“You are saying you perform your tricks to demonstrate the power of Mehen?”
“That’s right. And why not? Can you imagine the destruction if a real demon descended on Mehenopolis?”
Dedi waved his hands and the burnt feather materialized, an arm’s breadth above the table, and floated gently downwards. Peter quickly drew his cup away.
“Remember,” Dedi continued, “Mehen works through the appointed guardian of his shrine.”
“By which you mean yourself? How were you appointed to such high office?”
“Mehen called me, Lord Chamberlain. Years ago I was a traveling magician, wandering about performing for a few coins.”
“Or frightening ignorant people enough so they’d give you more than a few if only you’d be on your way?”
Dedi reddened with anger, but ignored the comment. “Then something insisted to me that I travel along the Nile. I realized I was being drawn somewhere, as inexorably as the waters of great rivers are attracted to the sea. When I arrived here I camped just outside Melios’ estate, undecided as to whether I should continue on my journey. Ah! But then I awoke in the gray light before dawn next day with a heavy weight on my chest. It was a coiled snake, the very one you saw a few nights ago.”
The magician waved an excited hand. “Then, once I learnt the ruined temple was dedicated to Mehen, I immediately knew I had been sent a sign and that this was where I was meant to be.”
“So why hasn’t Mehen sent an enormous snake after Melios?” John asked pointedly.
“Doubt what I say at your own risk, Lord Chamberlain. The power of Mehen is everywhere in this place. There isn’t a structure in the oasis that doesn’t contain brick or stone from the temple ruins, all of them imbued with the Snake God’s power.”
John noticed Peter staring uneasily at the feather on the floor. “I gather the pilgrim business is lucrative, Dedi. Hardly surprising, is it, with a constant stream of travelers in need of shelter, making offerings, buying supplies and mementos. Naturally you would make such claims.”
“I can see you don’t believe me. Then consider Zebulon. Why does he never win that game he plays? It’s because of his religious beliefs and his blasphemous use of Mehen’s likeness, of course!”
John stood up. “You keep talking about Mehen and his power, Dedi. What I see are shabby illusions any fumbling magician could perform, all of them easily explained. You may be able to mislead many, but-”
Dedi leapt up, as if intending to restrain John from leaving. “You question my powers? Well, why haven’t you been able to explain why Melios’ sheep cut its own throat?”
Peter looked horrified. To hear his master addressed in such an insulting fashion!
“It was just another trick, Dedi.” John’s tone was withering.
“You know it wasn’t!” Dedi waved his hands frantically. “You’re mocking me! Very well, I’ll prove my powers beyond any doubt. I’ll force another sheep to kill itself.”
John took a step toward the doorway. “That’s hardly necessary, Dedi. As I said-”
“I must insist, Lord Chamberlain, if that is what it will take to convince you!”
John sighed. “Very well, then. It shall be arranged as you wish.”
Chapter Thirty-four
Felix strode across the track at the Hippodrome, past the spot where the senator had lain.
He felt out of place on the floor of the stadium. He was used to looking down from the tiers of marble seats which, vacant, now rose all around like marble cliffs.
He had already talked to every person he could find who might have known something about the deceased senator. The conversations had failed to bear out Anatolius’ conviction that a pointer to the murder might be found among Symacchus’ house guests. No one recalled anything noteworthy about the visitors, except that most were Egyptian, but as Felix endured much unenlightening gossip, it occurred to him to explore a different connection.
The Hippodrome might well have been chosen for the fateful meeting simply because it was temporarily unused and only lightly patrolled. Before the plague, however, the races had rivaled the Great Church as the attraction every traveler insisted on seeing. Would Symacchus’ guests have been any different?
Rounding the spina, Felix saw a man with a spear standing in the middle of the track. Heavy-jowled, with a thick neck and hooded eyes, he wore a tunic resembling a stained sack. He pushed the spear tip into the dirt gently, as if probing with a surgical instrument. He withdrew it, shuffled forward, and prodded again. For a few arm’s lengths behind him, the hard earth appeared dimpled, riddled with punctures. There were a couple of larger holes, of the sort a dog might dig, with soil piled beside them.
As Felix approached, the man began to dig more vigorously. He bent down and plucked from the ground what looked like a clod of earth.
“Droserius!”
The man turned at the sound of his name.
“Captain! It’s you. I was afraid it was one of your men interrupting my work again.”
“I’ve explained to my patrols that you have legitimate business here, Droserius.”
“Yes, very legitimate, but they are always curious. Mostly looking for tips on the chariot teams for when racing resumes. Look, I’ve unearthed another crime.”
He tapped the clod of earth against his spear. Dirt fell away, revealing a metal cylinder as long as his finger. Tossing his weapon aside, he gently unrolled the thin lead sheet. “Remarkable how people still dare to break the law by putting curses on the race teams, isn’t it?”
Droserius rubbed his find on his tunic, leaving yet another streak of grime, and handed it to Felix.
It was a curse tablet. A demon with a contorted face, a long tail, and a rooster’s crest had been crudely incised into the lead, along with an inscription.
Felix squinted at it. “I release you, demon, from the bonds of time. I charge you, from this hour bring a pestilence onto the Greens. Torture them! Flay their horses! The charioteers Glarus and Primulus, crash them! Destroy them!” He didn’t attempt to articulate the magickal incantation which followed: Ziugeu. Diaronco. Baxcu. Oeeora. Cagora. Aaiereto.
He handed the tablet back to Droserius. “It’s easy enough to tell who’s being cursed, but there’s never any way to discover who buried the things. I hope you’ll finish soon. There’s nothing in here that needs guarding now, but when the races start-”
“Do you expect to have repaid me what you owe by then?”
“Surely you’ve already turned more than enough profit in this enterprise to allow me a fair amount of credit against that?”
“Perhaps.”
“I don’t want to be seen giving anyone preferential treatment, Droserius.”
“Who is going to question the captain of the excubitors? Are you looking to be promoted? What position do you seek?”
“I wouldn’t turn down a military command,” Felix admitted.
“Why would you want to go rambling around the ruins of Italy? Or worse still, far-off deserts?”
“I’ve been stuck inside the palace for too long, spending all my time looking at walls. Some nights I dream I’m on a march with nothing but the hills around me.”
“Never mind. It won’t be long before the racing starts up again. That’ll provide enough excitement for anyone.” Droserius contemplated the lead sheet. “Charioteers pay good money for a curse tablet with their name on it. They can destroy it and avoid whatever’s been wished on them. However, I may not be able to sell this one. Glarus is dead. His chariot’s axle broke, and it happened right where we’re standing. I saw it myself. It was as if an invisible hand erupted from the track and snapped it in half. Cost me a fortune. He’d just arrived from Thessalonika, and no one had heard of him. No one knew about his skill and so I placed a heavy wager on his first race.”