It was always the most painful question an informer could be asked. Either you cannot trace the missing ones, and you never stood a chance of doing so, or you do find them and it all goes badly wrong. I had never known a good outcome. I refused to handle such requests from clients anymore.

"I can only tell you the truth, Albia. I don't think that I can do it," I said. She let out a cry of protest.

Stopping her, I went on steadily: "I have thought about it for you. I believe that your family must all have died in the fighting and the fire when Queen Boudicca attacked Londinium. You must have been a baby then. If anyone had lived, they would have looked for you." Probably that was true. If they had run away and just abandoned the baby, it was best she never knew.

"They were lost, Albia," said Helena. "Love them-but you have to let them go. If you choose to come with us, we will take you far away, and you can forget all that has happened in between."

Her words made little impression. Albia was at her lowest ebb.

Petronius and I left Helena to take care of the girl as best she could. We went to the door, staring out at the rainstorm. He hopped on one foot, strapping back a boot.

"She will be scarred forever. You'll have your work cut out to save her."

"I know!" And that was even if Florius had not given her disease or pregnancy to contend with. Only time would tell us that. Helena would have to watch her carefully and tactfully.

Petronius Longus was lost in silence now. I had my own misery to preoccupy me. He, I knew, was thinking that somehow, somewhere, he would get Florius.

XLVI

Time had brought an abrupt halt to the storm.

The landlord or waiter came out to stare at the clearing skies. He was not the man I remembered. That one had been a bald Gaul in a blue tunic with a stupid belt. He had been self-composed and professional. This was a wiry scruff who had taken an eternity to attend to us and who seemed ignorant of the stock.

The change in staff had been bothering me. In my mind I had been waiting for my acquaintance to reappear, but it was not going to happen. •I had disliked him, but the thought that he had been usurped by this inadequate gave me a bad taste. I forced myself to take notice. "Someone else was serving, the last time I came here."

This man's eyes glazed slightly. "He left."

"Itchy feet?" That was not the impression I had had at the time. That other man, who had helped me try to sober up Silvanus, had come over to Britain to make a success of himself. He had seemed settled in the soldiers' bar, ready to stay as a long-term resident. So where was he now? Who drove him out?

The new man shrugged. That was when I noticed that the old signboard with the hook-nosed general's head had been taken down. Somebody was repainting it.

"Changing your name? What are you calling yourself now?"

"I haven't decided," he hedged, as if he hated my close scrutiny. Then I knew what all this meant.

"Plenty to choose from," I retorted grimly. "Day like today, the Lightning Bolt would be a good one."

"That's right," joined in Petronius, who took the point; he spoke with menace. "Anything to do with Jupiter is always popular." To me he muttered, "If they've spread this far north in the city, Frontinus has to take account!"

If this really was a new manager installed by the Florius gang, he knew we were on to the takeover, but simply gave us a contemptuous look.

I called to Helena that we should all leave. She was cold and uncomfortable, and suggested we should warm up at the baths next door. If we struggled back to the residence there would be hot water and dry clothing, but we were all too chilled to pass up this opportunity. It was not entirely self-indulgent. Petronius and I could plan what to do next.

We waded through the flooded street; the drains were so full of water they had backed up. Our party was silent. I was already thinking.

Florius would not return to the brothel. Not if he reasoned that Petronius must be watching the place. The governor could safely raid it and haul in the old hag, with any hangers-on. We could then search the river for the Florius boat and discover whatever other haunts he had.

For the time being, Florius would lie low.

Maybe.

When we entered the baths, I winked at the manager, who then found himself haggling. Petronius Longus had taken charge; he wanted a party discount, which was pushing it for a mere four people. Still, the vigiles expect respect for their position, just as gangsters like Pyro and Splice do. All the manager could do was mutter feebly about their high-quality service and how they had plenty of hot water…

"They have a waterwheel!" I exclaimed cheerily. "And a very tired slave who trundles it."

"Myron!" retorted the bathkeeper. "Nothing wrong with Myron's legs! He rattles it along."

That wasn't what I remembered. I tried to ignore it, but the comment niggled. I sighed. "Save a strigil for me-I want to check something…" I did not tell Petro, but I suddenly realized I might have missed Florius by a hair's breadth.

It took no time to hop back to that building where I had looked in at the waterwheel. In fine weather, it seemed pretty close. Outside the shack, I paused. This was stupid. I was chasing someone dangerous; I should have brought Petronius with me. I drew my sword. Very gently I pushed open the door and stepped inside.

I noticed immediately that the waterwheel was chuntering much more robustly than before. The man on the treadmill must have extra energy. The light was dim even now that the storm had abated, but I could make out the works. The raising system was spectacular. It had been installed inside a huge wood-lined well that was so wide two men could have stood in it with their arms outstretched. They might have drowned if they tried it, however; I could not see how deep the shaft went. Remembering past terrors, I felt sick just looking down it. If Verovolcus had been pitched in here, he would have vanished from view and nobody would ever have found him. That would have spared me a lot of grief.

A looped iron chain, operated by a wheel, dropped into the pitch-dark depths below, bringing water up in a long line of rectangular wooden buckets. A human treadmill alongside kept the upper wheel rotating and the buckets churning. I found the treadmill, grabbed a rung, and hung on. The mechanism was about ten feet high, worked by a man inside who kept walking doggedly all day, presumably. Jarred by the pressure as I braked his wheel, he now stopped. He was a stick-insect slave in a headband who looked offended that I had broken in on his solitude.

"You must be Myron. Having a bad day, are you? I'm sorry to intrude again. Tell me, Myron, who made you take a rest from your work, earlier?"

Myron eyed up my sword. Still, he was game. "Are you going to pay me to tell you?"

"No. I'm going to kill you if you don't confess."

"Fair enough!" A pragmatist.

"He's a racketeer," I warned. "You're lucky to be still alive. Shaved head and ridiculous trousers, am I right?"

Myron nodded and sighed. "I didn't even get a rest-he just jumped right in with me. Was it you who opened the door? He was squashed here, with his hand over my mouth."

"Better than up your bum."

"Oh, I get no fun! He kicked me and made me keep on walking so it would sound normal."

"You weren't going at your normal pace."

"He was getting in my bloody way."

"Where did he go afterwards?"

"I don't know and I don't care. He gave me a belting and told me to keep my mouth shut about seeing him. Why should I? You'll just belt me again… If you catch him, do give him a wallop for me. I do a good job, without all this."

"Did you know him? He's called Florius."