Jester Leaps In: A Medieval Mystery by Alan Gordon

deaths of the fools in Constantinople?”
    “I suppose, in a way, that I am,” he said, and resumed eating. Claudius drew in her breath, then let it out slowly.
    “Could you explain that in a way that won’t make it necessary for me to kill you?” I requested, my right hand resting on the handle of the knife in my boot.
    “You would, wouldn’t you?” he said. “Bastard. I didn’t kill them, of course. But I think I inadvertently set events in motion that led to their deaths.”
    “Explain.”
    “I will, but not here.”
    “Why didn’t you contact the Guild after you heard?”
    “I tried to, but that troubadour was in too much of a hurry. He didn’t know me, and wouldn’t stop to listen to the ravings of an old man. And by the time I heard he’d returned, I guess they got to him as well. I saw his horse up for sale in the Amastrianum. After that, I decided to lie low for a while.”
    He wiped his bowl clean with the last piece of bread and then stood.
    “Put your cloak on and your hood up,” he said. “No one followed us in here, but I don’t want to chance being seen with a fool outside. Give me a moment’s lead, then follow me.”
    He walked out. I threw my cloak over my motley, and we followed him.
    His route took him back toward the Hippodrome. Claudius and I walked separately. I made damn certain that no one was following us this time. Just as the stadium loomed over us, Zintziphitzes ducked into an alleyway that neither of us would havenoticed otherwise. We stopped at the entrance and looked down it. It cut between two stonecutting shops and had no apparent outlet other than the one in which we stood. Zintziphitzes stood at the end of it, waving merrily.
    “I don’t like the smell of this,” said Claudius.
    “Now, now,” I admonished her. “He’s an old man. He’s bound to smell a little bit.”
    “He had Guild training once. That means he knows how to kill.”
    “Among other things. But why would he want to kill us?”
    “I’m just bringing up a possibility.”
    “Fine, Apprentice. No reason not to be careful.” I walked into the alley.
    “This is your idea of careful?” she muttered, but she followed me, glancing behind her.
    “Well done,” commented the preacher. “Time for me to let you in on a few secrets.”
    “I’m listening,” I said.
    “The other fools always envied my ability to get information,” he said modestly. “I had the most intimate details at my beck and call, and all of the freshest variety. The Hippodrome was my personal theater. And there was a reason for that.”
    He reached down and pulled up a pair of large flagstones, revealing a hole that a slender man could enter. He then lowered himself into it.
    “Come on,” he said.
    We looked down inside. There was a tunnel, going toward the Hippodrome. Zintziphitzes fumbled in the darkness, and a small flame came up. He was holding a candle.
    I lowered Claudius, then jumped down. The hole was about five feet deep. I pulled the flagstones into place, which forced me into a crouch.
    “I normally do this in the dark,” said the old fool. “However, one must be more accommodating when one has guests, don’t you think?”
    The tunnel was carved into the earth, shored up in places with some inexpert timbering. We followed our guide for about sixty feet, crouching all the way. Then the tunnel joined a larger one, with ancient stonework and some actual Roman-style arches. A trickle of water ran past us down the center of the tunnel. Several dozen pairs of small, red eyes picked up the candlelight.
    “It’s all right, my friends,” called Zintziphitzes. “They’re with me.”
    It was an act, I was sure. I doubted that he truly knew the rats well enough to speak to them. But they avoided us as we traversed the length of the tunnel, which was fine with me.
    “We’re in a drainage tunnel,” he explained. “I don’t know when it was built. It may go back to Severus for all I know. Good old-fashioned Roman