The Spook Who Spoke Again: A Flavia Albia Short Story by Lindsey Davis Page B
Authors: Lindsey Davis
Tags: Mystery & Crime
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is perfect harmony depending on number, and the most perfect number would be the price of their drinks plus a large tip for him.
The Aristotelian at once replied that the aim of human activity is happiness, for which material goods are unnecessary – so he had left his purse at home.
The Platonist responded with a smile that the waiter would not lose by this, for Wisdom, Courage and Temperance are united by Justice, so he would cover his friend’s bill as well as his own.
The Cynic wasn’t there by then. Needing to relieve himself of much primal substance, he guessed it was time to pay the bill and since cynics are shameless, he went out to the lavatory, dived down the alley and never came back.
Bucco:
The Spook claims this rubbish is not what he wrote. Let those who are to play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them.
Congrio’s joke had caused a lot of winces among the audience. They were making restless movements.
Congrio:
The other intellectuals thought the punchline needed more work. But the waiter said, what can you expect? Falco wrote it.
I had had enough of drama, so I slipped away quietly, taking my torch for more practice. It had gone out, so I went outside the Circus gates to the little hut. The public slave was asleep but he woke up and said since I was using the torch so much, I ought to have the bucket of pitch. He showed me how to dip the torch and replenish it so it would go on burning.
I spent some time by myself, marching, then I was bored. The torch was still burning well since I had used a lot of pitch on it. I had no way to douse the flame. Since I am a sensible boy, I did go and look at the cage where Roar was kept, because I thought he would have a bucket of water in which I could plunge the flaming torch with a huge fiery hiss, but the half-grown lion must have been thirsty that morning and had drunk it. I left the torch and the pitch container safely outside his straw-carpeted cage. I leaned the burning torch against the stonework of the spina where it could do no damage
Roar wasn’t in his cage. Thalia had taken him out earlier, hoping once more to entice him onto the tightrope, though he kept refusing. He was still over by the equipment, fastened with a rope on his leg, looking lonely. I went to speak to him. He was lying with his paws together, looking around with a sinister, snooty expression. It looked safe to go up and stroke him but I decided not to. He began chewing at the rope on his leg. I would have mentioned it to Thalia but she was too far away. Nobody else was nearby because they had all gone to stand around laughing at the play.
When I myself returned to watch more rehearsal, the action had moved on. I could not tell easily what was happening or why.
Chrysis:
Methinks I saw your father by the port.
Moschion:
Beautiful and virtuous Virgin, how can this be, for he is lost at sea, murdered most foully by a warlike pirate. Alas poor ghost!
Chrysis:
No ghost. Not dead.
Moschion:
amazed
Not dead?
Enter Father
Moschion:
amazed
again
Father! Not dead! Mother, here is my father. Seasick, I think, coming from Sicily.
Mother:
amazed
Oh Moschion, speak no more, for I believed him dead and I am married!
Pollia:
off stage
More fool you then!
Father:
amazed
Wife! Married?
Mother:
Husband!
Chrysis:
Help, ho; she faints!
Moschion:
Mother, mother, mother .
Father:
Attend your mother.
Moschion:
Father, father, father.
Enter Spook
Chrysis:
Here’s one who can explain all this. Speak, speak, Spook, speak to me!
The Spook was a good character. I liked him very much. I think the actor enjoyed playing him. He loped onstage in a wild manner, swaying from one side to the other, waving his sheeted arms and swooping. Even when asked, he did not speak. His not speaking was the scariest thing about him.
That was when new things happened, which interrupted the rehearsal. Over by the acrobats’ equipment, Roar must have gnawed through the rope holding him. He stood up to stretch his legs,
The Aristotelian at once replied that the aim of human activity is happiness, for which material goods are unnecessary – so he had left his purse at home.
The Platonist responded with a smile that the waiter would not lose by this, for Wisdom, Courage and Temperance are united by Justice, so he would cover his friend’s bill as well as his own.
The Cynic wasn’t there by then. Needing to relieve himself of much primal substance, he guessed it was time to pay the bill and since cynics are shameless, he went out to the lavatory, dived down the alley and never came back.
Bucco:
The Spook claims this rubbish is not what he wrote. Let those who are to play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them.
Congrio’s joke had caused a lot of winces among the audience. They were making restless movements.
Congrio:
The other intellectuals thought the punchline needed more work. But the waiter said, what can you expect? Falco wrote it.
I had had enough of drama, so I slipped away quietly, taking my torch for more practice. It had gone out, so I went outside the Circus gates to the little hut. The public slave was asleep but he woke up and said since I was using the torch so much, I ought to have the bucket of pitch. He showed me how to dip the torch and replenish it so it would go on burning.
I spent some time by myself, marching, then I was bored. The torch was still burning well since I had used a lot of pitch on it. I had no way to douse the flame. Since I am a sensible boy, I did go and look at the cage where Roar was kept, because I thought he would have a bucket of water in which I could plunge the flaming torch with a huge fiery hiss, but the half-grown lion must have been thirsty that morning and had drunk it. I left the torch and the pitch container safely outside his straw-carpeted cage. I leaned the burning torch against the stonework of the spina where it could do no damage
Roar wasn’t in his cage. Thalia had taken him out earlier, hoping once more to entice him onto the tightrope, though he kept refusing. He was still over by the equipment, fastened with a rope on his leg, looking lonely. I went to speak to him. He was lying with his paws together, looking around with a sinister, snooty expression. It looked safe to go up and stroke him but I decided not to. He began chewing at the rope on his leg. I would have mentioned it to Thalia but she was too far away. Nobody else was nearby because they had all gone to stand around laughing at the play.
When I myself returned to watch more rehearsal, the action had moved on. I could not tell easily what was happening or why.
Chrysis:
Methinks I saw your father by the port.
Moschion:
Beautiful and virtuous Virgin, how can this be, for he is lost at sea, murdered most foully by a warlike pirate. Alas poor ghost!
Chrysis:
No ghost. Not dead.
Moschion:
amazed
Not dead?
Enter Father
Moschion:
amazed
again
Father! Not dead! Mother, here is my father. Seasick, I think, coming from Sicily.
Mother:
amazed
Oh Moschion, speak no more, for I believed him dead and I am married!
Pollia:
off stage
More fool you then!
Father:
amazed
Wife! Married?
Mother:
Husband!
Chrysis:
Help, ho; she faints!
Moschion:
Mother, mother, mother .
Father:
Attend your mother.
Moschion:
Father, father, father.
Enter Spook
Chrysis:
Here’s one who can explain all this. Speak, speak, Spook, speak to me!
The Spook was a good character. I liked him very much. I think the actor enjoyed playing him. He loped onstage in a wild manner, swaying from one side to the other, waving his sheeted arms and swooping. Even when asked, he did not speak. His not speaking was the scariest thing about him.
That was when new things happened, which interrupted the rehearsal. Over by the acrobats’ equipment, Roar must have gnawed through the rope holding him. He stood up to stretch his legs,
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