Ruth Downie - Caveat emptor

If only the well-wisher had been bold enough to put his name to the note. Ruso put down the spoon and held the tablet up so the slave could see the writing on the outside. “Do you have any idea at all who this might have come from? Someone who might want to help me?”

The man looked nonplussed. “No, sir.”

Ruso reread the message. His instinctive reaction had been alarm. Now he must think logically. If the unknown correspondent had intended to poison his dinner, he would not have bothered writing to him first.

He swallowed the cabbage, tried a spoonful of the sauce around the chicken, and savored it before glancing up at the slave. “This is very good,” he said. And then, because he did not want to be alone after all, “Want some?”

Later, after the staff had cleared away the dishes and removed the brazier, he checked the locks on the doors and shutters twice, then rammed a chair under each door latch. He reread the note, trying and failing to pick up some hint of who might be warning him and what that person might know that he didn’t. Then he snuffed out all but one of the lamps and settled down to an uneasy sleep.

The breakfast was not poisoned, either. Ruso had finished eating and plunged his head into a bowl of cold water when he was conscious of a tapping noise. He lifted his head, toweled his ears, and listened again. Someone was rapping on the shutters. An apologetic slave announced that there was a visitor waiting in reception.

“I’ll be there in a minute. I’m in the middle of washing.”

“He says to tell you he’s called Albanus, sir.”

“It’s all right,” Ruso assured his guest, who was perched uneasily on the edge of the spare chair in the reception room of Suite Three. “You don’t have to be frightened of the furniture.”

Albanus sat back. His gaze kept shifting between Ruso, still toweling his hair, and their surroundings, as if he was waiting for the rightful occupant to come and throw them both out.

“They were very keen for me to find their money,” Ruso explained. “And they want to keep on the right side of the procurator.”

“And is your wife here too, sir?”

“No, I’ve got this all to myself. Ridiculous, isn’t it? There’s a whole dining room across the passage that I’ve never even used.” He waved the towel toward the table. “Help yourself. The cheese is quite good. I’m not sure about that pastry thing with the raisins.”

“Can I ask how the inquiry’s going, sir?”

“It’s finished,” Ruso said. “They’re going to accuse the chief magistrate.” He put his finger to his lips and added very quietly, “It’s not finished, but I don’t trust the guards. What the hell are you doing here?”

Albanus glanced around the room again before murmuring, “I’ve come to warn you about something, sir. I don’t think you’re going to like it very much.”

Albanus was right. He did not like it very much. Albanus had done some more ferreting around in Londinium and worked out for himself that Julius Asper was in the pay of Metellus. “I thought you’d want to know straightaway, sir.”

“Thank you.”

“And that’s not all, sir.”

“It’s not?”

“No, sir. I made some inquiries about what Caratius was up to while he was in town. According to his friend’s cook, he arrived at the friend’s house and stayed there all night.”

“I see,” said Ruso, who had never thought Caratius was the mysterious hooded burglar anyway.

“You might like to know that his friend is a man, sir.”

Ruso frowned. “Well, of course he’s a man. He’s a priest of Jupiter.”

Albanus shook his head. “I don’t think you quite grasped my meaning, sir. His friend, where he stays all night whenever he goes to Londinium, is-”

“Ah!” So Caratius had a male lover. He wondered if Camma had known.

“Anyway,” continued Albanus, “the point is, he definitely didn’t go anywhere all night. But his guard went out.” Albanus paused to scratch his head. “I’m not sure this helps us much, sir. I don’t think the guard could have done any burgling in the small hours. Not unless he was acting earlier in the evening. The cook said he was back on the doorstep before long, so drunk he could hardly stand up.”

Ruso reached for his knife without thinking and cut a slice of cheese he didn’t want to eat. The only part of Albanus’s information that was new was the business of Caratius’s lover. It was unlikely to be relevant, but the man had traveled a long way to bring it and the sight of a friendly face was more of a relief than he cared to admit. He thanked him. Then he began the difficult task of persuading him to go away.

“It’s good of you to take the day off to come and see me,” he said, leaning back in his chair and speaking normally again. “I’ll see if I can get the procurator to cover your expenses.”

“Oh, I haven’t just taken the day,” explained Albanus brightly. “I’ve given the boys a week’s holiday.”

“Ah.”

“And the expenses are already dealt with, sir.” On any other face, that expression would be called “smug.” On Albanus it still retained vestiges of innocent delight as he announced, “I’ve never been on the fast coach before. It’s rather exciting, isn’t it? A bit bumpy, though.”

Ruso felt a deep sense of foreboding. “Your expenses are dealt with?”

“Oh yes. Young Firmus gave me a travel warrant.”

Ruso glanced at the window before mouthing, Why?

Albanus whispered, “The procurator thought you ought to be warned about Metellus, sir.”

The procurator knew about Metellus too?

The procurator knew about Metellus. Ruso closed his eyes and wished he believed in Tilla’s Christos, the god who answered prayers anywhere and did not demand cash in return. How long would it be before Metellus found out and assumed Ruso had betrayed him?

When he opened his eyes again, Albanus was looking uncertain.

“I asked young Firmus to tell the procurator what I’d found out, sir. I hope I haven’t done the wrong thing?”

“No,” Ruso assured him, feeling something curl up inside his stomach. “No, you’ve behaved absolutely correctly. Although I do recall telling you both not to get further involved.”

“I know, sir,” Albanus confessed. “But frankly I wasn’t sure that you’d followed every possible line of inquiry before you left. And you’ve been very good to me in the past, so I thought I’d give you a bit of help.”

“Thank you.”

“The procurator didn’t seem very happy, sir. I think his ribs are rather painful.”

“You’ve actually spoken to him?”

“Yes, sir. And he said to tell you to wrap up the investigation and get straight back to Londinium.”

First the well-wisher, then the Council, and now the procurator. It seemed everybody wanted him out of this place. “It may take me a while to finish here.”

“I’m happy to help in any way I can, sir.”

“I’d like you to escort Tilla back to Londinium this afternoon.”

The disappointment showed on Albanus’s face, but his voice remained neutral. “There are a couple of other things, sir. They might be a bit embarrassing.”

“Don’t worry,” Ruso assured him. He was beyond embarrassment now.

“Well, I think I might have upset the local doctor. I stopped at the gates and asked for Doctor Ruso and somebody fetched him instead and he was rather cross when I wasn’t ill.”

“Never mind,” said Ruso. “I’m not his favorite person, anyway. What’s the other thing?”

Albanus cleared his throat. “Sir, is there something going on that I don’t know about?”

“Yes.” At least he could reveal that much. “But it’s complicated.”