Air and Darkness

by David Drake

  Sentius’ door swung outward. A portly man stepped into the alley. He wore layered tunics and the gold embroidery on his sash winked in the torchlight. “I’ll take care of this,” he said to the doorman behind him.

  “You’re Sebethius?” Charias said. He thrust forward a waxed notebook. “Sign and seal this.”

  Agrippinus had been right—of course. Alphena had known that even when she protested. She had just wanted to do something now. The others had insisted on doing something that would work. The realization that Hedia would have coldly agreed with them had silenced Alphena with her mouth still open.

  Sebethius signed with Charias’ stylus, then pressed the wax with the signet ring he wore on a neck thong. It was probably his master’s signet, normally carried by the servant in present charge of the household.

  Sebethius handed back the receipt. “Come on through,” he said to the “newly purchased servants.” To Charias he added, “Do they speak Greek?”

  Charias shrugged. “The men do, more or less,” he said. “I don’t know about the woman, but I suppose you can slap her and point; she’ll get the idea quick enough. Remember, it’s a no recourse sale.”

  Agrippinus was too senior to act as the foreman delivering a coffle of slaves, but Charias was behaving even better than Alphena had hoped. She had picked the understeward for the task, but Agrippinus had approved the choice without hesitation.

  “Well, come on through, then,” Sebethius repeated peevishly.

  Drago, in front with his cousin, looked back at Charias. “Get in!” Charias snapped. “You belong to Lord Sentius now. Sebethius here will enroll you and tell you your duties.”

  The four men wearing ragged tunics and carrying bindles like Alphena’s shambled in. She followed, and the door closed behind her.

  Alphena didn’t know what hold Agrippinus had over Sebethius. It might have been as simple as money, but she had a suspicion that the majordomo had used a threat rather than a bribe. Agrippinus had become head of the household of one of Carce’s richest senators because he got things done; he was demonstrating his ability here.

  They had entered through the kitchen. Pots were bubbling and a morning staff of ten or a dozen were at work. Additional servants idled, flirted, and cadged food.

  “Come along!” Sebethius said. “You’ll be fed after you’re enrolled.”

  Alphena walked between the four men, all members of her personal escort. They had volunteered for the duty even though they knew by personal observation just how unpleasant death by crucifixion was.

  A cook’s assistant reached for Alphena’s buttocks. She barely saw the movement in the crowded kitchen before Drago—Rago was ahead of her—grabbed the hand and bent the fingers backward. The victim gave a high-pitched scream as joints popped.

  “Hey!” called an older man, probably the cook in charge.

  “Keep your staff to their business, Olanus!” Sebethius said. “Come on, you new lot.”

  The central garden was much like Saxa’s, but a pond ran down the middle. There were lanterns at the front and back of the garden, but their light didn’t tell Alphena whether there were fish in the water.

  “What are you doing, Sebethius?” said the man who stepped from the portico to the right. He was well dressed also, but he was older than Sebethius and his sash was dark red instead of yellow.

  “Enrolling an intake of servants, Taunus,” Sebethius said. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “I didn’t know anything about a new purchase,” Taunus said. His Latin was excellent, but Alphena thought she recognized a hint of German intonation in his voice.

  “Well, Taunus…,” Sebethius said. “Perhaps when Lord Sentius returns from the country you can reproach him with his failure to keep you informed, eh?”

  Taunus glowered. He was standing in the direct path, so his rival understeward and the “servants” following were at a halt.

  Looking at Drago, Taunus said, “By Mars, what is this lot? They look like they ought to be on crosses along the Appian Way! Whyever did you buy them?”

  “I didn’t buy them, Taunus,” Sebethius said. “I’m obeying my lord’s direction to sign them in when they arrive. I don’t know who made the purchase on Lord Sentius’ behalf, or if he did it himself.”

  This was clearly dangerous for Sebethius, but he was handling it as well as possible. He sounded angry, not frightened; anger was what anyone would expect from an understeward responding to a rival’s badgering. He must hope that Taunus wouldn’t dare mention the business to their master, which was probably correct, but how in Venus’ name had Agrippinus gotten him to take the risk?

  Taunus snorted but stepped aside. The column resumed walking toward the front portion of the house.

  Alphena saw Taunus looking at her. She deliberately missed a half step as though she had tripped, then hopped forward. That put her past Taunus without incident.

  She didn’t doubt that Drago could have dealt with the understeward as easily he had with the scullion, but that would have led to serious problems at once. Drago didn’t think—none of the escorts thought—in those terms, and Alphena couldn’t have prevented the former pirate from acting without destroying the pretence that she was an illiterate Syrian.

  Sebethius led them down a short corridor into an office much like Saxa’s. Wax death masks looked down from high shelves, and an iron-strapped chest was bolted to the floor in one corner.

  A man was sleeping under the writing desk. Sebethius kicked the sole of his nearer foot and snapped, “Get out, Timon. I have business!”

  The wall nearest Alphena was frescoed with a landscape including rural buildings and grazing cows. To the left a herdsman led a goat across an arched bridge.

  Timon picked up his sandals but scuttled barefoot into the entrance hall. Sebethius watched the door close after him, then looked at Alphena. “How do we proceed, then?” he said in a low voice.

  “Enroll us as you normally would,” she whispered back. “Then all of you stand outside the office door. I’ll be with you shortly.”

  I hope I’ll be with you shortly, but those words didn’t reach her lips.

  Sebethius took a ledger from a shelf above the chest and opened it on the writing desk. The escort—the male intake—watched uncertainly. They had been told what would happen, but they weren’t men who were comfortable in strange situations—and this was certainly strange.

  Alphena reached under her tunic and gripped the iron locket. As she did so, the painted herdsman turned and looked at her.

  * * *

  “I WISH…,” SAID VARUS. He was hot and sticky, which on dirt roads meant that he was also muddy from sweat mixed with dust. “That I had realized how hot it is in India and how much walking I’d be doing before I announced that I was too pure to ride a horse.”

  The fifty cavalrymen had mostly ridden ahead. The dust they stirred up hung over the road as Varus and Bhiku tramped along. A squad remained at the rear in case the pedestrians got the idea of going somewhere other than where Ramsa Lal had directed.

  Varus had certainly toyed with that idea, and he suspected that his companion had also.

  “You could announce that you had been granted an appearance of the godhead,” Bhiku said, “and that the ineffable power had given you the dispensation to ride horses without demeaning yourself.”

  “Umm,” said Varus. “That wouldn’t help much unless the godhead also gave me the ability to ride a horse. Which my own past efforts haven’t done. I certainly wish that your nobles appreciated the advantages of mail coaches.”

  “Women and nobles less athletic than Lord Ramsa Lal often ride on elephants,” Bhiku said. Nothing in his voice or that of Varus suggested that they were joking. “The carriers are much like the saddle bags of a horse, though of course larger.”

  “I will keep that in mind for the next time this happens,” Varus said. “Though of course by then I may have my own demon to carry me. That appears to have worked for Lady Teji.”r />
  “I wonder if the demon has the ability to carry two people at a time?” Bhiku said. “If one of them is quite old and shriveled up, at least. Draft animals have loading standards, baggage masters have told me.”

  Varus smiled. Chatting with—exchanging dry humor with—a friend was a way to ignore what they were about to face. Given that there was no way of knowing what that future would be, it was the best way available.

  “I believe we’re getting near the garden,” Bhiku said, glancing at the fields.

  “You’ve been here before?” said Varus, following the sage’s eyes. The fields were laid out in strips. Bushes and the occasional spiky tree grew on the dikes separating them. There was jungle beyond, probably following a watercourse hidden somewhere in its green heart.

  “No,” said Bhiku, “but”—he gestured—“the fields are empty. I would guess that the workers are afraid of the demon. I hadn’t heard that he—do demons have gender?—that the demon ever leaves the garden it built, however.”

  The commander of the troop of horse rode back from the front of the column with several of his officers. Varus said, “I hoped that Hanwant would be in charge or would at least come along with us. He’s … not exactly a friend, but by now he’s at least something of a retainer.”

  “I’m sure he’s happier remaining in Lal’s palace,” Bhiku said. “As a philosopher, I will endeavor to be pleased at his good fortune.”

  The horsemen rode past Varus and Bhiku, then turned and walked their horses alongside. The leader—no one had told Varus his name—looked down and said in harsh Greek, “The path Lord Ramsa Lal had cut to the garden is right up here. We’ll wait in the road. Don’t think that you can run off into the jungle, because we’ll be watching you the whole way.”

  “What do you mean ‘the path Lal had cut?’” said Varus.

  “The demon built his lair in that patch of jungle,” another officer said. He spoke Greek of a sort, but his Macedonian accent made him very difficult to understand. “The peasants heard something and went to look. They found the garden, but the demon came to the gates and threatened them if they tried to enter.”

  “Did someone enter?” Varus said. They had continued walking; now he could see a hole hacked in the yellow-green wall of bamboo ahead at the edge of the empty fields. The other horsemen waited, still mounted, across the road from the opening.

  “I prodded a footman through the gates,” the commander said. “The demon has six arms. He pulled the fellow’s limbs off and flung the parts at me. I was covered with blood.”

  The commander grimaced. His hand picked at his silken sleeve as if he were trying to pluck away memories.

  Varus looked at the man in disgust. It was a moment before he considered that the demon would presumably do the same to anyone else who entered the garden as Gaius Alphenus Varus intended to do in a moment.

  “How many human sacrifices do you think you’ll have to make before the demon releases Lady Teji, Lord Varus?” Bhiku asked. He was speaking loudly enough that all four officers could hear.

  “I told Lord Ramsa Lal to send fifty men with me for a start,” Varus said, also in a carrying voice. “He assures me that he’ll willingly sacrifice his entire army if necessary to get his daughter back, though.”

  Varus looked at the commander, then eyed the bulk of the troop nearby. “Remind me that we’ll want to save one of this first batch to send back for more.”

  “What do you mean?” the commander said. Two of his aides had jerked away; the fourth officer looked at his companions in surprise and asked a question in Indian. “We’re here to make sure that you do as you’ve been ordered and go into the garden.”

  Bhiku cackled. “Is that what you thought?” he said. He shouted a burst of Indian in the direction of the main body of horsemen. The puzzled-looking aide gaped at him.

  “Lord Ramsa Lal ordered you to help us in whatever fashion we required, didn’t he?” said Varus. “I suppose we’ll have to rob you of your will to get you to walk into the garden, but that’s merely a wave of the hand.”

  He raised his left hand, holding the commander’s eyes.

  The commander and the aide who didn’t speak Greek spurred their horses and raced up the road. Their hooves kicked divots from the hard clay beneath the layer of dust. The other two aides were only heartbeats behind. The common troopers were riding off before their officers reached them.

  “Very well done, Master Bhiku,” Varus said.

  “And may I congratulate you, Lord Varus,” the sage said, “for the way you responded to my cue?”

  He coughed into his cupped hand, then said, “Do you wish to go to Lord Raguram, now? I think we can get out of Lal’s territory before any of our former escort reports about what happened here. If they ever do.”

  Varus grimaced. “Bhiku, this is very foolish,” he said, “and I certainly don’t mean to involve you, but I am going to enter the garden.”

  “You don’t believe in the demon?” Bhiku said, raising an eyebrow.

  Varus laughed grimly. “I found the commander to have been quite believable when he described having body parts flung at him.”

  Varus grimaced and continued, “The problem from my standpoint is that I also believe that the demon is holding a young girl inside. I’m going to try to get her out.”

  “Ah,” said Bhiku mildly. “Do you have a plan for accomplishing that, Lord Varus?”

  “I have excellent rhetorical training,” Varus said. He frowned and added, “Do demons have better natures, do you think?”

  Bhiku shrugged. “This will be the first demon of my acquaintance,” he said. “I’ll know better shortly, I presume. Shall we go?”

  Varus took the older man’s hands. “Friend, this is my decision,” he said. “You are not to come with me. I’m being foolish.”

  Bhiku clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Being torn limb from limb may be exactly the martyrdom I need to achieve a higher stage in my next life,” he said. “In any case, it will be a new experience. And Teji is, after all, a young girl—however regrettable a person her father may be.”

  “Yes, all right,” said Varus.

  The path hacked through the bamboo was narrow, but by brushing the bordering stems the two philosophers were able to walk side by side to the gate in the garden’s sheer glassy walls.

  * * *

  SO FAR AS HEDIA WAS CONCERNED, the woods were no different from those near Polymartium. She had no idea what the trees were, but she wasn’t interested in trees. The only reason she knew that the tree in Saxa’s back garden was a peach was because she had seen peaches hanging from the branches.

  She saw movement behind a screen of leaves thirty feet ahead of her and decided that a breeze had riffled the branches of a hawthorn in front of a boulder. Then the gray mass shoved forward slightly: it was the head of a turtle far larger than the sea turtles sometimes landed by fishermen in the Bay of Puteoli.

  Hedia stutter-stepped in surprise, then resumed walking. She didn’t think turtles were dangerous, though being stepped on by one the size of an elephant would be, well, as bad as being stepped on by an elephant.

  I should be able to outrun it if it charges me, she thought with a grim smile. If she was wrong, it would be an embarrassing way to die, but it didn’t appear that anyone was around to report it back in Carce. Hedia had been in situations that would have been even more embarrassing had they turned out to be fatal.

  The turtle withdrew its head. She heard it crashing off into the woods—not a spurt of noise, but an ongoing process.

  Hedia took a deep breath. She hadn’t been in danger, but it was a reminder that these were not the woods north of Carce, however much they might resemble them. She knew that, of course, but exchanging stares with a giant turtle brought reality to intellectual knowledge.

  The path split to the right and sharply left. Hedia looked in the direction she would be going, but before she resumed walking she turned her head to look also to the left.

/>   An arbor arched over the path a few feet from where Hedia stood. Its interlocked branches framed a scene that was not part of this portion of the Otherworld and did not resemble anything familiar to Hedia from the Waking World.

  She saw within the arbor a slice of verdant landscape, viewed from slightly above. The sea was one boundary, while walls of ice pressed high on the other three sides. Above the whole was blackness, picked out occasionally by jets of silver.

  The land was laid out in fields, and there was a sizable town on the coast. It didn’t seem to Hedia that the figures moving between houses and doing farm labor were human.

  This is the Anti-Thule of which philosophers speculate, said the gurgling voice of the spring. Hedia looked around quickly, but no one else was visible—not even a puddle. The words must have formed in her own mind.

  The image in the arbor expanded. Hedia saw—or seemed to see; the image was probably as unreal as the voice—the town from close above. The inhabitants walked on two legs, but they were lightly furred and their ears were pointed like those of cats. They wore loose clothing, but the pouches in which a few carried infants appeared to be part of their own bodies.

  The Tyla inhabited Anti-Thule, the spring said. They were an ancient race, far older than human beings.

  “Why are you showing me this?” Hedia said. She wished she had a face to speak to, though it didn’t really matter.

  Watch and learn, the voice said.

  It was using the same tone of amused superiority with which the voice had directed her to find Boest. That was irritating; but the business with Boest had worked out well, and meeting Gilise had been particularly worth the walk.

  The houses of the Tyla were on stone foundations, but their walls and roofs seemed to be made of fabric. The material was so thin that Hedia could see figures moving within.

  She watched without asking more questions that the voice would ignore. No doubt that was the true answer; the spring’s other answers have been.