The Spook Who Spoke Again: A Flavia Albia Short Story (11 page)

Congrio’s joke had caused a lot of winces among the audience. They were making restless movements.

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.

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, then decided to go to his own cage where he felt comfortable and he might find a piece of bloody meat left over from his breakfast. He couldn’t get into the cage though. With a grunt, he jumped on top, which people noticed, then when they began shouting, he came off again with a grand flying leap. He was a rather clumsy lion. The half-grown beast landed on the bucket of pitch, which fell over onto a spare bale of straw, where all the contents rolled out. Roar took one sniff then sprang back. His next mistake was to knock into the torch even though he could see I had left it standing upright to be safe. He pushed the torch over too with one curious paw, so it landed in the overflowing pitch. That started a big whoosh of fire.

Roar was so scared by what he had done, he ran away. First he fled straight into the scene where the play was being acted. When he saw the Spook, he spun around with catlike tread towards the other actors. They all jumped in terror, screaming.

Exit pursued by a lion.

With one mighty bound, Roar then cleared the barrier by the track that was supposed to be protection if a chariot team crashed. He took off, jumping up the rows of seats to the very top of the Circus, where he stood on guard, roaring proudly.

Despite this, I noticed people pointing elsewhere. Gulp.

The overturned pitch was now a big wild fire, sheeting all up the spina which appeared to be burning even though it was stone. The effect was spectacular. This only lasted a short time, luckily, because all the men who worked for both Thalia and Davos went running as fast as they possibly could to put out the flames that were burning down this famous monument. But it had set alight the dry old wood of the temporary set with three doors and was licking over the baskets and hampers, with their ancient desiccated wicker. The men had to spend a long time working to rescue things and dampen down the raging flames. I could hear horrified exclamations at the damage.

This was not my fault, and unintended. Nevertheless, it seemed a good idea to go away while I could do so. I foresaw a lot of being talked to. I was just setting off quietly, when somebody scary stood in front of me. He was wearing the ghost’s costume.

At last the Spook spoke. It was a surprise. ‘Hold on there, Scruff!’

From the ironic nickname, then I knew that the Spook was Father.

My father pulled off the ghost costume, which he shook out and folded neatly, then handed to Dama with polite thanks. To Thalia and Davos he said that his play seemed to be holding up well, to which Davos answered, yes it was holding up as well as it had ever done. He sounded as if he meant something different from the words. Falco just gave him a huge grin, the grin that looks as if you might not be able to trust him, even though he is pretending he is utterly dependable.

I felt my hair being scuffled up. I normally complained about that but today I liked it. My father said to Thalia, ‘I hear you just acquired a crocodile. That brings back terrible memories!’ His hand on my head now felt heavy and still. In a changed tone, he asked, ‘So, do you see anything of Philadelphion these days?’ Thalia gave him a narrow look. I knew nothing of any Philadelphion, so I leaned heavily against my father’s hip, wriggling to imply I was bored by the adults’ conversation. ‘Time I took this one home to face my daughter’s fancy man. He will have to stay with us tonight. Are you finding him tough to cope with? Shall we have him back permanently?’

‘Why? He is only a gossip-mongering, commerce-busting, death-dealing, sinister staring little arsonist. I can manage!’ Thalia exclaimed, before she looked around at the havoc in the Circus and faltered. ‘What do you want to do, Postumus, darling?’

Suddenly I decided I would like to live at home again. It was one of Helena’s conditions that I could.

‘Go and catch your lion,’ continued Father in a lenient tone, being kind to Thalia. ‘You know the child is in good hands. Helena never finds him a handful – after all, she’s used to looking after me. Say goodbye then, Postumus.’

I did as I was told, adding nicely, thank you for having me. Thalia crouched down to hug and kiss me, wiping away a fond tear. Above her, Falco secretly winked at me.

He and I walked pretty fast from the Circus of Gaius and Nero to the tents. He grabbed my things and made a bundle which he shouldered easily. I ran back to fetch my best tunic, knowing that with a guest tonight I must have it on at dinner. That was when I had a huge surprise. Curled up fast asleep in the bed that I gave him, alive and well, was Ferret.

‘Titan’s turds,’ observed my father in amusement. ‘I thought you lost him?’

At his masterly voice, Ferret awoke. With a joyful squeak, he jumped straight down the tunic I was wearing, then slithered around inside furrily, exploring. We were both thrilled to have found one another.

‘Time for a fast getaway,’ urged Father, as if he feared someone might come and stop us. ‘Let’s go home, Scruff, for porridge, the dish of our ancestors.’

I gave a wise smile, for I knew it would be chicken with little dumplings, my favourite.

So we set off back to the Aventine. My father was carrying my luggage with one hand, while his other firmly held one of mine to stop me getting lost. I felt a warm feeling of relief. I was going for dinner with Didius Falco, going home like brothers who had been out all day on an adventure. Also I was looking forward to seeing Helena, and hearing her cry happily, ‘Ah here he is! My littlest has come home again.’

Best of all, I had my ferret.

In the blazing July heat of Imperial Rome, Flavia Albia inspects a decomposing corpse. It has been discovered in lots to be auctioned by her family business, so she’s determined to identify the dead man and learn how he met his gruesome end.

The investigation will give her a chance to work with the magistrate Manlius Faustus, the friend she sadly knows to be the last chaste man in Rome. But he’s got other concerns. It’s election time and with democracy for sale at Domitian’s court, tension has come to a head. Faustus is acting as an agent for a ‘good husband and father,’ whose traditional family values are being called into question. Even more disreputable are his rivals, whom Faustus wants Albia to discredit.