John handed him a couple of coins. “The charge you mentioned and a little extra for the information.”
The harbormaster grinned. “I see you are an honest businessman, sir.”
“Then you will understand that, being honest, I need to know who the usual courier is, in case there is some irregularity.”
“You are most conscientious, sir. I really don’t know anything further I can tell you other than the man has a scar on his face and not many teeth and the ones he has are all on one side of his mouth.” He rubbed his chin and screwed up his face as if thinking hard. “I wish I could remember where the shipment originated. It’s on the tip of my tongue.”
“Sometimes it helps to think of something else. Like this.” John dropped another coin into the man’s hand.
“You’re right, sir. Why, it just occurred to me when I was admiring Justinian’s profile. The vessels carrying these shipments sail from Corinth. As you are new to the area, I should warn you about Corinth. A notoriously sinful city since ancient times, where honest men are cheated and murdered and public women flaunt themselves.”
“In some ways, then, it resembles Constantinople,” John observed as he turned to leave, stepping to one side to avoid a stout, perspiring man who rushed in as an agitated monkey leapt through the open window and scuttled into a corner.
Chapter Twenty-five
Another evening, another port, this time Lechaion, the western port of Corinth. John had spent much of the day traveling. Who could the courier with the scar and singular arrangement of teeth have been except his stepfather? So John had come here, to the city where the mysterious shipment of iron had originated, to look for Theophilus’ past.
Rows of masts pointed accusing fingers at the darkening sky, and intoxicated men were already staggering in and out of the taverns lining squalid alleys radiating away from the water. The dying sun gave its blush to white marble-faced civic buildings. A large basilica stood within sight of the inner harbor, a mass of busy streets stretching away around it. Herds of cows voiced loud bovine complaints as they were driven into pens in a nearby market.
It was to an alley off a wide thoroughfare leading from the marketplace that John went in search of lodgings. By the time dusk had settled in and torches flared he had moved into a small room at the top of a house that leaned wearily on its two neighbors, inclining precipitously with them toward the rubbish-strewn ground to such a degree that going up the stairs meant a giddy, near crawling ascent to avoid tumbling down backward.
The stairway was greasy, dimly lit, and malodorous, but had the advantage of creaking loudly when pressure was placed on its steps, giving tenants ample warning of visitors who, by the appearance of the area, might not be welcome.
John took the room on a daily basis, being careful to pay in coins of the smallest value, and with one hand on the blade tucked in his belt as the landlord’s agent counted them.
“What’s the best tavern in these parts?” he asked the agent, a wizened little man with a distinct stoop and gray hair.
“Depends what you seek.” The reply was accompanied by a leer. “If it’s a woman looking for a friend, you can do no better than sample the delights of the tavern run by my son. Step outside and I’ll point it out to you.”
The tavern to which the old man referred was a large establishment across the street and appeared well patronized. John noticed a huddled shape lying against the wall.
Following his glance, his informant chuckled. “That’s Maritza. A harpy with red hair and a scorpion’s tongue,” he said. “She must have had good fortune and met a generous stranger tonight. Since her man went away she’s had to fend for herself. Easy enough if you’re a woman, but her ways are so well known in this quarter she hasn’t been able to find anyone to take his place yet.”
The old man grew confidential. “Let me put it this way. I would not want to have her walking behind me in daylight, let alone in the middle of the night. She slashed the face of a girl who made a too-loud comment about aging whores in that very tavern. She keeps returning and my son is anxious about more outbursts from her in case the authorities get involved. Fortunately no one saw or knew anything about the first incident, if you follow me. Now, it happens my son has a couple of girls in residence who are as gentle as lambs and most willing to please. And when I say willing to please…”
John endured a lurid description of the delights available for a few coins in the upper room of the tavern in hopes of gleaning useful information. With none forthcoming, he finally escaped from the garrulous agent and made his way across the street. As he approached the tavern, two men were thrown out. Struggling futilely, shouting oaths and insults, they resembled a couple of seagulls with broken wings doing their best to take flight but not quite succeeding. By the time the revelers had picked themselves up from the dirt and reeled away together singing loudly, the woman had gone.
The tavern stank worse than the street. John went to the counter where the smell of fresher wine in vats sunk into its marble top and partially obscured the stench of stale wine, spilled or expelled onto the floor in various ways.
John clicked a coin loudly on the counter until the owner appeared, glowered at him, and ladled out a drink. He wasn’t a big man, but he looked as tough as a charioteer, with a face resembling stained leather.
“The next time you see Theophilus tell him a friend of his is looking for him.”
The owner handed John a brimming cup. His face had suddenly become expressionless.
“I was certain the bastard said this is where he came to sell our takings,” John said, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. “He told me the owner’s father had it all arranged with the authorities, to make it safe for business.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course I do. Out the window, across the roof, through the alley, straight in here, open your sack, and by the time the night watch arrives you’ll be strolling out with coins in hand and your merchandise off to good homes. Those were Theophilus’ words, and if he doesn’t know thievery, who does?”
“I don’t want trouble,” the owner said.
Two huge men whom John had taken for patrons had suddenly got up from the table where they were sitting. No doubt they had been the means by which the two revelers had been put, almost literally, to flight.
“I’m certain your father doesn’t want trouble, either.”
“My father knows it is wise to be silent. He didn’t tell you anything. Keep him out of this.”
“Perhaps he knows what I need to know. Perhaps he’s easier to talk to.”
The owner’s expression changed just enough to betray anxiety “Look, I never heard of this Theophilus. What does he look like?”
John described his stepfather, again loudly, stressing the scar on his cheek and lack of teeth. He half turned to face the room and saw he had everyone’s attention. “It’s worth a lot to me to find him,” he concluded.
“He hasn’t been in here. Perhaps he drinks in another tavern nearby. More likely he was lying to you.”
John laughed. “You think I hadn’t considered that? The man’s a better liar than he is a thief. Has anyone else been in here, talking about iron shipments?”
“Iron shipments? No.” The man’s obvious bemusement satisfied John that he was telling the truth. John took his cup and sat at a table as far away from the looming thugs as he could get. He sipped his drink slowly, hoping for someone to sidle up to him and whisper he had information on Theophilus, or a man with a scar, or some questionable dealings in iron, but no one did. After a time he surreptitiously emptied most of his wine onto the floor and left. He had a number of other taverns yet to visit.
Chapter Twenty-six