Mary Reed - Four for a Boy

“I see.” Felix frowned. “I never have these portentous dreams, myself.”

Isis chuckled. “Maybe you’re not destined for greatness. What sort of dreams do you have, John?”

“None that I remember when I awake, Isis.”

Felix stared down into his wine cup. “At any rate, I can’t say we’re doing very well as informers. We’ve learned nothing useful about the Gourd. He doesn’t seem to be taking much warning from our presence, either. Look at that magick business the other night.”

Isis leaned forward, her eyes glittering with interest. “That little act of his has certainly been much talked about. One of my girls entertained a gentleman who was present at that dinner party. He was so amazed, he took longer to relate the tale than he did to conduct his business.”

Felix looked uneasy. “I didn’t see it myself, you understand, but John here has a keen eye for detail, I’ll say that. What he described would certainly convince many that the Gourd is an adept. Doubtless they’d wonder what else he can do. Conjure up demons? Spirit men away in a whorl of mist? He’d like you to think he has eyes everywhere. It’s excellent strategy, I admit. You can’t fight that sort of fear.”

“True enough,” John said, “but I can tell you exactly how he worked his little trick.”

Felix looked at him in amazement. “How would you know about magick?”

“Not magick,” John corrected him. “A trick. I know because for a while I traveled with a group of entertainers and sometimes we worked with other adepts.”

“You have some talent, then?” Isis asked.

John shook his head. “No, but travelers like that often band together. Passing through Egypt we were joined for a time by a man who went by the name of Baba. He would set up a table and do magick tricks before we put on our show. There were always a number of coins tossed his way. I don’t know if people were paying for his entertainment or because they feared him. One of Baba’s most spectacular feats was to plunge his arm into a vat of boiling pitch.”

“Just like the Gourd did!” Felix exclaimed.

“Exactly. But the trick is that the pitch isn’t actually boiling. Baba added vinegar and a particular type of soda. The mixture bubbles when it’s warmed so it looks as if it’s scalding hot. I am sure that’s exactly how the Gourd fooled his aristocratic audience.”

Felix looked at John in disbelief. “That’s all it was? A handful or two of common ingredients has the whole city cowering?”

“For the time being perhaps. The Gourd may yet overreach himself, just as Baba did. He wasn’t content with coins, you understand. He wanted to see people terrified, prostrating themselves in the dust. There’s bronze coins to be had from boiling pitch, but there’s gold in terror, he would say. So one night he decided to conjure up a fiery, airborne demon. It was really a bird soaked in a flammable mixture, set on fire and released by a troupe member he had bribed. The poor creature flew straight into a pile of straw and nearly burnt the village to the ground. So I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the Gourd releases his own fiery demon in the wrong direction sooner or later.”

Felix stood up. John was relieved to see the excubitor would be able to return to the barracks unaided.

“A fascinating story indeed, John,” Felix said. “And I say let’s hope Gourd sets fire to his own roof before he burns down the city.”

***

Theodotus peered over Theodora’s shoulder toward the alcove at the rear of the smoky room and raised his voice. “I am Prefect of this city! By what authority do you prevent me from speaking to Justinian?”

“By what authority do you seek to impose on him?”

“The emperor suggested-”

“Justinian cannot entertain visitors this morning. He is too ill. But you know that, don’t you?” In contrast to the Prefect’s loud tones, Theodora’s voice was soft. No louder than the whisper of a blade slipping from its scabbard.

“I must discuss the matter of this eunuch he’s saddled me with! I’ve already complained to the emperor about his man, the German excubitor. The pair of them are interfering with my duties. Justin ordered me to talk to Justinian.”

“Was it Justin who ordered you, or the quaestor Proclus?”

Theodotus clenched his fists. In the dimly illuminated room, he might have been a deformed demon, every bit the horror that more than one potential malefactor feared meeting in a dark alley.

Theodora took a step forward. “What is it you managed to slip to Justinian? How have you accomplished this filthy deed?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is that the real purpose of your visit? Did you hope for an opportunity to administer a new dose of poison?”

“Poison? Ridiculous! When could I have possibly poisoned Justinian?”

“A magician is capable of many things. Perhaps the poison was borne here on a spell. You showed yourself as quite an adept the other evening.”

Theodotus shifted his feet. He had to restrain himself from pushing past the woman. “I thought you enjoyed my little display, Theodora.”

“I did. It delighted me to see how convincing you were. It was a very nice act indeed.”

“You should know about acting!”

Theodora gave a throaty laugh. “I do. I have a professional’s keen eye and skepticism. However, you certainly convinced the rest of your guests, which is the important thing. You see, what you obviously overlooked in giving that little demonstration of yours is that they’ll all be convinced that a man with such powers would have no trouble at all in poisoning a future emperor, no

The sky was so clear it might have been blown glass, but the cold still kept most city residents off the streets. Those who lived on them, beggars huddled in sheltered corners along the Mese, didn’t even extend grimy hands toward John and Anna as they passed.

Perhaps, John thought, the cold numbing their ill-clothed bodies also froze their spirits. When every day was much like another and each had to be devoted to struggling to survive, it made men old before their time. After a time, old men lost interest in life.

Perhaps Dorotheus had been right in his dismissal of freedom.

John glanced at two boys playing kick ball in a portico. Perhaps because they had not matured enough to realize what lay ahead, such children lived only for the day. With each sunrise came the renewed hope that they might be given a crust of bread, or find a largely unrotted cabbage in the gutter or contrive to steal a fish from a shop. John envied them their hope.

He pulled his cloak around himself more tightly. Chilly air still managed to get in and nestle next to his ribs.

The boys almost collided with a man emerging from a shop. Obviously a servant, he struggled to carry a huge covered basket. His face registered alarm. He must have thought he was about to be robbed. He sidestepped his supposed attackers too hastily. Suddenly he was down on his back, along with his basket. The portico was immediately bestrewn with hundreds of olives of every conceivable shape and shade of green, as well as light brown and dull black. They went spinning and rolling in all directions. More than one beggar materialized and began scooping up the unexpected bounty.

The servant struggled to his feet and shouted virulent abuse after the boys, who were heedlessly kicking their leather ball across the Mese. One of them turned and made a rude gesture, narrowly avoiding being knocked down by a curtained litter borne by four slaves. He made the same gesture at the slaves, who shouted even worse sentiments back at him.

Anna sighed. “It’s remarkable that children like that live long enough to become adults. Where are their parents? Although I suppose people cannot always keep an eye on their offspring.”