Corrupting Dr. Nice by John Kessel Read Free Book Online

mask of white lead above her sagging breasts, watched Gen. Gen smiled back. From the tepidarium she moved on to the caldarium. The floor, inlaid with an image of the goddess Diana dispensing laurels, was heated from the chambers beneath its pavement. In the center of the room a huge bronze cauldron, heated by the subterranean furnace, billowed clouds of steam. The steam escaped through a hole in the rotunda that admitted the watery sunlight that was the dim room's only illumination.
    Gen sat on a limestone bench and sweated. It felt good. After fifteen or twenty minutes she passed back through the tepidarium to the pool on its other side, open to the afternoon sky. She lowered herself into the chilly water.
    Nothing, the thought, could feel more invigorating. She felt clean for the first time in weeks.
    She wondered what Owen was doing. Did he wander the streets looking for her? Had he returned to the villa in a panic to alert the tour guides? She supposed this was the end of the scam, but what the hell. They didn't need the money that badly. But August would worry whether this erratic behavior meant Gen was going sour as a grifter. As she floated beneath the pre-Christian sky Gen wondered if that was right. She couldn't tell why she'd run from Owen Vannice, except for his goofy earnestness. He had no business being so dumb. But it was good to enjoy the bath.
    After a while she returned to the dressing rooms, put on her clothes. She would have to hurry back. Even on ordinary nights the streets were prey to bands of young men who beat up passersby, manhandled women, and smashed shops; in the aftermath of Caesar's assassination who knew what might happen? Just outside the entrance she found a number of citizens crowded around someone in the street, arguing. The man in the middle was Owen. He looked damp and miserable. As she drew closer, she heard him mutter in English, "I'm not going to leave until I make sure she's all right, so you might as well accommodate yourself to the prospect."
    "He's mad," one of the Romans said. "He's talking to himself."
    "What language is that?" said a small man with a cap of curly black hair. "He must be a barbarian."
    "I'll warrant he's involved in this assassination," said a self-important man, some cousin of an oligarch with a purple hem to his robe.
    Gen pushed her way into their midst. "Why are you bothering my slave?" she asked in Latin.
    The man with the purple hem turned to her. "He was sitting outside the baths talking to himself. We thought he might be a madman."
    "He's my manservant, waiting for me to come out. And this is none of your business."
    "He talks to himself," said the little man.
    "He's a Teuton--you know how they are." She turned to Owen, who looked confused, and grabbed his arm. "Hrothgar! Let us go!"
    She tugged him down the street. While the Romans stood gawking, Gen hurried them around the corner.
    "Your language mod must be more thorough than mine," Owen said. "What did you say to them?"
    "You're my slave, Vannice. What were you doing out there?"
    "I was worried about you," he said. "You may be wealthy, Genevieve, but wealth won't keep you out of trouble in a place like this."
    Genevieve stifled her laughter. "I'll keep that in mind." Owen looked forlorn. "I'm sorry I ran away, Owen. I was just teasing."
    He flashed a brief, dark smile, so grateful she wanted to run away again. "There's going to be a dance at the hotel tomorrow night," he said. "Will you go with me?"

FOUR: SIMON AT WORK

    As Simon ascended the hill into west Jerusalem, past the Hasmonean toward Herod's Palace, he was startled by a noise from behind him. He stumbled to the side of the street in time to avoid the sport limousine that shot past, jouncing over the cobbles. The windows were opaque, but the seal of Herod Antipas was painted on the door. Though the narrow steep streets of Jerusalem were unsuited to wheeled vehicles, that didn't stop Herod from going everywhere in the abomination the invaders