‘Does Sophrona’s useless husband know he’s being made a fool of?’ I asked.
‘Oh, no. He’s extremely short-sighted, is Khaleed. Nobody knows the number of times he’s glimpsed Ribes making a fast getaway from their tent with his tunic still halfway up his arse, and not realised it was him, let alone what he must have been up to!’
I was cross because that was another very complicated link to draw in my chart.
As the organ wasn’t playing, I wandered off to where a properties controller from the theatre company was sorting out equipment. Large baskets had been delivered, which he was emptying out and exploring. He had a fake baby wrapped in a moth-eaten shawl, enormous rattly cooking pots, a shaggy coil of rope, bags of wooden money and a very old home-made snake with spangly eyes. He waggled the snake wildly, hoping I would scream though I didn’t. Sand fell out of it.
They had some cracked leather armour for the boasting soldier to wear and a couple of wooden swords that any suitable character could use. I picked up one, struck a few attitudes and tried the edge. It didn’t feel sharp. ‘Would you be able to kill a person with this?’ I was thinking about my task of bringing retribution on whoever was to blame for my loss of Ferret. I really meant, would I be able to kill someone. Someone such as Thalia.
‘It’s blunt. That’s intentional. It wouldn’t go in, but if you ran at an opponent fast, you could inflict a really cracking bruise. Believe me, that has happened. Actors are always involved in deadly rivalries so they whack one another “accidentally”.’ I pricked up my ears, in case I had discovered more murky situations to investigate, then I reasoned that the acting troupe had only arrived this morning so none of them were relevant to the death of Ferret. While I thought about that, I swished the wooden sword about, frowning seriously.
‘What are you thinking of, Postumus?’ demanded the props man in a suspicious tone. His name was Dama. He seemed a better class of person than the acrobats, though not much better.
I gave him my mysterious smile. That normally settles a conversation. Most people who receive my mysterious smile go away in a hurry.
I had got the hang of investigating, and the next stage would be something that always happens to annoy the investigator. That was clear because of what Dama said: ‘Ho, ho!’ He sounded alert and stern. ‘Don’t tell me you are looking for a means to protect yourself, young man?’
8
This is what I mean about the next stage of the investigation. I know from my father and sister that when you have stirred up everyone sufficiently by your penetrating enquiries, the suspects and conspirators believe they have to defend themselves by trying to block you from asking any more questions. This is likely to involve some kind of violent attack on you. Suspects are always dim people who imagine you will be frightened off. They never reckon on courage and grit.
What it tells you is that you have touched a nerve and are worrying them by coming too near the truth for comfort. This confirms you are being successful. You can take heart — though you must also be extremely careful and keep looking behind you wherever you go.
Although Dama had suggested it was me who might need protection, I knew he must be bluffing. Underneath his question was a threat. What he meant was: ‘Are you wanting protection? — Because I am going to lure you down a dark alley and thump you horribly until you are covered in blood and can barely crawl home to be bandaged up and given hot soup.’
Of course there were no alleys in the Circus of Gaius and Nero, though threateners who were small enough could crouch down and hide between the seats, ready to jump out at you.
I gave Dama my thoughtful look, the one Albia says means I am considering whose head to put a hatchet in. Normally people who receive that smile then make themselves scarce. Sometimes I hear them muttering. If they complain to my parents, it used to be that Falco or Helena had a little talk with me, but they have now stopped bothering.
‘Oh,’ I replied coolly when he failed to leave the scene. ‘I am a boy, Dama. Naturally I like to pretend I am a soldier thwacking the enemy. I do it every day until my mother says, Alexander Postumus, do stop damaging the furniture and making such a racket. Please may I borrow this sword while nobody else is using it, so I can march around being a legionary in my imagination?’
‘No,’ said Dama.
‘It’s only a game, Dama.’
‘The theatre props are not toys, Postumus. Put it back immediately and don’t touch anything else.’
I put back the sword tidily as soon as he told me to, like a meek obedient boy. This time I gave him my saddest look, all downcast and big brown eyes.
‘Cut it out,’ said Dama. ‘Now hop off and irritate somebody else.’
I walked off as he had told me, still pretending to be well-behaved. I went far enough for him to think he had safely got rid of me, then I turned around. I was still in hearing distance. Of course I was, or there would have been no point.
‘Just one other thing, Dama, if you don’t mind.’ This is called tactics. Dama scowled. I ignored that. He was pretending I had not spoken to him. You have to carry on anyway, to catch them out. ‘What was the reason, please, why you thought I might need to protect myself?’ He wasn’t going to answer me, but I made myself look horribly anxious about it. ‘Am I in some kind of danger that I don’t know about?’ I sounded as nervous as I could. Since I didn’t know of any danger, I wasn’t really.
Dama still made no answer but he stopped looking angry. I waited a little then walked back slowly until I was close up again. I was showing I trusted him utterly, so it was his duty to be kind to me. I sat down cross-legged beside one of the props baskets. Then I waited. I am an extremely patient person.
‘You’re not in any danger,’ Dama said, after he had fiddled with the props for a while. Obviously I then knew I was in danger. That was a surprise.
He went on with what he was doing, though it looked as if he was drawing it out to avoid speaking. He had a huge cloth costume, like a gigantic circular sheet with holes for eyes, which I guessed was the ghost’s robe. Lots of plays contain a ghost though in the ones I have seen it never does much. People tell you that you will like the play because it is really exciting with a ghost, then it never is. They are just trying to persuade you to go to the play with them, so we can all be together as a family for once. It’s best to go. That keeps them happy and they will hand around a lot of sweets.
The ghost’s eye holes had grown tattered so Dama was sewing around them neatly. He had a basket of stuff for mending jobs, with glue pots, shears, hammers, thread and different kinds of wire and string. I would have liked to investigate these things, but decided not to. Or not while Dama was watching.
He put the costume material over his own head to try it out; most people would have made woo-woo noises and waved their arms spookily but Dama didn’t bother. He must be a man of the world. Anyway, I had the impression he didn’t believe in ghosts.
I had waited this long time, because I could tell he was not a bad man, but one who wished me well. So I asked in a little voice, ‘Who doesn’t like me, Dama?’
Finally Dama gave me a straight look. ‘I can’t comment on who likes you or doesn’t like you, Postumus, but you need to be aware of your position, boy.’