Varro started and turned to see the man standing at the table. He’d approached soundlessly and, judging by the indrawn breath to his left, Catilina had been looking at something else too. Cursing himself for his wandering attention, Varro looked up into the face of the man standing opposite him.
Petrus had changed a great deal in the last fourteen years. Plainly the man had not had an easy time of it. His right eye twinkled with some of the intelligent mischief Varro remembered, but his left was white and filmy, the barest hint of a pupil visible within the milky sickness. Three parallel scars crossed his cheek just below the eye, horizontally and so likely unconnected to the eye, terminating in a long-healed wound that had slightly misshapen the nose. Allowing his eyes to draw back and take in the rest of the man, Varro also noticed Petrus’ left hand suffered a constant uncontrollable twitch. The man had tucked the hand into his waist band, but that had merely muted the twitching rather than masking it. All in all, Petrus would have been a sorry sight, had that sight not been so welcome. Varro could feel emotion welling up inside him; emotion that he could scarce afford to allow to the surface. With a grunt he forced it down and maintained his grimace. Petrus gave a lopsided smile that displayed more damage, three or four teeth missing from the left on both upper and lower jaw. He turned that disturbing smile on Catilina.
“Varro, you brought a lady with you? Strange choice, though I can see why you’d pick him.” He gestured over his shoulder at Salonius who was approaching the table carrying the drinks.
Varro nodded.
“Not just a lady, Petrus. You remember Catilina?”
For a moment a look of genuine surprise crossed that scarred face and the smile broadened.
“Catilina? By all the Gods! Last time I saw you, you couldn’t even pronounce my name!”
Varro nodded. “It’s been a long time. We might have caught up earlier if you hadn’t been dead.” The comment had an edge to it and as Petrus recoiled slightly, Salonius stepped round him and placed the four drinks on the table.
Petrus continued to look at Catilina.
“How’s your brother, Catilina? He was always hanging around my knees asking to use my sword.”
Catilina smiled.
“He’s fine, Petrus. Not a soldier though. Never will be. Always buried in a book, my brother.”
Salonius took one of the spare seats, his eyes never leaving the stranger, and coughed meaningfully.
Varro shook his head slightly, as if to clear it. “Quite right. More important matters to think about. So, Petrus, I think you need to take a seat and tell us what happened to you and what’s so important people are being murdered to stop you saying it!”
Petrus blinked.
“Murdered?”
“Long story,” Varro replied. “But let’s start…”
His voice tailed off as Salonius put a restraining hand on his arm.
“What?”
“We need to move, now!” the young man said quietly but with force. As he bent and collected up the bags, Catilina frowned and leaned across to him.
“What’s happened, Salonius?”
The young man gestured subtly toward the bar.
“That man who just came in. He told the barman to get his best glasses out, coz some new soldiers were on their way.”
“Shit!”
The other two quickly shuffled out from behind the table and began gathering up their kit as fast as possible. Petrus grumbled in the background, his hand slipping from his belt and beginning to twitch more violently.
“You were followed? Varro, you idiot!”
“Not like I had a great deal of choice in the matter, Petrus. We need to get somewhere safe right now!”
The man ground his teeth for a moment and then nodded.
“Follow me.”
Varro couldn’t help noticing the slight limp as his cousin walking surprisingly swiftly and quietly to the door. The three of them caught up with him as he stepped out into the sunshine. Varro carefully scanned the crowd outside with a practiced eye but there was no immediate sign of their pursuers. Petrus limped off along the front of the inn and round the corner. As they followed, he disappeared into an alley and along the side of the building. Rounding the next corner, they found themselves at a single story wooden wall with a single small door.
“Stables. Back entrance.” Petrus announced, as he flipped open the latch and entered the building. The smell of horse sweat and leather flooded out of the building and the three of them followed him in to a large stable surrounded by a dozen stalls, many of which were occupied. A large open door stood at the other side, the common entrance to the building, a young boy with a pitchfork leaning against the jamb, chewing on an apple. A second stable door to their right stood solid with the top half open. The sounds of the bar issued from it. Petrus pointed to a fourth door, small and unobtrusive, to the right, in the corner.
As the other three made for that door, Petrus pointed at the boy and the door and threw him a coin. The stable hand nodded his understanding and pocketed the coin, turning his attention to the grassy bank outside.
Petrus wandered over to join the others as they entered the small door one by one. The space beyond was dark and surprisingly cold. After a short corridor, the space ended with a set of wooden steps descending into further darkness.
“What is this place?” Salonius asked.
“Cellar,” Petrus replied. “Where they keep the beer barrels and the crates of wine. I’m taking you to the safest place I can think of: my room.”
Salonius blinked at him in surprise and then turned and began to follow Catilina down the stairs. Slowly, his eyes became accustomed to the change in light levels. It wasn’t actually pitch black in the cellar, just considerably dimmer than the bright day above. The longer they stood in the room, the stone flagged floor covered with a light carpet of rushes, the more they could see in the low light cast by the minute skylights at ceiling height, set into the base of the inn’s walls.
The cellar was large, likely half the size of the inn itself, with a huge dividing arch supporting the heavy building above. The centre of the large space was filled with stacked wooden tables and chairs. Along the cellar’s outer wall huge beer casks were stacked two deep, kept cool by the natural chill of the cold earth seeping through the stonework. To the other side, wine bottles stood in wooden crates and beyond them a solid set of wooden stairs ascended to the inn’s interior.
“You’ve been staying here?” Catilina asked incredulously. “How have you not been caught by the innkeeper?”
Petrus smiled his unpleasant smile again.
“Arun and I have an understanding. A silver coin every few days buys a lot of understanding. And I don’t sleep in here. I have a hidden room. A secret space.”
Varro nodded. “Reasonable. Arun will have it for smuggling purposes, out here on the border, but under the watchful eyes of an Imperial garrison.”
Petrus crossed to the far wall and pulled a rickety wooden shelf unit aside to reveal a door. Varro shook his head. Had they stood by the unit, he’d have been able to see the door between the shelves.
“That’s not hidden. It’s just not very obvious!”
Petrus flashed him a sharp look as he unlatched the door and swung it open.
“You’d prefer perhaps to stay out here and get caught?”
Varro shook his head with a cheeky smile.
“No. Let’s get ourselves almost hidden in your ‘not very obvious’ room!”
“Gah!” Petrus disappeared into the darkness within.
Catilina gave Varro a warning glance and then followed their guide within.
Varro shrugged at Salonius and the two entered, closing the door behind them.
“Shit!” Varro’s voice called from the darkness.
“Shut up” grunted Petrus in a forceful whisper. “If we…”
The sound of Varro slumping to the floor and breathing as though he’d been punched heavily in the gut stopped him mid-sentence.
“What happened?” whispered Catilina.