The Lydian Baker

'Uh, right. Right, got it. Message delivered.' Gods!

'That's a paraphrase. His actual words weren't so polite.'

That I'd believe. 'Just take me home, Dida, okay?'

I got into the coach, feeling drained. Well, you win some, you lose some, and this wasn't even close to a draw. It had been worth a try, though, and I'd still bet a hatful of rubies to a smoked sardine that Melanthus was holed up inside somewhere. Maybe behind one of the doors I hadn't opened, or in a room the other side of the courtyard. Or maybe there was another cellar that the big guy hadn't shown me. The problem now was I was stymied. I doubted that Demetriacus would let me over the threshold now legitimately, and with Antaeus straining at the leash to see how far I'd bounce if he got to throw me out short of a full frontal attack with a cohort of Praetorians at my back I didn't have a hope in hell of getting in any other way. Checkmate. For now, at least.

So. I had to approach the problem from another angle. There were two possibilities, and both of them were total bummers. One was to track down Prince Charming and/or the Ethiopian, the other was to concentrate on the statue itself. I hadn't had much luck so far with the first, and from Callippus's message I got the distinct impression that he wouldn't bust a gut to help me in future. So, bummer or not, it had to be the second.

Harpalus might not have been involved with moving the Baker, but someone must have been. Tomorrow I'd go back down to the Piraeus and have a word with the owner of the Zea cookshop. He'd given me Smaragdus's name, maybe he could give me another if I asked nicely. Not that I was looking forward to asking: the guy hadn't exactly fallen over himself to be helpful last time around, and I doubted if he'd sweetened any. Also, his wine stank.

I looked out of the carriage window. We were coming up to the major intersection beyond the Rock, heading for the Hippades Gate. There was a cluster of shops there where I could pick up a conscience present for Perilla.

'Hey, Dida!' I shouted.

'Yeah?'

'Pull in here. I'll walk the rest.'

The carriage stopped and I got out. A thought struck me. 'By the way,' I said. 'That bastard who snatched me. The Paphian. You think you can find him?' Public coach drivers go everywhere. And their grapevine may not be as hot as the slaves' version, but they've got contacts.

'I can try, lord. I'll spread the word around, anyway.'

'You do that. The Ethiopian as well. The guy in the loud tunic. Top rates.'

'Understood.' A grin. 'I'll be in touch. If and when.'

Well, it was a long shot, but it was as good as I could manage at present. I watched the coach head back towards Piraeus Gate.

There was a flower seller on the corner, but I gave him a miss: flowers always made Perilla suspicious. I grinned to myself. Hell’s teeth! An innocent half hour in the Scallop and I was acting like any other tomcatting husband in the City! In the end, I went into a scent shop and chose a small bottle of top-of-the-range perfume that cost an arm and a leg. I asked the shopkeeper if he had any qef, but he'd never heard of the stuff. Shame.

I looked around on the off chance, but there was no sign of the Ethiopian. That was one guy I wanted a word with.

Okay, call it a day. And not one of my best, either. I tucked the perfume bottle into a fold of my mantle and went home.

25

When I walked into the cookshop the owner was arranging rissoles on a platter. The place was empty.

'Hey, friend,' I said. 'Remember me?'

'Sure.' He straightened and scowled. 'The wine expert.'

'Don't let it rankle, pal.' There was a stool beside the counter. I sat on it. 'We can't all be born with palates.'

He was looking at my bruised face. 'You have an argument with someone?'

'Just a minor disagreement.'

'Smaragdus?' His mouth split into a grin. On that mug it was as out of place as a gorilla in a barbershop. 'Never knew the bastard had it in him.'

'Not with Smaragdus.'

'Pity.' He set the last rissole on top of the pile. A circling fly moved in for the kill. 'So. What'll it be?'

I took out my purse slowly. 'I was hoping you could help me a bit more over names. What's yours, by the way, while we're on the subject?'

'Euphrastus.' Jupiter! His parents must've had some sense of humour! 'And this is a cookshop, friend. You sit down, you eat. I've got a living to make.'

'Uh-huh.' I cast an eye over the contents of the counter. What I could see of them under the flies and the layer of grease. 'You have anything there that didn't go woof once and wag its tail?'

'Not a lot.' Gods! Well, I'd asked and he'd told me. 'How about beans?'

'Beans are fine.'

He lifted the lid of a casserole on the stove, ladelled a grey mess onto a plate and added a chunk of bread and a spoon. 'Wine?'

'No wine. Definitely no wine.'

'Suit yourself.' He put the plate in front of me and licked sauce off his thumb. 'Enjoy.'

Not the word I would've used. I tasted the glop and pushed it away. If Pythagoras was right the souls that'd gone into the pot would've done better to have stayed in the queue. 'Okay,’ I said. ‘Now the information.'

'About Argaius? You're wasting your time. There's nothing more I can tell you. The guy's dead and his wife's left town.' He leered. 'Shame. That's one widow I wouldn't mind comforting.'

'Not about Argaius. About Smaragdus.'

'You didn't find him at Mamma Glypho's?'

'He's moved.' If the guy hadn't heard that Smaragdus was dead I wasn't going to tell him. He might get jittery. Certainly the price would go up. 'His friend Harpalus is gone too.'

‘That so?' Euphrastus indicated the plate between us. 'You going to eat that, by the way, or let it go to waste?'

'I'll pay for it, if that's what you mean. Otherwise I'll pass.'

'Fine. I was just going to eat myself anyway.' He dunked the bread in the bean mash and took a soggy bite. My stomach turned. 'So Glypho finally threw the bugger out, right? I'm not surprised. A guy like that, he's bad for trade.'

I tried not to watch as he shovelled down the beans like there was no tomorrow. Well, at least I couldn't say he didn't have the courage of his own culinary convictions.

'Did Smaragdus have any other business associates besides Argaius?'

'Sure.' He licked a stray scrap of sauce from the spoon handle. 'What else would you expect? Doing deals with people was his job.'

'Can you give me names?'

'Go down to the harbour. Anyone you see there, put him on the list. Smaragdus has dealings with half the Piraeus.'

That was discouraging, but I hadn't come all this way just to give up. 'Regulars, Euphrastus. We're talking regulars.'

He reached a leisurely finger to the back of his mouth, pulled out a lump of grit the size of a cobble, inspected it and flicked it to one side. It landed in the tray of rissoles. 'Regulars I wouldn't know. And unlike some other nosey bastards I don't care.'

Well, it'd been worth a try. I could always drop by the harbour like he suggested and ask around. Meanwhile there was another tack.

'Okay. So what about the other end? People who worked for him? If Smaragdus had a job that involved rough work, heavy lifting, say, who would he go to?'

'He'd hire any help he needed at the Emporium, same as anyone else. There's always plenty of cheap muscle around on the quayside. Or he'd just use Tiny.'

'Tiny?'

'Big guy.' Euphrastus tapped his temple. 'Soft in the head. You met him already. He was in last time you were here with that dog of his.'

Shit, yes, I remembered Tiny! I might be on to something here. 'You happen to know where I can find him?'