Graveyard of the Hesperides

II

“Stop right there!” instructed Faustus in a quiet voice, but meaning to be obeyed. He had the knack. He had tried it on me a few times, though had now given up. Nobody gave me orders.

His workmen shambled to a halt. They stayed there, still holding the pole on their shoulders. One was a young man called Sparsus, to whom the others always assigned the worst work. He put up with it, accepting this as his role in life. The other was Serenus, a bandy-legged lag with a squint. Though short, he had managed to adjust the pole so all the weight fell on Sparsus.

Faustus finished the hard-boiled egg he was eating. I licked salad dressing off my lips. In our own time, we both stood up and walked over. Faustus signaled for them to put down the rubble basket and pull out the carrying pole. He took the container’s double handles with a strong grip, then emptied everything out onto the courtyard, shaking hard so the rubble scattered as it fell. He began picking through the stones, old tiles and brick ends that had been left behind, buried under the courtyard surface when previous builders had finished some job. Patiently, he sorted out the bones, setting them on one side. I had seen him do an evidence search before. He was thorough.

The foreman wandered up, looking innocent. He had probably been watching Sparsus and Serenus trying to take the spoil away surreptitiously. They all knew full well what was there. They knew they ought to have mentioned it and not tried to secrete the bones in a skip. They liked a pretext to stand around gabbing, but if the job was now suspended they might not be paid.

Faustus straightened up. He gave me a sardonic glance. “These look human. Seems we have found the famous Rufia.”

“Well you’re far too busy to investigate. I’d better take this on,” I answered, with both resignation and curiosity. That’s a dangerous mix, well-known to people in my trade.

My treasure grinned. “Don’t expect me to pay fees!”

“Oh, is your wife keeping you short of pocket money?”

“She’s a tyrant. Gives me nothing.”

“Get a new one,” I advised him.

We were both smiling now. The matter of us being married was taking up yet more of this busy man’s time and effort. He wanted us to have a formal wedding. I had told him to forget that. I was rude, though it achieved nothing; famously stubborn myself, I knew how he could be when he was determined. He was organizing a wedding anyway. No wonder the idiot was so often exhausted.

Now he had this to deal with.