David Wishart: Trade Secrets

‘Uh, right. Right.’ I glanced up at the door. Where was Bathyllus when I needed him? Fourteen fucking miles off, in Ostia, that was where, and a distraction at this point would’ve been useful. Something along the lines of: Excuse me, sir, but the kitchen’s on fire, one of the maids has run amok with a cleaver, and the Emperor is waiting to see you in the atrium. Just when you’re ready, of course.

‘OK,’ I sighed. ‘You have my full attention. What is it, Petillius?’

He was quivering with suppressed rage. ‘I went down to the City Judge’s office this morning to start proceedings against you,’ he said. ‘Killing a valuable feline, attempting to cover up the crime, and inciting a member of your household staff to engineer an assault on one of my most expensive slaves. You may expect to be notified in due course. That’s all I have to say. Good day to you.’

Bugger this. ‘Now look, pal,’ I said. ‘Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a little here? Not to mention the fact that I never touched your fucking cat to begin with.’

He bristled. ‘That is an outright lie, and you know it!’ he said. ‘You were caught in the act of disposing of the body. And I intend now to add verbal abuse to the list.’

‘Holy fucking Jupiter! All I did was-’

‘And don’t blaspheme!’

‘Ah … excuse me, gents.’

I looked round. There was a big guy in a workman’s tunic standing behind me who must’ve come up while Petillius was in full rant mode.

‘Yeah?’ I snapped.

‘Only I was just wondering,’ he said. ‘Did one of you happen to own a cat? A Parthian male, white?’

‘Uh … that’d be this gentleman here,’ I said.

He turned to Petillius. ‘Then I’m sorry, sir. Truth is, I ran the poor bleeder over a while back.’ Petillius was goggling at him. ‘I’m a cat-lover myself, five at the last count, wouldn’t be without the little darlings. There wasn’t nothing I could do. I drive a cart, see, and I was making a delivery at the house at the end of the road. They’re building an extension on. Your cat run off the pavement in front of me right under the wheels, and with a load of stone and bricks in the back what can you expect?’ The guy was practically sobbing. ‘Sir, I’ve agonized about it ever since. If he’d been mine, I’d’ve wanted to know how he met his end, and I’m sure you’re the same. Anyway, this morning the wife says, “Quintus, you go round, you find the owner and apologize.” So here I am.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I laid him out decent, sir, on the pavement, like. That time of night, I couldn’t do anything else. Now, I can see you’re busy, and I won’t take up any more of your valuable time. It won’t help you in your grief, I know, but I’m glad I come and told you, all the same. The gods bless you, sir.’

And he left.

There was a long silence while Petillius and I looked at each other. Then Petillius said: ‘Ah.’

‘Indeed,’ I said.

‘It seems I owe you an apology, Corvinus.’

‘Don’t mention it.’

‘We’ll forget about the civil charges, then, shall we?’

‘Yeah, that might be best.’

‘And of course’ – he indicated the writing on his wall that still read ‘MY NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOUR IS A CAT-KILLER’ – ‘I’ll get one of my slaves to paint that over immediately.’

‘Fine. Fine.’

‘As for your chef and the incident with the melon … well, there may have been faults on both sides. Those artistic types can be so sensitive, don’t you think?’

‘I certainly do.’

‘I’ll bid you good day, then. My regards to your wife.’

‘I’ll tell her.’

He went back inside and closed the door.

Ah, well, life, it seemed, still had something to offer after all. I grinned and climbed the steps.