He finally discovered what he wanted: a whole booth devoted to Egyptian wares, all of it dreadfully expensive. Good thing I lifted those extra money pouches and dumped them into mine. He bargained with the shopkeeper in his slowly improving Latin, fighting to bring down the prices. He succeeded on two exquisite linen robes, the. pleats sewn down and neatly pressed where they weren't sewn. The shopkeeper moaned, "You have robbed me, Roman," and put on a mournful face that neither of them believed for a single second.
Skeeter said, "Wrap them."
The shopkeeper bowed and did as told.
"What else may I offer to interest your Eminence? Collars? Rings? Ear-bobs?"
Skeeter, who did not have pierced ears-and even if he had, the hole in his earlobes wouldn't be nearly large enough to wear those earrings-declined the latter with an air of distaste, then perused the collars and rings.
"How much?" he pointed to two collars and several rings.
"Ah, a man of perfect, exquisite taste. For you, only ten thousand sestercii."
"Who is the robber now?" Skeeter demanded, carefully choosing his words from his limited Latin vocabulary.
The bargaining began in earnest, delighting Skeeter, who had spent five years watching-and occasionally taking part in haggling over the price of a pony, a bauble for Yesukai's wife, a strong, new bow. He talked the shopkeeper down by seven thousand, --quite an accomplishment. Glowing inside with pride, Skeeter maintained a polite smile for the shopkeeper, instructing him with the simple words, "Wrap them."
The shopkeeper, who seemed nearly in tears, conjured by who knew what method-wrapped the new items, put them with the parcels containing the robes, and added a small basket for nothing, so Skeeter could carry his purchases. Should've haggled even lower, Skeeter realized, glaring at that innocent basket. Despite the mournful face, Skeeter caught the satisfied gleam in the back of the trader's eyes. Skeeter gestured and his purchases were carefully piled into the basket. Skeeter hefted it, moving and watching carefully lest some pickpocket steal one of his parcels, then left the shopping district.
He returned cautiously to the cramped upper room of the inn where they'd taken refuge, tang great care to ensure he was not followed, then finally knocked on the door. "Marcus, it's me. Shopping's done."
Inside, Marcus waited for the code phrase. When it was not forthcoming, Skeeter heard the scrape of heavy furniture. Then the door opened, barely wide enough for Skeeter to peel himself and his purchases through the slit. He shoved the door closed again and said with a relieved smile. "Did it. Not a tail, not a hint of pursuit."
Marcus was shoving the furniture back into place. "While you were gone, I slipped downstairs and told the innkeeper that my patron was in need of a haircut and shave and could he please send a barber up. The man should be here momentarily."
"If that's the case," Skeeter mused thoughtfully, "this room has got to look normal." He started shoving furniture away from the door, returning each piece to its correct place. Marcus, eyes dark with fear, did the same. Not five minutes later, a knock on the door startled Marcus to his feet.
"Easy. It'll be the barber."
Marcus swallowed, nodded, and went to the door like a man on his way to the executioner. It was the barber. Marcus actually had to lean against the doorjamb to keep his knees from shaking.
"I was told to come," the barber said uncertainly.
"Yes," Marcus said in a good, steady voice, "my patron wishes a haircut." He gestured toward Skeeter, seated regally in one of the better chairs.
"Patron, eh?" the barber asked, glancing from Marcus' peaked, freedman's cap to Skeeter. "Looks like you didn't take that cap too seriously, if you ask me."
Marcus' face burned at the insinuation, but then the barber was moving toward Skeeter. Marcus managed to shut the door.
"Better if we had sunlight," the barber complained.
"Lamplight will do," Skeeter said shortly. "Marcus, explain what I want."
"My patron wishes you to shave his head."
The barber's eyes widened. "Shave it? All of it?"
Skeeter nodded solemnly. "And Marcus' hair must come off, as well."
Behind the barber, Marcus' eyes widened and he put involuntary hands to his longish brown hair.
"But why?" the barber stammered.
"Vermin picked up accidentally."
Marcus, picking up on the cue, added, "I believe we have found most of them and their filthy egg sacs, but to be safe, the patron wants you to shave our heads."
The barber nodded, then, in perfect understanding. "Let me get my things."
In a very short time, neither of them recognized themselves in the polished bronze mirror the barber held up. Nearly bald, the barber having carefully scraped away most of the stubble left over, Skeeter nodded and paid the man. The barber bowed, murmured, "I thank you for the business," then left the room.
"Unless I miss my guess," Skeeter said quietly, while unconsciously running one hand across his bare pate, "we have about half an hour to reach the gate. Here." He tossed a couple of parcels to Marcus, who caught them with a numb, clumsy motion.
Skeeter ripped open his own, glanced up, and said impatiently, "Come on. We haven't much time."
Marcus opened the packages slowly, then gasped. "Skeeter! This ... this must have cost you thousands. How could you pay for such things?" He shucked out of his rough tunic and freedman's cap and slipped on the exquisite robe.
"Lifted a couple of heavy purses. And don't give me that look. Our goddamned lives are at stake."
Marcus only shook his head, regretfully. He slipped on the collar and glittering rings, set with precious gems. Skeeter was already dressed in similar getup when he finished.
"Ready?" Skeeter asked with a grin for the way they looked.
Marcus managed a snort of laughter. "No. But I will come with you, anyway. I want to be rid of Rome forever."
Skeeter nodded and opened the door.
Stepping through it was harder, this time, with his head bare and vulnerable, and wearing enough jewelry to look like a New York drag queen. Marcus closed the door softly behind them, then caught up at the bottom of the staircase. "Let's go," he said roughly.
Skeeter nodded sharply, and led the way to the Via Appia, eyes alert for any sign of Lupus Mortiferus in shadowed streets no bigger than alleyways, in the dark. interiors of wine shops, in the crowd pushing its way past the vast facade of the great Circus. He repressed a shiver, and found the Time Tours wine shop. Men, women, and a fair number of children converged slowly on the shop. Street urchins, their faces filthy, their hollow eyes screaming their hunger, lined both sides of the great road, begging for a few small copper coins from Romans and rich Greeks and Egyptians and others Skeeter didn't recognize. A rich litter carried by sweating slaves approached from the side away from the Circus.
Skeeter narrowed his eyes; then smiled, a chilled, savage smile that caused Marcus, standing courageously straight and alert at his side, to shiver.
"What is it?" Marcus asked in Latin.
Skeeter shook his head, the movement feeling strange without hair to shift about around his ears. "We wait. It is almost time."
The street urchins continued begging in pitiful tones. Some had lost limbs, or were or pretended to be crippled, to increase the sense of pity in those who might give them coins. Skeeter averted his face, judging the timing of the approaching litter. Just as it neared the wine shop, the familiar sound-that-was-not-a-sound began buzzing inside his bald skull.
Now!
Skeeter tossed an entire handful of glittering, gold coins into the center of the street. Begging children scrambled for them, creating a mass of limbs that was impassable. The slaves bearing the litter were caught dead in the center of the miniature storm. The litter swayed dangerously. One slave lost his footing and the litter crashed to the street, accompanied by a high, feminine scream.