The woman laughed. “His body may be, but I don’t think his brain is. He doesn’t know who you are!”
Patrick grinned and strode forward, taking hold of Nick’s right hand and giving it an exaggerated shake. “Appius Seius Canus. Pleased to meet you. And you are?”
Nick pulled his hand away, unimpressed by Patrick’s attempt at humour. “Pullus.”
“So what happened?”
Involuntarily, Nick’s gaze flicked to the bed. The woman rolled her eyes. “You boys talk, I’m staying here.”
“Well, I’m needed at the forum this morning,” said Patrick, looking towards her. “Perhaps I could meet you later?”
For a few seconds the woman didn’t move, but finally she got the hint that Patrick wanted her to leave. As she slid out of the sheets, she muttered something under her breath. It sounded offensive, but Nick couldn’t hear through the noise of blood beating in his ears. The woman was naked, and didn’t seem in a particular hurry to retrieve her stola from the floor. She finally pulled it on over her shoulders, and swung the door shut behind her.
“If your face wasn’t so bruised, I’d say you’d gone a rather fetching shade of red.”
Nick shrugged and pressed his fingers into the side of his face. Another jab of pain shot through his jaw. “Not very modest, was she?”
“Different culture. Most people’s homes consist of just one room, so there’s little mystery about what’s under everyone’s tunic.” He laughed. “You’ll get used to it, especially once you’ve been to a bathhouse.”
“Bathing must be segregated,” Nick replied, unimpressed. “Pompeii bathhouses had separate areas for women, and sometimes they had completely separate buildings.”
“Yes,” agreed Patrick. “But have you been to one of their communal toilets? I can assure you that they have no problem taking a shit together.”
Nick nodded, wanting to change the subject. “Was she…?”
“No. If you were going to ask if she’s a whore, then the answer is no. She works in a bakery. We got talking a few weeks ago and then decided to break bread, so to speak.”
Nick smiled, trying to ignore the pain from his ribs. “Well, be careful. She won’t wait until you’ve got down on one knee before she claims you as her husband. Roman marriage is based on cohabitation. Although I’m a bit surprised that Whelan and McMahon…”
“They don’t know. And I’d prefer to keep it that way.” Patrick’s face had turned to stone. “McMahon thinks of these people as his puppets. He doesn’t mind the security teams paying the odd visit to a brothel, but I’m sure he’d be pissed off if he thought I was actually in a relationship.”
Nick’s smile turned into a grin. It was worth the pain. “And are you? In a relationship?”
“I’m serious, Nick.”
Nick’s throat was suddenly dry. “Okay,” he said. “I won’t say anything.”
Patrick grunted his thanks. “So what happened last night?”
“I was mugged.”
“Clearly. But you should know Whelan went apoplectic. You caused us a lot of trouble. We sent some men out to find you.”
“I was unconscious in a gutter…”
“Well your belt was in a rather seedy bar.”
The GPS tracker. So, it did work. If he’d only managed to get it into that damn wagon.
“Our men beat the shit out of the guy who took it from you,” continued Patrick. “He couldn’t tell us where you were, but I found you a couple of hours later and dragged you back here. I figured it was probably better for your safety than handing you over to Whelan. Even though you’ve seen I had other things to do last night.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You were out pretty late.”
Nick opened his mouth to answer, but stopped short. They would already know where he’d been. The GPS system had probably been recording his movements since he’d arrived. “I was invited to a party.”
“And you didn’t think to mention this to anyone?”
“I got the invite in town. I didn’t think I needed to sign in and out.”
Patrick considered. “This is a great town,” he said. “But basic precautions still apply, Dr Houghton. Just like in every city on earth, you just can’t wander around the streets when people have been drinking in the sun all day.”
Nick couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. He’d been caught out like a naïve tourist. And after what he’d said to Maggie. But still… “I think we have bigger problems,” he said.
* * *
“You’re sure?”
Nick nodded, but he’d grown less certain with every step he’d taken back to the House of McMahon. It had been dark. He’d been drinking. And he’d seen the guy for just a few seconds. From the side. So, no, he wasn’t sure. And if he’d been in a court of law, it wouldn’t have stood up to any sort of scrutiny. But if New Pompeii was built on an illusion, then nothing could be allowed to break it. And from the look in Whelan’s eyes, he understood this perfectly well. After all, it was why Nick had been brought here in the first place.
“I think it’s highly unlikely,” Astridge said. The architect stood on the far side of the atrium, his attention focused on the roof line above the impluvium. Almost as though the current discussion wasn’t worthy of his attention.
“This isn’t an architectural issue,” replied Whelan, coldly. “It’s a security matter. So, first, we need to confirm it.”
Nick watched Whelan head towards the atrium stairs. Beside him, Patrick gave him a look of sympathy. The translator probably knew that, whatever the outcome, it was bad news. Because if Nick was right about Felix, they had a security breach. And if he was wrong, then he’d be on a slow flight back home – and Whelan would be looking for another replacement for Professor Samson.
It didn’t take long for the operations chief to return, a tablet computer in his hand.
And it was clear it was bad news.
Wordlessly, Whelan handed Nick the tablet. On the screen was a mugshot of Felix. The Roman stared back at him, dead-eyed. The man at the villa. The man driving the wagon. The man on the screen. All the same. “Yes,” said Nick. “That’s him.”
“Are you sure?” asked Astridge. “He’s a fairly swarthy fellow.”
Nick felt his cheeks burn. How many times did he need to confirm it? “It’s the same man.”
“Great.” Astridge walked around the pool to join them. “Fantastic! The town’s working brilliantly – and it’s all going to be screwed up by a ‘security matter’.”
Whelan ignored him. He took the tablet back and tapped at the screen for a few moments. It chimed in his hands. “Well, the villa staff have just confirmed it. He’s missing. So we can presume Nick is correct, and Felix is now in New Pompeii.” Whelan frowned, his mood visibly darkening. “Harold is also on his way back.”
Astridge cocked his head towards Nick. “Maybe one of your recommendations could be that he employs some decent security, and stops relying on toy soldiers.”
Whelan drew himself up to his full height and took a step towards the architect. “Give me a reason.”
Astridge didn’t move. Despite Whelan towering above him, he grinned smugly. For a second, Nick thought Whelan was going to punch him.
“Do we know why he’d want to be here?” asked Nick. No one replied. Astridge continued to smirk. Nick turned to Patrick. “Well?”
The translator shrugged. “There could be any number of reasons. He might just have been curious. He might be trying to find his family.”
Nick thought back to Samson’s notes. Felix had been part of the vanguard, transported five years before the rest of the town. To test the system and prove the business model.
“Well, he can’t be allowed to find them,” he said. “For starters, he’d be older than they’d remember.” He thought back to the party. The kid who’d asked him if they’d travelled in time. It had been like someone had taken a sledgehammer to this whole charade. And now there was a guy walking aroun
d town who could prove as much. “We need to find him as soon as possible.”
“Okay,” said Whelan, taking back control of the discussion. He suddenly looked a lot calmer. His emotions back under control. He turned away from Astridge. “Okay. So we need to find him.”
“Where do his family live?”
“They don’t. They’re dead. He lived alone in the north of the town. Alone with a dozen slaves, obviously; he was a wealthy man. We’ll send men there, but the building he used to own is occupied. We gave it to another family. And, anyway, surely he’ll know that’s the first place we’ll look.”
Nick didn’t say anything. Had Felix’s family not been transported? He thought about Felix’s mugshot, his pox-riddled face, and wondered if NovusPart had similar photos of everyone in Pompeii.
“Well that gives us some time,” said Patrick. “The security cameras have facial recognition, don’t they? We haven’t used it yet, so it could be a good test.”
“But only if he goes to one of the key sectors,” replied Whelan. “We could be waiting a long time, and then be left to hope he looks in the right direction.”
Astridge snorted. “So how do we find him? Any ideas, Dr Houghton?”
“I think I know,” Nick said.
40
I THINK I KNOW.
Why had he said that? Nick cursed as he made his way down the via. With a cold, academic eye, it probably just about made sense. Felix could be anywhere. But there were two types of places most Pompeians would go to regularly. The first were the bathhouses. Whelan had covered those with a contingent of men ready to make a quick interception. The second, and the more likely, were the tabernae. People needed to eat.
In Pompeii, the poor went out to eat; the rich stayed at home. Which meant Felix would be almost guaranteed to be out in the streets at certain times of day because now he had nowhere to go. But it also posed a problem. Because with so many people to be fed there were scores of establishments catering to them, and at peak times the main streets were bustling. It would take a long time to find their man – Nick had already tried half a dozen tabernae without success.
He looked down at his palm. Whelan had given him a small photograph of Felix to jog people’s memories. Some more “smoke and mirrors” to help with their search. Sure enough, every time he’d showed it, he’d seen the surprise on people’s faces. But it had mainly related to the quality of the image rather than any hint of recognition. And they’d all soon retreated behind a screen of silence. Just like they’d done when he’d tried to talk to them about their everyday lives. Simply put, the Pompeians didn’t want to talk to him. Not about how they spent their day, and certainly not about a face they didn’t know.
Mice don’t talk to lions.
He’d needed to come up with a new tack.
And so he’d headed east.
If Felix wanted to eat over the medium to long term, then he’d need to find work. Without a family, he’d be on his own. Nick allowed himself a tight smile. The eastern side of town had been taken over by blacksmiths, bakers and fullers. Their workshops and stalls started to appear from between the townhouses and apartments only a few blocks from the fringes of the civic centre. And if someone was looking for a job, this was probably where they’d come.
Nick glanced into each workshop as he passed, trying to keep his attention from being drawn by the activity of the people inside. He soon found it wasn’t just people who were working. The doors into one bakery gave him a good view of a couple of mules grinding corn between two large, circular stones. The animals were being forced to walk in a tight circle, rods across their backs the only thing providing the required force on the stones. The smell from the ovens though proved more than a little distracting.
But not for long. In just a few strides, Nick caught the stench of stale urine. A couple of pots had been left outside a fullery, presumably for the use of passers-by who wanted to donate, or possibly sell, their piss. A cloud of flies buzzed around them. Nick felt his lip curl, especially when he noticed that a large townhouse had been built in close proximity. Rich and poor. Shoulder to shoulder.
“Pullus!”
The shout had come from the other side of the street. Nick recognised the reedy tone. Naso.
He raised a hand to acknowledge the call, and then headed across to the aedile.
Naso stood with about half a dozen other men. They all looked like they were prepared to throw a few punches, if need be. The workshop they were standing outside was shuttered. Naso thumbed towards it. “They owe me money,” he said, loudly. “Half this town owes me money.”
Nick nodded. As well as controlling the garum supply, Calpurnia had told him the aedile had a sideline as a moneylender. Nick made a mental note to raise the issue with Whelan. After all, he didn’t have a good understanding of how NovusPart was distributing cash to the Pompeians – and how that might be affecting the local politics. But at the moment that took a lower priority than finding Felix.
“What are you doing on this side of town?”
Nick flashed the photograph. He got the same response from Naso as everyone else. Surprise, then nothing.
“I thought you might have been heading to the arena,” Naso continued. “The guards there tell us it’s off limits – even though I’ve told them I’m an aedile!”
Nick shrugged. He’d almost reached the final blocks of housing and workshops before the large open space surrounding the amphitheatre. He could just about see the low oval profile of the building set tight against the town’s curtain wall. The only thing clearly visible was a massive stone ramp leading towards the top of the structure. “There must be a good reason for it.”
“Well, our gladiators grow fat and lazy, while their swords go rusty…”
Nick smiled. “Are you saying you’re going to pay for some games?”
Naso’s face suddenly froze. He pulled Nick away from his men and towards the centre of the via. “No,” he said. “Definitely not.” He gave a nervous look back at his employees, probably hoping they wouldn’t expect him to pay for their entertainment. Especially if he was starting to watch his cashflow. “I just want to know if it’s in good order. So we can get some games on, if we need to.”
“To quieten the mob?”
“Precisely.”
Nick nodded. “It looks like a fine building. I doubt it will be left empty for long. I’ve heard the games at Pompeii were particularly good.”
Naso’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, but then I suppose you’ve heard about the trouble with our neighbours? We don’t seem able to get away from that night.”
Nick grinned. He knew games in Pompeii had been banned for several years after a series of riots. Just like with certain football clubs, it seemed a bad reputation was hard to live down – and all too easy to live up to. “You held about two events per year?”
“Yes,” said Naso, his expression a mix of pride and mournful reminiscing. “We have one of the best arenas in all the Empire.” He nodded towards it. “When your people finally let us inside.”
“I’m sure it won’t be long.”
“We know you’re keeping animals in there.”
Nick blinked. “Really?”
“The people round here can hear them at night.”
Nick didn’t respond, making another mental note.
“Perhaps we’ll get to see some lions,” Naso continued. “Like they have in Rome. They’re building a new arena there, you know. Or they were. Barbatus has seen it. He says it’s more like a mountain than a building. And it’s not even finished yet.”
41
KIRSTEN WOKE IN the bath.
The coldness of the ceramic made her gasp, and she quickly wrenched herself out. Standing in the bathroom, she ignored the sharp ache in her shoulders and cramp in her neck. After all, they were sensations that told her she was still alive. And there was no water around her. She wasn’t wet, and she hadn’t woken up floating. There’d been no white mist and she’d not come back to it from
any netherworld. For once she had chosen to be here. She held out her hand, pushed against the wall. She remained solid.
She needed a plan. The previous night, with the man in the canvas coat and his associates out looking for her, she’d had no real choice. The odds of her getting out of the college past the porters had been pretty low, and she didn’t know where she would have gone. Yes, she’d done the right thing. Retreated to a place of safety, the part of the college she knew best. But now she needed to leave.
She opened the bathroom door and looked out on to the landing. The rooms didn’t appear to be occupied. She remembered the student saying that the college had shut off the floor to stop the stories about the resident ghost.
“You’ve heard about NovusPart? They’ve lost one.”
Kirsten’s breath caught in the back of her throat. The voice echoed up from the stairwell where it opened into the quad below. Just like she remembered from when she’d lived here. Private conversations, funnelled and magnified.
“What do you mean… lost?”
“A paradox. Last night. Landed in the basement, like all the others. Except this one wasn’t a child. It was a woman.”
“And they let her go?”
There was no response. Whoever was talking had moved away from the sweet spot.
Kirsten waited, but the voices didn’t come back. She peered through the bathroom window. The coldness of the bath had woken her early. The sun was only just climbing into the sky, and the roof of the old library looked damp with dew.
They were still looking for her. She edged down the landing and reached the top of the stairs. They didn’t know she was still in the college. But they were looking for her.
And they would be able to see her.
Her breathing grew shallow. She started to walk down the steps, gently, to minimise any noise. Alert for any movement or sound.
They were looking for her.
But they weren’t going to find her.
Kirsten smiled. She had two leads. Mr Black, and the student with the horn-rimmed glasses. She knew what they looked like. She had to find them. And then maybe she’d get some answers. Maybe she’d get her revenge on Harold McMahon.
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