Seven for a Secret

Chapter Forty-Three

The establishment belonging to Madam Isis, with its lavish wall hangings, bright frescoes, and lewd statuary, might have occupied a different world than Alba’s austere quarters. Yet, after Anatolius’ servant delivered the message, it took John no longer to walk from his house to Isis’ than it would have taken him to walk to Alba’s room.

Anatolius greeted him at the door of a room strewn with cushions and dominated by a large figure of Bacchus. “John, I’m sorry to ask you to meet me here, but I returned home very late last night. I wanted to ask Isis some questions without delay. Besides which, I didn’t think a written communication was wise, although I’m afraid I’ve learnt little.”

John wondered too if his friend didn’t care to face Cornelia’s wrath if she found him at the door, apparently intent on dragging John out on more investigations.

They crossed the room to talk to Isis, who was watching the diminutive self-styled magician, Dedi. The rosy-cheeked, plump madam, dressed in multi-hued silks, hardly seemed the same sort of creature as the pale, black-garbed, pious woman John had spoken to the day before.

But even among birds there were crows and there were peacocks, John reminded himself.

Isis clasped her pudgy, beringed fingers over John’s hand. “I was beginning to think I’d never see you again, John. I was afraid you’d joined our friend Captain Felix in spurning my house.”

“I suspect Felix has been as busy as I have of late, Isis. I’ll visit so we can talk when I’ve straightened out…the situation.”

Isis waved her hand and laughed. “Oh, Anatolius has told me all about it. You don’t have to worry, you know nothing that goes on in my house is spoken of outside it. If it did, I’d soon be out of business.”

She gave Dedi a pointed look. He was setting the contents of a leather bag out on a table. He grinned, exposing wildly crooked teeth. “You may rely on my discretion, Lord Chamberlain. Demons could not pry anything from my lips.”

“I wish I could be of more help,” Isis continued. “Alas, no one I know claims knowledge of a prostitute with a tattoo such as described. But then I don’t reveal much about my girls to my competitors, so I can’t expect them to tell me about theirs, can I? However, I’m not surprised it was an Egyptian design. Tattoos are more popular with the girls there. Didn’t you find it to be so when you lived in Alexandria?”

“I was a young man then,” John replied. “I hardly remember what it was like being myself, let alone what tattoos the girls wore.”

Isis clucked her disapproval. “If they had been my employees, you would remember them! But I was young then too, and just a working girl myself. I’m just as happy we didn’t meet in the course of business. If we had, our reminiscences would be far different.”

“Indeed.” John did not add that he had no memory of them meeting in Alexandria, as Isis always maintained they had, her accounts embroidered with colorful details. It was said that the past became clearer when one grew old. Perhaps someday he would remember and realize she had been right all along.

“Won’t you stay for Dedi’s next performance?”

John expressed his regret he could not do so.

“That’s a pity, John,” Anatolius said. “I know you’ve seen his work before, but he has unveiled some new magick. What I witnessed was quite remarkable. There’s an urn which supplies either wine or water or a mixture of both, not to mention a talking skull that vanishes! Tricks, of course, but how they’re done eludes me.”

Dedi removed a skull from his leather bag. “I do not mind revealing a few of my secrets, sirs. In fact, it is prudent to do so in case someone seeks to persecute me as a demon, which has occurred on more than one occasion. The urn, for example, employs a cunning arrangement of tubes and vents, based upon writings by Hero, another Alexandrian. Apparently that city was and remains a popular place to live! As for the skull, it can be made to vanish only because it isn’t a skull.”

The magician handed the object to John. It might have been made out of parchment, it was so light.

“Be careful,” Dedi told him. “It’s nothing more than the molded caul of an ox, wax, and gum, all of which burn much more readily than bone. The better to vanish when surrounded by coals and enveloped in thick incense smoke!”

“But how do you make the thing talk?” Anatolius asked.

Dedi looked serious. “Ah, I admit I have tricks. I did not say I have no knowledge beyond mere trickery. How the skull speaks must remain a mystery.”

“Nonsense,” put in Isis. “It is a question of speaking without moving the lips! But of course that information will never leave this house!”

Dedi moved his lips into a grotesque pout of displeasure.

“But there is some information which must leave this house,” Anatolius said. “And I need to convey it to John rather hastily.”

John followed Anatolius out into the hallway. Anatolius repeated he had not established any facts, but went on to explain what he had learnt during his visit to the Repentance convent. “I tried to speak to the abbess again, but she refused to see me. No doubt you could have convinced her.”

“I’ve never tried to question an abbess.” John recalled his glimpse of the tattoo. Agnes had reached up to push her veil aside, bringing her momentarily bared wrist in front of his face. When she had voiced the name “Zoe” and offered confirmation by revealing the strangely familiar features, other thoughts had been driven from his mind.

It was true John had examined the tattoo more closely after finding the body in the cistern. By then it had been largely obscured with red dye although not completely obliterated as the murderer must have hoped.

“Yes,” John continued, agreeing with Anatolius’ conjecture, “that might have well been a cross drawn over the scarab. And if this woman you speak of intended to seek shelter with an actress she knew, the circumstances would fit Agnes’ life, with what we know of it. Petronia told me Agnes lived with her. She said nothing about Agnes having fled Theodora’s convent. I shall talk to Petronia again.”