the bed was absolutely still with a foot of dark hardwood protruding from the top. He moaned in anguish.
“Salonius, for Gods’ sake. You’re supposed to have been chosen by Cernus!”
With a deep sigh, he climbed in through the window, landing heavily and with a jarring sensation on the floor by the bed.
He blinked.
Reaching out, he prodded the bed.
Laughing, he prodded it some more and then pulled the top sheet aside. The shape in the bed had clearly not been human, but from outside the window with the faint moonlight to the rear, the shape had been indistinguishable in the darkness.
He laughed out loud, causing himself to choke slightly as the pain in his neck twinged badly. Salonius had carefully laid out all of his pack and goods on the bed, including his saddle bags and sleeping roll. They were all neatly arranged and had been recently cleaned and polished; indeed the cleaning rags, oil and polish sat on the small table by the bed. The industrious little bastard couldn’t sleep with the knowledge that he had tools that needed oiling.
Varro laughed again and walked across to the door. Opening it, he peered outside, to see Salonius two doors down, peering around the door frame of Varro’s room.
“Varro?”
“Salonius! Gods be damned, there you are. Where did you go?”
The young man walked along the corridor, a sword in his hand. Varro pointed at it and Salonius glanced down and noticed the blade in his hand.
“Took it from one of the guards. I saw them down and your door open and feared the worst.”
“Where were you?” Varro repeated.
“Couldn’t sleep,” the young man shrugged. “I went to see if I could find someone who could tell me how Catilina was.”
Varro smiled, and a sadness slipped across it. Salonius frowned at him.
“Petrus?” he asked in a small voice.
“Dead. Bastard nearly got me too. And he’s put a nice neat hole in your saddle!”
“Did you see him?”
Varro nodded.
“Sort of. Only a shape. Pelasian though, so I doubt we’ll find him now.”
Salonius shook his head irritably.
“So we’ve no evidence, and now we can’t even produce Petrus’ testimony! All we can do is make unfounded accusations about Cristus to the marshal.”
“Not exactly,” Varro disagreed. “Sabian’s now well aware of the problem. We’ve got the actions of the garrisons of Saravis Fork and the mountain way station backing our story. And what you noticed about the rebuilding of the fort, or lack thereof, stands as some proof anyway.”
He took in the sceptical look on Salonius’ face and gave an evil smile that contained no humour.
“Anyway, all I need is for Sabian to stay out of the way. This is personal between me and Cristus. I don’t care whether he gets demoted or humiliated or even executed. What I want is to hear him admit to his treachery and to hear him beg for his life.” His smile became even more predatory. “Which I am not going to allow him. I am going to cut that sack of shit into ribbons so thin you could pass him through a portcullis!”
Salonius opened his mouth as though to raise objections, but stopped after an indrawn breath. He frowned, looked over his shoulder at the two unconscious guards, allowed his gaze to stop for a moment on Petrus’ closed door, and then turned a smile on Varro that was so frighteningly wicked and uncharacteristic that Varro actually took a step backwards.
“Good.” The young man growled.
Varro clapped his hands together and then rubbed them in a business like fashion.
“Alright. First thing’s first. Got to go see Sabian.
Salonius shook his head. He gestured at Varro and waved his hand up and down.
“Not yet. Back to your room first.”
“What?”
Salonius sighed. “Your waist is leaking again, you’ve got a chunk of neck missing, which is pouring blood down your chest and your hand is shaking violently. You need your wounds dressed, to take some of your medicine, and to put something clean on if you’re presenting yourself to the marshal in his own fortress.”
Varro frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but Salonius clamped his teeth shut defiantly and pointed at the captain’s door. Like a scolded school boy, Varro nodded unhappily and walked over to his room. Salonius returned briefly to his own room and retrieved the emergency kit he’d been carrying since they left Crow Hill. By the time he entered Varro’s room, the Captain was already sitting on his bed with his bloodied tunic on the floor. Rivulets of already-drying blood snaked down his chest and back and the wound at his side, though now partially healed, oozed a small trickle of blood. Salonius shook his head and pointed at Varro. “Do that.”
“What?”
“Shake your head.”
Varro tried to shake his head, but as he faced left and the muscle in his neck stretched, blood pumped from the missing chunk of neck muscle.
“Shit! Thanks, Salonius!”
The young man smiled.
“I just wanted to make sure it was just a surface wound and he’d not impaired the muscle.”
“Gods,” grumbled Varro. “You’re starting to sound a lot like Scortius!”
Salonius’ smile widened.
“I’m interested in the mechanics of the body. It’s not so far removed from engineering really. You’d be amazed.”
Varro growled and dabbed at the wound on his neck, wincing.
Salonius reached into the bag he’d brought through from his room and withdrew his clean bandages, fasteners and swabs. Laying everything out on the table, he pointed at the table.
“You need to have some of that medicine too.”
Varro nodded and, half standing, reached forward towards the table. With a whimper, he crashed to the floor. Salonius dived to him in a panic and hauled him off the floor.
“What happened?”
Varro shook his head and whimpered again at the added pain that brought.
“Don’t know…” he breathed desperately between rasping gasps. “Just lost all strength… Almost blacked out… It felt like I was on fire… All over.”
Salonius frowned.
We’ve got to get you sorted but you’re going to see Scortius before we go to the marshal. Scortius is in the palace looking after Catilina, so I heard.”
He was a little surprised at the fact that Varro nodded meekly with no resistance. In fact that worried him more than the collapse. Hurrying over to the table, he fished out the small, waterproof bag from Varro’s medical supplies. Reaching into his own kit he withdrew a small set of weights and a hand-held scale. Carefully weighing the contents of the bag, he divided it up and selected a quarter of it, sliding it onto a small piece of greased paper.
“Take that!”
“What is it?” Varro focused with some difficulty on the oily mixture the young man proffered him.
“It’s the big, bad medicine that Scortius gave you. The stuff to take as a last resort.”
Varro turned his furrowed brow on Salonius and the young man sighed.
“I think you’ve just taken a left turn into the last resort, Varro. Take the medicine.”
As Varro gingerly imbibed the mixture, his face undergoing a serious of expressions ranging from curiosity, through disgust to downright horror, Salonius began the task of carefully binding the captain’s wounds.
He smiled.
“I should draw three lots of pay: guardsman, engineer and field medic!”
Varro glared at him and tried to say something cutting, but the movement of his tongue in his mouth brought all new nightmare sensations to his taste buds. He settled for giving the young man his least happy glare.
