any project, some perfectly natural. Hearts give out. Disease takes a toll. The workers will have a whip-round, probably, but on a long-distance job, arrangements are made by management.”
“You then ship the ashes home to relatives?” He looked embarrassed. “Too much trouble,” I agreed calmly. “I bet half the crew here have never named a blood relation to be contacted.”
“They are supposed to,” I was assured earnestly.
“Of course.” I tapped his chest. “Have
you
put your wife or your mother on a scroll?”
Alexas began to speak, then paused and grinned back at me. “Now you mention it …”
“I know. We all think anything bad will happen to some other man. … This one was mistaken, though.”
The body was cool. I was told nobody saw what happened. It looked as though he came off cleanly; there were certainly no signs that he scraped his hands trying to regain a grip. There were no real marks on him. The fatal injuries must be internal. If anybody shoved the poor fellow to make him lose his footing, then they had left no evidence.
“Where did this fall happen?”
“The old house.”
“It’s under scaffold, I know. Isn’t there some dispute over the building’s future?”
“I’m not the man to ask,” Alexas said. “If they are demolishing any part of it, Valla would have been salvaging tiles.”
“Hmm. So what’s your theory?”
“What do you mean?” asked the orderly in genuine puzzlement.
“Is this death suspicious?”
“Of course not.”
An informer gets used to being assured that stabbing and strangling are “merely accidents.” I had come to expect lies whenever I asked questions—but maybe a world still existed where people suffered ordinary mishaps.
“Did he let out a cry, do you know, Alexas?”
“Would that be important?”
“If he was pushed, he might have protested. If he jumped or fell, he might have been more likely to stay silent.”
“Shall I try to find out for you?”
“Not worth it, thanks.” It would be inconclusive anyway. “The palace project has hardly started—but this is not your first fatality.”
“It won’t be the last either.”
“Can I see any of the other bodies?”
He stared. “Of course not. Long gone in funeral pyres.”
Suspicious as ever, I was wondering about a cover-up. “Did you inspect the bodies, Alexas?”
“I saw some. ‘Inspect’ is too strong a word. We had a man felled by one of those end finials off roofs—” Alexas went out to his wound-dressing area, rooted under a counter, and produced the guilty party: it was a deadweight lump in the shape of a four-sided arch—a miniature tetrapylon—with a ball on top. He dumped it in my arms and I staggered slightly.
“Yes, that could dent your skull!” I shed it fast, onto the shelf. “You keeping it for something?”
“Make a nice bird hut.” Alexas grinned. People on building sites are always snaffling materials for their own domestic purposes. I noticed one of the four legs was stained. “Sparrows won’t notice a bit of blood, Falco!”
“Hmm … Any other mishaps?”
“A slab of uncut marble flattened someone. The marble supervisor was furious that it got damaged; he said it was priceless.”
“A heartless swine?”
“He reacted without thinking, I suppose. Then another man got swiped with a spade in a fight last week.”
“Unusual?”
“Unfortunately not. Construction sites are always full of tools—and hotheaded men who can wield them skillfully.”
“I came across a spade killing in Rome before I left,” I said, again thinking of Stephanus being swiped and stuffed under Pa’s new mosaic.
“I’ve seen plenty,” scoffed Alexas. “Ax deaths. Crane decapitations. Drownings, crushings, leg and arm amputations—”
“All these have happened on the palace scheme?” I was horrified.
“No, Falco. Some have happened. Others may yet.”
“A man was stabbed, I hear? Knife fight. Drink involved.”
“So I believe. I heard
“You then ship the ashes home to relatives?” He looked embarrassed. “Too much trouble,” I agreed calmly. “I bet half the crew here have never named a blood relation to be contacted.”
“They are supposed to,” I was assured earnestly.
“Of course.” I tapped his chest. “Have
you
put your wife or your mother on a scroll?”
Alexas began to speak, then paused and grinned back at me. “Now you mention it …”
“I know. We all think anything bad will happen to some other man. … This one was mistaken, though.”
The body was cool. I was told nobody saw what happened. It looked as though he came off cleanly; there were certainly no signs that he scraped his hands trying to regain a grip. There were no real marks on him. The fatal injuries must be internal. If anybody shoved the poor fellow to make him lose his footing, then they had left no evidence.
“Where did this fall happen?”
“The old house.”
“It’s under scaffold, I know. Isn’t there some dispute over the building’s future?”
“I’m not the man to ask,” Alexas said. “If they are demolishing any part of it, Valla would have been salvaging tiles.”
“Hmm. So what’s your theory?”
“What do you mean?” asked the orderly in genuine puzzlement.
“Is this death suspicious?”
“Of course not.”
An informer gets used to being assured that stabbing and strangling are “merely accidents.” I had come to expect lies whenever I asked questions—but maybe a world still existed where people suffered ordinary mishaps.
“Did he let out a cry, do you know, Alexas?”
“Would that be important?”
“If he was pushed, he might have protested. If he jumped or fell, he might have been more likely to stay silent.”
“Shall I try to find out for you?”
“Not worth it, thanks.” It would be inconclusive anyway. “The palace project has hardly started—but this is not your first fatality.”
“It won’t be the last either.”
“Can I see any of the other bodies?”
He stared. “Of course not. Long gone in funeral pyres.”
Suspicious as ever, I was wondering about a cover-up. “Did you inspect the bodies, Alexas?”
“I saw some. ‘Inspect’ is too strong a word. We had a man felled by one of those end finials off roofs—” Alexas went out to his wound-dressing area, rooted under a counter, and produced the guilty party: it was a deadweight lump in the shape of a four-sided arch—a miniature tetrapylon—with a ball on top. He dumped it in my arms and I staggered slightly.
“Yes, that could dent your skull!” I shed it fast, onto the shelf. “You keeping it for something?”
“Make a nice bird hut.” Alexas grinned. People on building sites are always snaffling materials for their own domestic purposes. I noticed one of the four legs was stained. “Sparrows won’t notice a bit of blood, Falco!”
“Hmm … Any other mishaps?”
“A slab of uncut marble flattened someone. The marble supervisor was furious that it got damaged; he said it was priceless.”
“A heartless swine?”
“He reacted without thinking, I suppose. Then another man got swiped with a spade in a fight last week.”
“Unusual?”
“Unfortunately not. Construction sites are always full of tools—and hotheaded men who can wield them skillfully.”
“I came across a spade killing in Rome before I left,” I said, again thinking of Stephanus being swiped and stuffed under Pa’s new mosaic.
“I’ve seen plenty,” scoffed Alexas. “Ax deaths. Crane decapitations. Drownings, crushings, leg and arm amputations—”
“All these have happened on the palace scheme?” I was horrified.
“No, Falco. Some have happened. Others may yet.”
“A man was stabbed, I hear? Knife fight. Drink involved.”
“So I believe. I heard
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