"What's wrong?" asked Helena. I shook my head. After a moment she let it go and said, "These people want revenge."

"That's right. And they won't quit."

I stood up. I stood wondering where my sister was. Off enjoying herself on some tryst with the suave and slimy Norbanus, while her last night's lover was in serious trouble.

I decided to retrace my steps to the baths. Petro would turn up sometime. But first the hour was late enough to take in lunch here. Hilaris must be ravenous too, after our dawn start when the corpse was found, for we met him also guiltily scrounging in the dining room. That was how Helena and I happened to be with him when a confidential messenger arrived from the troops. In a great hurry, the man was looking for the governor. Hilaris knew Frontinus was still working diligently on dispatches, but before the messenger was passed to the right office, Hilaris made him tell us what the fuss was. Splice had escaped.

We all rushed with the messenger to see the governor. Frontinus heard the news with that neutrality good officials learn. He must have been angry, but waited to think through the implications before shooting off.

"What exactly happened?"

"I only know what I was told to say, sir." The messenger skillfully let blame slide onto others. "The soldiers escorting the prisoner were somehow given the slip and they lost him."

"That was first thing this morning. How come I only just have word of it?"

"They tried to recapture him, sir."

Frontinus was speechless. Losing a vital prisoner was inexcusable. But to me it seemed typical; I could imagine some slack bunch of lags out there, laughing among themselves: Oh, just say sorry to the old man-he'll be all right about it…

"I warned you about the troops."

"You did." Frontinus was terse. In a frontier province, dereliction of duty was a decimation crime: one man in ten, chosen by lot, would be bludgeoned to death by his disgraced colleagues. That would not be the end of it. The effect on morale would be grim, both here and up at the frontiers when the rumors raced there.

An aide was hovering. Frontinus rapped out orders, hardly pausing for reflection. "Get me the commander. Before he comes over, I want that detail stripped of their weapons and armor, then held in chains. They are to be guarded by men from one of the other detachments, not their own legion. Disarm their centurion and bring him here to me. I want every on-duty legionary to go out in a search party. I want the troops put on permanent standby. It goes without saying, I want the prisoner back."

Some hopes, I thought.

"Today!" he added. Julius Frontinus now saw his provincial capital slipping into anarchy. Luckily, he was a practical man, and action helped him cope. Even so, I had rarely seen him so tight-lipped.

I was even more depressed. But then I had worked against the Balbinus mob before.

XLI

On my way out I was stopped by a message from the torturer. Amicus, the sardonically named Befriender, had made up for losing the chance to prick holes in Pyro and Splice. He had tackled the waiters with a heated manicure set, then turned the recalcitrant barber almost inside out with a contraption I tried not to look at.

"I am sorry not to have a crack at this Splice," he grieved when I sought him out in the bowels of the residence. "He sounds an interesting prospect. I hope they get him back for me. Do you know how he acquired the nickname, Falco?"

"I suspect you are about to tell me-and it will be unpleasant."

He chortled. Maybe his happy manner helped unnerve his victims; the contrast with his pain-inflicting side certainly disturbed me. "Splice wanted to punish two snackshop owners, cousins who shared a bar jointly, and who were refusing to pay up. He went in one night and hacked both men in two from top to bottom. Then he bound the left side of each body to the right-hand side of the other. He left the results Propped up against the serving counter."

"Jupiter!"

"That's apt. Jupiter is a favorite with this gang," agreed Amicus Warmly. "Plenty of signboards with the same mythical theme. Apt, since

the Best and Greatest is the patron god of grapes and wine. Also it lets everyone see just how many businesses have paid up."

"Yes, I worked that out."

"But you don't spot them all," rebuked Amicus. "I'll come to that… First I shall tell you what I have." He was pedantic in giving reports. "The organization works thus: there are two equal leaders, both currently engaged in setting up a British crime community. One takes the sporty premises-brothels, betting, and fixing fights for gladiators. The other collects neighborhood food and drink shops. They have come from Rome, but are planning to leave when their empire here is established. Pyro and Splice were intended to run this section for them."

"Does the gang have a tame lawyer, one Popillius?"

"Not mentioned. They do have storage, ships, safe houses, a safe bathhouse even, and large groups of heavy fighters. Some thugs they brought here, mainly seasoned criminals who found Rome too hot for comfort. Some are being recruited locally. Bad boys are rushing to join them. That is how they met the man who died."

"Verovolcus, you mean? Yes, he was on the run… How do they attract these local boys? Don't tell me they advertise for hired labor on a pillar in the forum-free time, victuals and drink, plenty of beating up the populace?"

Amicus shrugged. "Word of mouth, bound to be. I can ask."

"It's not important. Assuming we catch Splice again, what can he be charged with?"

"He beat the baker to death. Pyro had picked the baker up, he was drinking at a wine bar called the Semele."

"One of Jupiter's favored ladies."

"But did the baker know the gang ran it, or was he caught off guard?" wondered Amicus. "Pyro torched the bakery, of course; that was his job. He was then present for the killing at the warehouse, although Splice carried it out."

"That's definite. Where's your evidence? Witnesses?" Amicus shook his head. "This is secondhand, but I got it from the Ganymede waiters."

"The waiters won't look good in court."

"No, but now you can build on the information. If you ever apprehend them, some of the backup bullyboys were in at the death. They also took the body on the boat and dumped it. The waiters heard all this when Splice reported to one of the two chiefs. The other didn't need telling; it was his boat. He was present at the warehouse where the killing happened. He came to take some money-chests away by river, then removed the dead baker at the same time. Good housekeeping. Better than a skip." I shuddered; even the torturer pursed his lips disapprovingly. "Now." Amicus was coming to some special point. "I was asked to obtain names."

"Well, let's compare," I offered, knowing it would irritate him.

Amicus announced rather pompously, "I was given Florius."

My answer was calm. "Gaius Florius Oppicus, to be precise."

The torturer tutted, as though I was quite out of order in obtaining my own information-especially if mine was better than his. "He is the vicious one, Falco. All agree he is vindictive, cruel, and out to prevent any attempts by the authorities to interfere."

"Sounds right. Florius gave the order for the Verovolcus killing."

"No, hold it there, Falco!" Amicus held up a hand. "My sources say different. They claim it was an accident."

"Your sources sound insane!"

"According to them, Verovolcus was despised as a potential rival and not wanted as a colleague. He had tried to slither in on the market, and he thought he was tough-but the hard Roman gangsters simply regarded him as a clownish amateur. He was put down the well just to teach him a lesson."