There was no point putting the task off any longer.
Night shrouded the landscape. She had not gone very far along the path until the house and outbuildings were concealed by fog rolling in from the sea. Her footsteps sounded too loud. She thought fog would have muffled sounds but tonight it seemed to have the opposite acoustic effect.
She took a rutted trail leading along the ridge overlooking the sea, invisible tonight.
On either side her surroundings vanished into the fog. She might have been treading a narrow track across an abyss concealed from her gaze. That is how it felt living in Megara, going about one’s everyday tasks but aware of unseen dangers wherever one turned. A single misstep and you would plunge over the edge.
Out of the house, in the cold, away from Peter’s maddeningly loud breathing, she began to realize the foolishness of this midnight walk. Fog swirled and clung with clammy fingers to hair, face, and garments. Trees and bushes swam toward her out of the white miasma, receding behind as she strode forward at an increasing pace.
Could she see Philip under these conditions?
Should she shout for him?
Or would it be unwise to reveal her location?
She stopped and muttered to herself to calm down. Who would be out here aside from Philip or one of the other watchmen?
Apart from whoever had killed Theophilus, or wanted to kill the master, or someone from the city who wished the whole family ill will?
She swallowed and said a prayer to her gods. The clicking and chirping of night insects replied.
A breeze sprang up, momentarily clearing the fog away from a figure crouched beside the path.
No, it was merely a gnarled, ancient olive tree bent away from the sea. How long had the dwarf sat here? Was it part of an unthinkably old grove, long since vanished? Did the ghosts of all who had lived here and cultivated the land through countless centuries haunt the nights?
She thought of demons. The demons supposedly released by the excavations at the temple, the demons called on by imagined pagan worshipers, the demons her magickal clay scorpions were meant to ward off.
She had neglected to bring a protective charm with her.
As the breeze increased it tore rags of mist from the billowing foggy curtain, revealing a stretch of wall, a glint of sea, light from a house.
The blacksmith’s house.
Philip was crossing the dirt yard behind the forge.
Hypatia had only a glimpse but she was certain it was Philip.
Why would he be going to see Petrus at this time of night?
She started down the hill to the house, hurrying to catch him. Burrs caught on her tunic and thorns tore at her arms as she fought through a thicket that turned out to be denser than she expected.
She emerged from the brush behind a heap of metal rods at the edge of the open space. She smelled smoke. The yard was empty. Weird lights spilled out of the wide archway leading to the forge. She caught a glimpse of an illuminated inner wall. Strange shapes, among them the Key of the Nile, flickered across the wall and vanished.
She ran through the archway, prepared to call Philip’s name, and stopped.
Despite the faint warmth radiating from the embers in the forge, she began to shiver until her entire body trembled.
A body lay sprawled in front of the forge.
She bent down and turned the body over.
Not Philip, thank the gods.
The faint glow illuminated the lifeless face of the overseer Diocles.
Before she could decide what to do the owner of the forge appeared. Almost immediately a heavy footstep marked the entrance of Lucian the pig farmer.
The three of them stood there, looking at the body and at each other, all of them equally horrified and mystified.
Or pretending to be.
Chapter Thirty-eight
The City Defender waved a fly away from his face with his stylus and consulted the tablet in front of him before addressing John. “The last time you sat here, you were suspected in one murder on your estate. This morning you are a suspect in two.”
“The last time I sat here was because a fish merchant and his friends tried to burn down my house.”
“Nevertheless you were a murder suspect, and will remain so as long as you are in Megara.”
“How would you benefit from my leaving, Georgios?”
“For a start I’d have fewer criminal matters to worry about.”
Today the patch of sunlight John had noticed on his earlier visit reached farther into the room. It felt warm on his back, casting his shadow across the mosaic floor. The head of his silhouette lay across documents near the edge of Georgios’ table, a sight that reminded John of a head waiting to be removed with a swift slice from the sword of an imperial executioner.
There was no crowd present, thanks in part to the armed guard at the door. The only others in the room, aside from John and the City Defender, were Hypatia, seated in a chair against the wall and the two guards flanking her, unnecessarily, in John’s opinion, considering her ankles were shackled.
Georgios glanced at his tablet again and then briefly pointed his stylus in Hypatia’s direction. “This servant of yours-an Egyptian, I understand-was apprehended at the forge of your tenant, the blacksmith Petrus, in the middle of the night. She was standing over the body of the former overseer of your estate, Diocles, who had been stabbed in the back. Your servant’s hands and clothing were bloody and she was holding a kitchen knife in her hand. No doubt you have an explanation. I am willing to hear it.”
“Perhaps she was possessed by demons, like the fish merchant?”
“More likely consorting with them!”
“It isn’t for me to explain, Georgios. She has already told you what happened. She was not involved in Diocles’ death. She merely stumbled on the body.”
“The people on your estate seem to have a penchant for stumbling on corpses and wandering around after dark. Are these habits you’ve brought with you from Constantinople? It was my impression those who live there stay inside and lock their doors at night so they won’t stumble over corpses piling up in the lawless streets.”
“Why isn’t this hearing being written down for the administrative records?”
“It is not a formal hearing”
“It is completely irregular.”
“In the capital, perhaps. This is the way we work in Megara.”
“And it is the way you work?”
Georgios smiled. “Yes. The way the duly empowered City Defender works, along with his armed guards and the support of every citizen.” He turned his attention to Hypatia. “You, woman. Do you want to change this fabricated tale you told me?”
Hypatia’s eyes smoldered with dark fire. “I told the truth, sir. When I spotted the body I didn’t know whose it was or why it was there. There was only the glow from the forge. He might have fallen and hit his head or been intoxicated.”
“Surely you noticed the wound in his back?” Georgios interrupted.
“No. There were shadows. I was startled. I rolled him over and saw he was dead. I was afraid whoever killed him might still be nearby so I took out the knife I carry for protection. Since being attacked in the marketplace I felt I needed it. You and your guards don’t offer any protection!”
“A perfectly lucid and understandable story,” John put in.
“A simpler explanation is that your servant crept up behind Diocles and put the knife in his back, just before Petrus appeared.”
“Petrus could have killed the man. It was his forge. Or it might have been my tenant farmer Lucian, who as we have just heard arrived not long after Petrus appeared.”
“Neither of them was holding a knife in a bloody hand,” the City Defender pointed out.
“Where are Petrus and Lucian?” John demanded. “They should be here to give evidence.”
“Don’t be so anxious about that. You’ll be appearing before a court soon enough. To proceed. Petrus stated to me he heard a sound and went out to the forge and saw the body and your servant there. Then Lucian came to see Petrus on some business.”