Three Hands In The Fountain

'Anacrites! In the' name of the gods, will you lose yourself, please?'

'On observation?'

`Shut up!'

He squatted down on the temple steps, like a layabout watching the crowds. He was too old and too swankily styled to pass muster for an off-duty altar boy. But he had the gall to say, `You really stand out up here on your own, Falco.'

`If idiots like you would just leave me alone I could lounge against a pillar with a fistful of cold rissole looking like a lad who's waiting for a friend.'

'You're in the wrong gear,' he pointed out. `I could spot you as a plant from half a street away. You look ready for action. So what's moving tonight?'

`If you're staying at this temple, then I'm moving!'

He stood up slowly. `I could help, you know.'

If we lost the killer because I turned down his offer, nobody in officialdom would accept the simple plea that considered him an idiot. Anacrites was the Chief Spy. He was on sick leave, reallocated to light duties at the water board, but ultimately he worked for the establishment, just like me.

All the same, if Anacrites caught the killer because I passed him a clue, then Petronius Longus would strangle me. I could cope with that, but not the other things Petro would do to me first.

`We're still on general watch: any man who looks at women suspiciously. Especially if he has transport.'

`I'll keep my eyes open.'

`Thanks, Anacrites.' I managed to say it without bile rising.

To my relief he moved off, though he was heading on a course that would bring him to the Street of the Three Altars and Petro. Well, Petro could handle Anacrites.

At least I thought he could. However, unknown to me, my stalwart partner was no longer there.

It was a dreary night. It seemed more tedious than usual. At regular intervals the applause rippled skywards from the, Circus. Bursts of ear-splitting music from the cornu bands disturbed my weary reverie: A slow trickle of exiting ticket holders began early.

The crowds started to disperse more quickly than, they had after the Ludi Romani, as if people sensed the approaching chill of autumn evenings, though in fact a warm j and sunny day was, ending in a perfect late summer night. I served my watch beneath swarms of bats, and then under the stars.

Enjoying the night too, the crowds slowed up again. Men suddenly discovered a need for one more drink in a bar. Women lingered, chatting, though eventually they flung their bright stoles around them – for effect rather than necessity on this balmy night- shook out the creases from their clinging skirts and strolled off amid plenty of chaperons. The

Augustales were very restrained Games. Too respectable for the hardcore rabble. Too staid for the keenest race-goers. Lacking the pagan edge of longer-established series whose histories of spilt blood went back for centuries. Honouring a man-made, self-made god lacked the gut attraction of the old Games that had been inaugurated under more ancient, more mysterious deities.

Strange rites had been enacted, however, for instance a visit to the, second-day events by five pistachio-chewing, mulsum-swigging, parasol-wielding, late-staying, man-baiting members of the Braidmakers' Old Girls. Their leader was the loudest, crudest, brightest, boldest wench that I had seen all night. She was, of course, Marina: the fast fickle mother of my favourite niece.

`Oh, Juno – it's Falco, girls!' How could anyone so beautiful in repose become so raucous when she spoke? Easily, in Marina's' case. Just as well, perhaps. Armed with

breeding and refinement too, she would have been desperately dangerous. `Let's chase him around the Temple and see who- can rip his tunic off'

'Hello, Marina.' I sounded pompous already.

`Hello, you bastard. Can you lend me some money?'

'Not tonight.' Lending to Marina could only be viewed as a form of civic charity; though nobody put up a-statue to you in return for doing it 'Where are you off to?' At least she seemed sober. I was wondering how to get rid of her.

'Home, dearie. Where else? Marcia likes me to sing her a lullaby.'

'No, she doesn't.'

`That's right; – she hates it. I just like to remind the little madam who's in charge.'

I refrained from saying that her mother had stopped out so late, little Marcia would be getting up for a new day soon.

The other retired braid-knotters were bobbing around my brother's girlfriend like a flock of vibrant, slightly uncoordinated birds. They went in for giggles and whispered bad language. They were worse than the marauding schoolgirls who normally patrolled in packs looking for boys to harass. These women had learned how to wield their power, and in the long process had gained nothing but contempt for men. No shred of romance was allowed to, besmirch; their brashness. They wanted to terrify me The gods only knew what they would do if they achieved it.,

`I've been looking for you ' I said.

`Oooh!' Marina's escort set up a round of mock-shocked twittering. I groaned.

`You dirty dog!'

`Settle down; this is business -'

`Ooh-hoof They were off again.