Medicus

55

Ruso had intended to dictate a note about the Brigantian girl, but the business of the red hair complicated matters. In the end he decided to request an appointment with the second spear to explain things in person. Granted a brief audience, he passed on his information about the barber-although not its source-and was acknowledged with a grunt that might have been encouragement but did not sound like it. He then went on to explain that a stolen girl, knowingly supplied by one Claudius Innocens, was in imminent danger. To his relief, this aroused a better response. The second spear could not be expected to have much interest in the welfare of Brigantian carpenters' daughters, but he was shrewd enough to agree that action needed to be taken before some scruffy native with a grudge spotted the girl and used her as an excuse to stir up trouble. "We've had enough problems with that bar," he growled. "We'd shut it down, but the others are worse. Just do me a favor and don't find any more bodies."

The sun came out as Ruso strode back to the hospital. He found himself feeling surprisingly cheerful, and murmured a prayer of thanks for all that had happened to him in Britannia. There were only four more days until payday, and despite some worrying moments, he was going to reach it with his credit intact. He had been given the chance to run the hospital single-handed on two occasions, he was more or less in favor with civilian liaison, and if there were any justice in the army (which was doubtful), he would be well in line for the CMO post. He had rescued one girl and saved her arm, and now he had taken steps to retrieve another and put a stop to a filthy trade in stolen human flesh. This evening he would have the satisfaction of pointing out to Tilla that there was no need for all that cursing and howling and mumbo-jumbo over the cooking pot. He would not go into the details of why the army was going to investigate Phryne's case even though they had not received an official complaint. He would simply explain that… In fact, he wouldn't have to wait until this evening, because she was walking toward him.

"Tilla!" He was glad to see she had chosen this route. It was wide, it was busy, and the progress of any passing female would be closely supervised by numerous builders clambering about on the scaffolding of the bathhouse.

"Tilla, good news!" He waited until she joined him before beginning his explanation of how, in a civilized society, criminals were dealt with by the law.

He was halfway through his first sentence when she flung herself at him. Off balance and bewildered, he staggered backward and was thrust flat against the wall as something spattered the gravel just inches from his feet.

"Sorry!" shouted a voice from the scaffolding.

Ruso found himself gazing at a shuddering trowel, its point embedded deep in the road where he had just been walking. Moments later he realized that he was still clutching Tilla against his chest, almost as if he had saved her instead of the other way around. In fact, anyone walking around the corner now would get quite the wrong impression of what was going on. Unable to back away, he placed his hands on her shoulders and moved her to a more acceptable distance. "Are you-" He glanced across at the trowel, paused to clear his throat, and began again. "Are you all right?"

"I am, my Lord."

He let go. "Thank you."

They stepped away from each other, both turning aside to brush down the creases in their clothing as footsteps clattered on the planking above them. Tilla glared at the builder who was making his way down the ladder. "You are very careless!"

The builder glanced from one to the other of them, said, "Sorry, sir," then added, "Miss."

"You could kill my Master!" continued Tilla. "Why do you throw this-this thing?" She flapped a hand at the trowel, evidently frustrated at not knowing enough Latin to give him a fluent scolding.

"I didn't throw it," said the man, stepping across to retrieve it. "It was an accident." He wiped the gravel-spattered remnants of mortar off the trowel onto a leg of the scaffold, and turned to Ruso. "Sorry about that, sir. Slipped out of my hand. Lucky you got her out of the way."

"I didn't," said Ruso, squinting up at the high walls of the refurbished bathhouse. "What's your name, soldier?"

"Secundus, sir. From the century of Gallus."

"Well, Secundus. You need to be more careful."

"Yes, sir."

"When's this work going to be finished?"

Ignoring Tilla's scowl, the man pointed out that it was only a month over schedule, as if this were something to be proud of. This week they had been held up because a batch of tiles had arrived in the wrong size. Once the roof was done, the plumbers and plasterers and painters would be finished in about ten days. They were working right up to dark to get finished.

"Good. Then perhaps somebody will fix our hospital roof."

"You're next on the list, sir," promised Secundus with an ease that suggested he had said it many times to many people.

After he had gone Tilla said, "That man is a liar."

"I know," agreed Ruso. "But there's no point in arguing with them or they'll take even longer."

Tilla frowned. "I am not talking about the roof," she said.