was supposed to illustrate about Thessalus’s memory.
“This is how I find out,” said Thessalus sadly, looking down at the fractured pattern. “The spaces are invisible. When the lines join up, how can you tell?” He glanced at Ruso. “When you sleep, how do you know how long you have slept?”
“By whether it’s daylight?” suggested Ruso. “By the sound of the next watch?” He wanted to add, “By whether Tilla is up and lighting the fire,” but Thessalus was already sufficiently confused.
“By whether the pattern lines up,” said Thessalus. “Before, it is night…” he lifted his left arm, “and after, it is day.” The right arm rose. “So,” he said, moving his arms so the loop of cloth billowed between them, “you know there is something in between.”
Ruso, who was beginning to grasp what he meant, said, “There are times when you can’t remember what you’ve been doing? When you’re awake?”
“What happens in between…” Thessalus stretched the cloth out again, “I have to guess.”
“How long has this been happening?”
Thessalus shrugged. “When the patterns line up, who can tell?”
“Everyone has patches where they lose concentration,” suggested Ruso. “Lots of people find if they’re traveling and thinking about something else they sometimes forget whole miles. They know they’ve arrived but they can’t really remember much about the journey.” At least, he hoped there were lots of people. Maybe he was the only one.
“Not just minutes,” said Thessalus. “Sometimes hours. A whole day once. Gone. Stolen. Is someone stealing my hours?”
“I think they’re being drowned in poppy tears. And if you’re only guessing at what fills the spaces, you may be guessing wrongly.”
“I have dreams.”
“Dreams seem very real at the time. But when you wake, you know they aren’t.”
“And the healing that comes in dreams?”
Ruso hesitated. He had never been sure about the trustworthiness of divine healing through messages in dreams, but he knew several people who claimed to owe their lives to it, and indeed he was hard-pressed to explain their cures in any other way. On the other hand, he could recall several cases where the gods had been given the credit but the doctor had done most of the work. “Healing is one thing,” he said. “Nightmares are different.” And this relative sanity was, he feared, a mere break in Thessalus’s mental clouds that might soon close. “Tell me,” he urged, seizing the moment, “what you remember about that night.”
Thessalus looked sadly down at the cloth, then folded it neatly and set it beside him on the couch. “We came out of the bathhouse and went to Susanna’s,” he said. “It was Gambax’s birthday. There was an argument. Something about cows. A soldier was lying to a native. I remember thinking somebody should defend the native.” Thessalus paused. “Then I woke up here, after a ghastly dream, with blood on my hands and my clothes.” He looked apologetically at Ruso. “I looked at myself and I was not injured. I told myself I must have drunk more than I thought. That I had been to the infirmary on the way home and the blood was from a patient. Or that I had been to a temple that night and made a sacrifice.”
“Tell me about the dream.”
Thessalus bowed his head into his hands, raking back the hair with his fingers into a wild splay of dark curls. “I am holding a knife,” he said slowly. “Felix is afraid. He is pleading. Begging me not to do what I am going to do with the knife. I tell him to be silent but he won’t. He keeps saying he has no cows. I tell him he must pay, because I don’t want to do it. And he won’t be quiet. He tries to shout. I silence him with the knife.”
“This is all a dream, Thessalus. Everything in it comes from somewhere else.”
“The worst is yet to come,” muttered Thessalus. “I said nothing. I washed my hands and clothes and ate breakfast and went to the infirmary hoping to find a patient whom I had treated the night before. When I got there I heard Felix was dead. I was already leaving the army for fear of what I might do in one of the gaps. Now I saw that it was too late. I should have gone before. I knew the native would be blamed and I knew I had to do something.”
“This blood,” said Ruso. “Did anyone else see it?”
“I saw it. I was awake.”
“We both know what a strain it is to perform surgery,” said Ruso. “I can see why you’re convinced you’ve done something wicked but I think you’re confused. A lot of terrible memories have combined in your mind and given you a frightening dream that just happens to have some coincidental links to reality.”
A weak smile crept across Thessalus’s face. “You would have me consult an interpreter of dreams,” he said. “A clever theory. Spoken like a Greek.”
“Thank you,” said Ruso, privately thinking it was a lot more plausible than Plato’s nonsense about triangles. “I’m going to do my best to find out where you really did go that night, Thessalus. Then we can straighten all this out.”
Thessalus brightened. “That will be good. Then perhaps you can tell me what I did with the head.”
45
Ruso had intended to consult Metellus before making any further inquiries into the murder, but finding himself alone with Gambax he decided to carry on his fictitious inquiries into night duties. After surprising his deputy by congratulating him on the cleanup, he said, “You said when you came back from Susanna’s the other night, Thessalus was on duty but he was called out. I suppose in that situation you would cover for him?”
“Nobody asked me, sir.”
“I’m not complaining. In fact, I heard you were called out yourself.”
Gambax looked puzzled. “No.”
“I must have been misinformed. I was told you went out again just before curfew.”
“Oh, that. Like I told Officer Metellus, I went out to find Felix. I was worried about him.”
This was a surprise. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was a friend of yours.”
“He wasn’t. I was supposed to be meeting him over at his quarters, but he wasn’t there. After that business at Susanna’s, I thought I ought to go out and see if he wanted company on the way back.”
“That was remarkably decent of you.” Perhaps he had underestimated Gambax. Or perhaps on that night Gambax had reached that stage of drunkenness where all the world was his friend and he couldn’t understand why people had to keep fighting when they should all be looking out for their mates. “You went on your own?”
“I didn’t want to make a fuss, sir.”
“And I assume you didn’t find him?”
“I went over to Susanna’s and across to the brothel and down to the inn. You can ask Metellus; he’s confirmed it all. I wish I’d looked harder now, but his roommates said he often stayed out all night and not to worry.”
“I see. Just out of interest, what were you supposed to be meeting him about?”
“Aminaean wine, sir. I heard that Felix had a supplier and I wanted to get ahold of some.”
“For yourself?”
“For the infirmary, sir. I’m a beer man myself.”
“Very good,” said Ruso. “So did you ever find out where he was getting it from?”
Gambax had not. Felix had a vast range of business contacts. Yes, since the doctor mentioned it, most of the people in the bar probably had known him, but he had no idea why anyone other than the native would have wanted him dead.
“One last thing,” said Ruso. ‘I hear you told Susanna that Doctor Thessalus wouldn’t approve of Aminaean wine?”
Gambax frowned. “Did I? I don’t think so, sir. She must have misunderstood.”
