David Wishart - White Murder

The fact that he was still a slave was significant too. A lot of the guys in the racing business – drivers included – are slaves bought and trained by the faction bosses, and most of them stay like that. However, for a lead driver there’s always the possibility of a win – or maybe a series of wins, depending on the race and the drivers’ prize money – netting him enough to buy himself back; after which time, of course, he can claim lead driver’s wages from the faction. Buying your freedom’s a watershed. Sure, faction bosses are usually happy to regard any prize money won by a slave as coming into the traditional ‘pocket-money’ category – what in a normal household would be covered by tips, Winter Festival cash and the like, and which may, if he’s lucky, eventually mount up to enough for the guy to buy his freedom – but technically any money earned by a slave is his master’s property, and they wouldn’t be human if they didn’t take advantage of it, at least to dock the slave of a percentage. Especially since in the process they’re staving off the evil day when their number-one driver buys his independence. From the driver’s point of view, of course, the thing’s the other way round: buying your freedom, expensive though it is, means security, a rise in status and a huge hike financially.

The key phrase there is ‘number-one driver’. Like I said, these guys – slave or free – are the cream; seconds come nowhere. When Pegasus had joined the Whites it’d hit Uranius as hard in the pocket as it was possible to get. By his own admission he was no ball of fire on the sand, but he’d’ve been slowly stashing away runner-up prize money to buy his freedom and make the break. With Pegasus running lead that would’ve stopped, because the second’s job is to hinder the opposition, not drive to win. With the Greens and Blues, sure, a second is in with the chance of a place in the final three, but not the Whites and Reds.

All that meant that with Pegasus dead – and especially with this new flash horse of the Whites’ – Uranius was back on the gravy train, where he had to be unless he wanted to stay a slave all his life. Soft, sensitive type or not, as far as motive was concerned the guy had it in spades.

I’d reached the Reds’ stables, which lay just short of the Greens’. The guard on the gate took my name and request to speak to Pudens without a murmur.

‘Straight on,’ he said. ‘The boss’s office is in the centre of the main block after the granaries.’

He went back to picking his teeth.

‘Uh…you mean I can just walk in?’ I said.

That got me a stare. ‘Sure. Why not? Go ahead.’

I did. Shit; I was an old enough hand at faction security by now to realise that, as far as the Reds were concerned, theirs was as loose as an Aventine brothel-keeper’s morals. I must’ve passed ten, maybe a dozen guys between the gate and the main faction buildings and they didn’t give me so much as a glance.

I found the office door no bother and knocked.

‘Come in.’

Standard office furniture, with no fripperies, shoestring stuff; we were definitely downmarket here. The guy behind the desk was a little elderly nondescript in a plain mantle. On the other hand, the man with him radiated aggression like a catapult at full stretch. They were both looking at me. I had the impression I’d walked in on an argument.

‘Who the hell are you?’ The standing half of the partnership was glaring at me. He may’ve been small, but what there was of him was solid muscle. Black, gleaming muscle polished with oil: I’d’ve guessed Numidian, or maybe even backwoods African. And he was wearing so many medallions and good-luck charms round his neck and wrists that I’d bet when he moved he’d sound like a foundry.

‘Marcus Valerius Corvinus,’ I said.

‘Ah.’ The plain-mantle gave a long sniff: it sounded like he had sinus problems on top of everything else. ‘The man investigating Pegasus’s death. It’s all right, Laomedon.’

‘Fuck that.’ The black guy was still glaring at me. ‘How did you get in?’

‘I walked, pal. How else would I do it?’ If this was the Reds’ lead driver then I doubted if we’d end up soul-mates. My hackles were rising already.

‘You weren’t stopped at the gate?’

‘Your gate guard didn’t seem too worried. He gave me directions.’

‘Holy Castor!’ Laomedon turned on the plain-mantle. ‘Pudens, I’ve told you a hundred times! No one gets past the gate until they’ve been vetted! And they don’t fucking wander around like they own the place!’

‘Valerius Corvinus wasn’t wandering around,’ Plain-mantle said mildly. ‘He came directly here. That’s so, isn’t it, Corvinus?’

‘Sure.’

‘Then there’s no harm done.’ He put out his hand; I noticed that the fingernails were bitten and ink-stained. ‘Rufrius Pudens. You’ve met my wife, I believe.’

We shook. The hand felt like a limp bag of bones. ‘Uh…yeah. I called round yesterday.’ I glanced at Laomedon, but he’d folded his arms and was looking down at the desk. If he’d been a five-year-old I’d’ve said the guy was sulking.

‘Then she will have given you all the help we – as a corporate entity – can provide. Pegasus had no connection with the Reds at any time; I scarcely knew the man, professionally or’ – he paused – ‘or otherwise.’ Did his expression twitch? I wasn’t sure. ‘Welcome as you are, I’m at a bit of a loss as to what you’re doing here.’

I glanced at Laomedon. ‘Mainly I wanted a word with your lead driver, sir.’ The black guy’s head lifted and his eyes burned into me. ‘If you wouldn’t mind.’

There was a pile of wax tablets on Pudens’s desk. He picked the top one up and put it down again. The pile shifted. ‘No. Not at all. Quite…ah…quite understandable under the…ah…’ His hand jerked, and the tablets spilled. One fell on the floor but he ignored it. ‘You’d prefer to talk in private, naturally.’

‘Yeah.’ Certainly if Felicula’s name was likely to come up. Which it was. ‘If that’s possible.’

‘Of course. Of course.’ He stood up. I’d expected him to be small, but stooped as he was he had a head’s start on Laomedon. ‘I’ll just…’ His hand fluttered. ‘Laomedon, we’ll continue our discussion when Valerius Corvinus has finished.’

Pudens wasn’t watching the driver – he was already half way to the door – but I was. Laomedon didn’t say anything, but on his face was a look of pure contempt.

The door closed. Slowly, his eyes never leaving me, Laomedon walked round behind the desk and sat down in Pudens’s chair. I’d been right about the medallions; the guy didn’t so much move as clink.

I pulled up a stool. We sat staring each other out for a good half minute.

‘Okay, Corvinus,’ he said at last. ‘You have the ball.’

‘You and Pegasus had been cutting each other up on the track ever since he took over from you with Felicula,’ I said.

‘Right.’

‘You hated the guy’s guts.’

‘Right again.’

‘Where were you late afternoon, three days ago?’

‘Not on Iugarius.’ He pushed the chair back and set his feet on the desk. Two more tablets slid onto the floor. ‘Mind you, I wouldn’t tell you if I was, would I?’

I had to smile. ‘No, I don’t suppose you would. Why do you stay with the Reds?’

He hadn’t been expecting that. His eyes shifted. ‘That’s none of your business.’

‘They’re a joke. Pudens is a joke. You don’t respect him as a boss or as a man. You could shift to the Greens, especially now Pegasus is gone. Sure, you’d start out as second, but you’re too good to stay there. Or are you?’

‘I’m good. Very good.’