She had not heard his request for water. He couldn't call any louder.
He rolled onto his side and tried again, the word rasping in his throat and ringing through his aching skull.
"Tilla!"
Still no reply. Too tired to lift himself off the couch, he closed his eyes and waited for her to find him.
Something was jumping on his stomach. An African drummer was practicing on the inside of his skull. Something was bouncing on his chest. A chisel was being scraped up the inside of his throat. A rough tongue was licking his face. He lifted an arm and batted away a small warm body. The licking stopped. The body yelped as it landed.
A voice called, "Off, boys and girls! He doesn't want to play!" The bouncing ceased. The drumming and scraping didn't.
Ruso opened one eye to see Valens scoop up a whining puppy. "You're not hurt," Valens assured the puppy after a perfunctory check. He turned to the couch. "Are you all right there, Ruso?"
The water helped. He was less sure about the liniment. "I got it from one of the vets," explained Valens. "He says it's marvelous stuff. I've been waiting for a chance to try it out."
Ruso grimaced.
"Don't worry about the smell; you won't notice it after a minute or two. So, what happened?"
Ruso pointed to his throat and moved his head carefully from side to side.
"Write it down," suggested Valens. "Hold on, I'll find something.. if the lovely Tilla hasn't chucked it all… Where is she, by the way?"
Ruso lifted both palms in an exaggerated shrug. Valens disappeared into his room and began throwing things about in his hunt for writing materials. Ruso hauled himself to his feet and shuffled across the floor.
The kitchen fire was dead. There was no sign of any attempt to prepare supper. The water jug was almost empty and there was no bread in the bin. The wretched girl must be up to her old tricks with the goddess. She could not possibly have the meal ready on time if the fire wasn't lit by now. He wondered if she knew what had happened at Merula's and was hiding from him.
Ruso wandered into his bedroom. Rubbing the lump on the back of his head, he stood in the doorway and tried to remember whether he had put his best cloak away or whether it was missing from the hook on the wall.
Valens appeared, clutching a slate. "So. Talk to me."
There were many things he wished to say to Valens, but the slate was not big enough. Instead he scrawled, "My throat hurts, my head hurts, I have no money, my servant has disappeared, and I am about to do ward rounds smelling like a sick horse."
"Ah." Valens reached for the slate. He licked his forefinger, rubbed out the word horse, and wrote, donkey.
Carefully, Ruso tipped his head back toward the pharmacy ceiling, gargled the last of the foul mixture, and spat. Watching it slide down the side of the waste bucket, he pondered the efficiency of military communications. It was a mystery why the army bothered with a signal system when its men were so good at gossip. He had left the second spear's house barely an hour ago, and just now the pharmacist, after expressing sympathy for his sudden cold, waited until the last patient had left to murmur between gargles, "Sorry to hear about the second spear's daughter, sir. That was bad luck."
Ruso turned to him and rasped, "What about the second spear's daughter?"
"If it's any consolation, most of us think she wouldn't be your type, sir."
"I'm not bloody interested in the…" Ruso paused and lowered his voice. "Any rumors about myself and the second spear's daughter are groundless. I'm sure she's a lovely young lady but I've never actually set eyes on her. So go back to whomever told you this nonsense, and tell them if they spread any more lies I'll deal with them myself."
Halfway through late-ward rounds, he met Valens in a corridor. "How's it going?" demanded Valens.
Ruso paused to insert another throat lozenge before strong-arming him into an empty isolation room and latching the door.
"Jupiter!" Valens wrinkled his nose. "You'd think that salve would have worn off by now, wouldn't you?"
"I've been thinking," said Ruso. "Have you been smarming around the offspring of the second spear?"
"I did have a pleasant chat with her the other day. Nice girl."
"Well, don't. Her father thinks you're me, and he doesn't like it."
"No? Well, I wouldn't either. Look at the state of you. Your eyes are bloodshot, your hair's sticking up, and you smell like something they clean the drains with."
"I know. And it's your fault!"
"She hasn't complained to him, has she?"
"She hasn't. You were seen."
Valens smiled. "I didn't think she would. I knew she'd be a sensible sort of girl. She's got a sensible sort of nose."
Ruso opened his mouth to argue, then decided it would only make his throat worse.
"I'll tell you all about it later," suggested Valens. "Over tonight's supper served by the lovely Tilla."
"I can't find Tilla."
"Dear me. You are having a bad day."
"I am," growled Ruso. "But it'll improve when I kill you."
62
The house felt chilly as he entered. The dog offered him the briefest of greetings and then dodged past his legs and out the door. Ruso sniffed and glanced around at the floor. The puppies must have been locked in for hours.
The kitchen hearth was a blackened void where the fire should have been. Ruso sniffed again and crouched to inspect the floor. Beneath the table was a small brown turd.
Outside, he heard Valens whistle for the dog. Moments later there were footsteps on the gravel. The main door slammed and Valens appeared in the kitchen, surveying the empty shelves and the dead fire.
"Where is she?"
"I don't know. The dogs haven't been let out."
"So where's our dinner?"
Something in Ruso's expression must have told Valens that this was the wrong question.
"She's probably gone shopping," suggested Valens. "Met up with a friend or something. You know how women talk. Perhaps she's dropped around to Merula's."
"I'd be amazed if she'd gone there. Anyway, she'd know to come back by now."
"Well, I can't wait till she turns up. If you get the fire going, I'll go and talk nicely to the kitchen staff. See if they can sneak something past Priscus." Valens paused. "I wouldn't worry, old man. She's bound to show up before long."
"It's getting dark. Something's wrong."
"Then she'll be back any minute, won't she?" Valens grinned. "Cheer up. You'll be able to give her a good spanking."
"Thanks."
"I'll do it if you like."
Ruso scowled. "Just disappear, will you?"
By the time men, dog, and puppies had eaten Valens's gleanings from the hospital kitchen ("This is just like old times, isn't it?"), it was time to light the lamps. Leaving Valens to cover his on-call duties, Ruso put a lead on the dog and went out to look for his servant.
It was not as dark outside as it had seemed in the house. As he waited for the dog to finish sniffing around the shadowy nettle patch, Ruso's eyes adjusted to the gloom. He could pick but the rectangular shape of the next barracks block, the roof of the hospital, and, turning, the outline of the main wall at the end of the street across the perimeter road. As he watched, he heard the tramp of guards. Two shapes moved steadily toward each other along the top of the wall, crossed, and continued in opposite directions.
A breeze plucked at the fabric of his spare cloak and suggested there was rain on the way. "That's enough, dog," urged Ruso, eager to move but not sure of his direction. He did not want to imagine what might have happened to Tilla, but imagination was his only tool in deciding a sensible pattern for the search. If she had run into the wrong man-and the gods knew, he had tried many times to warn her-she could be anywhere. Alive or dead. Inside the fort or out. Inside, he felt, was less likely. The men's lack of privacy and propensity to gossip would serve as some protection.