David Wishart - The Lydian Baker

'He's also an art nut, lady. One who'd prefer not to see a national treasure like the Baker fall into profane Roman clutches.'

'That's nonsense!'

I shook my head. 'He told me that himself. Oh, he was polite enough and he didn't labour the point, but it came across loud and clear. And he fits the bill in other ways.'

'You mean he's capable of torture and murder? Corvinus, really!'

I sighed. 'Perilla, you've never met the guy. I have, and he's no shrinking violet. Jupiter, even Priscus might be capable of beating someone to death with an Etruscan grammar if they got between him and his mania.'

'Now you're being facetious. And that is in very bad taste.'

'Yeah, well, maybe not Priscus. But Melanthus is a tough cookie, and being a philosopher doesn't mean he's immune to everyday human frailty.'

'How interesting. I had no idea that your definition of everyday human frailty embraced theft, torture and murder.'

'Listen, lady…'

'Dinner, sir.' Bathyllus trundled in with a loaded tray and set the dishes in front of us with a crisp efficiency that radiated disapproval. 'The kitchen staff wish me to say they hope you enjoy your meal.'

Bastards. Every last one of them. I poked tentatively at the dumplings with my knife. For once the little guy hadn't been exaggerating; you could've used the things for slingshot. Hell. I reached for the olives.

'This accusation of yours.' Perilla was helping herself to peas. 'You are basing it on firm evidence, I take it?'

'Sure.' I refilled my winecup. 'Melanthus has known about Argaius and the Baker from the start. Unless he's a crypto-millionaire, which I doubt, he was in no position to put in a counter-bid. If he wanted the statue then he had to steal it. Melanthus is our boy. Q.E.D.'

'Corvinus, I'm sorry.' Perilla frowned at the peas, tried one and put down her spoon. 'Perhaps you misheard. I asked if you had any evidence. What you've just given me is theory. And half baked theory at that.'

'Is that right, now?'

'That is right.' She pushed the plate away. 'Even if one does accept your unwarrantable assumption that the man is morally capable of theft and murder.'

'Okay, Aristotle. Suppose you tell me what's wrong with the theory? As a theory?'

'Very well.' She held up a finger. 'One. Your stepfather had heard about the statue in Rome, so the fact of its existence can hardly be a close secret. Other aficionados besides Priscus and Melanthus must have known about it for months. Allied to this, two' — she bent down a second finger — 'Melanthus had plenty of time to put his plan into operation, and the longer he left it the greater the likelihood was of the Baker being sold out of his reach. To postpone things until you were actually on the point of establishing contact with both him and Argaius would show incredible foolishness.'

'Maybe. He could've been working himself up to it. I never said he was a natural criminal. He just wants the Baker.'

'True. But you did say that he was a strong-minded man. There is, at least, a partial inconsistency there which needs explaining.'

Yeah, well, she had a point. Certainly one to think about.

'Three. Melanthus is well known in Athens. If he introduced himself to Argaius as the fictitious Eutyches don't you think the man would be just a little suspicious?'

I was on firmer ground here. I shook my head. 'No. Argaius never met Eutyches, nor did Smaragdus. Any negotiations were carried out through an intermediary. And if Melanthus was planning a double-cross he'd know a personal meeting need never happen.'

'Hmm.' I'd scored, I could see that by the way she absently reached for a dumpling. 'All right. Accepted. With reservations.' Well, the lady was nothing if not a fighter. 'Lastly. If you were the only other person interested in the Baker Melanthus wouldn't have had to steal it.'

I blinked. 'Uh…run that past me again, will you?'

Perilla prodded the dumpling with her spoon. It didn't give an inch. She put it back in the dish with a sigh. 'Priscus asked Melanthus to authenticate the statue. To prevent the sale all he would have to do is say it was a fake.'

Yeah, I hadn't thought of that. Still, as an answer it wasn't good enough. Not by a long chalk.

'Wait a minute,' I said. 'Sure, if Melanthus didn't give the go-ahead our particular deal might be off but he still wouldn't end up with the statue himself. And Argaius would've smelt a rat if his customer's tame art expert gave it the thumbs down one minute and then offered to take it off his hands the next. Also, he'd still have to raise the necessary cash, and even if Argaius was willing to drop his price rather than look for another customer gold statues that size don't come cheap. If Melanthus is Eutyches then he had to steal the Baker, because even acting through an intermediary he'd no other option.'

A long pause. Got her! Well, maybe it was hunger.

'Corvinus,' she said finally, 'I apologise.'

'Hey!' I grinned: apologies from Perilla were about as common as July blizzards. 'You mean you think I'm right?'

'No. But your theory is at least tenable. On present evidence at least. I'm sorry I was so dismissive.'

'Uh-huh.' I kissed her. 'It's worth a bit of digging, sure. Maybe tomorrow would be a good time to pay the Academy another visit. Rattle the guy's cage a little, see which way he jumps.'

Perilla set down her spoon.

'Marcus, be careful,' she said softly.

I grinned. 'I thought you weren't convinced.'

'Perhaps not. But if you are right then the man can't be quite sane. And he's already killed once.'

'I'll be careful. I guarantee it.' My stomach rumbled. Perilla frowned and set down her spoon.

'Oh, this is ridiculous!' she snapped. 'Do you think Meton has any eggs?'

'Uh, yeah.' I was investigating the endive salad. Whatever endives were supposed to look like, these ones didn't. 'Yeah, I should think so. Why?'

'Good.' She got up. 'Then he can make us an omelette.'

Gods alive! I watched her go admiringly. Forget Melanthus: facing Meton unarmed on his home ground and ordering up an á la carte omelette takes real courage.

She got it, too. I just hoped it was an omen.

Next day I took the carriage out to the Academy. No prior appointment this time either: if Melanthus was our man then I didn't mean to give the bastard a chance to think up a story or, worse, to make tracks for the tall timber. I'd thought about calling in at Calippus's office and sharing my suspicions with him, but I decided against it. Like Perilla had said, I'd no real evidence, and there was just an outside chance that I was doing the guy an injustice. Also crook though he might conceivably be Melanthus was a respected member of the academic community. Calippus would listen, sure, but all I could reasonably expect from him in the end was a request for proof and the polite brush-off when I couldn't deliver.

I left Lysias waiting by the carriage outside the precinct gates and went inside on foot. I felt uncomfortable: these places where high-powered intellectuals hang out always make me nervous, and I can never shake off the feeling that any minute some clever bastard with a brain the size of a pumpkin is going to jump out on me and start asking me questions about where I stood on the issues of life, the soul and Divine Purpose. It didn't happen, although I passed by some conversations that would've made even Priscus sound like a monosyllabic bar-fly. Education may be a wonderful thing, but that doesn't mean it's good for you.

The library was packed to the door. I looked for Melanthus but he wasn't around. Well, the Academy was a big place; maybe he was lecturing, or had a tutorial group or whatever the hell he did when he wasn't shifting large amounts of bullion from A to B. Somebody would know, anyway.