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is the hospital, Pera,” he said, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. “I’m the medical officer.”
Pera looked relieved to be given no choice. He gave instructions to prepare a room opposite the staff office.
Two accidental deaths in six weeks, not to mention one suicide and one potentially fatal self- inflicted injury. The recruits of Eboracum did indeed seem to be under some sort of malign influence. Geminus was trying to impose discipline. Pera was trying to patch them up. Maybe it was his own role to introduce some logical thinking around here.
Meanwhile, he realized there was one place he had not been shown. “Where’s your mortuary?”
An expression that might have been embarrassment passed over Pera’s face. “I didn’t want to disturb them while they’re preparing the body, sir.”
“You did tell your staff there would be an inspection?”
“Oh, yes, sir.”
“Then just point me in the right direction. I won’t disturb them any more than necessary.”

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T
    HE MORTUARY FLOOR was being washed by a lone orderly who leapt to attention, displaying large yellow teeth protruding from a face the color of chalk. Beyond him, Ruso was surprised to see not one but two parallel tables with white-shrouded figures laid out beneath the flickering lights on the lamp stands.
    He bowed to the shrine in the corner and introduced himself to the orderly, adding, “I believe Doctor Pera told you I’d be here?”
The youth nodded and formed the words “Yes, sir” round the teeth.
“And no doubt he told you to answer my questions honestly?”
The nod was less enthusiastic, the “Yes, sir” a little more hesitant.
Wondering exactly what Pera had said to his staff, Ruso glanced at the shrouds and had a momentary and inappropriate vision of one of them sitting up and shouting, “Help me! Where am I?”
“So here you have—”
“Sulio came in this afternoon, sir.” The youth pointed to the nearest corpse, which was the smaller of the two. “Both going for cremation this eve ning.”
Ruso made his way between the bodies. The incense in the burners was fighting a good battle against the smell of death, and what he had momentarily taken for stains in the light from the high windows were pale pink rose petals scattered across the crisp linen of the shrouds.
He had only to lift the cloth over Sulio’s head to satisfy himself that the body had been treated with respect. It was both reassuring and alarming how the features relaxed in death: apart from a cleaned graze on his cheek, the blond recruit looked as though he were enjoying an untroubled sleep. He also looked about fifteen years old. Ruso lowered the cloth and sprinkled a few of the displaced petals over the shroud. Whatever the hospital staff thought about the manner of Sulio’s death, they were being very careful not to enrage his spirit.
“And the other one is . . . ?”
“Tadius, sir.”
“The training accident?”
“Yes, sir.”
As Ruso reached for the cloth the orderly said, “Sir, I was ordered not to—”
“I’ll take responsibility . . .” The word trailed into silence as he stared down at the dead face. According to Pera, this man had fallen and hit his head during training. He also appeared to have given himself several bruises and broken his nose. Ruso reached forward. The lower jaw grated unnaturally when he tried to move it.
The mortuary attendant had retreated toward the door.
Ruso said, “What can you tell me about this man?”
“I—I’m not usually here, sir.”
Ruso noted with interest that he seemed far more nervous of the accidental death than of the suicide. “I gather the cause of death was a blow to the head.”
“Please, sir, I don’t know. I don’t know anything at all.”
Ruso crouched beside the body. Whoever had washed it had missed a trickle of blood from the opening of the left ear. That could be the result of a head injury he could not see without rolling the body over. “Perhaps,” he said, getting to