"Scandal takes a Holiday" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davis Lindsey)

VII

Helena and I walked slowly back. This time we went straight up the Decumanus. I was carrying the scribe's laundry and other possessions, collected together in his cloak. Apart from the whiff, which was a strange mixture of male sweat and old mortar, being in possession of what was clearly a clothes bundle made us a muggers' target. Dresswear is the most popular item for thieves. Half the vigiles' case-work comprises reports of filched tunics from changing rooms at the baths. I bet you didn't know that. Wrong! I bet you have been a victim at least once. There is no such thing as a bath house with good security. Look no further than the owners. Most proprietors are taking your ticket money with one hand while they feel the nap on your garments with the other, prior to a transfer of ownership. Many have a cousin who is a fuller. Your prized tawny tunic will be re-dyed bull's blood red, making it impossible to identify, while you are still strigilling off your chosen body oil and moaning that the water isn't hot enough. I take the dog to guard my togs. Since Nux guards clothes by lying on them, the disadvantage is that I get clean only to end up smelling like my dog. Nux is never clean. However, unlike one unfortunate man we passed in Ostia, I have never had to scuttle home naked, covering my assets with a borrowed hot-room water scoop. The Decumanus was the short route back, but it was full of other people. The nervous nude had his own problems dodging jibes and guffaws. We were little better off. All the porters with handcarts had bagged the shady pavement, the roadway was crammed with wagons and the hot side of the street was baked. Diocles" property was not heavy, but it included a little folding stool, washing gear, a half-empty wine flagon and a stylus box; the knotted cloak was an awkward shape to manoeuvre in the confined spaces of a main road with its afternoon traffic jam. Helena was no help. She was carrying the tablets, and as an insatiable reader that meant she was already searching through them as she walked.

His doodles are useless. He must just scribble a memory aid like

Tomorrow, without saying what for… This Damagoras you found is the only name." There were about five bound sets, each with four or six double sided wooden tablets, so keeping her grip on all these writing-boards, while struggling to open them one at a time, kept Helena busy. She dropped a couple once, but that was because a water-carrier barged her. Helena stooped to retrieve the fallen tablets, thwarting any helpful" passers-by who might have pretended to help pick them up for her while palming the odd one. As she bent down, a lecherous snack-bar waiter clearly planned on goosing her, but Diocles" bundle made a good guard, under cover of which I kicked the waiter. He reeled back with his empty drinks tray. Oblivious, Helena carried on reading. Juno, this man was a bore… here he's added up a bar bill. In the last set he sketched what looks like a grid for solo draughts." The bar bill came to so little it could only have been cold stew and a beaker for one. The scandal scribe dined out alone. At least that saved us feeling frustrated about untraceable meetings with anonymous contacts. The apparent board game could have been a map for a rendezvous, but if so, Diocles had missed out all the street names. That was no help.

Maybe he was the kind of sad bastard who spent his leisure time drawing imaginary cities," I speculated gloomily. Nothing I knew about him suggested he was King of Atlantis in his spare time, however.

Marcus, from what I've been reading so far in the Daily Gazette, he had enough fun applying his creativity to Flavia Conspicua seems to have grown bored with marriage very soon. Hardly has she been snatched from her mother's arms by the eligible Gaius Mundanus, than rumour has it Flavia [heiress to the Splendidus estates and an experienced amateur flute-player, is already seeing her old love Gaudius again." I invented that," Helena assured me.

Sounds good. Your Flavia is hot stuff?"

Always popular on the bachelor circuit."

Blonde?"

Auburn, I should say. No figure, but a lovely nature; she'll do anything for anyone."

You can take that several ways."

Oh quite!"

Tell me, is flute-playing" some ripe shorthand in scandal column terms?" I queried.

Very much so," said Helena, with the gravity I loved so well. You would think all Rome would sound like a wind instrument orchestra, given the prevailing loose morals. Flavia's fingering is legendary, her breath control is lovely, and it's thought she even sometimes has a go at the double-ended tibia." To avoid encouraging my loved one's filthy mind, I concentrated on squeezing the bundle of clothes between a temple portico and a mason's cart that had been left parked rather tight against the streetside building line. Hot and weary, we stopped by at the house where Petronius and Maia were living, where we allowed Maia to fan us and furbish us with mint tea. We were forced to be introduced to the owner, who was visiting to oversee the installation of a fountain. It was a statue of a naked Young Dionysius; in the throes of his early wine-drinking lessons, the handsome god [who I thought looked rather like me when young, made the waterspout by peeing. Since the house-owner was a building contractor, I assume this tasteful artwork had been pinched from some unfortunate client. Perhaps it had been chipped slightly on the bunch of grapes as it was delivered, and became a return', with no visible refund on the final account. Petro's benefactor was called Privatus and had a shiny bald head, over which he had drawn long strands of thin greying hair. They crossed on top, creating a loose darn of fake locks which would blow apart in the slightest gust of wind. Not tall, the builder was bony and knock-kneed. I had met men who were more flash, but he reeked of social ambition and consciousness of his own success. You guessed. I did not take to him. Petronius was out. In an uppity mood, Maia took great delight in explaining to Privatus that I was an informer, in Ostia to find a missing scribe. I prefer to keep quiet about a mission, until I have the measure of a new acquaintance. Maia knew that.

So, what would you say are your chances of finding this Diocles?" asked Privatus. It was a fair question. I tried not to bridle.

At the moment it looks unlikely I can go much further." I sounded more pleasant than I felt.

Marcus Didius is being modest," Helena declared loyally. He has a long history of solving difficult cases." Privatus looked nervous. It takes people that way. So what do you reckon happened, Falco?"

At this juncture, it's impossible to say."

How does an informer, excuse me asking so much, by the way how do you go about finding a lost person, Falco?" People are always curious about my work. I sighed, then went through the rigmarole. Before I left Rome, I checked at the Temple of Aesculapius in case he had been hospitalised, or dumped there for burial. Here, I asked Petronius Longus to see if my man has been arrested by the vigiles for some reason, negative, and now the patrols are looking out for him. They should spot him if he's wandering in a daze. If he just changed lodgings because he couldn't stand his landlady, my task will be much harder."

Sounds like hard work!" exclaimed the builder, clearly unconvinced. I smiled bravely. Have you ever heard of anyone in Ostia called Damagoras?" Privatus posed, pretending to think. Afraid not, Falco." I should have asked Privatus about his work. Still, he had probably heard that informers are famous for their bad manners. His life presumably was one long happy round of rebuilding the docks when holes he left the last time started letting in water. Helena and I quickly drank up our mint tea, then I took her home. She remembered the note-tablets. With skill, I managed to leave behind Diocles" dirty laundry, which I had left standing on the well swept marble floor, in the atrium of Privatus" tasteful home.