AND EVEN FISHIER
We and Merdius – found again nosing through the rubbish, sodding mule – spent the afternoon slouching about in Lower Town. Two likely lads and an incontinent ass pretending to be on the lookout for trouble, as we kept a close eye on Claudius' rearward frontage. Then there was the chance that Baebius, Curtia and Porcia could be snooping about as well. But we had everything covered from the footpath gruel shop we were laying low in.
Naturally trouble found us. Gavius had a dozen unsavoury offers from ten unsavoury men. The other two, I wasn't quite sure of. I sold Merdius twice, but he kept coming back.
The main thing was I skimmed these takings just enough to buy a twelve pint amphora of wine, sold under the label, “Arretium Passion Surprise”. Judging from its taste, Passion Surprise seemed to have a far closer relationship to a farm animal than to a grape, I guess that was the surprise. But it was wet, and after a day like this, it was all that mattered.
The plan was ridiculously simple. I was quite proud of it actually. We were going to wait until it was dark enough; then shimmy up the back wall to a second floor window that had been open all day. From there we only needed to find the kitchen, the fish and the backdoor to let ourselves out, with me three hundred thousand Sestercii richer. How hard could it be?
Well, firstly it was summer, so darkness took a considerable time to arrive. Secondly the cheap wine was very nasty, and with empty bellies, we were somewhat effected. And then, surprisingly, after having all afternoon to think about the project, both of us hadn't quite worked out how we would shimmy up fifteen feet of smooth plaster rendered wall.
Still not to be perturbed, I snaffled the barstool I had been sitting on and we wandered over to the wall as surreptitiously as two drunkards with a stolen barstool could. With the initial attempt revealing me and stool being five feet too short, a new grand idea sprang from my mouth.
“I'll have to stand on your shoulders,” I commanded of Gavius from my unsteady place of prominence.
“Give off…You're heavier than me.”
“I am not, you festering boil, I'll…I'll have you know that this,” I said patting my only slightly protruding stomach, “is all muscle.”
Gavius, clearly not understanding the gravity of the situation answered, “Bollocks…If you're the muscle for this job…I'm going on your shoulders.”
“Bugger off,” I declined the offer.
“Fine…Have it your way…Get up there by yourself,” he pointed stepping away from my feet still wobbling on the stool, “I'm going to knock on the door.”
“What?” I said as my sway increased.
“You want to get in? Well I'm not lifting your lumpy rear,” he said most unkindly.
“Fine…You complete pillock, you want to knock? Knock,” I laughed mockingly.
“Fine,” and so he did.
Irony is a funny thing. When you begin to fall, you rarely consider the advantages of the misadventure. And as the stool gave way, I must say, I was far from impressed. But apparently now awoken from their slumber the Fates handed me a plump cushion.
Not some silky soft gathering of goose-down mind you, but a large hulking lout charged with defending the chastity of the wenches within. As he answered Gavius' knock, me, tough-man, stool, Fates and paving stones all came together at once. It was a magical moment. The big man, who looked like he could have handled both of us with one hand, started snoring like Merdius.
Crawling around on my hands and knees trying to feel for anything broken, I checked the collapsed doorman and muttered to the gods a quick, “Thankyou.”
Peering down the dim hallway, I could hear some muffled giggling and other amusements underway. There was no time to lose. Gavius was still stunned by his stroke of genius, but knowing it was unlikely to be repeated, I pointed him to the local and we dragged the sleeping baby back into the brothel and shut the door behind us. Finding a handy broom closet we heaved our catch inside and fixed its doorhandle with the wicker chair the enforcer had been resting on.
Then it was just a matter of retracing this morning's steps to the kitchen without running into any more friends of Claudius. Ignoring a squeaking bed nearby – well I did – we – once I had attracted Gavius' attention with a slap on the back of the head – slinked through the darkness like ferrets in a rabbit warren.
After two wrong turns and finding some poor fellow strapped naked to a traction machine and covered in honey – don't ask, I've got no idea – begging for someone to untie him – we didn't, I'm sure it was all part of the packaged deal – at last this intrepid duo reached a familiar red door. Well, it might have been familiar, all the doors were painted red, so by this time I was kneeling and peeking through each and every one to see where we were. I was desperate.
That's when I saw them – six flounders glistening in the weak lamplight with only a few flies crawling about.
Six?
There should be seven – still we were there and there was no time to ponder life's mysteries and the cook's work. It was not a moment too soon. For coming down a flight of stairs beside us I heard the pounding of heavy footsteps and the growling of a none to happy voice. It was Claudius. And whoever he was talking to had upset him somewhat.
Grabbing a tuft of Gavius' hair, I hurled him through the doorway, and I rushed in after him, pushing the door closed behind me. And then, no sooner had the well oiled hinges eased to a stop, I heard a loud slap and my offsider falling onto the bare concrete beneath him, with a nasally, “Oh no…My nose.”
Out of the corner of my eye a dark shape swung around at me and I ducked. An unmistakable smell passed overhead.
Unbelievable, someone was trying to swat me with my fish.
Looking across the floor from my prone position, I saw a dark brown travel cloak and a pair of women's sandals complete with a set of carefully painted red toenails. From the pit of my stomach I knew the trouble I was in. A glance up to a right arm preparing a second flounder attack told me the rest.
Quintus Furius Calvus was done for – again.
