David Wishart - The Lydian Baker

The big guy wasn't at home. Oh, we'd got the right place, that was sure: almost immediately behind the door in the space reserved for tackle was a homemade brazier and a truckle bed with a rough blanket on top. Two earthenware bowls stood on the floor beside the bed, one filled with water, one with scraps of meat. Of course: Tiny had had a dog. I remembered the dog. There was nothing else, not so much as a spare undershirt.

'Lord, I'm sorry.' Bessus was frowning. 'He must've spotted me after all.'

'Yeah.' A pity, but like I said it couldn't be helped. He'd be back.

Those drawn bolts, though…

Maybe the cupboard was bare, but I had the feeling we were being watched. Not a pleasant feeling, either. I peered into the shadowy interior of the shed where the triremes themselves had been. Enough light was coming in through the gaps the builders had left between the roof joists to see by, but he could've been hiding anywhere; behind a pillar, maybe, or in one of the niches that lined the walls. Or just lying flat and motionless on one of the quays. Empty though it was, the place was big enough for even Tiny to hide in. Not that I was going to go looking for him. No way. I hated hide and seek even as a kid, and just the thought of that huge mad guy jumping out on me gave me goose-bumps.

'Hey, Tiny!' I shouted. 'You there?'

I waited until the echoes died away. Finally. I felt the hairs crawl on my scalp. Something was listening, sure, I knew that in my gut. The problem was, in that place it could've been just that: some thing . I found myself hoping the silence wouldn't be broken by the splash of oars…

This was silly. I was being too imaginative for my own good. I tried again.

'Tiny! Remember me? The Roman in the cookshop? I want to talk to you. About a statue you moved for your pal Smaragdus.' Again I waited. Nothing but echoes, and the feeling of eyes. Beads of sweat broke out on my forehead. 'Hey, Tiny! There's no need to be frightened, pal! No hassle, I promise!'

Still nothing, but the echoes whispered. My throat constricted. Okay, I was spooking myself here unnecessarily, I knew that, it wasn't rational…

What the hell. Suddenly I knew that Baker or not, pride or not, I had to get out.

'You want to call it a day, Bessus?' I said as casually as I could manage.

He gave me a sharp look and shrugged his shoulders. 'Your decision, lord.'

I swallowed. 'Fine. We'll give it just one more try, okay?' I owed that, at least, to my self-respect, especially since it seemed I was the only one doing the sweating. This time I had to work to keep my voice from cracking.

'Tiny! You know Bessus here! If you don't want to talk with me now then that's fine, that's okay, just fix a meeting up with him. Any time, any place, I'll be there.' Jupiter! I was babbling. Fix up a meeting, nothing: from what I'd seen of the guy I'd back his dog against him intellectually any day. Still, what else could I do?

Get out, that was what. Before the echoes had properly died down I was moving towards the door, trying to keep from running. Telling myself I was acting like a five year old didn't help, either.

I made it without a whimper. Just. Fresh air had never tasted sweeter. I leaned against the door jamb and breathed deeply.

Bessus was behind me. He was still looking at me like I'd turned purple and sprouted feathers.

'You okay, lord?' he said anxiously.

'Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine.' I wondered what he was seeing in my face. Ah, the hell with it: madness I just couldn't take, especially when it was hiding in the dark. Fumbling in my purse, I took a gold piece out and handed it to him. 'Here. With my thanks.'

He stared at it. 'That's too much,' he said. 'Far too much. Tiny wasn't there.'

'Sure he was.' I was breathing easier now, but I still wouldn't've gone back inside that shed for a dozen jars of Caecuban. 'And you'll earn it. Or at least I hope you will. I want this place watched, day and night, until the guy comes out. And if you can get him to me or me to him, then the pay's doubled. You understand?'

'Sure.' He looked uncomfortable. 'But I told you before. Tiny doesn't do nothing he doesn't want to.'

'That's your problem, pal. Even so, I have to see him and I'm not going inside there again. Keep in touch, okay?'

I left him standing and walked back to where Lysias had parked the carriage. I wasn't feeling too proud of myself, and the trip had been less than satisfactory all round, but I didn't see how else I could've played things. If Tiny had been there — and even now when I was out and half-way rational again I'd bet he had been, and heard every word — I'd at least left a message. Now it was up to him and Bessus.

And to Argaius's killer, whoever he was. We could've been seen going in to that shed, sure we could; there were enough places for a watcher to hide round about the harbour, especially if the watcher wasn't a familiar face. Beggars can't be choosers but I just hoped I hadn't made a mistake.

I was shattered when I got back. Reaction, probably. Perilla was in, but I skipped dinner and went straight to bed. I didn't even stop for a cup of wine, which shows you how far gone I was.

I woke up early the next morning feeling great and slipped downstairs without disturbing Perilla: a sweet lady she may be in many ways, but morning person she isn't, and if she doesn't get her eight hours and wake natural the whole world suffers.

Bathyllus was up and around, though, and I got him to bring me breakfast in the garden. While I mopped up olive oil with my bread I ran over the current state of the case. For what it was worth.

First, the Baker itself. That we'd only have one crack at. I was pretty sure Tiny knew where it was hidden, but he was the only one left alive who did and I hoped to hell the next time I saw him wouldn't be as a stiff on the boat shed floor. Baker aside, any more corpses I could do without.

Who our villain was was less clear-cut. Alibi or not, my money was still on Demetriacus, however much of a shining light of his profession the guy's doctor was. He was the only candidate who accounted for all the facts, and a six-figure-value block of property would be a pretty good exchange for one little lie. Fortunately, that was one avenue I could check: Demetriacus might have Lysimachus in his pocket, but he'd also have slaves who'd know damn well where their master had been on the night in question. What was more, they'd be willing to tell me for less than the price of a City tenement.

On the other hand, if you took things differently and allowed for a few ragged edges (which might not even be ragged edges) then my pal Felix made a good second runner. Maybe even a scrape-home first. The guy was devious as a Market Square lawyer, he'd been after the Baker from the start, and he was totally devoted to his boss's interests. Yeah, I could believe in Felix. Except that his way of getting the statue wouldn't've included murder, especially multiple murder: one death Felix might regard as unavoidable, but three he'd see as downright sloppy workmanship. Felix was a con artist, not a killer. Demetriacus was different. That bastard was capable of killing, although when he did it'd be a carefully-chosen means to a definite end with all sorts of backups in place.

Yeah. Judging purely by temperament, even from what I'd seen of him I'd go for Demetriacus over Felix every time.

Maybe.

I sighed. What I wanted was both Felix and Demetriacus together, and that I couldn't have…

Or could I?

I stopped, an olive half way to my mouth. Okay. So let's let that one go and see how it runs. Demetriacus wouldn't want the statue for himself: he was a businessman, not an end-user, and he'd still need a customer. Felix was a natural. Say that Demetriacus approaches Felix, who he knows from any of a dozen different sources is interested in the statue. Or no, scrub 'interested': desperate. And as such not too choosey how he gets it. Yeah, that might fit, just. So when Smaragdus stages his double-cross the two join forces. Felix pretends to Smaragdus that he's on his side and…