“That might have piqued Menander’s curiosity about the pillar.”
“I believe it did. About the same time the stylite’s acolyte discovered Lazarus had disappeared from the top of his column and been replaced by an automaton. Menander had at least two automatons, Alba told me. One she remembered must have been the Sergius I saw in Troilus’ shop. The automaton on the pillar was also a soldier, the other half of the pair of military saints. Everyone knew Menander had sold much of his collection to Troilus over the years, but it appears their connection was closer than that.”
Anatolius agreed it was likely, given the information just provided by Petronia.
“I am taking a leap into darkness,” John admitted, “but I believe Menander was intrigued by Alba’s story. Alba said there were guards posted in the square for several days, but Troilus was up on the pillar with the body of Lazarus for longer than that. After the guards had gone, Menander must have climbed up into the column during the night, if only to be in a position to contradict Alba the next time she mentioned it to him. He must have been surprised to find Troilus. He sent the boy to live with Petronia, as she just told us. He wouldn’t have wanted him staying in the same building as Alba because she might have recognized him.”
Anatolius grinned. “I have it! Just as the acolyte guessed, someone left an automaton behind so no one would notice the stylite’s absence for some time! And who do we know who had not one but two of those useful artifacts?”
“Indeed. Menander didn’t want attention drawn to the pillar, in case anyone from the palace was still looking for the boy.”
Anatolius frowned and asked John about the whereabouts of the missing stylite.
“That’s part of the mosaic I haven’t yet filled in,” John admitted. “The square isn’t much traveled at night, particularly after the shops are closed, not to mention the local populace can’t be relied on to be forthcoming when questioned, as we’ve discovered ourselves. It wouldn’t have been difficult to take an automaton to the column or to smuggle a boy or a body away after the guards were no longer stationed in the square. In the meantime the boy could have eaten the stylite’s food.”
“But what could Menander want with this boy?”
“Menander had grievances against the imperial couple. No doubt he thought that a son of Theodora-even if one only purported to be such-would be useful to him one day.”
Anatolius stepped around a dog eating offal. “And Agnes involved herself with actors and disgruntled former courtiers and officials and the like, the same circles in which Menander and Troilus moved. But what conclusions do you draw from this? Is a plot really being fomented or is it just more play acting?”
John and Anatolius passed basket-laden shoppers, begrimed laborers carrying the tools of their trade, and twittering clerks. If any of them heard Anatolius utter the word “plot” they pretended to be deaf. It was not the sort of information you admitted to knowing if you valued your life.
“If Troilus is Theodora’s supposed son then he must be one of the plotters, since they cannot proceed without him,” John replied.
“He doesn’t appear to be the one who murdered Agnes, since she was alive when the sundial maker Helias spied Troilus dragging a sack about in the middle of the night, given she was arguing with Troilus in Petronia’s room the next morning,” Anatolius said. “And indeed why would Troilus murder Agnes? Petronia said they were inseparable.”
“Think of Dedi’s vanishing skull act, Anatolius. It appears to be magick only because a skull would not burn the way it does. Once you realize that what you thought was a skull isn’t one, but rather a thin, flammable counterfeit, then it does not appear so remarkable. Fostering a false assumption or two and some skilled misdirection can make perfectly unremarkable events appear quite sinister. Or, for that matter, make sinister events appear unremarkable.”
“What do you mean, John? What misdirection? And where are we going in such a hurry?”
They had crossed the Augustaion, and were walking toward the Chalke. Gulls flapped out of their way, protesting as they were forced to abandon the city’s discarded debris on which they’d been dining.
John glanced at his companion. “Do you remember you mentioned you saw Felix entering a tavern not far from the cistern where I found the girl’s body and on the very same morning? A coincidence, it would seem. But how was it he happened to be on hand to rescue me when I was attacked in the street, not to mention being at the right place at the right time to prevent Theodoulos from throwing himself into the sea?”
“But surely…I can’t believe Felix…”
“People often see what they wish to see, not what is actually there.”
“But if Felix is involved,” Anatolius protested, “who sent that message about two conspirators meeting at the Milion…well, if you are right you did meet a conspirator there…but you aren’t a conspirator!”
“No. And I know I’m not, and so do you. But consider again Dedi’s act.”
They passed through the magnificent Chalke gate, entered the palace grounds, and made their way to its far less imposing maze of administrative buildings.
Felix was not present in his office, although a mismatched assortment of rugged excubitors and callow clerks milled in the antechamber.
John stopped a thin man who visibly trembled at the touch of the Lord Chamberlain’s glare. “Where is the captain?”
“I…I…don’t know…uh…excellency. He’s gone off with a contingent of excubitors. Trouble of some sort…a riot…”
“Mithra! It’s started! I have to warn Cornelia!”
Chapter Forty-Six
“The Lord Chamberlain is not available,” Cornelia told the stranger at the door.
“We know that. I’ve come here to speak to you.”
The caller was a man of average appearance, aside from his immaculate dress and perfectly trimmed hair and his exceedingly dark and chilling eyes.
“He refused to give his name, mistress,” said Peter, who had answered the insistent knock.
“I hope you are not offended,” the stranger said to Cornelia. “It is not possible for me to give you my name. It would not be safe for either of us.”
“Give your blade to Peter, and come into the office,” Cornelia replied.
The room beyond the foot of the stairs, furnished with cushioned chairs and a desk of inlaid wood, opened on to the garden. John rarely used it. He preferred to meet visitors in his stark upstairs study.
Cornelia posted Peter beside the door. The visitor refused the proffered seat so she remained standing.
“What did you mean when you said that you knew the Lord Chamberlain is not here?”
“Only that we have been watching him.”
Cornelia forced herself to breath slowly. She could not stop her heart racing. John was in grave danger. She was certain of it. The mild-voiced stranger chilled her in a way that finding Menander’s body in the bath had not. The dead man’s identity had been known. Whatever peril his death represented to the household could therefore ultimately be traced.
Confronted with this unknown caller she could not tell from which direction danger might come.
“Who has been watching?”
The stranger offered a faint smile. At least Cornelia interpreted the expression as a smile. “My apologies, but I simply cannot say.”
Where was John now? He had been gone all day again. Was he safe? Was he…? She pushed the thought away.
“Say whatever it is you’ve come to say.” Somehow she kept her voice steady.