Mary Reed - Six for Gold

“A service?”

“You will need to be nimble. Can you run very fast? But no…” Pedibastet paused for a heartbeat. “At least you could try. My assistant broke his leg and the boy Rameses is busy wrapping one or two new arrivals more securely.”

“How do you expect me to obtain more silks? And what does being nimble have to do with it?”

“Silks?” Pedibastet’s long face dropped.

Peter opened his satchel to reveal its contents.

“Not a cat?”

Peter looked at the seller of cat mummies in horror. “You thought I was trying to sell you the master’s cat? That’s what you expected me to catch? Cats? But why? You have so many already. Surely you don’t mean-”

“I breed cats.” Pedibastet’s tone was soothing. “What did you think? There are many cat lovers in Egypt. Now, as to your master’s visit-”

“Are you certain your real business is not ransoming cats?”

Pedibastet looked dumbfounded. The idea had never occurred to him although, he admitted to himself, it was definitely one to be pursued as soon as possible.

“There must be no one but fools left in Constantinople for anyone to have hired you as a servant!” he replied in exasperation. “My business is manufacturing cat mummies to sell to foreign visitors. Please leave immediately. You’ve wasted enough of my time!”

Peter crept out of the shop past the preserved remains of Pedibastet’s pathetic victims. As he crossed the bustling square again, he noticed another promising alleyway.

He would try once more before returning to the hostelry, he decided.

The elderly servant was distraught. In retrospect it was obvious enough what the rogue’s trade involved, but what Peter’s reason told him, his good nature often didn’t want to believe.

The narrow way he entered was populated only by a couple of strolling ibis. Peter navigated carefully around them. He heard the footsteps behind him too late, began to turn, and then the world went black.

The captain of the excubitors could not see him.

The clerk relayed the information to Anatolius with a knowing smirk. The message was the same one he’d delivered five days running, but the smirk had grown more pronounced every day.

“I insist I must speak to Captain Felix. It’s an important matter and I am the emperor’s secretary.”

“You mean you were his secretary. The captain is not here. You can try again tomorrow, if you wish.”

Anatolius left. The smirk followed him out into the corridor.

Why was Felix being so uncooperative?

He thought back to his last meeting with his friend. He’d asked him how he was faring in the search for Senator Symacchus’ murderer.

Felix had appeared uneasy, and finally admitted no official investigation was being undertaken. “Why not? Because Justinian hasn’t ordered one. And why should he? John was caught red-handed.”

As Anatolius questioned Felix further, it had become apparent John had not told the excubitor captain about Thomas’ involvement. If the Lord Chamberlain had chosen to withhold that information, it wasn’t for Anatolius to reveal it.

Had Felix somehow sensed Anatolius was not being entirely forthright? Was that why he refused to see him?

Anatolius decided he might be able to catch Felix at home.

He took a shortcut through the palace grounds. As he came around the corner of a pavilion, he was startled to see the man he sought walking swiftly ahead. Although several neglected flower beds and overgrown ornamental shrubs separated the two men, the burly, bearded figure was unmistakable.

Anatolius followed his friend at a distance. Felix did not turn toward the administrative complex where he had his office or down the path that would have taken him home. Instead he went out past the great bronze doors of the Chalke and strode along the Mese, moving rapidly further into the city.

Anatolius hurried along behind. Ordinarily he would have simply hailed Felix, but today he was angry about his friend’s seeming avoidance of him as well as curious about the man’s destination.

Had Felix been abroad on official business, he would certainly have been accompanied by a couple of his excubitors.

Even more intriguing, however, Felix was wearing a nondescript tunic over the leather leggings of an off-duty soldier, essentially disguising his rank.

Felix turned down a narrow street and vanished inside a tavern. It was a seedy establishment, opposite a public lavatory. The main attraction of the former appeared to be that it was open.

The plague had cured many a drinking problem and put more than a few taverns out of business.

There was no colonnade here. A row of shops opened directly onto the narrow street. All were closed, their wares protected by metal grates pulled down and locked to iron rings in the cobbles. The amount of debris that had accumulated around and behind the grates testified how long the businesses had been shut.

Anatolius eyed the tavern. Beside its door hung a wooden sign cut in the shape of an amphora, but so irregularly made it could well have been created by a carpenter who had imbibed the entire contents of his model.

Feeling foolish, he stuck his head around the tavern door and peered in.

The cramped room was dim. Felix was talking to someone whose back Anatolius did not recognize at a table set against the rear wall.

Why shouldn’t Felix meet a friend for a cup of wine?

Even so, given Felix’s recent odd behavior, Anatolius was prepared to think the worst. He crossed the street and went under the marble archway into the lavatory. From inside, framed by the arch’s bas-reliefs of Greek gods, he could observe the tavern without being noticed.

Or so he hoped.

The smell made him gag. A glance at the state of the floor showed the facility hadn’t been cleaned recently-not to mention that he would have to burn his footwear when he returned to John’s house. Public services were vanishing even faster than the public. He wasn’t surprised the long, communal marble bench boasted only a single customer, seated at the far end. The man, slumped forward, ignored him.

Anatolius fixed his gaze on the tavern and its peeling plaster exterior. Flies droned. Time passed. More flies appeared, adding their complaints to the others clustering around the malodorous facility. He began to think if Zeus turned an ear toward the earth, all that god would hear from the capital would be a buzzing akin to that of a gigantic insect.

The man at the far end of the bench still hadn’t moved a muscle. Anatolius now realized he was dead. The morbid notion came to him that urchins had found a corpse in the street and sat it there as a macabre jest.

He almost missed Felix’s companion emerging from the tavern. All he could make out was the man’s retreating back.

He briefly considered following from sheer curiosity, but it was the captain of excubitors to whom he needed to talk. Thankful to be able to leave his temporary shelter, he went into the murky tavern, and sat down next to Felix who looked up, startled, from his wine cup.

“Something smells…” Felix’s gaze moved to Anatolius’ feet.

“I plan on burning my boots, Felix, but something else will still offend my nostrils. What have you been doing about helping John? Why have you been avoiding me?”

“You must have followed me here. Is that what a friend does?” Felix sounded hurt. His words were slurred. Anatolius realized his companion was intoxicated.

The portly owner of the establishment waddled toward them. Anatolius put him to flight with a baleful glare that conveyed the clear message: “Observe my elaborate robes. I am from the palace and that means trouble if you interfere!”

“Are you in some sort of difficulty, Felix?”