Page 3 of Sea of Love

As Summer nodded, Michael looked over her head at Troy.

I will check the others.

Troy studied Summer’s pale face. The lack of color made her dark opal eyes seem even more vivid. She’d pulled back her gold-streaked brown hair so the head drape hid most of it. Not a speck of make-up colored her face. But even shaking and terrified she was the loveliest thing in the world.

The two Templars seemed dazed by the time jump, but Elettra spoke as if she were completely unaffected.

“I am well, Charbon. I may have to puke, but I will avoid your sandals. Summer, we landed outside the walls.” She stood on her toes and peered at Pompeii. “What a tiny place. If you wish to rest here, I can search it by myself. What would it take, an hour? Two?”

“You shouldn’t go by yourself,” Shelton said flatly. “Bowers.”

“We should get rooms in the city first,” the shorter Templar said. “We need a place for the gear. Then we’ll retrace Kember’s movements.” Bowers realized he was scrubbing his palm over his cap of golden bristles, and stopped. “Sorry. That little trip was…interesting.”

Elettra eyed him. “Being frightened out of your wits interests you?”

While Michael sorted out the satchels, Troy kept his arm around Summer’s waist.

“We can rest for a while, if you need a break.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Just don’t ask me to fool with time again until we’re ready to go.” She leaned against Troy as she looked around them, and some of the tension eased from her body. “Goddess above, what a beautiful place. It’s like Litha made into a country.”

The ancient world appeared to be bursting with abundance. Wide swaths of vineyards and olive groves terraced the area to the south, while large herds of cows and sheep grazed the pasturelands to the east. The faint scent of the ocean made him turn his head to see the Bay of Naples glittering in the distance like an ocean of aquamarine.

Unlike the Romans, Troy knew the fertility of the land came from volcanic fallout from Vesuvius some fifteen hundred years before Pompeii had even been built. The people who lived here didn’t know Vesuvius was a volcano. There wasn’t even a word for it in Latin.

Shelton and Bowers shouldered their satchels and walked toward a wide, hard-packed dirt road that crossed the field. Beyond them Troy could see the long white walls surrounding the city.

“The Templars are impatient,” Troy said to Michael, and spotted a small dust cloud on the road in the opposite direction. “Someone’s coming.”

“Pompeii is a port town in the time of harvest,” Elettra said. “There will be many traveling the roads, and they will likely be rough sorts.” She covered her hair with her palla, and helped Summer to adjust her head drape. “You and I walk between your mates. Keep your eyes down, and do not speak to anyone but Troy or me. Atwater, if they hail you, be civil, but not friendly. Charbon, as the hired man you must follow behind us, and not too close. Scowl but say nothing. Your size will do the rest.”

“How do you know all this?” Troy asked her.

“Things in the mortal realm may change, but the people do not. Men are powerful, and women are vulnerable. We are strangers here. ‘Tis how we should behave.” She hesitated before she added, “I am not simple, Atwater. I know this world better than anyone, because it has not changed so much from mine. We must go carefully now.”

Other than finding the crystals, Troy hadn’t realized what an asset the Fae woman would be.

“Do you think anyone will challenge us at the city gates?” he asked.

“They expect we have made a long journey to come here. Show them you are tired, and annoyed, and they will think nothing of us.” Elettra tucked her arm through Summer’s. “Now come.”

Troy led the way to the road, and kept an eye on the dust cloud as it drew closer. The clop of hooves and the creak of heavily-laden wheels became louder, until a shift in the breeze wafted away the billowing dirt. Out of it came a small caravan of horse-drawn wooden carts piled almost to overflowing with bulging grain sacks, clay jars, and other goods. The bald men leading the horses all appeared gaunt and dirty in their threadbare loincloths. As they rolled passed only one glanced at Summer and Elettra before he averted his face.

“Slaves,” Elettra murmured to Troy, and nodded toward a fat man riding behind the carts on a grumpy-looking mule. “Master.”

“Ave, traveler. Pretty wenches there,” the fat man said to Troy, reining in the mule to a slower plod. Thinning gray hair had been curled into pasty ringlets to frame the Roman’s plump face. Large sweat stains yellowed his tunic. “Either for sale?”

The translation tattoo that the Magus Corps had inked on each of them was working.

“My wife and her sister,” he replied, sounding bored.

“Yes, and either for sale?” the trader repeated, and then uttered a dry laugh. “If you are well, it is good, for I am well. Say, do you know if Polibyus was elected duovir?”

Troy shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“Eh. The muleteers supported him, but he spends like the emperor. If we’re to keep the brigands from buggering us, he’ll have to drop coin on more than bread and blood games. And now my slaves seek to drag their feet, rot their lazy asses. Gods smile on you.”

He kicked the mule’s sides, and trotted off to catch up with the wagons.