David Wishart - Illegally Dead

I left, quickly, before he could unclench his jaw and answer, and made my way back to the counter. So where now? Publius Novius’s, obviously. I didn’t really have an excuse for calling on the guy, but if Quintus Libanius’s name was enough for the records clerk it might just get me a hearing on its own.

‘Finished already?’ The clerk looked surprised.

‘Yeah. No point in distracting the lad while he’s working.’ I lifted the flap and let myself out. ‘You wouldn’t happen to know where Publius Novius’s office is, would you?’

‘Novius the lawyer? Certainly, nothing easier. Only a couple of blocks from here, near the baths. Go out of the door, turn left and carry on straight ahead. There is a sign.’

‘Great. Thanks, pal. I’ll, ah, call in again this afternoon to see how Alexis is doing before I go back to Castrimoenium.’

‘I’m sure he’ll appreciate that hugely, sir.’

‘Right. Right.’

I left the mare where I’d parked her and followed the directions as given. I hadn’t gone more than the distance to the first side-street when I noticed an opening twenty yards down it with a sign on the gatepost saying: ‘Tuscius: Slaves.’

Had it been Scopas who’d said that Hostilius had bought Cosmus from Tuscius in Bovillae? I couldn’t remember offhand, but it probably had been. In any case, since I was passing anyway it was worth a visit. Cosmus, and how he fitted into all this, still worried me, and if my memory served the kid had been reticent about where he’d been previous to joining the Hostilius menage.

I took a sharp left and went through the gate…

‘Good morning, sir! And how may I help you?’

Jupiter! That was fast! The guy must’ve been lurking behind the carefully-trimmed topiary peacocks in the yard, like one of Alexis’s spiders. He’d the look of an arachnid too: fat belly, spindly legs, greasy smile. Well, the metaphor had to break down somewhere.

‘You Tuscius, pal?’ I said.

‘Marcus Tuscius, yes, sir. You want a slave, I presume? Or several slaves? Always a wide range in stock, sir, to suit every pocket and requirement, every one carrying the Tuscius personal guarantee.’

‘Which is?’

‘Totally sound in wind and limb when sold, sir. Should he or she drop dead within three months of purchase then we’ll replace with equivalent or refund up to three quarters of the purchase price, conditions apply, mutatis mutandis, acts of god and plague excepted. Male slave, sir? Female?’ He leered. ‘We’ve a special offer at present on flutegirls. Buy one and you get a Nubian contortionist half price.’

‘Ah…’

‘Or if your tastes run in another direction there’s our Ganymede Special. Two luscious, peach-buttocked young — ’

‘Pal,’ I said. ‘Just shut up, okay?’

‘If you insist, sir.’

‘You remember selling a slave by the name of Cosmus to Lucius Hostilius? The lawyer over in Castrimoenium?’

The little piggy eyes narrowed. ‘When would this be?’

‘Uh…’ I couldn’t remember, exactly. ‘A year ago? Maybe two?’

He beamed. ‘Out of guarantee, I’m afraid. Even with our extended warranty.’

Gods! ‘I’m not here to complain, sunshine. Even though he did murder his master.’

Tuscius blanched. ‘He did what?’

‘Not off his own bat. He was put up to it.’

‘Nevertheless.’ Tuscius glanced nervously over his shoulder. ‘Sir, I assure you…what’s your name?’

‘Corvinus. Valerius Corvinus.’

‘I assure you, Valerius Corvinus, I would rather have gnawed my own arm off, this arm here, sir’ — he held it up — ‘than knowingly have sold a defective slave. We’ll refund the full purchase price, naturally. If you’re the next-of-kin then subject to your producing notarised verification of the claim and of your own relationship with the deceased — ’

‘Tuscius…’

‘- there’ll be no difficulty. I’ll even throw in a flutegirl as a goodwill gesture, or a peach-buttocked whatever, at a specially-discounted price.’

‘Pal. All I want to know is where you bought him from.’

He stared at me. ‘Really? That’s all?’

‘Read my lips.’

‘Then you’d better come into the office and I’ll check my records.’

I did, and he did.

Cosmus had been sold to Marcus Tuscius thirteen months ago by Publius Novius.

Shit!

‘You happen to remember anything about the kid?’ I said. ‘Or the sale itself?’

The eyes took on a guarded look. ‘Oh, now, sir. You said very distinctly only a few minutes ago that you only wanted the name of the seller. Besides, I can’t be expected to remember every — ’

‘No hassle, Tuscius. I promise you. On the other hand, when this business reaches open court, as it will, and if I happen to be asked which firm supplied the slave who so tragically — ’

‘Yes. Yes.’ His hand pawed at my sleeve. ‘Point taken. Now I come to think, Valerius Corvinus, I do recall something of the boy. Good-looking lad, not the sharpest knife in the drawer but well-spoken enough and with a nice manner. There’s quite a turnaround for that sort of slave in the first-time-buyer domestic market. Easy on the eye without being too flash, no problems with temperament, cheap to run, keep their trade-in value well if you want to upgrade after two or three years to a more streamlined model with more between the ears or a bit more oomph in other departments. Of course — ’

‘Did Novius give you any reason for selling him?’

‘Not that I remember offhand, sir. And I wouldn’t have the effrontery to ask, not where an old customer like Publius Novius was concerned. He bought the first slave I ever sold, sir, when I took over the business eighteen years back, top of the range, Greek-speaking accountant with all his own teeth and only twenty-eight years on the clock. Didn’t quibble over the asking price, either. You don’t forget something like that when you’re a young man just starting up and have to watch your profit margins, it means a lot. And he’s been a regular ever since, not one of the “nip up to Rome where they stack them high and sell them cheap” set, always dealt locally. Honestly, sir, it makes your blood boil when you see — ’

‘Yeah. Yeah, right. Did, uh, Hostilius buy Cosmus himself? Personally, I mean?’

‘No, I’ve never met the gentleman. That was his wife, sir, and her brother, if I recall correctly. Them I do know, or know of, because they’re Bovillans. Family has the wineshop by the Appian Gate, has had for years.’

‘And this would be when?’

‘You saw it in the ledger, sir. Two days after I bought the lad myself.’

Uh-huh. ‘That usual, pal? Such a quick turnaround?’

‘Not unusual. I said: that kind of slave’s popular. They don’t spend all that long on the forecourt, not like the really expensive specialist models or some of the two-a-penny agricultural workhorses. A real drug on the market, they can be, sometimes, especially in the winter months when they need more feeding and there isn’t all that much for them to do.’

‘They just walk in off the street? Veturina and Castor?’

‘More or less. That isn’t unusual either, sir. I’ve got quite a thriving business and the stock moves on quite quickly. Also there are the, well, the special offers, sir. So we get a fair number of browsers, and although I can’t say the impulse-buyer market’s all that significant it’s a steady earner.’

‘So they weren’t regular customers?’

‘No. Not per se, as it were.’ Tuscius sucked on a tooth. ‘Oh, I’ve sold a few slaves to the Hostilius household over the years, sir, and bought a few as well, but the gentleman’d always dealt through his major-domo up to then. Scopas, the name is, he’s a Bovillan too.’