Ten for Dying (John the Lord Chamberlain Mysteries) (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-six

Another precious hour had passed before Felix turned down the street leading to the Jingler’s abode. He knew that his quarry, a slave to habit, would shortly emerge to make one of his regular trips to the Baths of Zeuxippos. Felix hoped he would prove more helpful than the beggars—and sometime informants—he had confronted after leaving Porphyrius. He had become increasingly angry and frustrated over their ignorance, or feigned ignorance. How was it possible not one of them had noticed a boisterous gang of Blues up to no good, or a fleeing demon?

Not that there was much chance that anyone on the streets had noticed anything useful. But then Felix was given to wagering hopefully against the odds. Otherwise, he reflected ruefully, he wouldn’t be in the fix he was in.

The Jingler had been as close-mouthed as Porphyrius during their first discussion but that had been before Felix had come into temporary possession of a dead courier and besides, this interview—by design—would take place outside the safety of the Jingler’s lair.

Felix was looking for an unobtrusive spot to wait when he spotted another ragged professional acquaintance.

The man must have seen Felix at the same time because he turned on his heel and hobbled in the opposite direction.

Felix caught up with him in a few strides and clamped a hand on the man’s bony shoulder. “Wait, Euphratas. I need to speak to you.”

Euphratas shuffled around to face Felix, reluctance plain in his white-bearded, wizened features.

“I’m surprised to find you still in Constantinople,” Felix told him. “I thought you would have collected sufficient funds to complete your pilgrimage by now.”

“Alas, the price of carriage travel is exorbitant. These old bones would never survive the accommodations aboard a merchant ship.”

“The streets of Constantinople are much less taxing, I take it. How long have you been begging for your fare? Six years? Seven?”

“The price of travel is shocking. If you could spare a coin to help a poor pilgrim return home…”

Felix ignored the familiar request. “As a pilgrim, during your extended visit here you must have visited the Virgin’s shroud.”

“Certainly…that is…uh…certainly not…or rather…did you say the Virgin’s church? These old ears—”

“Hear perfectly, as you’ve bragged to me. Everyone overlooks an old man. They speak freely in your presence as if age made one deaf or simple-minded, or so you claimed whenever you had information to sell me.”

Euphratas exhaled a humid blast of wine fumes that made it plain where his most recently begged travel funds had gone. “Time has passed since we spoke. It brushes by and we find it has robbed us stealthily as a pickpocket in a forum, until—”

Exasperated, Felix interrupted by jamming a finger into the man’s chest, harder than he intended. Euphrates staggered back a step. “Speaking of thefts, what have you heard about the theft of the shroud?”

The old beggar’s bloodshot eyes widened in their nest of wrinkles. “Theft?”

“Don’t play the fool. Were you anywhere near the Hippodrome last night?”

“No, sir. Nowhere near. I was down at the docks looking to see if anything had been dropped. Found a coin or two.” Euphratas paused and scratched his beard, dislodging a scrap of grilled fish. “You’re thinking about those Blues attacking a beggar at the track last night, aren’t you? Glad to see someone taking an interest. The urban watch are useless. The only thing they’re expert at is telling people trying to sleep in a corner to go elsewhere.”

While an attack on a beggar was not the type of information he sought, nevertheless from force of habit Felix asked “You witnessed this attack?”

“No. I was at the docks, as I just said. Heard about it though. He was only sheltering in an entrance, minding his own business.”

Felix studied the man. Was he lying? Had he, in fact, witnessed such an attack. Or had he actually seen Felix being dragged off? Even if he had, it wasn’t likely he’d care to identify Felix’s assailants, given the Blues ruled the streets on which Euphratas lived.

He pointed out the doorway to the Jingler’s tenement. “Do you frequent this area? Have you seen anyone going in and out of there? Anyone unusual? At odd hours?”

“I hardly ever come this way, sir, and never at odd hours. It’s not an area to be caught in during the night.”

True enough, Felix had to admit. He put a coin into the man’s hand. “This should get you part way home, or as far as the next tavern anyway. When we get older we can become forgetful, so if you remember anything else about last night you can expect a larger reward. You can go now.”

Old though he looked, Euphratas scampered away as nimbly as a child and Felix sought out a vacant entranceway, not to sleep in but in which to lie in wait for the Jingler.

His vigil was brief. The door to the Jingler’s tenement opened a crack, then after a long pause it opened wider and the Jingler stepped hesitantly into the sunlit street looking this way and that, as twitchy as a hare emerging from tall grass. Felix squinted against the flashes where sunlight caught amulets of metal and cut glass sewn to the man’s garments and dangling from gold and silver chains.

If only everyone were like him, Felix thought, adhering to a strict routine and so easy to find when needed.

The Jingler went through what appeared to be a complicated ritual that involved touching amulets, muttering to himself, and a peculiar pattern of footsteps. Felix remained out of sight until the Jingler finally started down the street and neared his hiding place, then stepped out in the man’s path.

“Julian!”

The Jingler stopped dead and turned the color of a drowned man. He trembled like a spindly, windblown tree, his amulets setting up a tintabulation. “What…what…is it? I…I don’t have time right now.”

“I do, and what I want to know is—look out, there’s something behind you!”

The Jingler swung around in terror, causing the amulets to chime more loudly. “What? Is it a devil? Kill it!” he cried tremulously.

“Yes, yes, look, it’s going into your house!” Felix drew his sword and waved it around.

His companion shrieked again and leapt at Felix, grabbing his arm. “Quick, get it before it can hide!”

Felix pushed the Jingler away, slicing his palm on a sharp-edged charm in the process. “Too late. It’s gone.”

The Jingler burst into tears. “I’ll have to move! Oh, they’re cunning, you know, very cunning. But I am more cunning still! They still haven’t managed to grab me and carry me off!”

Felix sheathed his sword. “Yes. Don’t worry. It ran off when you screamed. It didn’t get inside. I wonder if it could be the same one that stole the holy shroud?”

The Jingler was furiously rubbing at the hand with which he had touched Felix’s arm, apparently trying to rub off something visible only to himself. He looked at Felix, utterly bewildered. “But what would it be doing here? Are you sure it didn’t get in?”

Felix glanced around before answering. The only living thing within sight was a young child curled up on a worn step, fast asleep despite the commotion, or more likely pretending to be asleep. He spoke in a near whisper. “Even if it’s not the same one, it might be another, after…well, certain items of which we better not speak.”

The Jingler gasped. “You mean holy items may attract devils! Yes, it’s true!”

Felix nodded. “In fact, I was coming to tell you I think whoever gives you instructions ought to know about the danger. At the very least we ought to get paid more for handling them. Don’t you agree?”

“The man who gives me instructions?” The other looked puzzled.

“Yes, that man.”

“Oh, him? Yes, yes, I think you’re right. I’ll certainly tell him.”

Felix doubted it. He had deliberately thrown the Jingler into confusion and fear with his pretense of seeing a demon. His puzzled look at the mention of his supposed superior, followed by his awkward recovery confirmed Felix’s guess was right and the Jingler actually knew more than he was telling. That and the fact that the Jingler had inadvertently admitted he knew very well what was in the packages he handled—holy items—despite his earlier denials.

“Who was supposed to receive the shroud of the Virgin, Julian?”

“You can’t imagine I had anything to do with that theft?”

“Can’t I? I might not have had read much philosophy or poetry but you’d be surprised what I can imagine. I only wish I could imagine the dead courier in my courtyard away. Who was the courier? You gave him packages to deliver.”

“And you received the packages. I didn’t know more about him than you do.”

“Your…superior must know.”

“Yes. I suspect he does. He communicates with me anonymously.”

“So unfortunately you can’t give me his name.” Felix noticed that Julian’s jingling had ceased indicating the man had, unfortunately, got his wits about him again. Or as near as he could ever get to having his wits about him.

“I’d like to get to the bottom of this as much as you would.”

“Why? Has Porphyrius threatened to hang you too if you don’t produce the missing relic?”

The Jingler began to rattle loudly again. “Hardly.”

“Then why are you shaking?”

“Just the idea…”

“Is he your superior?” The idea had suddenly struck Felix.

“How would I even know?”

“Perhaps he supplies manpower. His Blues work to enforce his wishes.”

“In the same way you supply excubitors for transport? As for my superior…I can’t say who else he employs.”

Felix was at a loss how to question the man. The possibilities were endless. Felix wasn’t John. How could he know what line of questioning to follow? It would help if he wasn’t so woozy and his legs didn’t feel weak. He wondered, had it been prudent to question the Jingler about Porphyrius?

“I don’t know what I was thinking.” The Jingler was examining the hand which had touched Felix, turning it this way and that in the sunlight.

“Never mind, you didn’t hurt me,” Felix growled, totally perplexed. “Except for that sharp amulet.” He showed the Jingler a bloody palm.

The Jingler shuddered with a faint ringing.

There was no point in continuing the questioning. Felix’s head was spinning. He’d make his humors as unbalanced as Julian’s.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Perhaps Felix had lost his wits. As he neared his house, the sinking sun lengthening the shadows of columns and statues and passersby, pulling them taut, made him think of hangmen’s ropes.

“Anastasia,” he called, striding across the atrium. There was no answer. Had she returned to Antonina for more medical advice? What did she have to do with Antonina, anyway?

He sat down in his study and pulled off his boots. Not that he could give his feet a long rest. Much as he would have liked to linger while Anastasia applied hot poultices to his aching limbs he didn’t have time.

“Nikomachos! Wine!”

Had he convinced Porphyrius or the Jingler that he did not possess the relic? Or had they in turn convinced whoever was in charge of the smugglers, if indeed it was a party unknown to Felix? Perhaps after all one of his informants would remember he had seen something useful, or Porphyrius or the Jingler would decide their best course would be to discuss matters further.

His servant did not appear promptly. It was not unusual. Felix got up and inspecting the jugs sitting here and there found one still partly filled and poured himself a cup. He decided to visit the nearest excubitor barracks. Despite his misgivings he would bring a contingent to the house and if Porphyrius did send men to carry out his threats Felix would have them arrested, pursuant to the investigation Justinian had ordered. As he’d explained to Anastasia, the consequences to his reputation when people began to talk to protect their own skins would be devastating, but what else could he do? Better his reputation than his neck.

Assuming his neck was spared.

His hand went to his neck, finding only the sore spot where Anastasia had nibbled.

He looked at the wine cup. Suddenly he was dizzy. Were the wine and potions he’d taken warring or was it the lingering effects of kicks to his head? He pushed the cup away and shouted for his servant again and at last heard a footstep at the doorway.

Turning he growled his displeasure. “About time. You do at least have two legs, if you’d choose to use them!”

“True enough, captain.” The speaker was a short, bent, almost dwarfish man, as bald as a vulture. His plain looks were emphasized by their contrast to the sumptuously embroidered silk garments he wore.

“Narses!” Felix stared at his visitor. From the atrium came the clatter of boots and raised voices. Armed men appeared in the doorway beside Justinian’s trusted official. By rank Narses served as imperial treasurer but in practice, as had been the case with John, he carried out whatever duties the emperor ordered.

“I bring you greetings from the emperor,” Narses went on in a reedy voice.

Despite the wine, Felix’s mouth had gone dry. “He wishes a report of my investigation so far?” he managed to say, trying to feign a hope he did not really feel. “I regret I have not yet discovered much of assistance, and—”

Narses made an impatient gesture. “You will be able to report personally to Justinian on your way to the dungeons, although not as captain of the excubitors. You are relieved of your command. Guards!”

Two men stepped forward and yanked Felix to his feet.

“On what grounds?” Felix demanded with a scowl.

“You question imperial orders?” Narses snapped.

“There is always the possibility of misunderstanding.” Felix contemplated the distance between himself and the door and wondered if surprise might give him a small chance of escape. Was it worth the wager? The palace dungeons were escaped as frequently as the grave.

His captors evidently sensed his thoughts or noticed the direction in which his gaze had flickered. He felt strong fingers dig more tightly into his bruised arms.

Two more guards entered the study. There were others nearby. Felix could hear voices and the slap of boots on tiles. They were probably searching the house. Luckily, this time, there was nothing to find.

Narses smirked up at him. “Hardly a misunderstanding, Felix. You see, the courier you murdered was not a complete fool. He left a note saying where he was going and when he didn’t return his wife sent a servant to inform me. It’s well known I do like to keep a keen watch on court matters.”

More like watching for the next fly to blunder into a web of intrigue so you can benefit in some way, Felix thought. Narses was so close he could smell the cloying perfumes with which the eunuch official drenched his heavy robes. The years had not wrinkled his face like that of a natural man but rather seemed to have worn it as smooth as the face of an ancient sculpture.

“If you believe every schemer who tries to bring down his enemies with lies you must be very busy, Narses. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No? It was another big, bearded fellow who deposited a naked corpse behind a statue of Aphrodite?”

“What are you talking about? What statue is this?”

“We have a witness. The streets are full of witnesses. No crime goes unglimpsed.”

“You mean beggars will gladly agree to see anything you want them to see to avoid a beating.”

Narses chuckled. His vulturine head bobbed up and down as if he were feeding on a carcass. “The wife of the victim, and I am sure I do not need to name him for you, identified his body. You had stripped the man but the corpses one finds on the street are rarely well fed, healthy, and clean, so the connection was made immediately.”

“What connection? What makes you think he was here? The Blues have been allowed to roam the city like hungry dogs. No doubt they robbed the fellow and disposed of his body.”

An visibly excited guard came trotting into the study and handed Narses a short jeweled cloak. “Found it in a servant’s room, excellency.”

“Ah!” Narse’s thin, colorless lips curved into an imitation of a smile. “Yes. His wife said he was wearing a cloak exactly like this one.” He held it out for Felix’s inspection. “Familiar? Isn’t this what your visitor had on when you killed him?”

Felix stared dumbly at the cloak. He remembered the dead courier, crumpled against the courtyard wall. An aristocrat obviously, judging by the richly embroidered robes. But a jeweled cloak? “No. It’s a lie. He wasn’t wearing—I mean —”

“Ah, you did see him then. So you admit your guilt?”

Felix said nothing. He could make no sense of it.

Narses signaled the guards and they yanked Felix in the direction of the door.

“Wait! You’re not going to drag me off with bare feet, are you? If I have to die, let me die like a soldier with my boots on.”