David Wishart - Last Rites

‘There’s a change here,’ I said.

‘Yes, sir. The girl called in a few days ago with a persistent cough. It happens, especially this time of year, and of course it makes playing impossible.’

‘The replacement, Thalia. She a regular?’

‘Oh, yes, sir. All our girls are, been with us for years. And she’s an excellent fluteplayer, one of our best, or she wouldn’t have been eligible.’

‘So how come she wasn’t on the original list?’ The rite of the Good Goddess is a top-notch gig. Torquata – or Aemilia or the city judges or whoever made the arrangements – would insist on quality; get it, too. And from the flutegirls’ side inclusion in one of the biggest society events of the year would go a long way professionally to netting them future bookings.

The jowls wobbled. ‘We try to be fair, sir. The ceremony being an annual one and so prestigious, arrangements are made well in advance. The girls – the most suitable, anyway – draw lots for inclusion among the twelve. Thalia was unlucky this year, initially. When the vacancy occurred, however, we held a second ballot and Thalia drew the lucky straw.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Well, nothing there, then, especially with the element of chance involved. Still, I had to start somewhere, and this Thalia was as good a place as any. ‘You have her address?’

‘No, sir, unfortunately not.’ The guy coughed delicately. ‘Most of our girls are, shall we say, migrant. They move around on a temporary basis, and although many do have rooms the odds are that they won’t be found there. Certainly any records we tried to keep would be very unreliable. Hence this guildhouse. The girls call in here on a regular basis to check their upcoming engagements and compare notes on customers.’

Shit. I needed to talk to someone now. ‘Okay. Is there anyone on this list you can put me in touch with immediately?’

He took it from me and frowned at it for a bit. Then he pointed to a name halfway down. ‘Aegle’s your best bet for that,’ he said. ‘She’s… not so much in demand as some of the other girls. I’m not speaking professionally, you understand. And she does have her own place, not far from here as a matter of fact. In the tenement on Suburan Street opposite the Shrine of Picus, although the floor I can’t help you with.’

I stood up. ‘Thanks a lot, pal. You’ve been very helpful.’

‘Don’t mention it, sir. I hope to have your custom in the future.’

The rain was coming down in buckets as I left the guildhouse, and I was glad of my hooded cloak. Like the guy had said, the tenement wasn’t far, only a few hundred yards. The entrance was sandwiched between a second-hand clothes shop and a very suspect-looking pork-butcher’s. Not a good area.

There was a round-shouldered guy leaning against the wall outside chewing on a sausage. I went up to him.

‘You happen to know which floor Aegle the flutegirl lives on, pal?’ I said.

His eyes took in the quality of the cloak: it was covering my purple-striper mantle, but that and the upper-class vowels were enough. ‘You don’t want Aegle, sir,’ he said. ‘I can recommend a much better-’

‘Just tell me the floor, friend.’

He shrugged and bit into his sausage. ‘Top,’ he said. ‘Under the tiles.’

I brushed off the sprayed bits of gristle and went inside. The entrance passage and the stairs beyond smelled of piss, and the local artists had done their melancholy best with the walls. Under the tiles, right? The cheapest flat, six floors from anything and cold as hell. Damp, too, probably, if the landlord didn’t lose sleep over the condition of the roof. Fluteplaying certainly didn’t pay.

It was a long way up. There were four doors at the top, so I chose one at random and hammered on it. No reply. I tried the next one.

Footsteps, finally. Well, at least I could ask again. The door opened.

The girl looked tousled, like she’d just got up; but then maybe she had. She was young enough – twenty-five at most – and she’d a dancer’s figure, but half her face was covered with a strawberry birthmark. Right. That explained the comment about her not being as popular with the punters as her colleagues.

‘Uh… you Aegle?’ I said.

‘Yeah.’

Well, I’d heard friendlier voices. ‘My name’s Marcus Valerius Corvinus. I got your address from the guy at the guildhouse.’

‘Celer?’

‘Probably. Can I come in? It’s about the business last night.’

She gave me a measuring stare. Then she shrugged and turned. ‘Suit yourself. I’m sorry about the mess but I don’t usually entertain purple-stripers. Not at home, anyway.’

I followed her in and closed the door behind me. There was a small entrance hall, just big enough for a few pegs. I hung my wet cloak on an unoccupied one and went through. Beyond was a single room with an unmade mattress on the floor, a few sticks of furniture and a flute-case propped against the wall. Aegle pulled up a stool for me and sat down opposite on a rickety clothes chest. She yawned.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘You were asleep?’

Another shrug; despite her name the girl was evidently no sparkler. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘So what can I do for you, Marcus Valerius Corvinus?’

I ignored the tone. ‘I’m not sure. Maybe nothing, I’m just doing the rounds. I wanted to talk to one of the musicians at the rite. Ask them if they noticed anything unusual in the course of the evening.’

‘How do you mean, “unusual”?’

‘Out of the ordinary.’

‘Look, I know what unusual means.’ For a moment her face lit in a smile that changed it completely: she’d’ve been pretty if it hadn’t been for the birthmark. ‘Just what kind of unusual?’

It was my turn to shrug. ‘You tell me.’

‘Nothing to tell. We played. The rite finished. Then we ate. The food’s one of the pluses at the Good Goddess ceremony: we’re given our share of the real stuff, because we’re celebrants too. Then the lady’s body was found and we were sent home early. That’s all I know. There was no difference from other years, if that’s what you’re asking. Apart from the suicide itself, of course, which sort of marked the evening out a little.’ No smile this time; clearly one was all I got.

‘You’ve played at the rite before?’

‘Sure. A couple of times, anyway. Most of the girls there had.’

‘Only most?’

‘For some it was the first time. Especially the younger ones.’

‘Celer said all twelve of you were experienced fluteplayers. That you’d been working together for years.’

‘Uh-huh. But he’ll also have told you that we draw straws for the rite. Some of the girls just hadn’t been lucky before.’

‘So you knew them all? You’d worked with them all before?’

‘Yeah.’

There was something there. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I had the feeling that she had hesitated for the barest fraction of a second before she’d answered.

‘You sure?’ I said.

‘Sure I’m sure. Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘What about Thalia?’

‘Thalia wasn’t -’ She stopped and looked away. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I’ve worked with Thalia. Lots of times.’

‘You said Thalia wasn’t.’ The back of my neck was prickling. ‘Wasn’t what?’

She stood up suddenly and moved in the direction of the door. ‘Look, do you mind if we leave it, Corvinus?’ she said. ‘I’m tired and it was a long night. Also I’ve got a dinner party this evening so I’ve got to practise. I’ve told you all I know, which isn’t much but then that’s life, isn’t it?’

‘Thalia wasn’t there, was she?’ Jupiter! I was on to something after all! ‘But there were a dozen of you. So who was the twelfth girl?’ Silence. ‘Aegle, do you want me to go back to Celer? Tell him one of his team didn’t show and ask him to find out who took her place?’ Still silence, but her teeth snaggled at her lower lip and she was watching me like I was going to jump up and bite her. ‘Look, I don’t want to cause trouble, right? All I want is the girl’s name and where to find her.’