The Lydian Baker (Marcus Corvinus Book 4)

by David Wishart

  'Uh-huh.' That was a matter of opinion. 'Well, thanks again.'

  'Don't mention it.' She walked me to the door and opened it. Good posture, good figure. I'd imagine she'd been one of the girls herself in her younger days, and popular as hell. 'Antaeus will show you out. Unless of course...' She gestured delicately down the corridor.

  'No. No, that's okay.' Bacchus in rompers! More temptation I didn't need! 'I'm sorry to have troubled you.'

  Antaeus was waiting in the hall, but there was no sign of Cotile. I was glad of that: seeing her again might've proved one temptation too many.

  'Good night, sir.' The giant held the front door open. 'And good luck with your search.

  'Yeah. Yeah, thanks.'

  The door closed behind me. Well, that was that. Something was itching, though, and it had nothing to do with dark eyes and Alexandrian perfume.

  That unless. Not Hermippe's. Cotile's...

  Whatever Hermippe had told me there might be more unpleasant digs for a guy who wanted to disappear to hole up in than Aphrodite's Scallop. And it was a big place...

  Ah, leave it. Back home for a bath, a chaste dinner and a not- necessarily-chaste early night. Dida would be waiting in the alley round the corner with the carriage.

  Only he wasn't. And a split second after I realised that he wasn't someone smacked me from behind with the Parthenon and the lights went out all over Athens.

  19.

  I woke in the dark with a head that felt like all the Cyclopes under Etna were working overtime between my ears. Shit. I hadn't had a hangover like this since I was seventeen and learned not to mix my drinks.

  Only it was no hangover. I discovered that when I tried to stretch. My hands and ankles were tied and I was lying on stone. Smooth stone. A floor. I bumped backwards. Mistake. The wall was barely two feet behind me, and I found it the hard way with the back of my head. The guys with the sledgehammers went into overdrive.

  Well, at least I could sit up now. Although maybe on reflection that wasn't such a good idea...

  Luckily my stomach was empty and I only retched: nasty personal smells at this point I could do without. Gods, that had been a belt! I leaned back cautiously and my scalp touched cold stone a good three inches before it should've done. The feeling wasn't pleasant.

  I sat just breathing for five minutes until the dizziness passed and I could think straight again.

  Okay. So. Status report.

  The first part was obvious: whoever had slugged me had been outside the Scallop waiting. Or even inside the Scallop waiting. And they wanted me alive: a knife between the ribs would've been just as easy as a blackjack, and the fact that I was lying here – wherever the hell 'here' was – trussed like a chicken instead of stiff and cold on the floor of the alley suggested that Corvinus was still a valuable property.

  So the next question was why? Killing me I could understand. As far as Eutyches was concerned – and this had to be Eutyches's work – I was a serious inconvenience that wouldn't go away, and a knife in the ribs made every kind of sense. If Eutyches was Melanthus then the guy might just conceivably have had scruples, but leaving me tied up only postponed the problem. Unless the idea was that I just starved to death, of course. Apropos of which, maybe postponing dinner hadn't been such a hot idea after all.

  Dinner. Perilla.

  I groaned. Bugger! She wouldn't know where I was! Or where I'd been, anyway: I'd just told Bathyllus I was going out with Dida. Well, there wasn't anything I could do about that now. The lady would just have to worry.

  The pain in my head had settled down to a steady throbbing, but I tried to ignore it. Okay. Melanthus wanted me alive. So why? It wasn't as if I had information he needed, like Argaius or Smaragdus. Sure, if I'd known where the Baker was stashed it might've been different, but...

  I stopped as the obvious answer hit me. Oh, Jupiter! Jupiter Best and Greatest!

  Melanthus thought I knew! Or at least he was covering the possibility. Whether he honestly thought I was in on the secret or not was immaterial: as far as he was concerned I was the only game left in town.

  The problem was, this particular game was about as viable as a cat in a winepress. I remembered Argaius's smashed-up corpse at Watch headquarters.

  Somewhere above me a door opened, spilling in lamplight. I looked up, squinting.

  'So you're back with us, Corvinus?' said the guy with the lamp at the top of the stairs. 'That's good. Now we can start.'

  I couldn't see the face but I recognised the voice. Sure I did. The guy was Prince Charming. If this was trouble, then it was trouble in spades. I swallowed. My throat felt like a sand-tray.

  'Fair enough, pal,' I said. 'But you think I could have some water first?' A cup of neat Setinian would've been better, but that was pushing it. And whatever he had in mind it wasn't a drinks party.

  'Maybe later.' He came down the steps. 'If you co-operate.'

  'Co-operation's my middle name. Especially when I'm tied up in a cellar with a lump on my head and a homicidal maniac swinging a crowbar.'

  'You noticed?' He laid it against the wall and set the lamp down beside it.

  I hadn't: it'd been a joke. But I did now. Trouble in spades was right; this could be bye-bye Corvinus.

  'That what did for Argaius?' I said.

  'Sure. The throat-cutting was an extra.' He was grinning. 'The boss gave me a free hand.'

  'Speaking of free hands...' I shifted and brought mine out as far as I could from behind my back.

  He shook his head slowly. 'No chance. None at all. You stay as you are.'

  Yeah, well. It'd been worth a try. Not that I could've taken him anyway, the condition I was in. 'So killing him wasn't altogether your boss's idea?' I said.

  He was quiet for a long time. Then he said softly: 'No. No, it wasn't. The boss doesn't like needless deaths, or even needless violence. Me, I'm different.'

  'What about Smaragdus? You kill him too?'

  'He fell and broke his own neck. I would've done, sure, once I'd got the truth out of him, one way or another. Like that fancy-boy of his at the docks.'

  Oh, hell. 'You killed Harpalus?'

  'Yeah.' A chuckle. 'Surprised? Don't be. You were followed all the way from the City Gate. Easy as shelling eggs. He didn't know nothing about nothing, mind, you can be sure of that if you weren't before. He would've told me if he did. Believe me.'

  'I believe you.' I felt cold. Well, I'd tried my best for the poor sucker. It just hadn't been good enough, that was all.

  'Good.' He leaned his shoulder comfortably against the wall. 'Believe me some more. The boss wants to know where Smaragdus hid the Baker. Very badly indeed. So how about telling me? Maybe I'll get a crisis of conscience and let you live.'

  Yeah. And pigs might fly. Still, I'd been right: Eutyches did think I might know where the statue was. Maybe I could use that. 'Melanthus won't want me dead,' I said carefully. 'Don't push your luck, friend.'

  Another pause. A long one.

  'How did you work that out?' he said at last.

  'That Eutyches is Melanthus? Easy. There's this thing called a brain, pal. You use it to think with.'

  His hand smashed suddenly across my face. Pain exploded through my skull as my head hit the wall.

  'Don't get smart, Roman!' he said.

  'That's just it.' My tongue probed a molar. Loosened, but at least it was still there. 'Roman. I'm a Roman citizen. The purple-striper variety, what's more. You know what that means?'

  'Sure.' I'd rattled him, though. Thinking obviously wasn't Prince Charming's strong point.

  'I'll spell it out anyway. Kill me and they'll track you down and nail you to a couple of planks. There isn't a hole deep enough or a ship fast enough for you to escape that. And your boss knows it. He also knows that unless he's a Roman citizen himself – which he isn't – he'll be right up there on a cross of his own beside you. Understand?'

  'They'll have to find your body first.'

  'You think that would matter? If I've d
isappeared that would be enough. You're dead meat, friend. This time you believe me.'

  He passed a hand over his mouth. I'd got to him, sure I had.

  'Okay,' he said. 'So maybe I won't kill you after all. Maybe. If you lead us to the Baker.'

  I let out my breath slowly and hoped he hadn't noticed. 'Get me some water and we'll talk.'

  He straightened up and moved towards the stairs. I hoped he'd leave the lamp and give me the chance to burn through the ropes, but even Prince Charming wasn't that stupid. He took the crowbar as well. 'Don't move, right?'

  'I'm not going anywhere.'

  'Fucking right you're not.' Another chuckle; well, at least the bastard had a sense of humour. He went back up the steps and closed the door, leaving me in darkness.

  So. Melanthus was Eutyches, that was definite. Not that I could use the information now. And I wasn't conning myself: I may've bought a bit of time, but that was all. When Melanthus realised I didn't know where the Baker was I was cooked, purple-striper or not. The guy was mad, that was plain, and I doubted that even the threat of crucifixion would stop him killing me.

  I sat back and tried to hold down the panic. There wasn't much else I could do: this looked about as bad as it could get, and optimism doesn't go a long way when you're tied up in the dark without a bargaining chip to your name. I was finished, and I knew it.

  What seemed hours later, Prince Charming came back with the lamp. He was carrying a water jug.

  'You still thirsty, Roman?' he said, holding it up.

  'Sure.' He didn't move. 'You want to help me, maybe, or should I just look and dream?'

  He grinned, put the lip of the jug to my mouth and tilted. Water flowed down my chest and I gulped. Nectar! All it needed was a couple of pints of Setinian in it to make it perfect.

  'Okay.' He took the jug away. 'That's it. All the niceness you get. Now where's the Baker?'

  'You think I'd tell that to you?' I coughed. 'Tell your boss to come himself.'

  That fazed him. His eyes shifted. 'Look. Stop fucking around, Corvinus. We had a deal. Tell me where the Baker is and you go free. Once we've got it, naturally. You have my word.'

  'Yeah? Oh, whoopee.'

  I thought he'd hit me again, but he didn't. 'We've got no quarrel with you. Once we have the statue I'll drop the word to your pals where to find you.'

  'No deals, friend. Or not with you. Fetch Melanthus.'

  He sat back on his heels, thinking. Or doing what passed for thinking.

  'Okay,' he said at last. 'You've got it. But whatever the boss says if you're lying what happened to Argaius will seem like a picnic. Crucifixion or no crucifixion.'

  I swallowed. Well, maybe while he was gone I could hump myself up to the top of the stairs and do a Smaragdus off the top. There was a clear drop of ten feet on to the flags, I could see that. Better than what he'd have in mind, certainly. Unless I could get my hands free somehow, of course...

  Dream on, Corvinus! 'Just do it. I want to see Melanthus,' I said.

  He reached forward suddenly, gripped the front of my tunic, and pulled me on to my face. I gasped with the pain.

  'Relax, Roman,' he chuckled. 'I only want to make sure your hands are still tied before I go. Not that it matters. The door's three inches thick and it has a bolt. You're as safe here as back home in the Mamertine.'

  Uh-huh. It looked like the stairs after all, then. A pity Perilla would never know. And it wasn't something I was particularly looking forward to myself.

  He picked up the lamp and left me to it. The door slammed and I heard the sound of a heavy bolt slip into place. So. That was that, then.

  I gave him ten minutes or thereabouts to get clear. Then I turned over and started to crawl towards the stairs.

  20.

  I made it eventually and got my back to the first step. Then I stopped. Gods, I couldn't do this. If I was headed for the death mask then fine, but crowbar or not I couldn't die without a fight. Maybe I'd get lucky and take Prince Charming or Melanthus with me.

  Only to fight I needed my hands free.

  Okay. I lifted myself up the riser of the step and felt the top edge. It was worn smooth in the middle, but further over my fingers found a ragged line of chipped stone. Yeah, that might do the job. If I had the time before PC came back. If I didn't, then...

  The hell with speculation. I set the rope between my wrists across the line and began to move it back and forward. I'd hardly started when from above came the sound of the bolt being pulled. Shit! Prince Charming couldn't have brought Melanthus already, surely?

  Unless, of course, I was back in the Scallop and the guy had been there all along...

  I hunched down under the shadow of the step. Maybe if they didn't see me straight off I could trip whoever came down first. It wouldn't do much good, but I'd at least have the satisfaction of hurting one of the bastards. I might even provoke Prince Charming into killing me outright, which the way things were going would be a plus.

  The door opened. I couldn't see what was going on now but I did notice the light in the cellar hadn't changed much, and that didn't make sense. They'd have had a lamp, sure they would. Probably a couple of torches. If this was to be an interview they'd want light.

  Someone started down the steps. I tensed.

  'Valerius Corvinus?'

  A man's voice, pitched low. Not PC's, and not Melanthus's. In fact, no voice I recognised at all.

  'Corvinus? You down there?'

  A pause, while he waited for an answer. Ah, hell. Things couldn't get much worse anyway. I raised my head.

  'Who wants him?' I said cautiously.

  The guy let out a breath. I could see his silhouette against the doorway, and nothing else in the blackness but the whites of his eyes.

  The large whites of his eyes.

  Search as you will, there ain't nothing blacker than an Ethiopian down a midnight cellar.

  'You mind telling me who you are, pal?' I struggled to my feet. 'And what the hell you're doing here?'

  He didn't answer. Instead he came quickly down the steps, spun me round, tied a gag between my teeth, put a bag over my head and hoisted me over his shoulder like a sack of turnips. Gods. Maybe it was something I'd said. And obviously I'd been wrong about things not getting worse. At least before the bastard arrived I could speak, see and breathe...

  Being upside down with my ribs crushed wasn't doing marvels for my headache, either.

  I'd had enough. Being kidnapped twice in one night is once too many. I kicked out hard as I could manage and felt him stagger. Only for a moment. Then he righted himself.

  'Okay, Roman,' he growled. 'We can do it two ways. This is one, and you'll like the second even less. Still, it's your decision. You want to co-operate or carry on making things difficult?'

  Put like that, I didn't have much choice. I grunted into my gag and went limp. We started up the stairs.

  Ears were all I'd got left, and I was listening hard when we got to the top and through the door. The Ethiopian's nailed sandals clicked on stone or tile for a good twenty strides, then he stopped and reached forward. There was the sound of a door opening and I felt cold air around me. A few steps later he swung me round and set me down on a flat wooden surface at chest level. The surface gave, and I heard the jingle of harness. So. We were going on someplace by mule-cart. I felt cloth pulled over, covering me completely. Yeah, well, at least wherever it was I'd do the trip in comfort. And anything would be better than the cellar with only Prince Charming to look forward to.

  The cart started up with a jerk, banging my already aching ribs against the floorboards, and the pain almost made me bite through the gag. Okay, so I'd been wrong about the comfort; but at least I was alive. If you can call being bounced across Athens in a mule-cart with your head in a mouldy flour sack living. And bruised ribs or not now was the chance for some constructive thinking before Big Black Hercules up front hauled the rug off again and we were in for yet another round of fun and excitement. Besides, I didn'
t have anything better to do at present.

  The cellar could've been part of the Scallop, sure: the hallway had had a pricey marble floor, I remembered, and the door hadn't creaked when Hercules had opened it. Well-oiled hinges; that fitted the Scallop too. It was a shame about the bag. A whiff of sandalwood would've proved things beyond doubt, but all I could smell was weevily flour. On the other hand, we hadn't stopped on the way, and if Hercules had had no business being in the Scallop – which was a reasonable assumption – he'd've wanted to check the coast was clear before tiptoeing across an open hallway with a body slung over his shoulder. Even brothel customers with their minds on frank carnality tend to notice things like that, and if Antaeus had been around he wouldn't have made more than a yard.

  Shelve the problem of location for now, then. A more important question was what the hell was going on here? The guy must've tailed me and waited his chance, that was obvious, but this was no last-minute rescue. The cart and the bag argued forward planning. I was being taken somewhere else, which meant someone besides Melanthus and his tame gorilla wanted Corvinus for a sunbeam and Hercules was working for him. So who was Hercules's boss? Who else besides my Academician pal would be interested enough in the Baker to want to talk to me?

  I was still puzzling that out when the cart stopped. I felt the cloth being yanked away.

  'You still awake, Roman?' For a pointless question that absolutely took the nuts, but I nodded anyway. 'That's good. Just lie quiet and you won't get hurt.'

  Yeah. The trip so far had been a real bed of roses, hadn't it? I would've groaned but before I could summon up the energy he hauled me out and hefted me over his shoulder again. This was getting monotonous. Now I knew how a side of beef felt on its way to the butcher's.

  When he finally dumped me it was on stone, and he didn't do it gently. I heard the sound of a knocker.

  Things went very quiet. Somewhere very close a door opened. Then the bag was suddenly jerked away and I was blinking at a face staring down at me in the light from the street-side cresset.