Three Hands In The Fountain

As the engineer's party was leaving, I collared the assistant's chubby clerk. I had brought out a note-tablet and a stylus, and asked him for his name as if I had been deputed to take minutes of the meeting and needed to concoct the normal list of persons present to fill up my scroll. He confided his cognomen as if it were a state secret, `And who's the Assistant?'

'Bolanus.'

`Just in case I need to check that I've got his statistics correctly, where can I find Bolanus?'

The clerk reluctantly gave me directions. He must have been warned to be unhelpful,, but clearly thought that if I did' approach the assistant, Bolanus would put me off. Well, that was fine.

I went back and told Frontinus that I reckoned Bolanus might be a goer. I would seek him out, in, private and request his help. Petronius meanwhile would visit the City Prefect's office and our own contacts in the vigiles, to see if anything new had turned up on the latest dead' girl. Looking rueful because neither of us seemed to need him, Frontinus could only, spend his day busying himself with whatever ex consuls do at home.

Presumably they potter about the same as the rest of us. But with more slaves to tidy up their half eaten apple cores and to look for the tools and scrolls they put down somewhere and then can't find again.

TWENTY FIVE

The engineer, Statius, almost certainly lorded it over a neat spacious office full of charts he never consulted, comfortable folding chairs for visitors, and wine-warming apparatus for reviving his circulation if ever he was forced to climb up an aqueduct on a slightly chilly day. I could guess how often that happened.

Bolanus had a hutch. It was close to the Temple of Claudius, hard to find because it was crammed in a corner, against the Aqua Claudia's terminal reservoir. There was a reason for that Bolanus had to be near his work. Bolanus, of course, was the person who did the work. I was pleased I had spotted it. I would be saving us a lot of pain.

I knew he would talk. He had so much to do he couldn't afford to fluff about. We were going to be imposing extra tasks whatever he did, so it was best to respond practically.

His tiny lean-to site hut was a haven from the summer heat. A rope on a couple of bollards protected the occupant from unofficial sightseers. A mere gesture: anyone could step over it. Outside, ladders, lamps and wind-breaks were piled up, looking well used. The inside was also crammed with equipment: those special levels called chorobates, sighting rods, dioptra, gromas, a hodometer, a portable sundial, plumb bobs, pre-stretched and waxed measuring cords, set squares, dividers, compasses. A half-eaten bread roll stuffed with sliced meat perched on an unfurled skin that I could see was one of the charts which the lofty Statius had suggested were too confidential for us. Bolanus kept his openly on his table, ready to be consulted.

When I turned up he must have just arrived back himself. Workmen who had been waiting for his return were queuing outside patiently to present him with chits and variation

orders. He asked me to wait while he dealt swiftly with those he could, promising others a site visit shortly. They went away looking as if they knew he would follow up. The queue was cleared well before I grew bored.

He was a short, wide, solid, shaven-headed man with stubby fingers and no neck. He wore a dark cerise tunic, the shade that always grows streaky in the wash, under a twisted leather belt that he should have thrown out five years' ago., When he sat down he hoiked. himself on to the stool awkwardly, as if his back troubled him One of his brown eyes looked misty, but both were intelligent.

'I'm Falco.'

`Yes.' He remembered me. I like to think I make an impression, but plenty of people can talk to you for an hour, then if they see you in a different context they can't recollect you.

`I don't want to be a nuisance, Bolanus.'

`We all have our jobs to do.'

'Mind if I try to take this morning's conversation further?'

Bolanus shrugged. `Pull up a seat.'

I squatted; on a spare stool while he took advantage of the occasion to finish his half-eaten salami roll. First he dug out a basket from under the table, flipped open a pristine cloth, and offered me a bite from a substantial picnic. That worried in People who are polite to informers are usually hiding something., However,, the tastiness of his snack convinced me to stop being cynical.

`Look, you know what the problem, is -' I paused to signal that the welcome bite was top-quality. `We have to find a maniac. One thing that's puzzling us, is how he gets his relics into the water in the first place:? Aren't the conduits mostly underground?'

`They do have access shafts for maintenance.'

`Like the sewers.' I knew all about those. I had disposed of a body down there myself. Helena's Uncle Publius.

`The sewers at least have an exit to the river, Falco.