Alexandria

We went out to the corridor to ask the little slave. He had scarpered. Three-quarters of a day had already passed since the Librarian was discovered. We needed to act fast. I hailed a craftsman in a scroll-worker's apron and asked who Theon's deputy was. He did not have one. On his death, the running of the Library was taken over by the Director of the Museion. He was accommodated near to the Temple of the Muses. We went to see him.

His name was Philetus. A room was not enough for him; he occupied his own building. Statues of his most eminent predecessors were lined up in front of it, headed by Demetrius Phalereus, the founder and builder, a follower of Aristotle who had suggested to Ptolemy Soter the idea of a great institution for research.

Uninvited visits were discouraged. But as the secretaries began their tired rebuffing routine, the Director popped out of his sanctum, almost as if he had been listening with an ear pressed to the door. Aulus shot me a glance. Staff wittered that we had come about Theon; although the Director stressed what a busy man he was, he conceded he would find time for us.

I mentioned the statues. 'You'll be next!'

Philetus simpered 'Oh, do you think so?' with so much false modesty I saw at once why Theon had disliked him. This was the second most important man in Alexandria; after the Prefect, he was a living god. He had no need to push himself. But pushing himself was what Philetus did. He probably believed he pushed with elegance and restraint – but in truth he was mediocre and bumptious, a little man in a big man's job.

He made us wait while he bustled out and did something more important than talking to us. He was a priest; he was bound to be manipulating something. I wondered what he was fixing. Lunch, maybe. He took long enough.

Some holders of great public office are modest about it. Surprised to be chosen, they carry out their duties as effectively as the wise folk who chose them anticipated. Some are arrogant. Even those can sometimes do the job, or their cowed staff do it for them. The worst – and I had seen enough to recognise one – spend their time in deep suspicion that everybody else is plotting against them: their staff, their superiors, the public, the men who sell them their street foods, maybe their own grandmothers. These are the power-crazed bastards who have been appointed far beyond their competence. They are generally a compromise candidate of some kind, occasionally some rich patron's favourite, but more often shoved into this post in order to extract them from somewhere else. Before their time is up they can ruin the office they hold, plus the lives of all with whom they come in contact. They stick in their place using loyal toadies and threats. Good men wilt during their demoralising tenure. Fake reputations glue them dangerously to their thrones of office where they are suffered to continue by government inertia. To his credit, Vespasian did not appoint such men – but sometimes he was stuck with those his predecessors had wished on him. Like all rulers, sometimes he saw it as too much effort to ditch the duds. All men die eventually. Unfortunately, dreary failures live long lives.

'Settle down, Falco!'

'Aulus?'

'One of your rants.'

'I never spoke.'

'Your face looks as if you just ate a chicken liver that a bile duct broke over.'

'Bile duct?' The Director of the Museion came bustling back in. Overhearing us, he looked perturbed.

I gave him my happiest Good evening, sir; I am your chef for the evening! grin. We had waited so long, it seemed appropriate to greet him again. 'Philetus – what an honour this is for us.' That was enough. I switched off the simpering. He had smooth features of an anonymous kind. Trouble had not marked him. His skin looked very clean. That didn't mean he lived morally, only that he spent hours at the baths. 'The name's Falco. Marcus Didius Falco; I represent the Emperor.'

'I heard you were coming.'

'Oh?'

'The Prefect confided that the Emperor was sending out a man.' The Prefect overstepped the mark, then.

I played it straight. 'Good of him to clear my path… This is my assistant, Camillus Aelianus.'

''Have I heard that name?' Philetus was sharp. Nobody made it to Director of the Museion without at least some mental ability. We must not underestimate his self-preservation skills.

Aulus explained. 'I have just been admitted as a legal scholar, sir.' We all liked that 'sir', for different reasons. Aulus enjoyed shameless bluffing, I looked good for my respectful staff, and Philetus took it as his due, even from a high-class Roman.

'So… you two work together?' The Director's eyes glittered with wary fascination. As I had suspected, he had a stultifying fear of conspiracy. 'And what exactly do you do, Falco?'

'I conduct routine enquiries.'

'Into what?' snapped the Director.

'Into anything,' I breezed cheerily.

'So what did you come to Egypt for? It cannot have been Theon! Why has your assistant enrolled at my Museion?'

'I am here on private business for Vespasian.' Since Egypt was the emperors' personal territory, that could mean business on the imperial estates far outside Alexandria. 'Aelianus is on a sabbatical, taking a private course of legal study. When the Prefect invited me to oversee this business of Theon's death, I called him in. I prefer an assistant who is used to working with me.'

'Is there a legal problem?' Philetus would be a nightmare to work with. He picked up on any irrelevance and needed soothing every five minutes. I had been in the army; how I knew this type!

'I hope,' I said gently, 'I shall find there is no problem… Would you like to tell me what happened at the Library?'

'Who else have you asked?' A paranoid's answer.

'Naturally I came to you first.' That flattered him – yet left him on his own with finding a story. To save time, I helped him start: 'Can you create a general picture for me – Was Theon well liked at the Library?''

'Oh everyone loved him!'

'You too?'

'I had great admiration for the man and his scholarship.' That rang false. If Theon had loathed Philetus, as he implied to us last night at dinner, almost certainly Philetus loathed him back. Loyalty to his deceased underling was one thing; trying to blow smoke in my eyes served nobody.

'So he had a good academic reputation and was popular socially?' I asked dryly.

'Indeed.'

'Normally, do Librarians retire, or go on until they die in post?'

'It is a lifetime position. Occasionally we might have to suggest a very elderly man has become too frail to continue.'

'Lost his marbles?'' Aulus piped up cheekily.

'Theon was not too old.' I waved him down. 'By any standards he died prematurely'

'Terrible shock!' fluttered Philetus.

I stretched in the wicker chair his staff had provided. As I did so, I fetched out a note-block from a satchel, opening it upon my knee though maintaining a relaxed attitude. 'Explain to me this business of finding him in the locked room, will you? What had made people go looking for him?''

'Theon failed to appear at an early morning meeting of my Board. No explanation. Quite unlike him.'

'What was the meeting? Special agenda?'

'Absolutely routine!' Philetus sounded too firm.

'Subjects that related to the Library?'

'Nothing like that…' He stopped meeting my eye. Was he lying? 'When he failed to arrive, I sent someone to remind him. When there was no answer -' He looked down at his knees demurely He clearly ate well; under a long tunic, with expensive widths of braid on the hems, the knees he was surveying bulged chubbily 'One of the scholars climbed up a ladder outside and looked in. He saw Theon sprawled across his table. Some people broke the doors down, I believe.'