‘No.’ Felix set his cup firmly on the tiled floor. ‘I just drink too much.’
‘Clever.’ Wicker and wood creaked as the statesman settled into the chair opposite. In the flickering candlelight, his eyes seemed drained of colour. Reflecting orange flame, but otherwise empty. ‘I’ll admit, the wine was a test. You passed.’
‘I’m not your student.’
‘Too clever for games, I see.’
Felix had the distinct impression he was being mocked.Don’t rise to it. Still, whatever his expression betrayed must have been satisfactory. Amusement tugged the statesman’s lips.
‘Tell me, boy. Do you believe in magic?’
Felix snorted. ‘No. Horseshit.’
The statesman ran his gloved index finger around the rim of his own cup. Round and around. Unease grew as Felix tracked the movement. Nails bit into the meat of his palms. He hadn’t realised how tightly he clenched his fists until the sting reminded him to stay in the moment. He made his trade in details, the cataloguing of them, the weaponising. Being a thief was about spotting the right details and not letting a stranger distract him with others.
‘Interesting position to take,’ the statesman continued. ‘For you, anyway. Tell me who you studied under. A priest? Which temple?’
‘Couldn’t tell you.’
‘Don’t you remember?’
Felix shifted. The comment teased wounds where the only memories left were scars. Normally it suited him fine, lacking the ability to remember. Dwelling on history, fixating on the future – neither pastime kept him alive. But something about the statesman’s question prodded Felix the same way wicker bands jabbed his sliced calves.
Rich people had the worst furniture.
‘I consider myself a collector,’ the statesman continued. With an arrogant flip of his wrist, he held his cup to the side. Wordlessly, Darius came forward to whisk it away. ‘Land. Items. People, when it suits me. I have a specialised interest.’
‘What does this have to do with me?’
‘Because I saw you in the Forum earlier, casing the temple. Subtle, but I recognised how hungrily you watched the helmet. As if you would die for it. Or worse.’ The statesman’s smile widened. ‘Do you realise how precious that helmet is? Some call it divine, and Pompeiians are a superstitious bunch. They take everything as an omen, and they won’t take news of its disappearance easily, nor exercise clemency when they catch its thief. But you and I have more in common than you know. Two wanderers who lost our home, trying to find a way back to it. The helmet can help us both get there.’
Sweat beaded on the nape of Felix’s neck. He itched to demand how a helmet could help reclaim home. How the statesman knew Felix didn’thavea home, not since he fled Rome six years ago, but asking questions would betray what he knew about the helmet, an admission he couldn’t afford.
Besides, this man already had everything, a house and guards and silver cups. The statesman could buy twenty helmets. He could have stolen this helmet himself, then staged its triumphant recovery, if that was what he wanted. Somehow, Felix didn’t think that was the statesman’s goal.
He repeated, ‘Horseshit.’
‘At least entertain my offer before baiting me towards anger, as I’ve humoured you.’
But thieves weren’t humoured. It was a kill-first, question-later lifestyle.
‘Afraid I can’t help you.’ Felix rose, sizing up Darius blocking the exit. ‘My father is waiting for me.’
The statesman allowed Felix to make it halfway to the door. Then he said, voice the drawl of a lazy predator, ‘Your father is dead.’
Felix stiffened, vision flashing red as bloodied ground. ‘What the fuck would you know about my father?’
His sudden rage distracted him. Seizing the opportunity, Darius lunged and slammed Felix to the ground. He wrenched Felix’s wrists behind his back, shoving his chest against the floor.
‘A fortunate guess.’ The statesman paced to Felix’s front, peering down his nose. ‘You could say I know how to inspire reaction. Where is the helmet?’
‘I don’t know,’ Felix snarled, wriggling pointlessly.
‘You will bring it to me. Bring it to me, and you may leave the city with a full purse. I’ll even give you a horse. Wouldn’t that be a treat?’
‘Liar.’ Felix spat. It landed an inch from the statesman’s leather boot.
The statesman sighed. ‘A different approach, then. Let’s see if my technique works. Once you remember what was taken from you, you’ll be as keen for revenge on Rome as I am.’
