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AFTER WORK ONE DAY, Rabanus asks me to come with him and the others to a taberna. He thinks I will like the men there, he says.
We meet in a room above it. At the door I am stopped, but Rabanus vouches for me. and I am allowed in. There are jugs of heavily watered wine, and perhaps thirty men. Two are clearly the leaders here.
I listen to the talk, of another fire, of areas to be looted, houses to be attacked. This last is new, except for random rocks thrown and words scrawled on walls. I watch the men so I will know them again, making sure my jaw is open and my eyes wide. As if I am in awe of their ideas, yes? One, shorter than me and wider, has a nose that has been broken more than once. A boxer, I think. The other is taller, thinner. He blinks a lot. Caudus and Nicos.
The noise of more men entering makes me turn. I need all my experience not to show my surprise. The two men who have come in are the Boranoi who arrived on the Sylanani ship.
When I am sure they will stay I start coughing. The man speaking glares. I push through the bodies and go out. Find a place to crouch in shadow.
After an hour men begin to leave. Not the ringleaders. Or the Boranoi. Finally they do, together. I follow them.
The Boranoi leave them at one building, old apartments. I can find it again. Caudus and Nicos walk on. I am too far behind to hear their speech, but that does not matter. I have heard enough. They will be arrested once I know where they can be found.
The Boranoi puzzle me. I think about them as I follow the others. About Quintus’s reaction, when I reported them in the city. Two possibilities of why they are here. No one to ask. I value my life, yes? If I reveal what I think likely, I am a dead man. The fiscarius is powerful, and I am not his only assassin. So I will not ask.
The men I follow enter a house. I wait, a long time, but they do not come out. The moon is high. It is late. Rabanus will wonder where I went. I have a story ready, if he asks.
~
He does. Angrily, the next morning. Wonders if I did not like what I heard. No, I tell him, I did. Want to help. But at the fountain where I went for water to stop the coughing, I met a cousin. Didn’t know he was in Casil. We talked late. Much to catch up on.
“So many dead,” I say. Rabanus nods, touches my shoulder.
“For all of us,” he says. “We’ll be told what to do in a few days. You are with us?”
I assure him I am. Caudus tells the men that if there is enough violence and destruction the palace must give in. Release the grain they have held back. Start the games again. Men need food and entertainment.
Maybe there should be games. Fights on the sand, to stop fights in the street. There is no grain in warehouses being kept back. Marius would know.
Except in Qipërta. In the north.
I think about this all day. One of the sawyers did not appear this morning. I tell the foreman I have the skill, and so am assigned to the work. My muscles ache by noon. A good excuse for the baths tonight. The nearest are a long walk, so the men go only on our one rest day.
But when I am clean but still unshaven, I keep walking. The night is chilly, so my fast pace is not unusual. At a taberna in a square I know well, I order a drink. Wait. Not long. A guard enters the square.
I whistle, not sharply, but a tune. Albius’s head turns. He comes over to the taberna, asks the owner if all is well. I down the dregs of my drink, slip off my stool, start walking.
Albius catches up to me, stopping me as a guard would. I show him my papers, for anyone watching. Tell him names, where the house is. I will stay at the work until the arrests have been made. See the reaction. It will not be long. Two nights, maybe three. So I must be fast in what I will do next.
I will get no sleep tonight, but that does not matter. I walk again, this time south and east. To where my Sylanani friend has his workshop.
He is not happy to be woken, but for the coins I offer he listens. Agrees, for a larger sum. Grins then. “Since you’re here?” I grin back.
“Tomorrow. After,” I say.
~
We meet where agreed. My friend speaks to the taberna owner. Two Sylanani men? He has a message for one, from home. They have just left, he is told. Try the house. He gives directions.
From there it is simple. One answers the knock on the door, and my friend is on him before he can move. My knife finds the other’s throat. We have them down, tied, blindfolded quickly. No one comes to see what is happening. Safer not to, here.
We have cloths over our mouths and noses, and others over our hair. They will not know us. My friend does the talking, so they do not hear my voice. It is just possible they might remember, from the docks.
“You work for the fiscarius,” he says. Not a question. Knife point against his prisoner’s throat. Mine is still at the other’s.
“Yes.” Spat out. Trying to fight, still.
“Who is the traitor? Him, or you?” My question, in my friend’s mouth.
My man squirms. I push my knee harder into his back.
“Fuck you,” the other says. Blood drips from his neck. I lick my lips. Press my knife tip harder too.
“Him or you?”
“Us. Fuck it, let me go,” he roars. No one will come. He knows this.
“Quintus will have you killed,” mine says, gasping. He is bleeding now, drops welling up. “We’re valuable to him.”
I lessen the pressure on his back just a little. Nod to my friend. “How?” he asks.
“Oh, fuck it,” the other says. “Information. About the army.”
“The Boranoi army? How do you know?”
“I was a general’s clerk,” mine says. “He was a quartermaster. We deserted.”
It is plausible. Men like that would know things. “Why?” I ask. One word, and in the accent I have been using. Safe enough.
“Personal reasons,” the quartermaster growls. “My wife. His sister. That fucking general.”
One more question. I hold up four fingers to my friend, to tell him which. “Why were you with the troublemakers, two nights back? Caudus and Nicos?”
“We report to the fiscarius. On what they say.”
Then why was I asked to do this too? To ensure the information is the same? Maybe. I chew at the inside of my cheek. Everything they have said is possible. I cannot prove otherwise.
My friend tied their wrists. He is good with ropes and knots. At a signal from me we stand. Keep a foot on their backs. “Work at it a bit and you’ll free your hands,” he says. “A few minutes, that’s all.”
~
We push down the face coverings on the stairs, free our hair. Walk slowly. But our breathing is fast. More than the excitement of what we have just done. A passage between buildings is dark. My friend pulls me into it. Pushes me against the wall. His blade is at my throat now, its edge keen. A knotted rope stings my legs. I grunt. Hear his low laughter. The knife pricks. The rope swings again. Pleasure rises. Pulses. Spills.
###
SOME MEN AT THE WORKSITE say little the day after the arrests. Some are pleased, and say so. Some leave after the trial and the long death on the crossbars is ordered. I learn nothing in the days I stay. On the third I walk away. Leave the blanket and rug behind. Rabanus can sell them.
I go to the baths, spend the coin to be shaved and shorn. After, I do not go to the headquarters, or to Marius, but to the harbour. A long walk, but that is fine.
At the docks I walk out onto one of the long arms that calm the waters. Look out at the lighthouse. At the sea. Gulls scream. If I resign, I could go to my uncles. They will find me work, even now.
But there is a man who is my family’s patron, and his daughter is the Empress. I should stay, in case there is trouble. It is what we do for our patrons. My father’s words, the last he said that I listened to. Last but for one command.
So I will stay. Because there is trouble, and I am a soldier. A guard, but that is just a name. My work is the same.
Some work takes years. Building a city. Learning what a man is. Brave. Ambitious. Corrupt. Dangerous. I think the fiscarius is two of these. Maybe three. I cannot prove it. Yet.
I am good at waiting.
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I feel sorry for the two ringleaders, but I won't feel sorry for Quintus.