The Dreams of Morpheus by Robert Fabbri Page A

open market, Magnus neither knew nor cared. What mattered to him was tofind it, then climb back up the rope that dangled from a hole in the corner of the ceiling to leave the vicinity as soon as possible before they attracted the attention of the guards outside or of the Ostia Vigiles. Like their counterparts in Rome, the ex-slaves who made up the Vigiles were not known for their kindness or courtesy to thieves.
    Magnus rummaged through another sack, this one containing large nuts of a sort that he was unfamiliar with. He was beginning to wonder if the senator’s information was correct and the resin really was in this warehouse.
    â€˜I’ve found the right sack, I think,’ Cassandros hissed from his side of the building. ‘It certainly smells right.’
    Magnus made his way over as quickly as the gloom allowed, to find Cassandros examining a collection of two dozen or so dark resinous tablets; a smile cracked his full Greek-style beard which half concealed a vicious scar on his left cheek. He held out the prize as Magnus approached. ‘I reckon this must be it, brother.’
    Magnus took the proffered bundle, smelt it and then pinched one of the tablets: it was hard and yet had some give in it. ‘I believe you’re right, brother.’
    â€˜Are you going to try a bit to make sure?’
    â€˜Bollocks I am; I ain’t ill so I ain’t about to take any medicine.’
    â€˜I heard it was good fun, especially if you’re enjoying a firm hard body at the same time.’
    Magnus grunted as he wrapped the tablets back in the sackcloth. ‘And I heard that it just took your mind off things whilst a doctor sawed your leg off. Anyway, not being Greek, I prefer my bodies soft and giving and I just happen to have one waiting for me back at our crossroads tavern. So, brothers, let’s get out of here as I’m keen to test just how soft and giving that body is.’
    Magnus’ breath came in sharp gasps as he hauled himself up the last few feet of rope to scramble through the hole in the ceiling, into the attic; he felt the strong right hand of the brother waiting there clasp his wrist. ‘Thanks, Marius.’ He looked through the opening they had knocked in the wall and on into the gloom of the neighbouring attic. ‘Any sound from back there?’
    â€˜Nothing to worry about, Magnus.’ Marius wiped the sweat from his brow with his left forearm; the stump at its end was bound with leather. ‘I went back and listened at the side door and whilst I was there it was checked – Vigiles, I assume – but as it was locked they moved on.’
    Magnus felt the key hanging from his belt. ‘Servius did well to get the copy made.’ Magnus knew that was an understatement; exactly how Servius, his counsellor and second in command of the Brotherhood, had got a copy of the only key to the side door of the end warehouse in this terrace he did not know, but acquisition and information were his areas of expertise, honed by over forty years of life in Rome’s underworld. What Magnus did know was that it had not been cheap; however, Senator Pollo had financed the deal without seeming to care about the price, such was his desire for success and secrecy in this venture.
    As Marius hauled Cassandros out of the hole, Magnus crawled into the next attic, holding the lamp up. Ahead, through the beams supporting the terracotta roof tiles, was another wall with a gap punched through it; a couple of rats scurried in the gloom. He looked back. ‘Hurry up, Sextus.’
    â€˜Give us a hand, Marius,’ Sextus quipped as he struggled to squeeze his huge frame through the hole.
    â€˜Very funny, brother. It’s still another couple of months to the Saturnalia and yet you’re already practising your joke.’
    Sextus rumbled a deep laugh as he grabbed Marius’ hand and pulled himself clear of the hole.
    â€˜Keep it down, lads,’ Magnus hissed.