David Wishart - No Cause for Concern

‘“ Seagull”? No, not offhand, although I can ask around. Leave it with me.’

‘You’re sure he’s a person, Corvinus?’ Agron said.

‘What?’

‘Only Seagull’s a common name for a boat.’

Everything went very still. ‘Is that so, now?’ I said.

‘Yeah. In Ostia, anyway.’

Oh, gods! ‘You happen to know of any in particular?’

‘Sure. A good dozen, at least.’

Bugger. Still, it was a start, and I felt the first prickle of excitement. ‘Could you make me a list?’

‘Hold on. It’s not that bad. You’re talking merchantmen, right? Not small fishing boats?’ I nodded; for this to work it would have to be a merchantman, big enough to carry crates, at least. ‘Going where?’

I shrugged. ‘Pass. Does it matter?’

‘It would narrow the field. Most have their own routes, and they tend to stick to them. South along the coast or across to Gaul and Spain are the usual ones. To the south as far as Sicily, maybe even Mauretania and Africa, although barring grain barges most of the real long-distance ships work out of Puteoli. If you don’t have a destination I can think of two possibles. For Ostia, at least.’

‘Three,’ Cass said.

Hey, great! Three I could live with. ‘Namely?’

‘Titus Secundus, for one. He works the Tyrrhenian circuit. Corsica, Sardinia, down to Lilybaeum and Panormus then back home via Naples. Then there’s Gaius Imber. He’s Massilia/New Carthage, like Timon.’ He turned to Cass. ‘Who’s your third, love?’

‘Gaius Florus.’

Agron nodded. ‘Old Florus. Right. I’d forgotten him. He’s practically retired. He used to work the Sicily route until he lost his son in a storm off Cape Peloris, but he does mostly inshore work on the northern side now, up as far as Genua.’

Yeah, well; all three sounded fair bets. Certainly Genua, Sicily and the coasts of Gaul and Spain would all be far enough away from Rome and Eutacticus to provide Astrapton with a reasonably secure bolt-hole for whenever he wanted to use it, particularly since getting his loot to any one of them need only have been the first step to disappearing into the tall timber. That was always assuming I wasn’t chasing moonbeams here to begin with, naturally, or that as far as Titus Luscius’s murder was concerned finding Larus – the Larus – wasn’t irrelevant. But you have to make certain assumptions, and like I said as leads went it was the only game in town at present. I couldn’t afford to be picky, and I’ve always believed in the maxim that if you keep digging then sooner or later you’re bound to turn something up.

Besides, I’d got an itch at the back of my neck, and that’d always been a good sign.

‘So how would I find these guys?’ I said. ‘They in port currently?’

‘That I don’t know. I can find out, sure, and if they are I can talk to them myself, but it’d take time, I wouldn’t know what questions to ask, and I’d have to get back to you. It’s likely enough, though, because there’s less than a month of the sailing season still to run, so if any of the three of them haven’t actually made their last round trip of the year already they’ll be on the inward leg. But if you’re really interested then the best plan would be to come down to Ostia yourself and stay on until you’ve got what you need.’

‘We can put you up,’ Cass said. ‘It’d be no trouble.’

‘Ah -’

Agron grinned. ‘Not at the flat, Corvinus. I wouldn’t do that to you. The family upstairs from us has just moved to Capua, and we haven’t found replacements yet. You could use that, and welcome. It’s no palace, but it’s clean and furnished.’

I breathed a mental sigh of relief. Bunking down in a tenement I didn’t mind, particularly in the short term – I’d done it before, years back, in Aelius Sejanus’s time, and for a lot longer than a few days – but just the thought of sharing a flat sine die with five screaming kids brought me out in a cold sweat. I wouldn’t be exactly slumming it, either: Cass, as the tenement’s live-in owner, had pretty exacting standards where conditions and the choice of tenants were concerned. The outgoing family would’ve been vetted from the start six ways from nothing, and if they’d been allowed to leave the place in anything but pristine condition I’d eat my sandals.

‘Fine, pal,’ I said. ‘I might well just take you up on that.’

…which was when Marcina and Perilla came back in from their mini kitchen klatch, and I had to drop the subject for the duration. Don’t ask me why, because it makes no sense, but the lady has a deep-seated aversion to talking murder at dinner parties, and if she’d caught me at it there would’ve been hell to pay later. Lippillus would’ve got it in the neck, too, from Marcina, for allowing it.

Still, things were moving again. Or at least I hoped they were.

We’d just settled down to breakfast on the terrace the next morning – Agron and Cass were staying over for another couple of days – when Bathyllus buttled in to say I had a visitor.

Oh, shit: Laughing George again. Didn’t that guy work regular hours like everyone else? ‘Okay, little guy,’ I said wearily. ‘Show him through.’

But it wasn’t Satrius this time. It was Sempronia’s maid.

She was looking more scrunched-up than ever: a little mouse of a girl who radiated apology for existing. She followed Bathyllus through the folding doors like she was going to her own execution and stood beside the table, eyes lowered and silent.

‘Uh…Cleo, isn’t it?’ I said.

‘Cleia, sir.’ I hadn’t heard her speak before, and her voice was as quiet and mousey as the rest of her.

‘Right. Sorry.’ Perilla was looking at me with amusement. Agron and Cass were just looking. ‘So what can I do for you?’

‘It’s difficult, sir. If I could just talk to you in private?’

‘Sure. No problem.’ I got up. ‘We’ll go inside.’

I took her arm – she was shivering -, led her into the atrium and plonked her down on the nearest couch.

‘Now,’ I said. ‘What is it? A message from your mistress?’

‘No, sir. At least, she did send me, but it’s something I had to tell you myself.’

‘Go ahead.’

She took a deep breath. ‘It’s about Satrius, sir.’

Which was as far as she got before clamming up again. Jupiter! This was like pulling teeth! And I’m never at my best with terrified, mousey little slave girls. ‘You want to talk to Perilla rather than me, Cleia?’ I said. ‘I can get her if -’

‘No! ’ The eyes came up; they were red-rimmed, with black shadows under them. ‘The mistress said it had to be you. You’d know what to do.’

‘Okay.’ I sat down beside her. ‘In your own time, then. But I don’t bite.’

‘He killed Astrapton.’

‘What? ’

‘It’s true, sir. Or at least I think it is.’

‘Ah…you care to tell me why?’ I had to fight to keep my voice level.

‘He knew where he was hiding.’

‘Yeah. Yeah, of course he did. I went round with him myself, and -’

‘No. Before. Three days ago.’

I sat back. ‘ Three days ago? But -’ This didn’t make sense. I’d been there in Eutacticus’s study when Satrius had told him that Astrapton had just been traced. And that was two days ago, not three, after we’d got back from the Golden Fleece. Satrius hadn’t known where Astrapton was then…

Or at least if he had he’d kept the information to himself.

Shit!

‘How do you know?’ I said calmly.

‘My brother told me.’

‘Your brother? ’

‘My brother Alexander, sir. He said he told Satrius where to look for Astrapton – where to start looking, at least – the day before he died.’