Medicus (30 page)

65

A
NOTHER 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, hot 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

A
T 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.

Ruso closed his eyes. At last: a woman who understood what he needed. What he deserved. And the beauty of it was, there was no commitment. He could have this whenever he wanted. Because this was a professional service. A business transaction. Like the buying of someone's hair . . .

Restraining Chloe's exploring hand, he pulled himself up to sit with his back against the wall. "When I said I wanted to talk," he growled, hoping there was no one listening behind the door, "that's what I meant."

Chloe arched her back and stretched, draping herself across his lap and looking up at him. "But you're so
nice,"
she said, pursing her lips and miming a kiss.

"No," he said, heaving at her shoulders to lift her away from him. "I'm not nice. And I'm tired of being lied to."

She swung her legs off the bed and sat up. "Suit yourself."

"Do you know where Tilla is?"

"No." She bent to fiddle with one of the pins that held her curls in place. "Is that it? Can I go now?"

"No. Is she here?"

Chloe pushed the pin back into place and sighed. "You don't learn, do you?" She turned to face him. "It was you who told them about Phryne, wasn't it?"

When Ruso said nothing, she continued, "Well, you were a big help to her. She'd tell you how much herself if she was well enough to receive visitors."

"Is she all right?"

"Of course she's not all right."

"I could—"

"You've caused enough trouble already. Lucky for her, it's payday coming up. They aren't stupid here. She'll be fit to work by tomorrow."

Ruso found himself staring at the tangle of bodies painted on the walls. For a girl in a place like this, being fit to work was a dubious blessing. Perhaps the child had indeed pretended to be stolen in the vain hope of escape. Or perhaps he had been right the first time: The whole thing had been a story concocted by Tilla to cover her own escape. He no longer knew whom to believe. "Chloe," he said, "do you think Tilla's run away?"

"I don't know."

"The last person to see her was Bassus. He said she came here while you were out at the baths."

"Well, she's not here now. Ask him where she went."

"Are you not telling me because you don't know, or because you're afraid?"

She gave a snort of derision. "You know the first thing you learn in this place? Never show fear. Something Phryne needs to learn. And you know the second thing? Mind your own business."

"If one of your management's done something to Tilla . . ."

Chloe shook her head. "I can tell you one thing about Bassus, Doctor. He won't damage anything that might turn him a profit."

"I heard that somebody here hurt Daphne."

"So? You don't have to be much of a talker to do this job. They'll have her back to work after they've sold the baby."

Ruso took a deep breath. "And what about Asellina? Or Saufeia? Did they really run away, or were they allowed out like you are?" He paused. "Do the girls do home visits? Private parties, that sort of thing?"

"What's that got to do with Tilla? It's you she's run away from, not us."

"Because she's missing like the other two. And the only thing that links them all is this place. What's going on here, Chloe?"

Chloe stared at him for a moment, then got to her feet. "I don't know what you think you're stirring up," she said, "but I don't want anything to do with it." She stepped forward and lifted the latch on the door. "Time's up." She walked out onto the landing. "Get out now, or I'll call the boys. And don't come here again."

Chloe's sandals clattered away down the stairs. Ruso sighed, gave a parting glance at the tangled bodies—the participants looked depressingly bored—and followed her down to the bar.

"Bassus!"

The man turned. "Back again, eh? Come to pay your bill?"

"Come for a chat," said Ruso. "Can we go somewhere private?"

"No thanks. You're not my type."

Ruso shrugged. "I can say it in front of everyone, if you like."

Bassus glanced around. The bar held four members of the staff, three customers, and, in a cage beside one of them, a jackdaw. Bassus jerked a thumb toward the door. "Outside."

On the way out they passed Stichus. "You're getting soft," Bassus told him. "Letting bloody caged birds in."

"It talks," retorted Stichus.

"Show me something round here that don't."

"Daphne," suggested Stichus, with what he clearly thought was wit.

"Take a walk a minute, Stich? Me and the doc have got business."

Stichus retreated into the bar. Bassus leaned against the painted wall, folded his arms, and glowered at the woman behind the bakery counter as if he were daring her to eavesdrop. "Make it quick," he said. "I'm a busy man."

"So am I," said Ruso. "But you said next time I had a problem to come to you. So here I am."

Bassus sighed. "What is it now?"

"I still haven't found Tilla."

"How many times have I got to say it? I don't know where she is! If I knew, I'd tell you. I got a couple of nice buyers lined up. If she don't turn up soon I'm going to have to let them down."

"But in the course of looking for her, I've run across some troubling information."

There was barely a hesitation before he said, "And this information would be?"

"I'll get to that in a minute. I'm trying to stop Tilla from meeting the same fate as the other two runaways. Tell me, is it true that Saufeia wasn't much good at her job?"

"What's that got to do with it? She was useless. Even when she was trying, which weren't often."

"And what do you do with girls who don't please the customers?"

"Sell them, of course."

Ruso nodded. "That's what I thought."

"Sounds to me like you thought we take them out back and strangle them."

"What I can't understand," said Ruso, "is why her hair was all shorn off. She wouldn't do it herself if she was planning to work the streets or run away with a lover, and Merula certainly wouldn't do it if she was planning to sell her."

Bassus shrugged. "Sorry. Can't help you there."

"What I'm thinking," explained Ruso, watching him carefully, "and correct me if I'm wrong, is that it must have been done after she was dead. Perhaps not by the murderer, but by someone else who knew him. Who might be able to point me in his direction." He paused. "Someone who then went and sold the hair."

Bassus was staring at the pavement opposite, scratching his neck with one finger.

"If something's happened to Tilla," said Ruso, "I want to know about it."

Bassus continued to ponder for a moment. Finally he gave a sigh.

"All right. This is it. I don't know nothing about Tilla but I know a bit about the other thing. You keep your mouth shut, agreed?"

"Agreed."

"When Merula noticed Saufeia weren't around, me and Stich took a couple of torches and went to look. We found her in a back alley."

"Which back alley?"

"Over by the amphitheater. Propped sitting up in a corner like she was waiting for somebody. The bastard had only just got away. I reckon he heard us coming. She was still warm."

"You didn't call for help?"

Bassus looked him in the eye. "I know dead when I see it, Doc. Besides . . . I'm not known for being a patient man. Twenty-five years in the legion, I believe in discipline, see? People don't know what we have to put up with, with these girls. Strangled runaway, dark night, back alley—who'd have believed us?"

"But she was your own slave." Executing one's own slaves was officially frowned upon, but fellow slaves were not in a position to complain and it was hard to see who else would bother.

"She weren't ours," explained Bassus. "She belonged to the business.

And if Merula thought we'd done it she'd have gone mad." He paused. "I know what you're thinking. We should've just walked away. I wish I had. Only Stich, he decides to be clever."

This seemed an unlikely proposition, but Ruso let it pass.

"He says, if we just leave her here, then some greedy bastard's going to find her and nick all her fancy clothes and everything. What all belong to the bar. That hair was worth something too. So we took what was ours and we give her a decent send-off."

"In the river?"

"We weren't to know she'd come back, were we? But we didn't kill her. I swear. And I don't know who did."

Ruso nodded. "And would you know anything about an accident happening to someone who asked too many questions?"

Bassus folded his arms. "Could be arranged. Who you thinking of?"

"Never mind." If the man had known anything about the fire or the incident with the trowel, he was a good actor. "One last question. Do you knowT anything about a letter?"

There was a slight pause before he said, "What letter?"

"There's a rumor that Saufeia wrote to somebody. I know she was telling everyone she wouldn't be here much longer. I assume she was arranging to meet someone."

Bassus shook his head. "I don't know nothing about no letter," he said. "And she wouldn't have been here much longer 'cause we'd have traded her on. But your Tilla couldn't be writing to nobody, that I do know. Look. Asellina was unlucky. Saufeia run into a customer what didn't want to pay, and whoever he was he didn't bother taking her far to finish her. If he'd got your Tilla you'd have found her by now. I reckon she's run off, like it says in the notices. You ask me, you want to stop wasting time poking around with dead tarts and hire yourself a slave hunter."