Nemesis

Then the party-planner shuddered. 'Yes, but he scares me! For heaven's sake don't tell the filthy bastard that I told you, Falco.'

Momus, as well as Laeta? – Now this was really getting complicated.

XXXVII

I managed to screw from the party-planner directions for finding the torch singer. It took me an hour to locate his block, and identify which attic he festered in. Scorpus was fast asleep on his bed. That's the beauty of witnesses who work late nights. You can generally find them.

I sized him up before I woke him. He was chunky, though not athletic. He had a red face, a grey moustache, fairish hair receding badly. He looked like a tax lawyer. He probably played for them.

He slept in a disreputable loincloth; I threw a blanket over him. He woke up. He thought I wanted his money or his body, which he took in good part; then he saw that I was holding his lyre and he panicked. There was no need even to threaten him. It was such a good instrument it would have hurt even me if I had to smash it. He would talk. In great alarm he struggled to get up, but I pushed him back prone, using one foot. I did it gently. I didn't want this aesthetic type to collapse with anxiety.

'My name's Falco. Didius Falco. I expect you know that. And you're Scorpus, the disgusting highbrow singer of doleful dirges -'

'I play in the respected Dorian mode!'

'What I said. Minor keys and melancholia. If your listeners aren't sad when you start, by the time you stop, the poor idiots will be suicidal.'

'That's harsh.'

'Like life… Just lie there and co-operate. It won't hurt. Well, not as much as refusing, trust me… We can save time, because I know the score. Whenever there is a gathering at an expensive private house, with hired-in food and entertainment, half the specialist artistes are collecting and selling information. You certainly do it. I want to know your paymaster, and anything you saw of interest last night at the Chief Spy's house.'

He yawned insultingly. 'Is that all!'

'It's enough. Let's start with Claudius Laeta. Did he pay you to collect dirt on Anacrites – or have I got this the wrong way round: when you play for the great Laeta at the Palace is somebody else giving you kickbacks to observe him?'

'Both.'

'Ah Hades!' I twanged a lyre-string vacantly, as if seeing how far I could make it stretch before it snapped. I can play a lyre. I use it for disguises. I know what happens when a string breaks and was really not keen to have whipping animal-gut flick at high speed into my eye. Scorpus could only see the threat to his precious instrument.

'Please don't do any damage!'

'Who's spying on Laeta? Momus? Anacrites?'

'Both – - Everyone thinks I am working for them. Really I'm freelance.'

'Freelance, as in you'll take anybody's money? And you'll shit on anybody too?' I sneered. It made no impact. He was shameless. Well, I knew that from what he twangled for helpless listeners. 'You can do better than this, Scorpus.'

'What are you after?' He caved in. He had no interest in the fine practice of resistance. I was almost disappointed.

'I want to know what you saw.'

'Much the same as you did, I suppose,' he retorted defiantly.

'I was a guest. I couldn't look around freely, and anyway I've been in that house before. I know he has a pornographic art collection, so don't try to pass that off as news.'

'Has he?'

'He's sold a lot of it. Somebody must have warned him he's under observation.'

'I can't think who would warn that man of anything.'

'Then you have more taste than I supposed! What have you told Laeta?'

'I am bound to secrecy.'

'Let me unbind you.' I inspected the arms of his instrument, while prising apart the elegant yokes, forcing them against their cross-strut…

'Oh leave off, Falco! I had nothing to tell Laeta, except a list of who attended. The Greek with the big beard was dire, I have to say.'

'That Greek is a master of jurisprudence. He could sue you in three different courts for insulting him. He might even win.'

'He'd have to be sober!' The singer fought back with spirit. I had to stop this; I was starting to like him.

'I know that the caterers were stealing, for a ransom scam. You must have seen them at it, at other parties. I know who's paying them as well. Momus. You don't want to tangle with that bastard.'

'His money's good, if you're desperate.'

'So you work for Momus too?'

'Not if I can help it. Sometimes the landlord here is very demanding…'

I looked around. The place was bare and unappealing. Not as squalid as rooms I myself had parked in, but unsuitable for a court musician. He wouldn't want Laeta to spot fleabites. 'Whatever the rent, he's overcharging! You can afford better.'

'Who cares? I'm never here.'

'Have some self-respect, man!' I was turning into his wise old nurse. 'What do you spend your fees on?'

'Saving for a once-in-a-lifetime cruise to Greece.' That figured.

'Did it last year – - not all it's cracked up to be. Still, book it and go now. You could die of self-neglect and your efforts would all be wasted. So – - who were the tumblers and the band working for?'

'No one special.'

'What? We're talking about Cretan shepherds in hairy coats!'

'Cretan my rear end! The tumblers arrived last week from Bruttium and all the rest came straight over the Tiber from Nero's Circus.'

'You amaze me! And they have no money-making sidelines?'

'I didn't say that. I believe,' said Scorpus, with disgust, 'the strummers have been known to sell stories about indiscretions for the dirty scandal page in the Daily Gazette.'

I winced. 'That's low!'

'I agree – though I believe there is cash to be made.'

'Fortunately the Camilli – to whom I am related, by the way, so watch it – - are models of tedious morality. As for Anacrites, snitching on him would be madness: you could end up holding your next musical evening with Praetorian Guards, answering an arrest warrant signed by Titus Caesar, before they drag you on a very short walk to your death.'

I plucked his lyre, reflecting that the musicians he sneered at as strummers had played seven-string lyres too – - their instruments probably costing much less than this fine pearl-inlaid walnut specimen. The singer gave me a sideways scrutiny. 'So what were you doing there, Falco?'

'Oh all I got was indigestion and a sore head.'

Thinking this had made us friends, Scorpus tried again to get up. I shoved him back angrily. 'Oh get this over with! What do you want, Falco?'

'Who did you see? There were two agents lurking in a back room -was somebody else with them?'

He had had enough time between playing his sets for a thorough reconnoitre. He knew about the Melitans. But Scorpus claimed, convincingly it seemed, that he saw no one else; he did not know who occupied that other room, where the pilfering chef found the cameo.

I gave up and went home for lunch.

The singer had lied to me. I did not know it at the time, but when I found out afterwards, I felt no real surprise.

XXXVIII

After lunch my secretary needed me to attend to business; in superior homes it might be the other way around, but not with Katutis. He told me what I had to tell him to do. I complied. Still, I was lucky to have my hour with him. Now I was known to have a secretary, other people continually borrowed him. Katutis was supposed to take down my case-notes and start collating my memoirs, but he spent whole afternoons writing out soup recipes, curses and laundry lists.

Next, Helena wanted to discuss household matters, which meant more meek compliance. My daughters then had an urgent need to show me drawings and ask for new shoes like those their friend three doors down had been given by their spoiling parents. Even the dog stood at the front door with her leash in her mouth.