LXVIII
CATEN BURNS.
The gaping wounds of the city seep rubble and smoke around me, the snapping of sporadic fires a counterpoint to the anxious silence that creeps along every street and alleyway of the suppurated heart of the Republic. Alta Semita, with its stone structures, still retains some memory of its former self in the layout of streets, if not their ethos. Ahead, though—Aquilae District—at least one in five buildings are no longer. More, probably. The docks beyond are a carcass. The great Will-based machines there mute and still. And the predawn clouds above Praedium say the fires have not yet been controlled in the west, either. Governance’s fire brigades have been stretched too thin. Even here, still some distance away, the air is a sick haze of charred homes and charred flesh.
I press on, not seeing anyone for minutes at a time and then when I do, only in the distance, people dashing away, recognising that anyone walking alone is either too powerful or too broken to risk passing. Tens of thousands of Octavii and Septimii were trapped here in the initial madness of the Festival of Pletuna, hiding in their homes until the worst of the fighting was done. Three days later, with the city’s borders sealed, Governance and Religion began distributing the Proscriptions. Massive lists of names they drew from the Census of people living in Caten, and whose Will was going toward Military pyramids no longer sanctioned by the Senate. For anyone on those lists, Birthright was revoked. Along with the public proclamation that if you handed in the head of someone on such a list, their property and possessions became yours.
It took one more day for Caten to become a slaughterhouse.
Diago pads through the leaden morning behind me, ever watchful. The blaze on the horizon is mirrored in his eyes as he tests the air. In the ten days since the Proscriptions, we have been attacked in broad daylight three times. The first by a Military Quintus whose hiding place I simply stumbled across. I was lucky to escape. The last two times have been by opportunistic looters. Too blinded by greed and lust and rage to recognise who I am until far, far too late.
My alupi did his job, and not once were there survivors.
The shattered remains of the Forum, when we reach it, bristle with Sextiidespite the early hour. Cloaked in either green or blue, but none are out of uniform and those two colours are very clearly not mixing. The southern side where I enter is watched by Governance, and I receive an acknowledging nod as I pass through the initial cordon. As one of Tertius Ericius’s officers, my days have been a strange mix of running messages and participating in strategy sessions. But I’m here most of the time. I’m recognised by even the Tertii now.
I skirt the rubble that still covers much of the formerly pristine space, picking my way through ruined buildings to the Temple of Jovan, one of the few structures functionally intact after the chaos of the festival night. Climb the stairs and am admitted, the guards at the door eyeing a trailing Diago nervously but making no move to stop him from entering with me.
“Catenicus!” Livia’s the first to spot me. Stops her note-taking and jogs over, voice pitched to a conspiratorial whisper so as to not interfere with the intent discussions on the other side of the room, where a dozen or so people cluster around a table. “They almost caught him last night.”
“The masked man?”
“They’re calling him Carnifex,” she confides with a confirming nod.
“I heard. And, I heard. It was in Alta Semita, apparently. Close enough that the Quintus looking for him dragged me out of a bath to make sure he hadn’t snuck into my house.” I pitch my tone between amused and irritated.
Livia’s eyes widen, but before she can ask more, her father’s voice booms across the room. “Catenicus! Finally. Come.”
Livia rolls her eyes at the interruption, unseen by those at the table. “They’re going to refuse to start without you, one day. War or not.”
“As it should be.” Callidus’s sister has been far more amiable, friendly even, over the past couple of weeks. I give her a quick grin and join the group on the far side of the massive space, who are ignoring the general bustle of activity around them. A mix of Quartii, Tertii, and their most trusted retainers; the Dimidii and Princeps are rarely seen here, having created separate headquarters in Alta Semita and Praedium. A perfect encapsulation of the city, right now. Governance and Religion theoretically working together, but each district is under clear control of one or the other. United, except not trusting each other enough to risk a meeting of their most powerful members.
A few of the senators note my approach with accepting enough acknowledgements, even if their glances at Diago are far less comfortable. It’s my peers from the Academy who provide the friendliest looks. Aequa smiles, genuinelyhappy to see me. Marcellus and Felix, standing to either side of Magnus Quartus Aelius, a dark-skinned Jatierren, nod to my arrival. Marcellus once again wearing his tinted glasses despite the dim, an affectation I find especially annoying on him.
And then there’s Indol, here working for Tertius Decimus. Eyes and cheeks hollow as he slaps me on the back when I come to stand beside him. Lack of sleep painfully evident. Truth struggling against loss, neither allowing the other any measure of rest.
I smile a greeting that contains no trace of the crushing guilt I feel every time I see him.
Iro’s father himself is among the group, too, as he has been most of this week. Today, to my surprise, he nods to my inclusion with surprising civility.
I give a cautious response in kind. The man has pointedly ignored me thus far when we’ve both been here. Perhaps Iro’s health is finally improving. Or perhaps the spectre of what is to come has finally become enough for him to put aside our differences.
“I hear you got a visit last night, Catenicus.” Quartus Iovita doesn’t look up. Military, and the sole woman among this group. Also one of the more formidable of it. “I hope it was no inconvenience.”
“Not at all. Tanrius was pleasant and professional. He seemed to feel he was quite close to catching Carnifex, too. Did he?” Iovita shakes her head, and I grimace. Tempted to press on with my questioning, but everyone here is curious, and most of Governance and Religion are still displeased that Military have taken point on finding him. Someone’s going to ask.
“Does he have any leads, at least?” Quartus Aelius rewards my patience almost immediately.
“He is getting closer.”
“So, no.”
Iovita finally raises her head, meeting Aelius’s gaze calmly. It is Aelius who looks away first.
“Catenicus. We’ve just had a report of Corenius moving his legions south. Here.” Ericius commands my attention, pointing to a marker on the massive map pinned to the table. “He’s still at least a week away from Caten without a Transvect. You were close with his daughter. Any insights?”
I peer at the positioning. Northern Masen. Clear lines, supplies and plenty of high ground. “He’s a cautious man. And he won’t be desperate to take Caten.He has a lot of support out in the provinces, and already controls two Aurora Columnae.” I don’t hesitate, though it feels a betrayal. I need these men to trust me. “If I had to guess, I don’t think he’s marching on us. Not yet. I’d say he’s just relocating. Strengthening his position and waiting to see how the others proceed, before making a move.”
“Agreed,” says Quartus Laurentius—ratified by the Senate as the next Princeps, technically, though given their price was his committing all of his Will to the defenses, few in the room treat him as such—as some around the table nod, while others look annoyed. I’m only a Quintus and my voice isn’t one that will sway these men, but my reputation, and Ericius’s confidence, has afforded my opinion some respect in these meetings.
