“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.”