The Lydian Baker

6

I spent the next morning thinking about what the next move should be. Scratch throwing in the towel, that wasn't the Roman way. I couldn't walk away from this, not until I knew for absolute certain that I was out of the game. Also if Mother ever found out she'd kill me.

So. The obvious place to start was the cookshop where I'd had my run-in with Prince Charming. Cookshop owners as a rule may have all the social graces of a seriously constipated scorpion, but in districts like Zea where only one family in twenty cooks its own dinner they tend to know who's who locally. Argaius might not tell his wife much about his business, but I'd bet a used boil plaster to a gold piece the guy behind the counter would be able to give me chapter and verse. Not that I was looking forward to asking, mind.

Ten miles there and back, plus the distance across town, was too far to walk, so I whistled up Lysias and took the coach. It was late afternoon before I arrived.

Even as cookshops go, this was something special: the smell of old fat and frying dogmeat hit me before I'd even reached the door. I took a deep breath and went inside. Maybe I'd been too optimistic; the place wasn't exactly doing a roaring trade, in fact there was only one other customer, a huge guy with the build of a wrestler and a head like a pear small side up. Big jowls, tiny skull and a trail of spit down the side of his mouth. That figured: only an idiot would choose to eat in a place like this. Not that the guy was eating. He gave me an empty-eyed grin and went back to feeding his dog bits of sausage. I wondered about cannibalism.

The owner was behind the counter, chopping a tired-looking lettuce he was using to garnish the meatballs. So the place still kept some culinary pretensions. He took a long look at my Roman purple stripe, turned away and spat carefully into the corner. Forget constipated scorpions. As far as friendliness went this guy wouldn't've measured up to an asp with a migraine.

'Hi,' I said. 'Nice day, isn't it?'

No answer. Ah, well. I brought out a silver piece and held it up. Silver and cookshop owners were just made for each other.

'You serve wine, pal?' I said.

'Sure.' He set the knife down. 'What kind you want?'

'I'm not fussy. Just make it the best you've got.'

Smiler fetched an earthenware cup from a shelf, gave it a wipe with a rag and poured from a chipped jug. I tasted the result. Jupiter! This was the best? What wasn't sediment was pure vinegar. Probably used for pickling cockroaches.

'Who do you buy from?' I said, wiping my mouth. 'Peleus?'

Peleus means 'Mud-man' in Greek. The guy wasn't amused. 'You don't like it,’ he said, ‘don't drink it.'

Yeah, well, he had a point. I pushed the cup away but left the silver piece on the counter. 'You know a guy called Argaius? Import-export business, two doors down?'

'Maybe.' I laid a second silver piece next to the first. His eyes narrowed. 'Yeah, I know Argaius.'

'He work alone?'

The guy looked pointedly at the two coins. Wordlessly, I added a third.

'No. He has a partner.'

Hey! Maybe we were on to something here after all. I took out a fourth coin but kept it between the tips of my fingers. 'You care to give me the guy's name?'

He sucked on a tooth and eyed the fourth drach. I'd got him, sure I had: four silver pieces probably represented a good day's takings, probably more, given the state of the place.

'This just curiosity,' he said at last, 'or have you got a reason for asking?'

'We have some unfinished business, Argaius and me. Only he seems to have left town suddenly. A partner could help.'

'Uh-huh.' The guy looked like he wanted to spit again, but this time he didn't: we were obviously getting somewhere, relationship-wise. I had the impression that he thought Argaius had swindled me somewhere along the line and he wasn't particularly surprised. Not particularly interested, either: smartass Romans were fair game in Zea. Anyone was. All of which was fine with me. 'Okay. Argaius's partner's name is Smaragdus. He boards at the third house along on the left after the Mother of the Gods.'

Bull’s-eye! 'Gee, thanks, chum.' I put the fourth coin down and gave him my best smile. 'You've been very helpful.'

That got me a grunt. He swept the coins into his palm, threw them into a drawer and picked up his lettuce knife.

Just as I was turning to leave the pear-headed guy came up behind me and gibbered something. It wasn't Greek, and I'd've bet it wasn't any other language known to man either: there was spittle drooling out of one side of his mouth, and his eyes were shifting about like someone had cut the cords that fastened them in. The hairs on the back of my neck lifted. Insanity I can't take, and this guy was clearly not just two tiles short of a roof, he couldn't even have mustered the joists.

'Fuck off, Tiny,' Smiler said. Not nastily, but like it was part of an ongoing conversation. Maybe it was.

The big guy held out a hand like a ham. He was still holding the dog. It was fat as a ball of lard.

'I said fuck off.' Smiler turned away and banged a skillet down on the stove. 'One for free I don't mind. The next you pay for.'

The hand never wavered. It was clear what the guy wanted. I reached into my purse and pulled out a few copper coins.

'That's okay, pal,' I said. 'Have it on me.'

Smiler glanced round, shrugged, pulled a sausage from the string above his head and handed it over. The big guy gave me a gibber and went back with the sausage to his table while Smiler scooped up the coins.

'Don't encourage him,' he grunted. 'That bastard's always on the scrounge.'

'It's my money, friend,' I said equably. 'One more thing before I go. You had a customer a couple of days back.' I described Prince Charming. 'He come in here much?'

'Nah.' The guy picked up the rag he'd wiped my cup out with and moved it back and forward along the greasy countertop. Maybe getting rid of the idiot at the soft Roman's expense had put him in a talkative mood. 'First time. Never seen him before.'

'You're sure?'

He set the cloth down and turned his back. Talkative mood, nothing. Ah, well. It had been worth a try. And I had my lead; or at least I hoped I did. I gave the idiot a wave and set off for the Mother of the Gods.

It wasn't far: a big sprawling place that'd seen better days but was still hanging on into the modern world, like the Mother herself. The third house along was a seedy tenement, maybe a rooming house but more probably a brothel. Not a prosperous brothel, either, from the look and smell of the entrance, but that was par for the district. I told Lysias to wait, climbed the stairs and knocked on the door of the first floor flat.

The old woman who answered had three teeth. She could've kept a fair-sized cheap cosmetics factory going single-handed.

'Yeah?' she mouthed.

Gods, she was ugly! I took a step back, but she closed the gap.

'Uh…I'm sorry to disturb you, mother,' I said, 'but I'm looking for a guy called Smaragdus.'

That got me a twenty-candelabra glare. 'Top floor. And less of the mother, dearie.'

'Right. Right.' I backed away again: wine I enjoy, but not second-hand; and not mixed with raw onion, either. 'Sorry.'

'You won't find him, though.' She flashed her brown teeth at me. 'The bugger's out. He's been out for days. I'm giving him to the end of the month and then he can pick his stuff up in the street.'

Oh, shit, here we go again. Was nothing simple? 'You know where he's gone, maybe?' I said.

The door behind her opened further and two girls sidled out. One was big, blonde and busty, the other was a rake-thin negress. They wore skimpy, grease-stained tunics and their eyes were glass-hard.

'No. But then maybe I can find out, lord.' The old woman's grin widened. 'Why don't you come in meantime? My daughters'll amuse you while I'm gone. Isn't that right, girls?'

The fake blonde — I could see the black roots under the dye — gave me a slow smile.

'Sure,' she said. 'We'd enjoy the company.'

'Maybe some other time, okay?' I took out a silver piece and slipped it down the top of her tunic. She giggled and caught it half way down. 'Today I'm in a hurry. Just point me in the right direction.'

'Harpalus would know,' the negress said. The blonde looked at her and gave another giggle. 'Why don't you try Harpalus?'

'Yeah. I might just do that.' I pulled out another coin; hell, this was getting expensive. 'You know where I can find him?'

She glanced down at her piggy bank. Ah, well. In it went.

'You sure you don't want to stay?' she said.

'No, I'll settle for Harpalus, thanks.'

The blonde giggled again and leaned over to whisper something in the negress's ear. The second girl shook her chime-bar earrings and laughed.

'Suit yourself,' she said. 'If that's your fancy. But he'll be at work just now. In the bird shop, two doors down.'

I turned to go. The blonde's voice caught me as I reached the stairs.

'Watch yourself, dear,' she shouted. 'The bastard charges over the odds. Particularly for Romans.'