by David McAfee
If all went well, he might be back in the Halls before sunrise.
Chapter Five
THERON entered the city from the northwest, walking through the Porta Vesuvio and nodding to the two guards at the gate. As he passed, he whispered a psalm, ensuring the two would not recall seeing him if anyone asked. He could have killed them, of course, but that would have raised an alarm and he wanted his visit to be as quiet and unobtrusive as possible. Despite the fact that he need not fear any guards or drunkards who might be up and wandering the city at this late hour, centuries of habit made him reluctant to draw attention to himself. Stealth and secrecy are an assassin’s tools of the trade, and he had spent far too much time in that role to have lost those instincts in a mere forty years.
He walked quietly along the cobbled streets, making his way to the guardhouse in the northern quarter of the city. There he would watch and wait for his contact to return from his rounds. With luck, Jarek would already have a lead on a suitable child. He usually did. Few people know a city as well as those tasked with patrolling it. If there were any new urchins running about, Jarek would know.
Theron fingered the small vial of Galle’s blood around his neck. At least Jarek’s services were easy to pay for. A few ounces of Bachiyr blood was all it took to keep him in line. Jarek would do anything to keep the supply coming, including bringing stray children to Theron.
Theron stifled a chuckle. Children weren’t the only thing Jarek was willing to trade for Bachiyr blood. The arrangement suited both perfectly. Theron could have hunted the streets if he had wanted, but he would have had to hunt for two Bachiyr which would have taken up valuable time. Far easier to have someone else gather them, at least those he intended for Galle. For his own needs, Theron still preferred to hunt his own prey. The best part about the arrangement was that Theron could end it any time he chose simply by killing Jarek. That eventuality grew closer and closer with every passing night. Once Theron succeeded in his goals, he would no longer need Galle, and thus, he would no longer need Jarek. Of course, he would never tell Jarek that.
He wondered how the guardsman had explained his newfound prowess to his superiors, then decided it didn’t matter. So long as Jarek continued to supply him with children, what he did with his new strength and speed was none of Theron’s concern.
He walked through the streets of Pompeii, watching the shadows for any sign of Jarek. Instead, he saw a young girl dressed in ragged clothes wandering through the streets.
Theron stepped back into the shadow of a doorway and froze, watching the girl as she went from alley to alley, scrounging through the city’s refuse, obviously looking for food. Theron waited for an adult to come and claim the girl, to take her home and chastise her for being out at such a late hour. He knew it was not likely given the girl’s clothes and the fact that she was searching through the city streets for food, but caution won out over impatience. He followed her, sticking to the shadowy patches as she made her way down the street, wanting to make absolutely certain that there would be no one to miss her.
After half an hour passed, he made his decision. Theron stepped out of the shadows and started walking toward the girl, who looked to be no more than six or seven years of age.
Well, now, he thought. It seems I won’t need Jarek’s services tonight, after all.
Theron approached the girl just as she was about to duck into another alley. He deliberately kicked his foot on the cobbles so that she would hear him.
When she turned to face him, he smiled as pleasantly as he could. He could hear her heart begin to race in her chest. No good; she was afraid of him.
“Don’t fear me,” he said, “I won’t hurt you.”
She did not look convinced, and she shrank away from him, a small whimper building in her tiny throat. Soon she would scream, which would probably bring the unwanted attention of the city guard.
“Be calm,” he whispered. His words carried the force of a light psalm. “I just want to help.” He got down on one knee and held out his hand. “You look hungry.”
The girl’s heart slowed, and her eyes widened. Her expression went slack, and her arms drooped at her sides. She nodded. Too easy.
“Would you like something to eat?” he asked. “I have bread, fresh milk, and some sweet cakes. I would gladly share them with you, little…say, what is your name? I can’t very well talk to you if I don’t know your name, can I?”
“Nona,” the girl said. Her voice was flat, without inflection. She was his.
“Well, Nona,” Theron said, holding out his hand. “Why don’t you come with me? We’ll get some food in that little belly of yours.”
Nona smiled, then nodded. She took Theron’s hand and together the two turned and made their way to the Porta Vesuvio.
Too easy.
***
Jarek stepped around a building and almost bumped into a shadowy figure leaning against the wall. He sidestepped, but not before reaching out to push the intruder aside.
“Watch yourself,” he said.
A flash of steel and the knife was at his throat, digging into the flesh of his neck.
“Perhaps it is you who should watch yourself,” said an all-too-familiar female voice.
“Caelina,” Jarek said. “What are you doing running around at this hour?”
“I could ask the same of you, Jarek.”
“I am a member of the city guard.”
“Your watch ended hours ago.” Caelina pulled her knife from Jarek’s throat. “By any measure, you should be deep into your dreams by this hour.”
Jarek watched the knife disappear into its sheath. In truth, he had no reason to fear Caelina. Jarek was stronger, faster, and far more experienced, but killing the wife of Captain Gareth would raise far too many questions. There would be an investigation, and Gareth was not a man to take lightly. It was all too possible he would trace Caelina’s death back to Jarek, and that would be the end of him. That’s why he’d hired Boro. Her death could not be linked to him.
“Has your husband implemented some new rule regarding my sleeping habits?”
Caelina stiffened. “He has not,” she said. “Despite my requests to enforce a curfew.”
“He is wise.”
“He is stubborn,” Caelina replied. “Until we learn where our loved ones are going we need to keep the streets of Pompeii clear of—”
“I know, I know,” Jarek interrupted. “I have heard all this before. You are not the only one who has lost someone, Caelina,” Jarek said. “My own wife disappeared shortly before your son. Have you forgotten that?”
“All the more reason for you to support me,” Caelina noted.
“I told you I would add my voice to yours,” Jarek said, smiling. “All you have to do is—”
The knife was back. This time she shoved it toward his crotch. The tip stung painfully into his thigh, but she did not drive it home. “Those nights are over, Jarek. I would sooner geld you than lie with you again.”
Jarek laughed. “You did not seem to mind at the time.”
“Must you keep bringing that up?” she asked, jabbing the point of the knife painfully into his leg. “Do I have to remove your tongue so I can stop hearing about it?”
“That would be a shame,” Jarek said. “As I recall, you rather like my tongue.”
“Silence!” She looked on the verge of tears.
“Use that thing or put it away, Caelina,” he said. “Stabbing me through my nethers will not change the past, nor will it bring your boy back.”
“It might make me feel better,” she replied.
“It might,” he admitted. “I felt better when I killed those robbers last year, but it still didn’t bring my wife back to me.”
“Such a lucky woman she was,” Caelina sneered. “To have a man such as you for a husband.” She did remove the knife, however, and put it back into its sheath. “You didn’t even wait three months.”
“You are in no position to hurl insults about my fideli
ty.”
“Or lack of it.”
“A man has needs.” Jarek shrugged. “Do you think Gareth would remain faithful to your memory after you died? For how long, I wonder.”
“I know he would geld you himself if he knew how you have been speaking to me as of late.”
“So tell him, then. Honestly, I don’t understand why you don’t.” A lie. Caelina wouldn’t tell Captain Gareth about Jarek’s advances because Gareth might investigate the matter. If he did, he would likely find out about their affair. That would be bad for Jarek, but it would also be bad for Caelina. Jarek knew it, and so did she. She might hate him, but she would keep his secret, if for no other reason than it was tied so closely to her own.
She snorted, then turned her back on him and walked up the street.
Jarek almost called out one last barb to her departing back, but decided against it. Not worth it, he thought. She would be dealt with soon enough, anyway. But he would have to do better than a street thug with little or no training. Caelina had made short work of Boro and his men. Jarek had underestimated her. He would not do so again.
He turned on his heel and walked away, mulling over a new possibility. Perhaps his friend in the mountain might be able to deal with Caelina. It would serve both their interests, after all. Caelina had come quite close to discovering Jarek’s dealings a year ago, and he’d been forced to do something drastic to throw her off the scent. Filo’s disappearance hadn’t quite had the debilitating effect on her that he’d hoped for, however. Instead of wallowing in grief, she’d began hunting for the culprit in earnest.
Caelina’s scrutiny had made it much more difficult for Jarek to keep his end of the bargain.
But if she were to disappear herself?
Jarek smiled as he walked, and made a mental note to discuss Caelina the next time he saw Theron.
He did not have long to wait, as it turned out. As Jarek rounded a corner on his way to the guardhouse, he spied Theron further up the street, walking through the shadows as he always did. The Bachiyr, as he called himself, stuck to the darkest areas of the street as he led a small child behind him. Jarek’s mood lifted considerably. Theron should have some blood with him, and that always made Jarek feel better. He walked out into the street to make himself as visible as possible, though he knew Theron could see quite well in the dim light.
“Good to see you, my friend,” he called as Theron walked up.
Theron came to a stop several feet away. The child, a street girl no more than seven, stopped with him. Her eyes stared, unblinking, at nothing.
“In need of another so soon?” Jarek said. “This is your second child this month, is it not?” Typically, Theron only required one child every two or three months.
Theron grunted, as though the answer was obvious. Which, as Jarek thought about it, was true.
“Fair enough,” Jarek replied. “Have you the payment?”
“Payment?” Theron said. “For what? You did not procure this one for me. I hunted her myself.”
Jarek blinked, momentarily taken aback. “This is still my city,” he said. “The child is a child of Pompeii, and as such, is under the watch of the city guard. I can’t just let you take her.”
“Without paying for her, you mean?”
It was Jarek’s turn to grunt. Obviously he would need to be paid for any child taken from the city. Surely Theron understood that. He was taking a great risk not following up on all the missing children of Pompeii and the surrounding areas.
Theron’s arm shot out faster than Jarek’s eyes could follow. Cold, dead fingers clamped around his throat and cut off his air. He grabbed Theron’s wrists and tried to pull them apart, but even with his enhanced strength he might as well have been trying to pry away a statue’s grip.
“I owe you nothing,” Theron said casually, as though he were discussing the weather. “Remember that, Jarek.”
“You need me,” he gasped.
Theron laughed. “I could find another.”
“You would have to find another willing to assist you.”
“True enough,” Theron replied. “Still, I’m sure there are others.”
The clamp around his throat loosened, and Jarek fell to the ground, gasping for breath.
“I pay you for the children you bring to me,” Theron said. “Not for those I catch myself.”
“As you will,” Jarek coughed, trying to regain his breath. “But I am having troubles just lately.”
“Such as?”
“Captain Gareth’s wife, Caelina, is still looking for their lost son. She is driven and quite tenacious. I fear she will keep digging until she learns what she wants to know.”
“That is your problem,” Theron snorted. “Not mine.”
“If I am discovered, they will arrest and execute me. Then you will have to find another contact. One who may be wary of helping you, especially with my corpse hanging from the gallows as a deterrent. It seems an awful lot of bother when you have so much work to do.”
Jarek knew nothing about Theron’s work, only that the Bachiyr talked of its importance and his need for as little distraction as possible. It was for this very reason the Bachiyr had sought out an assistant in the city.
“Kill her,” Theron suggested.
“I will. I’ve tried,” he said.
“You failed.”
“I trusted the wrong people to do the job,” Jarek replied.
“You did not do it yourself?”
“I cannot have her death traced to me. I need to kill her in a much more subtle manner, one that will leave me off the list of suspects. It would be much easier to accomplish this if I had more blood for strength and stealth.”
“Very well,” Theron said. “Take this.” He reached into a pocket of his shirt and withdrew a small vial of dark red liquid. “This is the all I have for now. Use it to take care of the woman. Use it wisely, however. You will get no more until such time as I need you again.”
“Thank you. I will see to it that she is not a problem.”
Before Theron could reply, Jarek turned and walked up the street. He could feel the Bachiyr’s eyes on his back, but he forced himself to keep going. He didn’t trust that Theron would not simply change his mind and kill him, but it would be a mistake to show such fear. In any case, that Theron was leading a child from the city undoubtedly meant that the Bachiyr had pressing business elsewhere and would likely not wish to waste time chasing and killing Jarek.
His suspicions proved true as he approached the door to his home and noted that he was still breathing.
He opened the door, stepped in, and closed it behind him, drawing all three of his heavy wooden bars. Once assured the door was as secure as it could be, he leaned against it and took a deep, calming breath. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the new vial and was not surprised to note his hand was shaking.
Dealing with Theron was always risky, and terrifying. The Bachiyr was dangerous and unpredictable. It was all too easy to imagine Theron attacking him and draining away his life’s blood, or simply ripping off his head. One could never tell.
He stood against the door for several minutes, willing his heartbeat to slow down. When he had more or less regained his senses, he walked away from the door and into his bedchamber. Once there, he reached down and pulled a small, woven rug from the floor. Underneath the rug was an iron ring, bolted to the floor. The ring was mounted in a slight depression in the wood, so as to be undetectable when covered by the rug.
Jarek pulled on it, revealing a small compartment hidden underneath a section of the floor. He smiled. The sight of his treasure always pleased him.
He put the small vial of Bachiyr blood into the hole, where it joined several dozen similar vials that Jarek had collected and saved over the years.
Use them wisely indeed, he thought, smiling.
Chapter Six
CAELINA walked into the small house she shared with her husband, Gareth, glad to be home. She had stopped by the guardhouse o
n the way so she could drop off the sword, but Gareth had been in a meeting with several other captains to discuss the recent spate of children who’d gone missing from the city. She had assured the clerk that he did not need to interrupt such an important meeting and left the sword with him so he could look through the records and determine its owner. In truth, she simply had no desire to see her husband. Not after her encounter with Jarek. She felt soiled. Dirty. And not just because of the blood on her clothes. Even her stop at the Forum Baths failed to make her feel clean.
She walked into the front room and sat down heavily, which only added to her discomfort. The chair was hard and spare, with no cushion and only a straight, hard back to lean on. Gareth preferred such furnishings, opining that cushions made men soft. The same philosophy could be seen throughout the house in the mostly bare walls and sparse, unpadded furnishings. The single exception was the marital bed, which Caelina had insisted be padded to a comfortable degree. Gareth, after much arguing, had eventually relented, although he grumbled about it to this day. He never grumbled to hard or too long these days, however. Privately, Caelina believed he liked a bit of softness at night. No one could be hard all the time, and at forty and four years old, Gareth’s body probably enjoyed a bit of cushioning now and then.
Caelina was much younger than her husband, and a great deal more stubborn. At thirty and one, she still had the elasticity of youth in her face and body. True, her breasts were not as prominent as they had been on her wedding day fifteen years prior, but it was easy to spot the men who still stared at them as she walked by.
She sighed and leaned back in the chair. From very early on in their marriage, Gareth had been training her to fight.
“You need to know how to do this, Caelina,” he’d said. “There are people who will try to hurt you for no better reason than you are married to me.”
Over the years, Gareth’s fears had proven well founded on numerous occasions. As he rose through the ranks, he made enemies of bandits, robbers, killers, and all manner of unsavory men and women, as well as several men whom he surpassed on his way to Captaincy. On more than one occasion, she had been accosted while walking down the street. Most of the time, her husband’s name was enough to neutralize the threat, but every once in a while she’d had to defend herself from someone who’d worked themselves into a frenzy over some deed—either real or imagined—of Gareth’s. On those occasions, she was glad for her training.
