Seven for a Secret (4 page)

Chapter Seven

“Of course I haven’t mentioned Zoe to anyone! Furthermore, I’d be extremely annoyed if I didn’t realize you had good reason to question me.”

Anatolius gestured at his desk, piled with documents and scrolls. “With all the legal work brought about by the plague, I’ve hardly had time to speak to the servants let alone gad about the city gossiping about my friends behind their backs.”

He picked up a scroll and waved it in John’s direction. “I must get this summons delivered today. An old acquaintance of my father’s has engaged me to bring a case against an estate. It involves the deceased children of deceased parents and competing guardians, some dead, not to mention grandchildren, several of whom might actually be alive. Or perhaps not. As you know, we have four months to conclude these cases one way or the other, before they are thrown out. It could take that long to find enough competent witnesses to swear to the pertinent documents. And, needless to say, our opponent will cry forgery in any event.”

“Not as easy as going down to Avernus,” John observed.

“No. More like trying to return.” Anatolius gave a rueful laugh as he stared down into the jumble of documents. Following his gaze, John saw the image of a skull staring back from the tiled desk top.

Anatolius shoved a leather bound codex over the fleshless visage. “That was father’s idea. He thought a man should surround himself with reminders of his mortality. What I say is mortality’s perfectly happy to tap you on the shoulder and remind you when the time comes.”

“The cupids at least bring a note of joy.” John nodded toward the nearest wall, decorated with cavorting godlets playing musical instruments or driving chariots pulled by donkeys.

Anatolius smiled. “Yes. You’ll recall this was my mother’s reception room, and after she died father made it his study. I must admit I’ve noticed some of my clients looking askance.”

“You hadn’t thought of meeting them in another room?”

The suggestion appeared to surprise Anatolius. “I suppose I could move my study if I wished. You know, this place still feels as if it is my parents’ house. Not mine. I expect it always will. Perhaps I should ask old Bony for his opinion.”

“Who is he—or was he?”

“That’s what I named the skull when I was a child. Do you imagine you’re the only one who talks to inanimate representations? I used to have nightmares about old Bony. I’d hear a sound in the night and put my head under my coverlet. I imagined it was the skull, pulling itself up out of the tiles and rattling down the hallway after me. What kind of decoration would you choose for a lawyer’s office, John?”

“Probably plain plaster. Are you certain you didn’t mention Zoe to anyone? We all have a little too much to drink at times and some of us become garrulous.”

Anatolius refused to be offended at the implication. “If intoxication’s involved, the main suspect would be Felix. How long would I have lasted as Justinian’s private secretary if I gave away secrets every time I drank?”

“A lover perhaps?” John persisted. “One’s reserve often gets lost in the bedroom.”

“I’m sure it’s just what a woman wants to hear, John! Do you know, my little sparrow, you remind me of the girl on the Lord Chamberlain’s wall. The one he talks to at night. Why, I can tell you the most amazing things about the Lord Chamberlain. He loves grilled swordfish and—”

“I concede the point, Anatolius! Setting aside the question of the name for now, then, first I want to find out the identity of the murdered woman. After that, I’ll be able to work backward to those responsible.”

“Maybe she died in a brawl with a client. That’s a common enough end for some.”

“Perhaps, but that’s irrelevant to the matter in hand. You see, Anatolius, I’ve always been convinced that, because of its individuality, the girl in the mosaic was a portrait of an actual person, perhaps the artisan’s daughter. If the mosaic maker is still alive, and I can find him, he might know who the model was.”

Anatolius pondered the notion. “It’s a long time since the mosaic was created. It was in the house when you acquired it, as I recall.”

“That’s right, a little less than ten years ago. The previous owner lost the place after the riots. He lost his head as well.”

“Aside from so much time passing, those riots claimed a lot of lives and lately the plague has cut a swathe through the populace,” Anatolius pointed out. “I wouldn’t roll the knucklebones on your chance of finding the man you want to interview. I could ask one of the imperial clerks to consult the archives, given the house is on the palace grounds. There might be some record of payment for the work.”

“Unless the previous occupant personally paid for the work. More importantly, I don’t want to alert anyone at court to my investigation. It’s purely a private matter.”

“Yes, certainly. Very wise. But wouldn’t it be even wiser to forget the whole thing?”

“That would be dangerous. The woman approached me for a reason. I am convinced she was killed because she was seen talking to me.”

“Or it may have been a prank gone wrong, a mistake, a coincidence.”

“Even so, I cannot be certain until I investigate.”

“True enough, but that’s not why you want to investigate, is it? John, the woman who was murdered, even if she served as the model, wasn’t Zoe. She wasn’t the girl you conjure up in your solitary conversations.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?”

“I believe you know it, but I’m afraid you don’t feel it is so. We can’t reason ourselves out of what we feel. Take it from a former poet.”

John observed he had looked into the murders of friends before.

“But Zoe is family,” Anatolius pointed out. “She’s the daughter of your own imagination.”

John shook his head. “You can’t persuade me, my friend.”

“I thought not. And now how do you intend to begin?”

“By making inquiries around the artisans’ quarter. I will say I admire the man’s work and want to engage him for another assignment.”

Anatolius looked skeptical.

“It’s quite true,” John assured him with a thin smile. “Cornelia would like my bath repaired and its mosaic renovated. Its style and workmanship, not to mention its subject, are such that it was obviously the work of the same man.”

“It’s a pity mosaic makers don’t sign their work. They must not have the egos of poets. Think how much easier your task would be!”

John agreed. “There’s also the tattoo I’ve described to you. That will certainly narrow down the chase. Even though nobody claimed her body, someone is certain to know about a missing woman with such a distinctive marking.”

Anatolius looked thoughtful. “The culprit must have feared she could be identified by the tattoo or he wouldn’t have tried to conceal it with the dye. A scarab with a cross over it, you said. A peculiar combination.”

“The cross was crudely done and somewhat blurred. From what remained, it might once have been an ankh. An Egyptian marking, like the scarab.”

“Do the two together signify anything?”

John shrugged. “I spent a few years in Egypt. I was not preoccupied with studying the culture.”

“One thing we do know, whatever the tattoo means, they are usually on women of the class employed by Isis, not to mention actresses and the like. I’d be happy to make appropriate inquiries among those ladies.” Anatolius looked at his littered desk and sighed. “It’ll make a change from winding up estates and trying to trace elusive heirs.”

Chapter Eight

A burst of laughter greeted Anatolius as a girl clothed in rose-scented perfume and a wisp of silk admitted him into Isis’ house. A gilded Eros beside the door announced the business of the establishment.

A niche by the entrance was piled higher than usual with the daggers and swords everyone in the city carried but which were not allowed inside. Most of their hilts were elaborately worked, some bejeweled. Anatolius added his own blade to the armory.

The sound of merriment emanated from a room opening off the hallway.

The girl noticed Anatolius’ glance in its direction. “It’s that Egyptian magician called Dedi, sir. Madam arranged for him to entertain a group of patrons.” She half turned to look over her shoulder, obviously eager to get back to the performance. The silk mist she wore rose revealingly with the movement.

Anatolius was about to instruct her to take a message to Isis when the madam herself emerged into the hall. Isis was middle-aged and comfortably plump. She wore considerably more silk than her employee.

“Anatolius! What an unexpected pleasure! And how well you timed your visit! Do come and see the magick this diminutive ornament to the empire is performing. I’ll wager the Patriarch would anathematize all of us, if he only knew what the fellow was doing!”

She placed a finger to her lips. “And he may well find out,” she whispered in mock horror. “I recognized at least one deacon from the Great Church. No doubt he will claim he was here to gather information on the blasphemous goings-on taking place nightly in my house, although that’s not what I hear from his favorite girl.”

Isis grasped Anatolius’ arm and pulled him toward the open doorway of a room decorated by a life-size statue of Bacchus in classical Greek style, attended by several marble satyrs engaged on various lewd pursuits. A crowd lounging on cushions strewn amidst the statues guffawed at the antics of an olive-skinned little man at the far end of the room.

Or, rather, Anatolius realized, at the talking skull on the table beside Dedi.

The skull was chattering about the Patriarch’s private life and secret pleasures while Dedi’s carp-like mouth did not move, except to pucker itself into an expression of outrage.

“Blasphemy!” Dedi suddenly shouted at the skull. “You wouldn’t dare utter such scurrilous untruths if you were alive!”

He leaned forward toward the crowd and whispered loudly, “It’s possessed by a demon!”

A murmur of confusion filled the room and the girl in silk, who had lingered beside Anatolius and Isis, emitted a squeak of dismay.

“Please, do not be alarmed,” Dedi went on. He placed a ring of glowing charcoals from a nearby brazier around the skull and then produced a leather bag from which he poured what looked like irregular pebbles. “This is incense, blessed long ago by none other than Simeon the Stylite. A special gift to me from Empress Theodora, before whom I recently had the pleasure of performing.”

“He’s telling the truth,” Anatolius said. “I happened to witness that performance.”

The skull uttered dire imprecations as Dedi added the incense to the charcoal. Thick, pungent smoke roiled upwards. The skull emitted a keening groan as the dark cloud enveloped it. When Dedi fanned the smoke aside, the skull had vanished.

The crowd voiced its appreciation. Many sprang to their feet, craning to see better.

The loquacious skull was nowhere to be seen.

Anatolius noticed the prostitute beside him making the Christian holy sign and muttering thanks for the destruction of the evil thing.

“Isis, the entertainment is splendid, but I’ve come to make some inquiries,” he said.

Isis waved a chubby, beringed hand. “Yes, yes. But first you must see this!”

Dedi had set upon the table a number of goblets, two jugs, and a large urn with a spout. He explained the urn contained wine and the jugs held water, inviting a man sitting nearby to approach and confirm this was the case.

After confirmation was received, Dedi drew wine from the urn, drank it, flourished the first water jug, and then poured its contents into the urn.

“This is an exceedingly peculiar vessel,” he told his attentive watchers in a confidential tone. “I can’t say whether it is magickal or accursed or just has humors of its own.”

When he refilled his goblet from the spout, clear water streamed out, followed by a mixture of wine and water. Then, after more water was added, wine again.

Members of the audience crowded around to inspect the wonder.

“Isn’t it amazing?” said Isis. “I’ll wager Justinian would love to have an urn like that, if he weren’t so abstemious.”

Anatolius expressed doubt. “I’d expect the emperor to prefer to know that nothing will come out of an urn that didn’t go into it.”

“Spoken like a lawyer!”

Anatolius frowned. “Why does everyone insist on mentioning my new profession? It isn’t as if I’ve changed. May we talk now in private?”

Isis led him away. A murmur of excited voices followed them down a corridor whose wall hangings told the story of Leda and the swan in a manner more graphic than tasteful.

Isis paused as she placed her hand on the swan-head latch of the door to her private chambers. “Do you know, Anatolius, these days there’s as much money to be made in wonders as in sexual comfort? I have thought I will give up this establishment and take to selling gryphon’s claws and salamander eggs and the mummified foreskins of saints. But then what would my girls do for a living?”

Anatolius helped himself to wine and tried to make himself comfortable on an overly stuffed couch while Isis went off to find further refreshments. Compared to the garish decor of the rest of the house, the room was simply furnished with a few finely wrought chairs and side tables and subtly patterned wall hangings which, he guessed, were, like Isis, of Egyptian origin. The polished sandalwood writing desk where she did her accounts was a reminder that she had long since ceased laboring in her profession and become an owner.

Isis returned with a silver bowl filled with nut-stuffed dates. “You’re looking glum, Anatolius. You haven’t suddenly developed religious scruples against my house, have you?”

“Certainly not! It’s just that…well…I’m always of two minds when I come in here.”

Isis daintily popped a date into her mouth and spoke around it. “Why, I’m surprised. I thought you’d had more than a few pleasurable adventures here.”

Anatolius nodded. “I have. Only practically all of them have occurred when I’ve been…um…alone.”

“And suffering from the pain of a broken heart? Tell me, will you be needing some solace today?”

“Not today. All I need is information.”

“You have a mistress then?”

“Only the law. She keeps me busy.”

“That explains why I haven’t seen you much lately. Alas, all my friends at court have deserted me. Captain Felix hasn’t crossed the threshold for a long while. I’ve missed seeing that bear of a man. Is he frequenting some other establishment? I recall when he swore he would marry one of my girls. Berta. Remember? But, needless to say, that didn’t happen. Maybe he tired of searching for another Berta here and found her elsewhere.”

“I don’t think so, Isis. He knows better than to allow himself to become involved like that. Just as I’ve learned.”

Isis sniffed. “Men never learn. Fortunately for me. Do you know, only yesterday I was pondering where I could find another doorkeeper now Thomas has left his post for the fresher air of the coast.”

She tapped Anatolius on the knee. “Now tell me, you’re a friend of his. Do you think Felix might be interested in the post? Though as captain of the excubitors he has power and wealth enough…and yet, the last time we spoke, he appeared to be very restless and not a little dissatisfied with his current duties.”

Anatolius stared at Isis in astonishment, then realized she must be jesting. He laughed. “You’re right! To hear Felix tell it, watching your door would engage his military skills to a greater extent than the tiresome duties Justinian expects of him. Which is to say, little in the actual fighting line.”

“He hasn’t been relegated to sharpening swords for the generals in the field?”

Anatolius laughed. “Hardly. He probably made it sound that way. Now and then these old soldiers get the urge to march all day and subsist on plain rations while fending off nocturnal attacks. I can’t imagine why, but then I’ve never been a soldier. Anyway, Constantinople is more dangerous than any battlefield. Mithra knows there’re backstabbers aplenty on the palace grounds, and all of them eager enough to insert a blade between someone’s ribs if it would advance them even just the length of a reception hall. Speaking of rations, where did you obtain these excellent stuffed dates? I haven’t seen dates on sale since before the plague arrived.”

“I got them from a cook in the imperial kitchen,” Isis admitted without a blush. “No knives were involved. He’s taken a fancy to one of my girls so we came to an arrangement which benefited all of us, including my employee.”

Dropping her voice, she looked at him appraisingly. “Speaking of which, I’ve engaged a couple of new girls since you were last here. One, in fact, met you at the door. Perhaps you might like to meet her behind another and more private door? The law is not nearly so warm or playful.”

The thought of the prostitute reminded Anatolius of his reason for calling. “Do any of your new girls have tattoos?”

Isis stared back in consternation. “Tattoos? Is this a new fashion at court? I’m always interested in hearing about these things. I like to keep ahead of my competition. If you want a girl with tattoos—”

Anatolius grinned. “Let me tell you why I’m making inquiries, Isis. I’m here on John’s behalf to consult you about tracing a woman with a tattoo on her wrist.”

“It’s been some little time since he visited too. Tell him I hope he’ll come to see me soon, especially since he’s not long returned from Alexandria,” she grumbled. “Who else can I talk to about the old days?”

John had explained to Anatolius that although he and Isis had both spent time in Egypt they had never met there. Anatolius, as usual, did not bother to point out her error. She appeared to cherish the recollection. Her imagination? Or, perhaps, it was simply her own little joke.

“There’s always that magician downstairs,” Anatolius suggested. “It’s only a couple of months since he was in Egypt.”

“An excellent suggestion, but why is John seeking a woman with a tattoo? It seems a strange quest.”

Anatolius explained the circumstances. “Personally, as I told John, I suspect the victim was a prostitute.”

“I see. So as for the authorities…” She waved her hand dismissively. “We are nothing to them, except when they need a bit of bodily comfort or the next bribe is due. I wish I could assist, but the only tattoos under this roof decorate a couple of girls from Egypt, both of whom I saw this morning, and the tattoos are on their ankles.” She glanced down at her feet. “Like mine.”

“This is the third house I’ve visited this morning, and all to no avail. You’ll keep an eye open though? The tattoo depicts a scarab with a rough cross on top of it. Does that mean anything?”

“The scarab is the sacred beetle. By cross you must mean the ankh? It signifies life. The gods carry them.”

“John thought it might originally have been an ankh. If so, it’s rather ironic under the circumstances, isn’t it?”

Isis looked thoughtful. “If you don’t discover anything useful for John, you may at least be able to help me. Let me know if any of the houses you visit are offering anything new to bring in more custom. Since the plague people seem more interested in miracles than in the natural joys of this life.”

Anatolius agreed he would inform Isis if her competitors were providing any unusual services.

“I’ll see that Leda does something special for you,” Isis promised.

“Leda?”

“The girl who showed you into the house. Don’t think I didn’t catch your glance at her, but trying to give the impression you were looking elsewhere. Why, the first time you visited me as a lad, you pretended to be more interested in the wildlife in the floor mosaic than the wildlife surrounding you.”

“I was scared out of my wits,” Anatolius recalled with a smile. “You really remember that?”

“I have an excellent memory,” Isis assured him, offering the bowl of dates again.

“Then you’ll recall it wasn’t that I came to that last place of yours of my own accord. I thought I was going to the market with one of father’s servants and the man insisted he needed to stop there. He’d only be a few moments, he said, and left me in the atrium and…well…”

“You found more excitement than a basket full of fresh chives at a good price?”

Anatolius reddened. “It really was extremely negligent of—”

Isis made a shushing sound and put a finger to her lips. “You think so? Some fathers might become concerned that a son was spending too much time scribbling poetry. He might think it was time for him to become a man. Mothers think differently.”

Anatolius thought that they would never know for certain if her surmise was correct.

“We can never know if what’s in the past is a fact,” Isis continued. “Still, it does keep springing surprises on us, even if it’s supposed to be gone. If you don’t wish to patronize Leda, choose whichever girl you desire.” She gave an arch smile. “With or without a tattoo.”