Page 7 of Vesuvius

‘Why you?’ Loren whispered, ragged. ‘Why now?’

No answer. There never was.

Loren lingered by the thief’s side a moment more, staring at anythingbuthim, wondering if there was a way he could turn back time. Wondering if it would make a difference.

By the time Loren quelled his shaking fingers by rebraiding his hair thrice, sunrise was upon them, and the others trudged in.

They were an odd assortment, this cult of Isis. For one, they had the Priest, a man older than stone, who spent most of his days inhaling fumes wafting off the altar. Then there were the twins, Sera and Shani, two middle-aged women who never seemed to enjoy being around each other, or anyone else for that matter. Camilia, of course, and Loren.

And Celsi, the previous errand boy, but they didn’t mention him anymore.

Sera’s voice hit Loren’s ears first, louder and more sinister than her sister’s. He cringed as he edged back into the courtyard.

‘ . . . another quake,’ she was saying. ‘Three in as many months. If I didn’t know better, I would think the gods were angry.’

‘You do think the gods are angry,’ Shani replied mildly. ‘You said so just last night.’

The sisters supported a hobbled figure, the Priest, still half asleep. As Sera and Shani bickered, Loren crept to join Camilia. In his absence, she had tamed her hair, pulled on attendant robes and returned the bowl-turned-weapon to the altar. Now she coaxed a small fire to burn higher.

‘Have you thought what we should tell them?’ he whispered.

‘Is that my problem?’ Camilia placed a bundle of incense in the crackling flames. Blue smoke curled into the early sky.

The Priest finally roused, and he pointed to Loren. ‘You, child,’ he said, and Loren felt the warm glow of acknowledgment for a heartbeat before the old man continued, ‘fetch a stool.’

Loren held back a sigh.Errand boy.Retrieving the spindly stool, he placed it beside the altar, and Shani helped the Priest settle onto it. He inhaled the burning herbs, eyes glazing over.

‘Mm, that is nice. Camilia, dear, what are these fumes?’

Camilia frowned. ‘Purchased from the hemp shop.’

The Priest smacked his lips. ‘Divine. Now, where were we?’

‘Earthquakes,’ said Shani.

‘The gods’ wrath,’ offered Sera.

‘Perhaps a bit of both,’ the Priest said. ‘It does make one wonder. Back in my day, the earth shaking called for great appeasement. Greater than burning a bit of hemp, at any rate.’

‘Back in our day,’ Sera said, ‘the gods listened.’

Shani scoffed. ‘Oh, don’t let her start. Harping about the old days, as if the crone even remembers last week.’

Sera’s nostrils flared, but Camilia stepped between them. ‘Save it for the Forum. Or the tavern.’

Loren let himself huff properly this time, pulling away to slump on the stairs of the cella. Another day of pointless bickering, no different from his past four years here, where everyone had a voice but him and nothing was accomplished. He suspected if he told them about the thief’s starring role in his nightmares, they might turn an ear. But only long enough to laugh. Or grow angry with him, the way Camilia had, for meddling where he shouldn’t. Sometimes Loren feared he bore the curse of Cassandra, the Greek prophetess: cursed to speak truths, doomed to be painted a liar.

All Loren needed was a chance.

‘A boy sleeps in the back,’ he blurted, ears burning hot when four shocked pairs of eyes turned on him. ‘He claimed sanctuary this morning. We don’t know his name, but—’

‘Is he handsome?’ Sera asked at the same time Shani cooed, ‘Poor dear.’

Camilia’s mouth twitched down, but Loren met her glare. Despite her mockery, she’d probably been concocting some grand revelation of the thief’s presence to prove to the Priest what a good templetrainee she was. Loren didn’t feel the least bit guilty for snatching her opportunity.

‘A thief, not a boy,’ she corrected. ‘That’s what the guard who chased him here called him.’

The Priest, still clouded in smoke, scratched his chin. ‘A thief. Perhaps . . .’

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