Gary Corby - The Marathon Conspiracy

Now she held the reins as Blossom plodded, and we talked about murder.

“It’s really quite simple,” Diotima said. “Thirty years ago, Hippias died. It might or might not have been murder. You’ll notice we don’t know for sure how he died. For all we know, it could have been disease, or old age.”

“We’ll have to read those scrolls,” I said. “There’s no telling what’s in there.”

“Yes,” Diotima conceded. “But the situation with the girls is entirely different. There we have a very real crime, and a very current murderer. The priority must be the missing girl, Nico.”

“The three crimes are linked,” I insisted. “The death of Hippias, the murder of Allike, and the disappearance of Ophelia.”

“Maybe. Think how her poor parents must feel, Nico. Her father must be frantic.”

We arrived at my parents’ home to be told there was a man waiting to see me in the andron; he’d arrived while we were out. I was rank with sweat and the smell of donkey, so I quickly stripped in the back courtyard and poured a bucket of water over myself before I went to see the stranger.

He rose to greet me when I entered, still damp and dripping in the material of the fresh exomis I’d hastily pulled on. The exomis covered my body but ended at the shoulders and thighs, leaving my arms and legs free to move. It was the standard working dress of any artisan. It had also become my favored wear as a working investigator. Maximum freedom of movement in a crisis could be the difference between life and death.

My visitor was dressed in the most formal of ankle-length chitons, with a himation of pure wool draped about his shoulders. His black hair was graying at the temples, though thick enough, and his skin had the dried look of a man who spent long days out of doors. He was clearly a wealthy landowner and a man far above my station. I was relieved to see the house slaves had given him food and wine, and that he sat on the most comfortable couch. I invited him to sit once more and placed myself opposite. Was this a new client?

He looked me up and down. His eyes didn’t miss my workman’s clothing, nor the obvious fact that I was half his age. I knew that in his thoughts, he’d halved my importance.

“My name is Polonikos. I’m the father of Ophelia.”

Of course. Ophelia’s father was in Athens. That’s where the families of most of Brauron’s Little Bears came from. I should have thought of that before.

“I’m glad you came to see me,” I said, and meant it. I was lucky I hadn’t gone all the way to Brauron only to discover I had to return to interview the missing girl’s father. “But how do you know about me? How did you know where to find me?”

“The priestess Doris visited me this morning to tell me there was no news, and that you’d been asked to look for Ophelia. I came to see you at once.”

“Did you already know your daughter was missing?”

“Of course. The High Priestess wrote to me on the day she disappeared.”

“You didn’t go to Brauron at once?”

“Urgent business matters held me in Athens.”

“You sent your own agent, then?”

“No.”

I struggled not to show surprise. If I had a missing daughter, I’d be tearing the hills apart looking for her.

I said, “It was the priestess Doris who asked us to find Ophelia.”

“Us?”

“My fiancée and I.”

Polonikos frowned.

“I realize you’ve never heard of me, Polonikos, but I’m an experienced investigator, and my fiancée’s been of the greatest assistance in the past. Also, she was once a Little Bear herself, and her knowledge will be invaluable in finding your daughter.” It wouldn’t hurt to mention that. Polonikos was acting like he doubted our qualifications. “Rest assured, sir, we’ll find your daughter.”

“Yes, very kind of you both, I’m sure. But there’s no need to trouble yourselves.”

It took me a moment to realize what he’d said, and then I thought I must have misheard. “Huh? What did you say?”

“I said, you don’t need to bother searching for Ophelia. I have the matter well in hand.”

“Er … sir … didn’t you just say you’d done nothing?”

“I’m sure my daughter merely ran away from a situation she disliked,” he said, in a tone that suggested no other thought was possible. “You know how children will do these things. She’ll find her way home eventually, take her beating, and then all will be forgotten and life will go on.”

“You’re asking me to stop?” I repeated, unable to believe what I was hearing.

“I don’t think you’ve quite understood, young man. I’m not asking you anything.” His tone moved from polite to angry in one breath. “I’m telling you that your services are not required.”

“Doesn’t it worry you that your daughter’s friend Allike has been brutally murdered? Sir, we know that for sure. Are you not afraid your daughter has met the same fate?”

“I think it more likely this other girl’s death spooked my daughter-understandably-and she’s run off to hide. Trust me, I know my own child.”

Polonikos was clearly a man not used to having his will opposed.

He continued, “I appreciate your concern, young man, and also that until this moment you didn’t know my wishes in this matter. Please send me a bill for whatever actions you’ve taken to date, and I’ll pay you.”

“I’m afraid you’re not my client, sir. I’m acting in the interests of the Sanctuary of Brauron, and they want Ophelia found.”

“You refuse me?” he said, incredulous.

“I must. Only the temple can ask me to stop.”

“Then I shall write to the High Priestess at the temple and require her to sack you, in which case there will be no compensation from me whatsoever.”

“I never asked for it, sir,” I said, becoming angry. I certainly couldn’t stop him writing to the High Priestess. “I must say, sir, you seem to have a relaxed attitude to missing children.”

“If it were a first-born son, that would be different,” he said. “Losing a mere girl isn’t the same thing at all.”

I was suddenly glad that Diotima wasn’t with us.

He stood. “I must go. My final word is this: you are not wanted and I will thank you not to poke your nose into my business. I expect to see your settlement bill in the morning. I’m prepared to be generous.”

I saw the father of Ophelia to the door, where two slaves waited to escort their master home. Like many men of dignity, Polonikos wouldn’t have been seen dead in the streets of Athens without a couple of slaves in attendance. He was obviously a man who liked to do things the traditional, old-fashioned way. I watched Polonikos walk down the street until he turned the corner before I shut the door.

One thing was certain. I’d been dubious about taking on this job, but now that I’d spoken to her father, I was absolutely determined to find Ophelia.

Diotimasat in the courtyard, chewing her lip and reading the four scrolls from the case.

“Anything there?” I asked her.

“Plenty, if we want to blackmail men who were dead long before either of us was born.” Diotima threw down the scroll she was holding in disgust. “These are all Hippias’s private dealings. He couldn’t stop himself writing down all the sordid things he did. This one”-Diotima picked up the scroll in front of her-“this one is all about when he first became tyrant. He expresses hope for the future, even tells himself he wants to be a fair ruler.” Diotima touched the next two scrolls. “In these, the tyranny’s in full swing. He mostly records who’s vulnerable to what pressure, who he can blackmail, who hates whom so he can use one man against another. It’s depressing.