Ten for Dying (John the Lord Chamberlain Book 10)

by Mary Reed

  “Perhaps Antonina wouldn’t have been so upset if the culprit had turned out to be one her less capable servants?”

  “That’s unfair, Felix.”

  “Didn’t it occur to her that the victim might have visions, might even see fiends? From what you’ve told me, most of the household already imagined they were besieged by them.”

  “Perhaps they are.”

  Felix shook his head. “As I already told you, that was probably the leper who was lurking around here. I mistook him for a demon, but only for an instant.”

  “Turn around and let me see to that back. What a nasty purple mess it is!” She splashed some water onto the wounds. “Does that hurt?”

  Felix grunted and Anastasia replied with little sounds of sympathy. “It’s my belief the evil spirits came out to do mischief as soon as my sister died,” she continued. “When the world’s not right, when everything is turned upside down, they see their chance.”

  She gently kneaded his sore muscles and Felix began to relax. Could she be right? The workers at the church swore they had seen demons fleeing with the relic. Perhaps the supernatural was, in fact, involved. What about the frogs in the mausoleum? There was something unnatural about that. And the doorkeeper said he’d seen an ape or something resembling one. Still, Mithrans knew there were forces of darkness at work in the world. “It’s not that I don’t believe demons exist. Demons of some sort, somewhere, some time. But right here? Right now? I don’t expect to see any.”

  “Why not? Devils are everywhere. Look at how many Jesus cast out. He drove two thousand from one poor soul into a whole herd of swine.”

  “At that rate there wouldn’t be enough swine in the world to dispose of the demons inside the Great Palace alone!”

  “Oh, Felix, I’m serious.” Anastasia slapped the back of his head, lightly, but hard enough to make him wince, given the lump there.

  “So am I. There’s evil in the world, but it works though human beings. There’s no need for demons to get involved. Well, most of the time anyhow.”

  Yet what if such beings really were involved in a matter with which he was inextricably entwined? Better not to think about it. Then again, every new possibility that occurred to him was just as puzzling as the previous ones. “What about your friend Antonina? Tychon was her servant. If he was seeing demons, could it have something to do with the stolen shroud? Might Antonina have an interest in relics?”

  She stopped stroking his back and slid away from him. “How can you say that? Why don’t you accuse me of involvement too?”

  He turned to face her. “I’m just trying to think of all the possibilities.”

  “And you think that’s a possibility?” Her face was flushed and not just from the hot air which had beaded her face with perspiration.

  “I’m just trying to follow the trail of—”

  “Don’t say any more.” She stood, making the steamy mist swirl. Rivulets streamed down her sides, sparkling in the light from overhead. She was achingly beautiful. And angry. And the sister of the late empress. Felix had the sudden, humiliating feeling of being targeted by the wrath of a goddess.

  “Can’t you understand? How long do you think the ruse with a bit of cloth is going to stop Porphyrius? If there are people higher up than Porphyrius or the Jingler, they’ve hidden themselves well. I’m not even certain what the relationship between Porphyrius and the Jingler is, or if there is any. I’m totally in the dark!”

  Anastasia pushed her damp hair back from her face. Her rigid features softened. “Poor bear! I hate to see you in such a state. I have a suggestion that might make you feel better.”

  “Yes?”

  She pivoted and stamped up the steps out of the bath, showing him her perfect buttocks. “You’d better speak to the Jingler again.”

  Chapter Forty

  Julian the Jingler counted to seven, touched the magickal bracelets on both stick-thin wrists, murmured a guttural phrase in an unknown language that he had found through assiduous study of an obscure work by Apollonius of Tyana, and emerged from the bath.

  This was the most dangerous time of all.

  Few devils cared for water, fiery creatures that they were. But for the few steps it took him to reach the changing room and dress himself, Julian was protected only by the scanty number of amulets and charms it was possible to wear on neck chains and bracelets.

  One or two bathers, new to the baths, gaped at the slight figure, white as a phantom, creeping across the tiles. The regulars had long since ceased to pay attention. There were many strange sights in Constantinople.

  Julian did not hurry. He forced himself to remain calm. Devils had keen noses for fear, like street dogs.

  As soon as he reached the bench where he had laid out his robes in the usual pattern he put on his sandals, left one first naturally. Why would he put on his right sandal first when devils had never swooped down to carry him off so long as he favored his left foot? If something worked, it was best to keep using it.

  He methodically donned his clothing, so heavy with charms it made a comforting jangling like spiritual chain mail. Once he had armored himself again, he sighed with relief. Now he had only to return to his rooms by his invariable route—a route that had proved secure again and again.

  He left by the front entrance, walked to the open square of the Augustaion, and passed warily through the crowds.

  People drew away as he approached.

  He was glad of it.

  How did the inhabitants of this evil city, reigned over by a devilish emperor, survive living so blindly and haphazardly?

  Or did they? How could anyone tell? Was the woman seated in the shadow of Justinian’s column, selling live birds from a wicker basket, nothing but an automaton animated by the devils which had evicted her soul to wander the underworld? For all Julian knew he might be the sole human being in Constantinople and only his amulets prevented the devils from seeing that he was not one of them.

  A shadow passed over him.

  He stopped abruptly with a fearful jingling.

  It was only a raven. It landed on the discarded scrap of fish which had lured it into the crowds, stared malevolently at Julian, then flapped away, prey clutched in its claws.

  A close escape perhaps?

  Heart pounding, Julian passed along the side of the Great Church. He was no less troubled than Felix by recent events involving the missing relic, but it was necessary for him to concentrate on reaching home safely. Once he was back behind his locked door, surrounded by protective magick of every variety, then he would think about the problem.

  He had never known the devils to be so active. He could feel their presence as he made his way through the streets. From the mouth of an alley came the almost imperceptible chilly draught as a gateway to the underworld opened and shut somewhere.

  There was no apparent reason for the zig-zag route he followed. Julian himself could not have said why it was necessary for him to go down this alleyway or cross that square. It might be that the geography of the place inhabited by the devils did not match that of this world. If it were possible to see into that other world, it would be obvious why he needed to proceed exactly as he did to avoid unwanted encounters.

  Finally he reached the street where he lived. He found it hard to breath, hard to restrain himself from breaking into a run which would alert the devils swarming in the city.

  It didn’t matter how many times he completed his daily journeys successfully, the nearer he got to safety the more anxious he became.

  Then he was mounting the stairs. He heard no pursuit from behind.

  The hallway leading to his apartment was clear.

  He tested his door. Still locked.

  There remained only to open it, go in, and—

  As the door swung open an enormous hand grabbed the back of his neck and flung him inside.


  Chapter Forty-one

  Anatolius contemplated the one-armed man seated on the other side of the desk. “You would be Felix’s servant.”

  “Nikomachos, sir.”

  “I remember seeing you at his house in the past.”

  “Most people remember me, sir. Perhaps it is my blue eyes.”

  Anatolius tapped his reed pen on the skull grinning up from the mosaic decorating the desk top. “Have you brought me a message from your master?”

  “I regret I have been forced by circumstances to take a temporary absence from my employment.”

  “By circumstances you mean stealing a valuable cloak from a dead man and possibly murdering him as well?”

  “I assure you I did not kill the courier, sir. You are correct, however, that I have been forced to abandon my duties for fear of being accused of murder.”

  “Why are you here, Nikomachos? You realize that I should summon the urban watch immediately.”

  The absconding servant did not appear to be perturbed by the possibility. “I know you are a friend of the captain’s. I had to leave in a hurry and did not realize the full extent of the serious trouble he was in. Since then word has spread all over the city. I thought I might be able to help.”

  “It’s plain enough you wouldn’t dare approach the City Prefect. How do you suppose you can help Captain Felix by coming to me?”

  “I know that he did not kill the courier.”

  Anatolius slid a sheet of parchment over the skull and dipped his pen into the ink pot sitting at one corner of the desk. “How is this?”

  Nikomachos settled back in his chair and reached over with his one hand to clasp the stump of his missing arm, coming as near as possible—disconcertingly so as far as Anatolius was concerned—to crossing his arms. “The morning the corpse was found in the courtyard I rose at my usual hour, Which is to say while it was still dark and long before the rest of the household. As I was going about attending to my duties at the back of the house I heard voices. It isn’t uncommon to hear people passing by in the alley but something in the tone caught my attention, so I stepped outside. At that instant a figure dropped down from over the wall. A robber, I thought. But before I had a chance to raise the alarm, I noticed that the form by the wall didn’t move.

  “I got a lamp and crept forward. The figure just lay there. He didn’t react. I could tell right away he must be an aristocrat because the lamp light sparkled off jewels sewn to his short cloak.”

  Anatolius’ pen scratched at the parchment. “So naturally the first action that occurred to you was to steal the dead man’s cloak and hide it in your room, where it was soon found by the urban watch.”

  “I thought the intruder was so intoxicated as to be unconscious, sir.”

  “Surely you realized he was dead?”

  “After a closer examination, yes. But I’m not here to defend my actions. I don’t try to defend them. We must take care of ourselves. A dead man does not miss his cloak. Life is cruel and sometimes we must act cruelly.” He shrugged and tapped his stump. “But you see my point? The captain would hardly have killed the man and then dumped him in his own courtyard.”

  “True, provided anyone would be prepared to believe your story.”

  “I have found that a war wound tends to corroborate one’s testimony, sir. But in fact, I offer my story in case it might encourage you to unearth other witnesses.”

  “Did you recognize the dead man?”

  “I recognized him as a man who came to the house on occasion, delivering packages. I did not know who he was and I never heard him addressed by name.”

  “And you happened to observe these meetings?”

  “At my job, one needs to be alert. But I am also discreet.”

  Anatolius made a few more scribbles, pondering on what he had been told. He suspected Nikomachos was interested in saving his employer to save his employment. His actions hadn’t been reasonable. Then again most of the distressed clients Anatolius met in this office were there because they had acted without reasoning things through carefully. “Did you by any chance relieve the courier of a package as well as a cloak?”

  “I did not, sir. I took a few coins, I admit. And a small dagger. He was not carrying a package.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “I searched the young man well enough to know he did not have a package on him. The dagger was well hidden beneath his garment.”

  Felix’s haughty servant departed without revealing anything else of value. He was hiding at a friend’s but wouldn’t say where.

  Anatolius picked the parchment up and studied it. So Nikomachos had confirmed Felix wasn’t the murderer and the courier had only arrived in the courtyard after he was dead and the package had been taken from him, if indeed he had been carrying it in the first place. If, that is, one were to believe Nikomachos.

  Was that useful?

  Would anyone of importance believe a thieving servant?

  If nothing else, it reminded Anatolius of his promise to Felix to investigate the matter.

  He laid the parchment down. There was nothing on it but a detailed sketch of a grinning skull. Yes, he was definitely getting better at drawing that skull, although he still hadn’t got the toothy grin right.

  ***

  The grin of the dead man who was stretched out on the concrete floor of an underground room at the City Prefect’s offices wasn’t right either.

  The face had been torn away, leaving a partially fleshed skull framed by dark hair. The ravens hadn’t got far with the neck, which still exhibited an indentation akin to a necklace, the gift of the hangman in the Hippodrome.

  Anatolius straightened up, keeping his sleeve pressed over his nose and mouth as Flaccus, the attendant, yanked sackcloth back into place, covering the horror. Flies immediately descended and started searching for an entry.

  A dozen or so shrouded heaps were scattered over the floor of the chamber. The humid air was alive with flies, several of which crawled across Flaccus’ bald, sweating scalp. He appeared to be oblivious to them.

  “No one’s identified him?” Anatolius asked.

  Flaccus’ extraordinarily wide, toothless mouth, curled into a gum-revealing grin almost as hideous as that of the faceless corpse. “You just seen him. What do you think?”

  Anatolius had had reason to speak with the short, corpulent attendant before. This was where the urban watch brought unidentified bodies—a crop Constantinople produced in abundance—on the small chance that someone might claim them.

  “What kind of man was he? Are there any indications?”

  Flaccus’ puckered his lips in thought. “He weren’t carrying nothing. His tunic was coarse, unbleached cloth, but fairly new. Calloused hands, but only slightly. A man who worked but not one who done hard labor. A house servant, I’d say. His owner will come inquiring about a missing slave eventually but we’ll have to bury him sooner than that for obvious reasons.” He sniffed, not without a certain air of enjoyment, the way one might sniff at a fine, ripe cheese.

  “If you find out anything more let me know. I’m really more interested in the fellow found naked in the embrace of Aphrodite.”

  “He’s gone home, he has.”

  “And who was he?”

  “Ah now, there’s a deep, dark mystery for you. The Prefect himself come down with the widow. Ordered me out before she identified him.”

  “All the more reason for you to have ascertained his identity, Flaccus. Where there’s secrecy there’s usually gold to be had. People overhear conversations, they happen to see official reports, word gets around.”

  “Word might get around, but we’re duty bound not to let it get out, if I may say so respectfully. As I’m sure you understand, working for the Prefect’s office I am a representative of the law, sir, just as you are.”

  Anatol
ius watched a fly make its stately procession across the glistening dome of the representative of the law. “I realize there’s murder involved and that it might involve a sensitive matter, Flaccus, but I’m not interested in any of that. My only interest is the widow.”

  Flaccus leered at him but said nothing.

  “I’m not thinking of romance! I’m a lawyer. Widows usually need legal assistance. There will be an estate to handle, various formalities to attend to, that sort of thing. As a matter of professional courtesy, naturally you’ll be entitled to a fee.”

  The grotesque grin stretched across Flaccus’ face from pink ear to pink ear. “I understand now, sir. It hurts to think of unscrupulous legal cheats lying in wait for a poor young widow. I’d be doing a good turn sending her an honest man such as yourself.”

  Chapter Forty-two

  “So the traitorous Lord Chamberlain is still plotting against me with the captain?” Justinian dropped the parchment onto his desk.

  “Former Lord Chamberlain and former captain, Caesar,” said Narses.

  Justinian sat at his document littered desk in his study deep inside the imperial residence. He had barely emerged from this sanctuary for days.

  “Are you sure it is authentic, Narses?”

  The eunuch’s bald head bobbed up and down, catching the fitful lamp light. The stark shadows gave him a devilish appearance. “I have had Felix’s home under surveillance. We intercepted a private courier leaving.”

  Justinian pushed the parchment away from him with a forefinger. “Yet it appears to be written in a feminine hand.”

  “Dictated, naturally. And practically as soon as he returned home.” There was no reason for Narses to say aloud that Justinian should have heeded his advice and kept Felix in the dungeons. The plain fact hung almost palpably between them in the airless room. It angered Narses that the whim of Theodora’s sister outweighed his own good judgment. But what else would one expect?