Wolf Whistle

‘But-’ A flick of Arbil’s wrist cut the Chian short. ‘My guess,’ Sargon continued thoughtfully, ‘is that once he’s handed over his silver, he plans to sell them on himself as trade apprentices, pick up his brickmakers at public auction and then, when he tallies up his accounts, he’ll expect to see a healthy profit.’

Dino’s face creased into a slow smile. ‘You sly bastard! You’re planning to screw that old brickmaker?’

‘A matter of justice,’ put in Arbil. ‘Teach him not to go into business on his own.’ It was impossible to keep the smugness out of his voice. This was the first real test he’d been able to give Sargon, the boy came out with colours flying. Proof, if it was needed, that the business was in safe hands should anything happen to him.

‘Word will spread,’ added Sargon, ‘that you don’t mess with the Babylonians.’

No, thought Arbil, you do not. He thought back to the merchant from Pisae who’d refused to pay for his order, saying they were females, for gods’ sake, he wanted proper workers. For a while Arbil had been reasonable. The merchant wanted slaves to weave his linen, he gave him slaves to weave his linen. Cheerful, nimble-fingered girls who’d be quick to learn. Give them a chance, he had said. Then other customers started complaining, hoping to lower the price, squeeze a refund. So Arbil taught the linen merchant a lesson, and once people saw his ears pinned to the wall, they’d stopped quibbling.

Arbil leaned back in his chair, the signal that the meeting was over. Sargon and Dino stood up.

‘I received a report from Rome,’ the slave master said casually, ‘saying another girl was killed last night.’

Two Adam’s apples tensed. ‘Rough districts, some of them,’ said Sargon.

‘Real no-go areas,’ added Dino.

‘Mmmm.’ Arbil’s eyes fixed themselves on the green-tiled zodiac scorpion. ‘I’m told this girl died of twenty-seven cuts with a knife.’

Dino glanced up sharply. ‘Twenty-seven?’

Arbil’s eyes moved to the lion, symbol of courage. ‘That makes three girls who have been killed from exactly twenty-seven wounds. Odd, don’t you think?’

No one answered. Drips from the eaves splashed into puddles of mud beneath the window. Arbil’s spicy unguents seemed to cloy, especially the cade which clashed with the cedarwood scent from his hair oil.

‘The authorities are too busy wetting their pants over his Imperial Majesty’s health,’ he said, pulling his long woollen mantle more snugly over his ankles, ‘to be concerned about slaves.’

Sargon and Dino stared straight ahead, and pretended they didn’t notice the heat in this dark blue room of antiquities.

‘But I am,’ the slave master said quietly. ‘Especially when they could be traced here. Do either of you have information on these killings?’

The word ‘No’ came in unison.

‘Then that’ll be all for this morning.’ Arbil’s hirsute cheeks bunched into a smile as he chafed his hands together. ‘The shipment that’s due out-those three boys for the bakery-I’d like to check it over personally, could you see it’s brought to the house, Dino?’

Two jaws relaxed visibly.

Arbil waited until the two men had reached the door. ‘Oh, and boys.’

‘Father?’

‘I can take it as read, can I not, that the five of you in no way disbanded last night?’

Neither Sargon nor Dino so much as blinked, but it was Dino who first found his voice. ‘Absolutely not, sir.’

‘Good. Good. Then I’ll see you later.’ Arbil stood up and admired the rings on his short, stubby finger joints. ‘Dino.’

‘Sir?’

‘You’ll be going to Rome?’ He buffed up a band set with chalcedony.

‘With the shipment, yes. I’m also looking for buyers for those copyists, now the deal with old Nerva fell through.’

‘Quite.’ Who’d have thought Nerva would fiddle the books? ‘Well, while you’re in town, see if you can find out the name of the dead girl.’ He spat on the precious white stone. ‘And Dino?’

‘Sir?’

‘Let’s make sure this stays within the three of us. Eh?’ When he was alone once more with his Mesopotamian treasures, Arbil walked round his table and picked up the thin-bladed knife which he used for breaking the seals of his letters and studied it carefully for several seconds.

‘Neat.’ A young man in a long grey cloak stepped out from behind the green-tiled zodiac and smiled a lazy, lopsided smile. ‘Very neat.’

Arbil let out a soft snort that was part irritation, part amusement but, it had to be said, principally admiration. He didn’t bother to enquire what it might be that this visitor was complimenting. ‘How long have you been standing there?’ he asked.

The cloak was what he’d have expected the man to wear on a day when the clouds were so low you were part of them, a colour to render its wearer invisible.

‘Long enough to prove a point.’

‘Which is?’ Even as he asked the question, Arbil knew the answer.

‘To remind you that your investment in my training wasn’t wasted.’ He plucked the knife from Arbil’s manicured fingers and, with an exaggerated wink, dropped it down the top of his boot.

Arbil sighed resignedly. ‘I suppose you heard?’