She gave a small nod. Her hand squeezed mine, and she stood on tiptoe to kiss my cheek. “Go on. Nimbus is waiting for you. And be careful!”
I smiled at her and walked outside. The air was fresh, with a threat of winter rain in it, the sun shining thin and pale through the clouds. A good day to travel-and find out who the hell was haunting the haunted mine.
* * *
The countryside around Aquae Sulis was some of the most beautiful I’d ever seen. Wooded hills filled with ash, elm, oak, and holly stood sentry over lush green meadows, bright with the boisterous colors of fall.
Nimbus and I enjoyed getting out of town. A kind of creeping melancholy unwound from around our necks. By all rights, Aquae Sulis should be a lovely place. Maybe one day it would be.
I thought I heard a horse behind me once or twice, and when I climbed a hill, I caught a glimpse of dust in the distance. Nimbus flared her nose and gave me a worried look. I patted her on the shoulder. I wasn’t unprepared.
It was about two hours before sunset when I finally found the mine, but it already felt too late. Shadows from the hills were stretching toward the valleys. The peaks would keep the sunlight for a little while longer.
A small, rocky path meandered from the main road, passing by two other operations that looked closed. The trail itself was clear of debris, except for a log dragged across the road to block it. I didn’t believe in trees that conveniently fell across unused paths. Especially when the dirt was tightly tamped and there weren’t any weeds.
About three or four miles farther-up a steep shale-and-rock ledge the scrawny pines were barely able to cling to-I found the last stop in the trail. I was hoping it would be, in more ways than one.
Like most things the Romans get personally involved in, mining was big business, and this had been no small-time operation. A large, rectangular shaft marked the opening in the side of the hill. It was framed with wood and, from the size of it, probably led to several horizontal and deeper vertical galleries inside. That’s where the Roman was supposedly killed-and where he was still supposed to walk.
I got off of Nimbus and bent down in the light dust. Somebody was walking around here, all right, but I didn’t think it was a dead Roman.
Somewhere above me a kestrel shrieked, and I jumped. The wind was getting ready for the evening. Nimbus’s ears pricked forward, and she nickered softly. I wondered at what.
I walked around, looking at the wood beams stretched on the ground. It was an artful arrangement. Everything looked deserted-except, like the roads, there weren’t any weeds around the wood. Disturbed earth grows weeds like the Hydra grows heads, if the ground is ever let alone. This place felt about as lonely as the Circus Maximus.
My feet crunched on something as I walked toward the entrance, and I bent down to see what it was. A clay cup, exactly the kind used to extract silver from lead.
This was supposed to be a lead mine, not a silver mine. And it was supposed to be closed.
I rubbed my finger inside the bowl of the cup. Fine metallic dust covered the tip. He sure as hell was an energetic ghost. Maybe he was trying to scrape up enough cash to pay the ferryman.
I tucked the cup in my saddlebag and took out my favorite club. No metal to catch a gleam of failing light; big enough to crack a head. I just hoped it wouldn’t be my own.
I walked slowly toward the mine opening, my feet crunching on bits of charred wood and broken cups. The cave loomed open like a Cyclops’s mouth. Busy mine. Fire marks scarred the rock around the hole, where they’d used fire and water to crack open the mountainside, Gaia’s wealth spread out for the taking. On the ground, fifty feet from the entrance, there were embers of fresher vintage. Still glowing. Someone built a fire and didn’t want any smoke.
I repositioned the club in my right hand. He’d be nearby. I flattened against the side of the mountain and inched toward the entrance.
Nimbus nickered again. A sturdily built man in a thick, filthy tunic, face covered in dirt and lead dust, cautiously crept out of the opening. He was going for my horse.
I waited until he was in front of me. Before I could land a blow on his back, he heard or felt me behind him and spun. There was a long, sharp knife in his fist.
The club landed on his arm. He yelped, dropping his hand, but didn’t drop the knife. Quickly it passed to his other hand. Just what I liked, after an all-day ride. An ambidextrous knife-fighter.
We stood and watched one another for a minute. No feints, no circling, no snarling. He was a professional. I was, too-but not with clubs.
I said: “Why don’t you show me around?”
He looked at me, face too dirty for expression.
“Why not?” He motioned with the knife toward the cave. “After you.”
I laughed. “I’m not that stupid. We go in side by side.”
He shrugged. “Sure. Whatever you’d like.”
We walked beside one another, keeping a distance. He was getting more confident. Maybe he’d make a mistake. Hopefully before I did.
I knew the cave would be dark, and my eyes would need time to adjust. So I started blinking them quickly, and he got a little closer. Probably figured there was dirt in my eyes. When we reached the outside of the cave, I faced him, so that I was standing sideways. I could see a little way in, and still watch him.
A shuffling noise came from inside, and the unique odor of donkey hit my nose.
“What’s the donkey for?”
He spat on the ground. “Stubborn bastard. Works the screw pump, keeps the water out.”
“So you’re down pretty deep.”
He eyed me. “Yeah. We’re deep enough. Wanna see?”
I smiled. “Not tonight.”
The donkey was on a short tether and started to walk toward the light. There were raised, bloody welts on its back. Hip bones stuck up where they shouldn’t, ribs protruding through the scarred scruff of fur. It raised a hopeful, bleary eye toward the waning sun.
He raised his knife toward it, still watching me, and made a movement like he was going to hit it. The donkey’s head flinched, and it took a step backward.
“So that’s what you do for fun, all the way out here. When you’re not stealing lead and silver, that is.”
He spit again. “What I do-and what I do it to-is none of your goddamn business.”
I was too angry to be careful. Fuck careful. I’d take this bastard, and I’d take him now. He saw it in my face.
He lunged for my side, but I swung the club low, figuring he’d think I’d go for his head-the most satisfying, but hardest target. It caught him on the side and back of his knees, and he fell backward with a yell.
He tried to grab his knees in reflex, but I already had mine pushing down on his chest. I smashed his hand against a helpful boulder and watched it crumple. It wouldn’t hold a whip for a while. He couldn’t breathe much, and whined between his teeth, and the knife finally came loose. I scooped it up and tucked it in my belt. I was breathing hard.
“Get-off-me!” he hissed.
I was beginning to like hitting people like him. I punched him in the face. Twice. My knuckles got scratched when the teeth broke off. Then he was out. He’d be eating a soft diet of donkey shit for a long time to come.
I climbed off and looked down at him. He obviously couldn’t give me any information, but he wasn’t worth carting back to town. I doubted he knew the kind I needed, anyway. The rest I could see for myself.
I walked into the cave, and the donkey shied away from me. I held my hands up to her and untied the greasy, grimy rope she was moored to.
There were niches all over the walls for lamps, and a few looked like they worked. Clay cups were stacked in the corner. Pitch-lined buckets, copper pails, and chisels and picks were strewn against the sides of the cave. It led into a back gallery that looked at least as large-probably where they kept the water pump.