. "My husband didn't know the girl was dead, you understand? It was just business."
Water was pouring over the branch in a long shimmering curl that crashed down into a line of foam.
Ruso said, "I have no money with me, but I will see to it that you are—"
The bar of the bridge gave a sudden shudder as the woman's fist landed on it. "I am not doing this for money! You Romans, you think everything is for money!"
"I need more help," he explained. "I need a description. A name, if you have one."
"I came to speak with you," said the woman, ignoring his words with a haughtiness that reminded him painfully of Tilla, "because I think you are a good man."
"I'll be grateful for anything you can tell me that might
help my servant."
"I do not know," she said, "how the man got the red hair. For all I know, the girl may have cut if off by herself and given it to him to sell.
He is the only one who can tell you that; you must ask him."
"How do I find this man?"
"I do not know his name," she said, "but he works at Merula's bar."
66
AT MERULA’S MOST of the lunchtime customers had gone, leaving only a few hangers-on who had nowhere better to go, or else no inclination to go there. Tomorrow would be different, insisted Stichus as he palmed the coins Ruso had just borrowed from Valens. Tomorrow was payday. Stichus indicated the girls seated around the bar. Today, a customer could take his pick.
Ruso was glad there were few witnesses to see Chloe rise from the table with a smile, slide her hand into his, and lead him up the stairs.
The cubicle was, he knew, the best the place had to offer. The wide bed was strewn with plump blue cushions. Chloe pulled the door shut behind them and the yellow glow of a lamp rose to help the light that struggled in through a small pane of bubbly glass. Ruso found himself trying to work out a tangle of naked bodies painted on the walls in various uncomfortable-looking combinations as Chloe's arms slid around his waist. He felt her breath against his ear. "I knew you'd change your mind," she murmured.
Ruso grasped both her hands and held them still. He opened his mouth to speak and found himself suddenly hoarse, but managed, "I just want to talk."
"You can talk to me," whispered Chloe, nuzzling the back of his neck. "I'm a good listener. It's nice and private here. You can tell me anything you want." He felt a gentle push toward the bed. "Let's get comfortable, shall we?"
As he felt himself sink into the cushions, he reasoned that it would do no harm. Chloe was very attractive. She was warm. She was willing. She was a professional, and he had paid. He could always talk to her afterward.
She was curled around him on the bed, pressing herself against him. He glanced down to watch her foot sliding up his thigh. The charms on her ankle bracelet trembled with each movement. Her skin was smooth. Her toes were perfect. She was nibbling his ear.
