_I

individual

individual arrived with a flurry of heavy footfalls. "Domine?"
The voice was . . . male? High, light, not quite female.
"I want you to keep her drugged. She's throwing up."
"But, Domine," Rufus protested, "the drug is what—"
"Defiant barbarian! Did I ask your opinion? You are not the man I put in charge of this girl! Sextus is! Now drug her, Sextus, and be quick about it!"
Rufus, sounding desperate, said, "Please, Domine, I beg forgiveness, but the drug is what is killing her! She can't even remember her name or where she comes from, you can't order this—"
A meaty smack jarred Rufus against her. "Don't presume to tell me what I may order in my own household!"
A malignant silence was broken by another meaty blow. Rufus sprawled onto the floor beside her, his mouth bleeding onto dirty, broken tiles.
Domine Xanthus, a dizzying apparition in the bright light from the doorway, stood breathing heavily for long moments. "I give you warnings. Beg you to behave. Curse it, Rufus, you force my hand. Fetch me the cat!"
Another terrible silence fell. Rufus didn't move.
"I said, fetch the cat!"
"Yes, Domine," Rufus choked out. Rage and dread trembled in those two, brief words. She got a look at his face and immediately wished she hadn't. Helplessness . . . a promise of murder