The Lydian Baker

I left Lysias waiting by the carriage outside the precinct gates and went inside on foot. I felt uncomfortable: these places where high-powered intellectuals hang out always make me nervous, and I can never shake off the feeling that any minute some clever bastard with a brain the size of a pumpkin is going to jump out on me and start asking me questions about where I stood on the issues of life, the soul and Divine Purpose. It didn't happen, although I passed by some conversations that would've made even Priscus sound like a monosyllabic bar-fly. Education may be a wonderful thing, but that doesn't mean it's good for you.

The library was packed to the door. I looked for Melanthus but he wasn't around. Well, the Academy was a big place; maybe he was lecturing, or had a tutorial group or whatever the hell he did when he wasn't shifting large amounts of bullion from A to B. Somebody would know, anyway.

I picked on an old guy stumbling out with an armful of books. Probably a Peripatetic who'd lost his way.

'Excuse me, sir,' I said politely.

'Yes?' Grey eyes peered myopically at me from under ratty eyebrows.

'Do you know Melanthus of Abdera at all?'

'Of course.' One of the books rolled off the pile. He made a senile grab for it and three more fell. I picked them up and stashed them under his armpits. 'Thank you, young man.' He turned to go.

Gods! The entire Platonic legacy to choose from and I had to land myself with this one! I tried again. 'Then do you happen to know where he is at present?'

'Philosophically?'

He meant it, too. Shit, I didn't believe this. 'Uh, no. No, physically.'

'Mmm. That is more difficult.' He scratched the chin under his beard. Five other books tottered. 'Have you tried the fine arts section?'

'And where would that be?'

'By the main reading desks.'

Yeah. I'd looked there first. It was where I'd found him the previous time. 'No, he isn't there. Not that I could see, at any rate.' I was getting the hang of this philosophy stuff now.

'Then I'm afraid I can't help you.'

Hell. 'Is there anyone he's particularly friendly with, sir? A colleague, perhaps?'

'You could try Alciphron. He's the head librarian. The desk right at the back. Now if you'll excuse me, young man…' He tottered off.

Back to the reading room. I tiptoed through the silence as quietly as I could manage: one sandal-squeak out of place here and these guys stare you to death. Sure enough I spotted a big desk at the end with another serious beard parked behind it, making about the fiftieth I'd seen so far. If there was a hell for barbers it was probably modelled pretty closely on the Academy. I went over.

'Excuse me, sir,' I said, 'but is your name Alciphron?'

The beard was taking notes from a scroll. He held up his left hand and kept on writing. I waited until he'd put the pen down, then gave him the big smile.

'It is.' He didn't smile back. Maybe it was my aftershave. 'What can I do for you?'

'I'm looking for — '

'Quietly, please!'

'Melanthus of Abdera.'

He paused, then said carefully: 'He isn't in today.'

'Ah.' Bugger. 'You know where he might be?'

The guy looked at me, then down at his scroll. My eyes followed. I was expecting Greek, but the thing was covered in squiggly lines like an ink- stained spider had thrown a fit all over it and finally slit its wrists at the bottom. He sighed and rolled it up.

'Perhaps we'd better talk elsewhere,' he said. 'You are Valerius Corvinus, aren't you? The Baker fellow, Priscus's stepson?'

'Uh, yeah. Yeah, that's me.' A horrible thought struck me. 'Melanthus isn't dead, is he?'

That got me a sharp stare: very sharp indeed. 'Good God, man, of course not! Why on earth should he be dead?'

There was no answer to that; not one that would make sense, anyway. It was just that I'd had suspects corpse on me before, and I didn't want to add to the list.

'No reason,' I said. 'Forget I asked.'

'He's working at home.' Alciphron stood up. He was a lot smaller than I'd expected, the top of his head barely reaching my chin, but he had the build of a boxer. The nose, too. Powerful arms, thick chest, strangler's hands and wrists. 'He often works at home.'

'You have his address?'

He hesitated. 'Of course. But let's go outside first, shall we?'

'Sure. If you like.' I frowned. Something was wrong here: the guy was nervous as a cat and acting like he had beans to spill, although I couldn't see why.

He led the way to the exit, and I followed. It was good to get into the open air; just being next to all these books had been giving me a headache. A dry throat, too. I could've murdered a cup of wine, but Academicians don't go in for fripperies like booze, not when they're working, anyway: according to cutting-edge philosophical theory it throws the soul's balance out of kilter or something. In any case the nearest wineshop was back at the Dipylon Gate.

'Now.' Alciphron indicated a bench. At least there were plenty of these around: unlike wineshops, benches are philosophically correct. The Academy grounds are full of them. 'First of all Melanthus's address. He has a house in Melite, near the temple of Artemis the Counsellor. It's easy to find, but should you get lost then anyone will direct you.’

Yeah, well, that was one thing settled, and a visit there wouldn't take me all that far out of my way: Melite was just the other side of the Potters' Quarter, between the Hill of Ares and the Hill of the Nymphs.

'You could've told me that inside,' I said.

'True.' Alciphron's thick eyebrows twitched. 'But if you noticed I did say "first of all".'

Uh-huh. Beans was right. 'You mean you wanted to talk to me.'

'Yes. I'm afraid I did.' A frown, and a hesitation. 'Corvinus, this is difficult for me. Morally difficult.'

'So try to force yourself, pal.'

'I have a great deal of respect for Melanthus of Abdera both as a scholar and a friend. He has a right to govern his own affairs as any freeborn man has, without interference from me or from anyone else.' He paused. 'However, recently I have become more than a little worried about…well, about his state of mind. In respect of the arrangement he has with your stepfather. And in respect of this…Baker statue.'

I sat back and tried to keep the interest out of my face.

'Is that so, now?' I said.

'The thing has become an obsession with him. I use the word advisedly.'

'You care to elaborate?'

'You must see how Melanthus views this business. Art is his life. For a treasure like Croesus's Baker, believed lost for three hundred years, suddenly to reappear is something very special to him. Uniquely so. And — forgive me — to see it pass into the hands of a private collector who is moreover not a Greek…you understand?'

'Sure I understand.' I felt smug as hell. It's not often you get theories confirmed so dramatically. I was just sorry Perilla wasn't there to listen so I could crow properly. 'He wants the statue himself.'

'Yes. He would be ashamed to admit it in so many words, of course, perhaps even to himself, but that is my firm belief. So when I learned that the seller had been found dead…not that I think for one moment that Melanthus could be involved, that is completely impossible.' I nodded. 'Still, it is disquieting, is it not?'

'Yeah.' Disquieting it might be to Alciphron, but I was having a hard time keeping the grin off my face. Got the bastard! 'You know that the statue has disappeared?'

Again that sharp stare. Alciphron was no fool, either.

'No,' he said. 'That I did not know.'

'Argaius — the guy who was murdered — had it squirrelled away in a cave near Thieves' Cove. His partner took me there. Only someone else had got to it first.' Alciphron said nothing. I paused. 'You happen to know if Melanthus has a slave or a freedman or an acquaintance of some kind who looks like a docker?' I described Prince Charming.