David Wishart - No Cause for Concern

‘They are actors, Marcus. Both of them.’

‘Yeah. Still, if it was a performance then it was an impressive one, and totally off the cuff. Of course, they could’ve agreed on the father/son ploy as a failsafe, in case someone like me did turn up.’ I took a swallow of wine. ‘Anyway, leave it for now. We’ll know for sure tomorrow. One way or another.’

At which point Bathyllus shimmered in. ‘Dinner, sir. Madam.’ He paused. ‘Served in the dining-room.’ The last bit was heavily stressed.

‘Well, naturally, sunshine,’ I said. ‘Where else would it be?’

But I was talking to his retreating back. I looked at Perilla.

‘What’s wrong with Bathyllus?’ I said.

‘I can’t think,’ she said. ‘I really don’t know.’ Interesting: those two gems had come out with a noticeable squeak embedded, and there were sudden spots of colour high on her cheekbones. The lady was lying. There was guilt there, too.

‘Fair enough,’ I said. I eased myself off the couch with what nonchalance I could muster – I’d had a bath as soon as I got back, but I was still pretty stiff and saddle-sore – and carried the winecup and jug through to the dining-room…

Jupitergodsbloodyalmighty!

‘Ah… What do you think, Marcus?’ Perilla said nervously. She’d cannoned into my back when I’d stopped at the dining-room door. ‘Very…striking, isn’t it? Of course, it’s only sketched in at present. Daistratus said it’ll take him another -’

‘What the hell is it supposed to be?’ I was goggling. Only sketched in or not, the full horror that would be the finished article was already pretty obvious.

‘It’s…well, it’s…architectural. You said you wanted architecture.’

‘Yeah, but I’d sort of expected an actual building to be involved somewhere.’ Gods, the more you looked at it the worse it got. My brain had gone numb. ‘Which way’s up?’

‘Don’t be silly, dear, it’s…’ Perilla paused. ‘Oh. I see what you mean. Those arches on the right. And the staircase joining the first and second floors.’

Bloody hell! I didn’t even want to look at the staircase joining the first and second floors. I was having enough trouble with the normal three dimensions without bothering with a fourth. Or – I glanced at the arches, and my brain reeled afresh – a fifth and sixth. I wrenched my eyes away before the thing drew me in and swallowed me altogether.

‘What does he call it?’ I said.

‘Er… Fantasy Architecturescape Seven,’ Perilla said.

‘You mean there are six more of these bastards somewhere?’

‘Presumably. You said to surprise you.’

‘Yeah. Right. And you’ve succeeded. Congratulations.’ Well, it explained Bathyllus’s grump. If you sliced him into wafer-thin layers you’d find ‘traditionalist’ lettered all the way through. Life for the foreseeable future was going to be hell. ‘I think a bucket of lime wash is in order. Or we can just ask this Daistratus to rub it out and give us something decent.’

‘But we can’t do that, dear! Everyone agrees that he’s an artistic giant, a genius. And you have to admit that it is clever.’

‘So’s a fucking tightrope-walking elephant, but that doesn’t mean I want one in my dining-room. Come on, Perilla! That thing’s bad enough now. When it’s finished, two or three days staring at it while we eat and our brains’ll be mush!’

‘Nonsense. It just takes a little getting used to.’ She sniffed, but I noticed that she didn’t look back at the picture. ‘We can always do things gradually. Alter the seating arrangements. Move the dining couches so that they’re sideways on. Marcus, it’s a masterpiece! Besides, it wasn’t cheap. And I paid in advance.’

I groaned.

Bathyllus came in. You could’ve used the little bald-head’s expression to slice marble.

‘Shall I bring the starters, sir?’ he said.

‘Yeah. Yeah, you do that. And, ah, move these couches round through ninety degrees, will you, pal? There’s a bit of a draft from the door this evening.’

‘Yes, sir. Certainly. Would you be wanting another jug of lime?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Wine, sir. I meant wine. I’m sorry. A slip of the tongue.’

‘Right. Yes. Sure. Oh, and Bathyllus?’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Make it the Special, will you?’

‘The Special it is, sir.’

I reckoned if I was to get through this meal with my sanity intact I’d need all the anaesthetising I could get.

Next morning, I went back up to the Pincian to make my report. I’d scarcely given my cloak to the door-slave – the weather had turned colder – before Sempronia came out of the atrium and hurried towards me.

‘Have you found him?’ she said.

‘That depends.’ I followed her inside.

She frowned. ‘Depends on what?’

Best get it over with. ‘Does Sextus Luscius have a son?’ I said.

The frown deepened. ‘Yes. Yes he does. Why should you -?’

‘His name Titus as well?’

‘Yes, actually, it is. What does that have to do with anything?’

Bugger. ‘And they’re roughly the same age? The two Tituses, I mean.’

‘Almost exactly.’ We were in the atrium now, all bronze and marble statues, gilt couches and pricey murals. Flash, flash, flash. I sat down on one of the gilt couches, and she sat opposite me. ‘There’s only two months between them. Corvinus, what’s this about? Did you see Titus or not?’

Well, we might as well be absolutely clear about this. ‘Just a second, lady. Would this other Titus be about five eight, thinnish with dark curly hair?’

‘I can’t remember. I only saw him once, at the wedding, but he could be.’

‘Okay. How about your one. Any distinguishing features?’

‘Yes.’ She was looking mystified. ‘Quite a noticeable one, actually. He has a big chunk missing out of his right ear.’ Her finger dabbed at her own ear; the lobe and a half-inch or so above. ‘A dog bit him when he was five.’

Hell; that was that, then. Proof positive: the Titus Luscius I’d seen had definitely had both ears intact.

‘Then the answer’s no, I’m afraid. I didn’t see him.’

‘You’re sure?’ She looked lost. ‘You’re absolutely sure he wasn’t there?’

‘Absolutely.’ I told her about my visit to the theatre and the conversation with Luscius.

‘But he could’ve been… I don’t know, inside one of the tents,’ she said when I’d finished. ‘Or behind the scenery somewhere. You didn’t look?’

‘No. But it isn’t likely. He can’t’ve known I was coming, so he’d have no reason to hide. If he’d been involved in the play – and he would’ve been, because he had acting experience – he’d’ve been out in the open with the rest, rehearsing. Those troupes don’t carry passengers. Look, Sempronia, I’m sorry.’

She was quiet for a long time. Then she said: ‘That’s all right. At least it isn’t, but it’s not your fault. So if he isn’t with his uncle then where is he?’

‘I don’t know.’ I made up my mind. ‘It’s not the end of the world. We’ll just have to try something else, that’s all. He didn’t talk to you before he went?’

‘No! I told you!’

‘Gently, gently. Fine. Did he talk to anyone else?’

‘No. Not that I know of. Astrapton saw him go, but I don’t think -’

‘Who’s Astrapton?’

‘Father’s accountant. But he only saw him go through the gate, him and Lynchus.’ Oh, yeah; the body-slave. Occusia had mentioned that Titus had taken him with him. ‘I don’t think they actually talked. They wouldn’t. Titus ignored Astrapton, like he did all Father’s business employees.’

‘And Astrapton is where?’

‘He has an office in the east wing.’