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The most famous mime troupes, as even a Roman knew, came from Alexandria—as did the innkeeper’s wife.
“Take your hands off that, you swine!” she cried, breaking free of the guard who held her and rushing at the man who held the box. He blanched at the sight of her and started back. So did I, for even without the horrifying makeup, the face of the hideous lemur I had seen in the courtyard of the temple was suddenly before me, and I heard again the shriek that had made my blood run cold.
Like a charging rhinoceros, she rushed headlong at the priestess, who stood her ground. I braced myself for the spectacle of the impact—then watched as the priestess raised her ceremonial goad and swung it, backhanded, with all her might, striking the innkeeper’s wife squarely across the face. With a squeal that stabbed at my eardrums, the innkeeper’s wife flailed and tumbled to one side, upsetting a great many small tables and chairs.
The guards swarmed over her and, after a considerable struggle, restrained her.
One of the men who had been searching the premises entered the room, stepping past the commotion to show something to the priestess. In his hand he held a lovely specimen of a glazed tile. Its color was midnight blue.
Gazing at the shambles of the common room, Antipater turned to me and blinked. “Gordianus—please explain!”
MUCH LATER THAT DAY, IN THE TAVERN OF ANOTHER ESTABLISHMENT—FOR the inn where we had been staying was no longer open for business—Antipater, Darius, and I raised three cups brimming with Babylonian beer and drank a toast to the departed Mushezib.
“Explain it all to me again,” said Darius. He seemed unable to grasp that the lemur that had haunted the old temple had never been a lemur at all, so strong was his superstitious dread of the place.
I lubricated my throat with another swallow of beer, then proceeded. “At some point—we don’t know exactly how or when, but not too long ago—the innkeeper or his wife went digging around the ruined temple grounds. Literally digging, I mean. And what should they discover, but a previously unknown cache of ancient glazed bricks, undoubtedly from the longdemolished wall of Nebuchadnezzar that used to run along the riverfront, where a newer, plainer wall now stands. They knew at once that those bricks must be worth a fortune. But their discovery was located in an old temple precinct; the land itself is common property and not for sale, and any artifacts or treasure found there would almost certainly belong to the priesthood of Ishtar. The innkeeper clearly had no right to the bricks, but he intended to get his hands on them nonetheless. The best way to do that, he decided, was to purchase the derelict property adjacent to the temple, from which he and his wife could gain access to the courtyard and the buried bricks without being observed. But negotiating to buy that property was taking time, and the innkeeper was fearful that someone else might go nosing about and find those buried bricks. The old tales about the place being haunted gave him a perfect way to frighten others away. The innkeeper’s wife took on the task of playing the lemur. As we now know, in her younger days, she was part of an Egyptian mime troupe. She’s an intimidating woman to start with; with the right makeup, and calling on her skills as an actress, she could be truly terrifying, as I experienced for myself. But the lemur didn’t frighten everyone away; at least one man must have dared to enter the courtyard a few nights ago, perhaps out of simple curiosity, and he was the first to die.”
“Was it the innkeeper’s wife who broke the first victim’s neck?” a
sked Antipater.
“She’s probably strong enough, and we’ve seen what she’s capable of doing when roused, but her husband confessed to the killing. Those brawny arms of his are quite capable of breaking any man’s neck.”
“And Mushezib? What was the astrologer doing in the courtyard in the middle of the night?” said Darius.
“I think it wasn’t until after we all went to bed that night that Mushezib’s thoughts led him to the same conclusion I reached, a day later. He had no belief in a lemur; what, then, had I actually seen? Perhaps someone pretending to be a lemur—but why? In the middle of the night, Mushezib broke the lock on the gate, slipped inside, and started snooping around. He even did a bit of digging, and found this, which he slipped under his hat.” I held up the little tile. “If I’d seen his hands, and the dirt that must have been on his fingers, I might have realized the truth sooner, but his arms were folded beneath him, and the body was carried off by the priests before I could take a closer look.”
“You were looking mostly at the priestess of Ishtar, I think,” said Darius.
I cleared my throat. “Anyway, the innkeeper must have come upon Mushezib, there in the courtyard. There was a struggle—I heard Mushezib scream, but I thought I was dreaming—and the innkeeper broke his neck. As he had done with his previous victim, he left the body on the temple steps as a warning, and there we found poor Mushezib the next day.
“It wasn’t until we went to the ziggurat, and I was unable to find any tiles that matched the one in Mushezib’s hat, that I began to think he must have found that tile elsewhere. It occurred to me that he might have found it on the old temple grounds—and the rest of the tale unfolded in my mind. Early this morning I stole into the courtyard and found the spot where the bricks are buried. I also discovered a concealed and crudely made opening in the wall of the vacant building next to the temple. I went at once to the priestess of Ishtar to tell her of my suspicions. She gathered some armed men and followed me back to the inn. Along with the tiles the innkeeper had already dug up, the priestess’s men also found a secret passage the innkeeper had made between his private quarters and the vacant building next door, which, as I had discovered, had its own concealed access to the temple courtyard, also made by the innkeeper. That was how he and his wife managed to enter the courtyard even when the gate was locked. By passing through the vacant building, the so-called lemur could appear and disappear—and the killer was able to surprise his victims and then vanish, never stepping into the street.”
“What will become of that murderous innkeeper and his monster of a wife?” asked Antipater.
“The priestess says they must pay for their crimes with their lives.”
“And what will become of all those lovely bricks?” asked Darius, his eyes twinkling at the thought of so much loot.
“The priesthood of Ishtar has claimed them. I imagine they’re digging them up even now,” I said.
“Too bad you didn’t get to claim those bricks.” Darius sighed. “You know, I hate to speak of such a thing, but not since the first day have I been given a single coin for the many excellent favors I have rendered to my new friends.”
I laughed. “Never fear, Darius, you will be paid for your services!” I patted the heavy coin purse at my waist. That afternoon, after the arrest of the innkeeper and his wife, I had been called back to the sacred precinct of Ishtar for a private interview with the priestess. She warmly praised my perspicacity, and insisted that I accept a very generous reward.
Darius looked at the money bag, then raised an eyebrow. “Was that the only reward she gave you, young Roman?”
Antipater also looked at me intently.
My face turned hot. Was I blushing? “As a matter of fact, it was not,” I said, but of whatever else took place between the priestess and me that afternoon, I chose to say no more.
PAIN AND SUFFERING
by S. M. Stirling
Considered by many to be the natural heir to Harry Turtledove’s title of King of the Alternate History Novel, fast-rising science fiction star S. M. Stirling is the bestselling author of the Island in the Sea of Time trilogy (Island in the Sea of Time, Against the Tide of Years, On the Ocean of Eternity), in which Nantucket comes unstuck in time and is cast back to the year 1250, and the Draka series (including Marching through Georgia, Under the Yoke, The Stone Dogs, and Drakon , plus an anthology of Draka stories by other hands and edited by Stirling, Drakas!), in which Tories fleeing the American Revolution set up a militant society in South Africa and eventually end up conquering most of the earth. He’s also produced the five-volume Fifth Millennium series and the seven-volume General series (with David Drake), as well as stand-alone novels such as Conquistador , The Peshawar Lancers, and The Sky People. Stirling has also written novels in collaboration with Raymond F. Feist, Jerry Pournelle, Holly Lisle, Shirley Meier, Karen Wehrstein, and Star Trek actor James Doohan, as well as contributing to the Babylon 5, T2, Brainship, War World, and Man-Kzin Warseries. His short fiction has been collected in Ice, Iron and Gold. Stirling’s New York Times bestselling Emberverse postapocalyptic series (which is related to the Island in the Sea of Time novels) consists of the trilogy Dies the Fire, The Protector’s War, and A Meeting at Corvallis, and the subsequent sequels The Sunrise Lands, The Scourge of God, The Sword of the Lady, The High King of Montival, and The Tears of the Sun. He has also written the Lords of Creation novels, The Sky People and In the Courts of the Crimson Kings. His most recent work, the Shadowspawn series, consists of A Taint in the Blood and The Council of Shadows. Born in France and raised in Europe, Africa, and Canada, he now lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
In the suspenseful story that follows, he takes us along with an ordinary cop who finds himself trying to deal with a most unordinary criminal—one of extraordinary abilities, in fact, who seems impossible to beat.
