Read Online The Imperium Game by K.D. Wentworth - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: K.D. Wentworth
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“Where?”
“I’ll let you know.” Wilson pulled out of his grasp, then hesitated. “Give me your dagger.”
Surprised, Kerickson started to unbuckle his belt and hand it over.
“No, just the dagger.” Wilson glanced down the darkened hill. “I’ll bring it back tomorrow.”
“No problem.” He drew the wooden-handled dagger from the short scabbard and passed it to Wilson. “Be careful.”
“Don’t worry, old son.” Wilson hefted the dagger. “I’ve programmed Mars to look after me.”
That wasn’t particularly reassuring. Kerickson watched his former coworker pick his way back down the hill, heading toward the center of the Imperium and the safety of the Interface.
Then he looked around, trying to decide what to do. It was hours before the school would open, and he didn’t want to attract attention. Finally, he headed into the graceful open arches of the Coliseum to find a likely spot to bed down. Tomorrow would be soon enough to present himself at the school as Gaius Clodius Lucinius, freedman and new student in the ancient arts of mayhem.
* * *
Lying there, all alone in that great big Imperial bed, Demea scrunched her eyes closed, reflecting what a very disagreeable thing light was so early in the morning. Why, it had to be no later than seven o’clock, and here the sun was, rising merrily as though everyone had to be up and get about their business, which she, of course, did not.
Frowning, she stretched her arms above her head. Perhaps she would petition Juno to keep the sun down until at least ten A.M. After all, what use was influence unless you wielded it? And one of the best points of living in this place was that here, unlike the dreary outside world, the gods sometimes answered your prayers.
A soft, hesitant whisper broke into her thoughts. “Mistress?”
“Go away!”
“Mistress, please!” Quick, light footsteps crossed the floor to the side of her bed. “He says he won’t go away without speaking to you. He says he’ll just have to take his business elsewhere if you don’t get up and speak to him right now.”
Demea opened her eyes just the slightest crack and winced. “I’ll sell you, I swear I will, Flina, if you don’t get out of here right this minute!”
“But mistress, it’s one of them, from the Spear and Chicken.” Flina’s fingers tugged insistently at the silk coverlet tucked around Demea’s body. “You know.”
For a second she couldn’t think what the little wretch was getting at. “The Spear—and Chicken?” Then she remembered Micio talking about that place and some sort of special deal on the side he’d had with them. “Oh . . .” She pressed the heels of her hands against her aching eyes. “Yes, well, I suppose you had better show him in.”
“In here, mistress?”
Blinking against the horrid, yellow, glaring sunlight, she scowled at Flina’s smooth dark face. “Yes—or would you rather I entertain him in the Palace Baths?”
Tucking her hands behind her back, Flina dropped her dark-eyed gaze to the mosaic inset into the pink floor.
“Then go and get him.” She watched the young maid retreat. “Robot.” she whispered to herself. Flina had to be a robot. It would be positively illegal for a human to be so poised and graceful this early in the morning. She leaned her head back against the carved teak headboard and reflected that it was too bad the rules forbade physical punishment; she would just love to have the ungrateful wench beaten to see if welts would indeed appear on that firm young back.
Flina reappeared in the doorway, followed by a stocky, middle-aged man in a greasy green tunic. “Publius Barbus, mistress, of the Spear and Chicken,” Flina announced.
“Greetings, your ladyship.” The man’s broad face split into a craggy, gap-toothed smile. “Nice digs you got here.” He winked. “Not to mention a high sort of quality help.” As he spoke, his hand slipped down behind Flina’s backside and gave her a
“I’ll let you know.” Wilson pulled out of his grasp, then hesitated. “Give me your dagger.”
Surprised, Kerickson started to unbuckle his belt and hand it over.
“No, just the dagger.” Wilson glanced down the darkened hill. “I’ll bring it back tomorrow.”
“No problem.” He drew the wooden-handled dagger from the short scabbard and passed it to Wilson. “Be careful.”
“Don’t worry, old son.” Wilson hefted the dagger. “I’ve programmed Mars to look after me.”
That wasn’t particularly reassuring. Kerickson watched his former coworker pick his way back down the hill, heading toward the center of the Imperium and the safety of the Interface.
Then he looked around, trying to decide what to do. It was hours before the school would open, and he didn’t want to attract attention. Finally, he headed into the graceful open arches of the Coliseum to find a likely spot to bed down. Tomorrow would be soon enough to present himself at the school as Gaius Clodius Lucinius, freedman and new student in the ancient arts of mayhem.
* * *
Lying there, all alone in that great big Imperial bed, Demea scrunched her eyes closed, reflecting what a very disagreeable thing light was so early in the morning. Why, it had to be no later than seven o’clock, and here the sun was, rising merrily as though everyone had to be up and get about their business, which she, of course, did not.
Frowning, she stretched her arms above her head. Perhaps she would petition Juno to keep the sun down until at least ten A.M. After all, what use was influence unless you wielded it? And one of the best points of living in this place was that here, unlike the dreary outside world, the gods sometimes answered your prayers.
A soft, hesitant whisper broke into her thoughts. “Mistress?”
“Go away!”
“Mistress, please!” Quick, light footsteps crossed the floor to the side of her bed. “He says he won’t go away without speaking to you. He says he’ll just have to take his business elsewhere if you don’t get up and speak to him right now.”
Demea opened her eyes just the slightest crack and winced. “I’ll sell you, I swear I will, Flina, if you don’t get out of here right this minute!”
“But mistress, it’s one of them, from the Spear and Chicken.” Flina’s fingers tugged insistently at the silk coverlet tucked around Demea’s body. “You know.”
For a second she couldn’t think what the little wretch was getting at. “The Spear—and Chicken?” Then she remembered Micio talking about that place and some sort of special deal on the side he’d had with them. “Oh . . .” She pressed the heels of her hands against her aching eyes. “Yes, well, I suppose you had better show him in.”
“In here, mistress?”
Blinking against the horrid, yellow, glaring sunlight, she scowled at Flina’s smooth dark face. “Yes—or would you rather I entertain him in the Palace Baths?”
Tucking her hands behind her back, Flina dropped her dark-eyed gaze to the mosaic inset into the pink floor.
“Then go and get him.” She watched the young maid retreat. “Robot.” she whispered to herself. Flina had to be a robot. It would be positively illegal for a human to be so poised and graceful this early in the morning. She leaned her head back against the carved teak headboard and reflected that it was too bad the rules forbade physical punishment; she would just love to have the ungrateful wench beaten to see if welts would indeed appear on that firm young back.
Flina reappeared in the doorway, followed by a stocky, middle-aged man in a greasy green tunic. “Publius Barbus, mistress, of the Spear and Chicken,” Flina announced.
“Greetings, your ladyship.” The man’s broad face split into a craggy, gap-toothed smile. “Nice digs you got here.” He winked. “Not to mention a high sort of quality help.” As he spoke, his hand slipped down behind Flina’s backside and gave her a
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