Murder in Megara

Chapter Twenty-four

Like all the ports John had ever passed through, Nisaea was a scene of controlled chaos. By the time he arrived, the evening sun cast long ropes of shadow across the crowded docks where lines of workers moved unceasingly between moored ships, piles of merchandise, warehouses, and waiting wagons. The last time John had seen this raucous ant heap was when he and his family landed after their journey into exile. It was with mixed feelings he paused and watched several men running around and between some large crates stacked at the edge of the nearest dock, leaving a lurid trail of loud oaths hovering in the humid air that smelled of spices, fish, and the droppings of cart animals.

Now and then one of the men would leap upward and grab at something hidden from John’s view by the crates and then there would be another outburst of inventive swearing echoing across the water.

It might have been some arcane ritual performed when landing cargo.

However, he had not walked from his estate to the port to ponder local customs. What he sought was information on who had shipped a consignment of iron. Certainly it was an unremarkable, everyday kind of arrangement, but what raised his suspicions was why such a transaction should be recorded in a secret fashion when inscribing it on the wax surface of the tablet would have served as well.

It did not seem normal business practice and was therefore worth investigating.

He skirted a large fish tank sunk into the dock into which a pair of fishermen were transferring their catch from a boat that had seen better days, while a third man haggled about the price for a small octopus with a party who engaged in emphatic denigration of its value. Making his way to the harbormaster’s hut, John found a visitor arguing with the official in residence.

“It wasn’t my fault they got away,” the visitor shouted at the furious harbormaster as John entered the cramped untidy space buzzing with flies. “It was an accident. Accidents happen.”

“You mean one of your men let them loose deliberately to cause trouble, so your crew better catch them. The well-fed fool in Megara expecting them is not going to be very happy to hear his three monkeys have escaped and will probably never be seen again. Go and help the search and hurry up. His servant will be here in an hour or so to pick the demons up.”

“I’ll borrow a fishing net, that should help trap ’em. If not, you could always say they died during the voyage.”

“Possibly. I should have to levy a small charge to pay for that service. Now get on with it.”

As the other left, the official turned to John. “What do you want?”

His tone of voice made it plain his temper was short and his sunburnt face wore an angry expression emphasized by a deeply creased frown bridging dark eyebrows.

“I wish to inquire about a shipment of iron for my estate.”

“Your estate?” The harbormaster looked him up and down and sniffed, as if to say servants are all the same, talking about their estate as if they owned it. “You wish to know about an iron shipment? I know nothing about such a cargo and-”

A hoarse burst of swearing entered by the open door as a man in a ragged tunic raced past waving his arms and screaming abuse at an unseen colleague who, it seemed, had allowed the hairy little bastards to escape.

“It seems rather lively this evening,” John observed with a thin smile.

The harbormaster glared at him. “As I was saying, I don’t know anything about a shipment of iron. Have you any proof it even belongs to your estate? Valuable goods, iron. I can’t authorize its release to any vagabond who arrives claiming ownership.”

John, silently noting the harbormaster had just tacitly admitted he did in fact know of the shipment despite his initial denial, produced the tablet with the message burnt into it.

“Ah,” the harbormaster said after a brief glance. “Yes. Yes, this proves you are entitled to information. I am instructed to release it only to a person carrying this message. We do have your shipment, sir, and I shall see it arrives at the estate as soon as possible. It will involve a small charge for delivery, the usual arrangement to release goods landed here if they are transported on to their destination.” He paused. “You are not the usual courier.”

“I have not been in the area very long. Do you recall when the last shipment occurred?”

The harbormaster shrugged. “No. And the businessman involved does not send documentation. I admit it is somewhat unusual but shipping iron isn’t illegal and, after all, we must be flexible in dealing with the contingencies of marine business. I don’t have time to ask questions, considering the volume of goods landed here daily.”

John handed him a couple of coins. “The charge you mentioned and a little extra for the information.”

The harbormaster grinned. “I see you are an honest businessman, sir.”

“Then you will understand that, being honest, I need to know who the usual courier is, in case there is some irregularity.”

“You are most conscientious, sir. I really don’t know anything further I can tell you other than the man has a scar on his face and not many teeth and the ones he has are all on one side of his mouth.” He rubbed his chin and screwed up his face as if thinking hard. “I wish I could remember where the shipment originated. It’s on the tip of my tongue.”

“Sometimes it helps to think of something else. Like this.” John dropped another coin into the man’s hand.

“You’re right, sir. Why, it just occurred to me when I was admiring Justinian’s profile. The vessels carrying these shipments sail from Corinth. As you are new to the area, I should warn you about Corinth. A notoriously sinful city since ancient times, where honest men are cheated and murdered and public women flaunt themselves.”

“In some ways, then, it resembles Constantinople,” John observed as he turned to leave, stepping to one side to avoid a stout, perspiring man who rushed in as an agitated monkey leapt through the open window and scuttled into a corner.