Page 24

The top sheet was folded in thirds and a different texture from the paper scattered across the desk, expensive parchment instead of reedy papyrus, ink black as the day it was laid down.

It must’ve been written to impress the reader.

Or written by someone with money to waste.

Felix scrutinised the text, but comprehension didn’t dawn until he reached the seal at the end.

F , looped in laurels.

He’d seen that crest before, emblazoned on Ax’s house pin. This letter had been penned by Julia. His mind whirred with possibilities, heart leaping that he had been right.

His shock nearly caused him to miss the voices.

‘Utter waste of time,’ a man said from outside, and Felix thanked the gods he’d shut the door.

He stuffed the letter down his tunic, shoved the box in place, and lunged for the closest hiding spot, an adjoining bedroom.

No sooner had he ducked below an unmade bed than the study’s door slammed open and in strode the statesman .

From this angle, chest against the floor, Felix could see only the statesman’s leather boots as he paced the study in sharp strides. Something had him agitated. A second pair of legs joined, red hem just visible. Darius. He stood at attention near the door, an obedient watchdog.

‘Leaving early, won’t that strike the others as odd?’ Darius asked.

‘You saw Umbrius’s condition. I’d wager half my worth he didn’t notice.’

Dust swirled under the bed. Felix’s nose tickled, and he bit his tongue to tamp a sneeze down. Light fell in slats across the floor to his right, filtered through shutters. Slowly, so slowly, he inched toward it.

‘I didn’t mean Umbrius, sir.’

The statesman’s pacing paused. Paper rustled. ‘Ah. If our dear lady believes her new boy makes a fraction of difference, she’s more addled than I thought. Or more desperate.’

Felix stilled.

The morning Felix fled to the Temple of Isis, Loren wore temple robes and a veil.

Unrecognisable from the boy in fancy clothes Julia swaddled him in today.

But Felix spent that encounter unconscious.

He didn’t know what Darius had walked in on, how much of Loren’s face he’d seen.

If Darius put the pieces together, realised Loren, draped on Julia’s arm, bore a connection to Felix . . .

‘Seen him before,’ Darius grunted. ‘In the Forum. A whore, I think, from the lupanar.’

‘Spend much time there?’

Wisely, Darius held his tongue.

The statesman continued, ‘Easy to pick off, in any case, no one weeps for whores. It’s unsurprising Julia would stoop so low.

Her mistakes grow sloppier by the day. I imagine we’ll finish her soon.

Of course,’ he said, tone shifting from idle amusement to one far more pointed, ‘if I had the damned helmet, none of this would be necessary.’

‘The guards at the gate have no news,’ said Darius .

‘He must be biding his time in town,’ the statesman murmured. ‘I dealt with boys like him in Rome; I know the lines these thieves think along. Their uncanny good fortune, their ability to blend in. Almost magical, isn’t it?’

Felix tensed. Always that. Always magic. And the statesman had accused Pompeiians of being superstitious.

He slunk towards the window, emerging from the bed and crouching low as he edged for the shutters. He didn’t dare breathe.

‘Darius,’ the statesman said, ‘did you unlock my letterbox?’

Heavy footsteps clomped toward the desk.

Felix flung himself over the window ledge into the alley. He didn’t stick around to learn if Darius had caught sight of him. He hotfooted it to the street, swift as a cat, and never glanced back.

Felix found Aurelia in an alley near the Forum.

She knelt by a chalk circle, head bent with another child.

But where Aurelia’s clothes were plain and lived-in, the boy’s were formal – a crisp white toga over an orange tunic, a Roman senator in miniature, wholly out of place crouching on dirty cobblestones.

The two were conspiring about something, overthrowing the empire or taxes or whatever else devious children colluded over.

‘I need your help,’ Felix announced, tugging on his sandals as he neared.

The two separated abruptly.

Aurelia glared. ‘I’m busy.’

‘Seems like it.’ Felix surveyed the ground. A handful of marbles adorned the circle. Aurelia’s friend used his thumb to launch a glass shooter into the ring. It crashed and scattered a cluster of smaller marbles. Two rolled out of bounds, and the boy cheered.

Aurelia slapped the ground and groaned. ‘See what you did? Distracted me. Now I’ll lose. ’

‘You won’t.’ Felix did a quick count, then squatted next to her. ‘Aim this way’ – he mimed shooting – ‘and you’ll knock out all three.’

Scepticism twisted her mouth, but she snatched her shooter. ‘Like this?’

‘Angle it more.’

She let it fly. It hurtled through the ring, striking the other orbs. As Felix predicted, the final marbles rolled free, securing the game. ‘Yes! Where did you learn that?’

Felix shrugged with sudden discomfort. It shouldn’t bother him that he couldn’t remember where he’d learned a game, but it was another stolen piece of his childhood.

Trapped behind the gate in his mind whose lock he couldn’t pick.

It seemed everything in Pompeii wanted to taunt him with what he couldn’t recall.

He pushed the frustration aside for later.

‘Cheat,’ the little boy huffed, face turned in a pout.

‘Mamma says those in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, Celsi,’ Aurelia said.

His scowl deepened. ‘What?’

‘It means you can’t call me a cheat when your whole family comes from cheats.’

‘We’re not —’

Felix didn’t have time for this. ‘Aurelia, game’s over. Help me with something.’

She dropped her marbles one by one into a leather pouch with a satisfying click-clack. ‘Why should I?’

‘Because I helped you win. And I risked life and limb bringing back your sword.’

‘Hardly.’

‘And if you help,’ Felix said, digging in his pocket, ‘I’ll give you this.’

He presented the treasure, a yellow blown-glass bead he’d siphoned from a stall last night. He’d figured he’d pawn it for a coin or two later, but Aurelia’s game struck inspiration. Her eyes glinted, and she snatched it with greedy fingers.

‘I want to see,’ Celsi whined. Aurelia relented, holding it out, but he grabbed, and she yanked it back. ‘Hey!’

‘It’s mine. Besides, your pappa doesn’t allow toys.’

Chin lifted at a haughty angle, Celsi stood and smoothed his toga. ‘Whatever. I have more important things to do, anyway. The procession is due to start any minute.’

‘Then shoo,’ Aurelia said.

With a final envious glare at the bead, Celsi spun and marched stiffly to the Forum.

‘Procession?’ Felix asked.

Aurelia’s mouth soured. ‘That was Councilman Numerius Popidius Celsinus.’

‘He’s a child.’

‘He’s nearly my age.’

‘So, a child,’ Felix said. ‘What do you mean by “councilman”?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Not a real one. Not a proper ordo. Celsi’s father can’t hold office himself since he’s a former slave, so he bought his freeborn son’s way onto the council. You know the earthquake? The big one, not these little ones we keep having.’

Elias had mentioned it when they played dice, Felix remembered. ‘Fifteen years ago?’

‘Seventeen. It destroyed the Temple of Isis, and no one had money to fix it for a decade. Celsi’s entire family was devoted to Isis, and his pappa raised money to fund the repairs – in Celsi’s name.

So the city rewarded him with a council position and moved him to Jupiter’s temple.

He was six at the time. Now he’s ten. He was more fun back then. Lately he’s just . . .’

Instead of finishing, Aurelia grabbed a lump of chalk and began doodling on the cobblestones. The outline of a face appeared, a sharp jaw, frowning mouth. When it was clear she’d say no more, Felix sighed and withdrew the folded parchment.

‘Can you read?’ When she shrugged, Felix continued, ‘I need you to tell me what this says. It’s important.’

‘About Loren?’ She drew loops of hair, an ear.

‘Not exactly. Well, he’s involved.’

‘Show me.’ At last she looked up, dark brown eyes startlingly sharp. Felix passed the sheet over. Chalk powder puffed as she took it.

‘A letter, maybe,’ he said. ‘I recognise the form, if nothing else.’

Silence fell as Aurelia scanned the writing. ‘I know that signature. It’s—’

‘Julia,’ Felix said.

Aurelia stared over the parchment edge, puzzled.

‘ Julius . Julia Fortunata’s father. He owned an estate in town, don’t know which.

But I suppose now that he’s passed, Lady Julia would’ve inherited.

’ Her eyes flicked down. ‘This doesn’t make much sense.

A business deal, or a favour, but it fell through. ’

Felix sighed. ‘Read it out loud.’

Aurelia pursed her lips and began, voice unsteady:

‘My dear friend Sen. M. Servius R.,

It grieves me to hear of your dismay at the termination of our trade negotiations.

I imagine such transactions are handled differently in Rome.

As expressed in my last letter, I am both unfit and unwilling to conduct exports of this nature.

Regardless of promised earnings, I’m simply past the age where reward outweighs risk.

I expect to live out the remainder of my days in Pompeii, alongside my daughter and household.

As for the future of my estate – and my dear man, I am old but still sharp – I would see it kept within my family.

Do pass my regards to the emperor .

‘ Sincerely ,’ Aurelia concluded, ‘ Spurius Julius Fortunatus. He was a wine merchant, I know that much. That must be what exports means.’

‘No,’ Felix said, realisation hitting with a sick lurch. ‘It’s a mask-term smugglers use. I heard it too often growing up not to recognise it now.’

It made sense. The room of relics, his so-called specialised interest – if the statesman had a history of exporting , no wonder a divine helmet had caught his eye. Felix’s mouth dried. Rome was full of smugglers. But he rather hoped he’d left that lifestyle behind.

‘How did you find this letter again?’

‘Stole it, how else? What do you know about Julia?’

She passed back the letter and resumed her sketch, detailing an eye, shading the nose. ‘Mamma says she’s a recluse. After her father died, nearly five years ago, Lady Julia stopped going around, shut herself in the house. Comes out for festivals mainly. Voting and council meetings, sometimes.’

‘But she’s a woman.’

Aurelia shot him a withering look. ‘And? Oh, don’t explain yourself. I’m too young to be so exhausted by boys. As long as Julia owns the house, she has a say in how Pompeii is run.’

Felix examined the letter again, hoping another look might reveal more answers. What mess had Loren tangled himself in? Worse, how much messier would it become before Felix could untangle it? Smugglers, politics – when he promised four days to Loren, Felix hadn’t agreed to this.

Neither had Aurelia. How she stomached living among Pompeii’s snakes and wolves was beyond him.

‘You know a lot about this city,’ he said, ‘don’t you?’

Again an eye roll. ‘I live here.’

‘There’s more to it than that. You collect details like they’ll save your life someday. ’

‘Not only mine,’ Aurelia said grimly. ‘I’m smart. I can piece things together. Things I see and hear. You know how it is to live by your wits.’

Felix studied her, the way she oscillated between childlike and piercingly keen. The way she tied her skirt to the side so she could run faster, climb higher. Her messy braid and scratched knees. How she gathered stories, and worried, and never slowed.

That’s what Felix didn’t understand. She lived comfortably, didn’t she? With a mother, a home? Loren treated her as his sister, if not by blood. She had friends, too.

What was Aurelia so desperate to run from?

Somewhere both distant and too near for comfort, bells began to clang. Under the sound hummed a low current of footsteps, chanting. The procession must be approaching.

‘You know, this is all wrong,’ Aurelia muttered, her voice nearly drowned by the growing cacophony.

She scratched another chalk line. Felix peered down, startled to see his own face, rendered in white streaks with surprising depth, staring back.

But it wasn’t like seeing his reflection in a mirror or pool.

Here, his face was distorted, carved and hollowed by something he couldn’t name.

Twin protrusions, like wings of a dove, splayed from his curls.

As though he wore Mercury’s winged helmet. As though he had become the helmet.

With a snarl and a swift movement, Aurelia scraped the broad side of her chalk across Felix’s face, sweeping it away entirely. She hurled the chalk against the wall opposite, and it shattered into a thousand fragments.

‘Hey!’ Felix cried. ‘What was that for?’

But Aurelia spoke as if she hadn’t heard. ‘One day I think this will all go away. Disappear. Where will we be when the tide comes?’