'Beer?' He cleared his throat, aware that a professional should not allow wispy curls and a borrowed tunic slipping down over one shoulder to distract him from his work. He recalled his mind to his duty. 'Absolutely no beer, nor anything like it.' He gestured toward the lidded bucket in the corner, glad that she had not had the strength to use it as a weapon. 'Are you passing water?'
She nodded.
'Good.'
He reached into the open case. 'I'll give you something for the pain, then you can sleep.' He measured a few drops into the empty cup and handed it to her.
She took a sip and wrinkled her nose.
'Drink,' he ordered, miming the gesture.
She tipped her head back. He retrieved the cup and measured himself a potent dose of the same painkiller, then stood up and closed the shutters. The room was chilly. She had only one blanket.
Downstairs, a lyre player was competing with the din of voices, the to-and-fro slap of the kitchen door, and the clatter and scrape of crockery. From the balcony Ruso could see only two serving girls for all the tables. Both looked harassed. There was a shout of laughter from the far side of the room, where Merula was pouring drinks for a group of officers.
Ruso turned away. The noise was making his head worse. There was still one cubicle with an open door. He limped in and whipped a rich blue blanket off the bed. He picked up a cushion as well. In the doorway he paused and tossed the cushion back onto the bed. There was no point in making her too comfortable.
When he returned the girl was lying flat on the bed with her eyes closed. He laid the blanket over her and tapped her shoulder. 'Before you go to sleep,' he said, sliding the key into her hand, 'make sure you use this.'
21
Ruso was trying to make his way down Merula's stairs without it being obvious that he had acquired a limp during his visit when he recognized Decimus, the hospital porter. The man was slumped over the crowded bar, wiping his eyes with a grimy fist. He also recognized the signals the barmaid was making to the doormen over the man's head. Ruso sighed. His head hurt. His foot hurt. His dignity was injured. He would not normally have interfered with an off-duty soldier's right to make a fool of himself in a public bar. But it was Decimus who had warned him about Priscus's imminent return yesterday morning, and he supposed he owed the man some sort of favor.
Hoping nobody would tread on his toe, he threaded his way between the tables. Finally close enough not to be overheard, he said, 'Time to go, soldier.'
The man looked at him wetly, sniffed, and informed him that he wouldn't understand.
'You're drunk.'
'You don't know what it's like, sir.'
'Go now, Decimus, before you get into trouble.'
'You never liked him anyway. You always said get rid of him.'
'Ah.' Ruso rubbed the back of his head where what remained of the soup was setting his hair into stiff clumps. 'The invisible dog.'
'Bastard.' The porter twisted on his stool and spat noisily onto the floor.
'Oy!' A bald man whose toes he had just missed spun around and glared at him.
'Bastard made us knock him on the head. He was a good dog. He was my best friend. He was faithful, that's what he was.' The orderly waved an arm in the air. 'He was faithful! None of you lot, you don't know what faithful means!'
'Get a grip, man!' urged Ruso, feeling pain dance around his skull as he grabbed the man's arm and hauled him toward the door. Unfortunately for them both, Decimus's feet did not follow. Instead, with another shout of 'Bastard!' he toppled sideways onto Daphne, who screamed as her tray of drinks slid into the bald man's lap.
The bald man leaped up and shoved her aside, roaring, 'I warned you, sunshine!' at the porter.
'He was the best dog in the legion!' yelled the porter. 'He was-ow!'
'Out!' ordered the ginger-headed doorman, ramming the porter's arm up behind his back while his colleague clamped a forearm around the bald man's throat and offered him the chance to be next if he wanted.
The man struggled to turn. 'You! Where's Asellina? You let somebody steal my Asellina! You let all the girls run away!'
'Out, pal,' repeated Stichus. 'You're banned.'
'All gone. All run away. He was the best girl in the-ugh!'
The porter, assisted by Stichus, made an impressive exit. As the man floundered and grumbled in the street, Ruso paused in the entrance.
'We've had trouble with him before,' said Stichus, settling back onto his stool. 'Me, I wouldn't have let him in.'
'I need to leave a message for your mistress.'
Stichus gave him a look that said he was too busy to run messages. Ruso ignored it. 'I've given my patient the key to her room,' he said.
'You what?'
'So she can choose who to let in.'
Stichus shrugged. 'Please yourself. But we can't be watching her day and night. If she's a runner, it's your problem.'
'She's not in a fit state to run anywhere,' Ruso insisted, although it had crossed his mind that if the girl managed an escape like Asellina's rather than Saufeia's, it might be better for both of them. 'And ask your mistress to keep a note of any refusal to eat and drink.'
'Starving herself, is she? Don't worry, we've seen it all before. Meru-la'll soon sort that out.'
'Good,' said Ruso, trusting the landlady's attempts to stimulate the girl's appetite would not stray too far from the diet.
His business here now at an end, he gathered up his case and limped out into the street. He had barely taken a step when a voice called, 'Sir!'
Ruso watched an unsteady salute being performed from a sitting position against the closed shutters of the bakery.
'Man in need of assistance, sir!'
Sir closed his eyes to the sight of the porter. He prayed for patience and for the poppy juice to work quickly.
Despite Ruso's efforts at guidance, the porter's progress was as much sideways as forward. Not five paces down the street he stopped to deposit much of what he had drunk in the gutter. Ruso sighed, leaned back against the bakery wall with the weight on his good foot, and observed that some wit had added the words SAME OLD POISON to the words NEW COOK! beneath the torch illuminating Merula's doorway.
Finally they swayed back up the dark street and in through the south gates of the fort. Ruso gave the password for both of them and they were almost through the passageway when the porter seemed to realize where he was. He hauled himself to attention and shouted, 'Request to report a murdering bastard, sir!'
'He's drunk,' explained Ruso, as if the grinning guards were not able to see this for themselves.
'I'm drunk!' agreed the man. 'I'm drunk, sir, but at least I'm not a murdering bastard with a painted head and a-'
'Shut up!' snarled Ruso. 'That's an order.'
The man swung around to inspect Ruso's face in the light of the gatehouse torches. After a moment he announced with apparent surprise, 'I know who you are! You're the new doctor, Doctor. You bring dogs in, but they aren't as lovely as my Asellina.'
Ruso glanced across at the gate guards. 'One of you take his other arm, will you?'
Between them they dragged the man into the middle of the perimeter road. To Ruso's relief, the painkiller was beginning to take effect. He dismissed the guard, assuring him that he could cope, although the man plainly
