It had been one of those days where the hours had eaten themselves somehow. Business had taken him down to the docks early, but it had not taken long for news of the events at the Loutra to reach him, and the master informer had been forced to discard the rest of his days plans to respond to what had most certainly set tongues wagging throughout the city. Irritated to learn that the body had already been moved and Hades knows what else tampered with, Cicero had stopped by the Loutra on his way to the royal physician’s quarters, where the body had been reportedly taken.
Talking his way past the guards at the Loutra had not been difficult, his position in court was well known, and though not a physically intimidating man, the spymaster had an aura that just managed to make people uncomfortable. It was a blessing really, stopped people getting in his way when he had work to do. Which given the events of that morning, he most certainly did.
He was dispassionate as he moved through the baths, inspected the writing upon the wall and the water now dispossessed of its gruesome flotsam. Cicero also got the names of those poor folk responsible for the cleaning and upkeep of the baths, made a note to pay them a visit. With an analytical slant, the man considered how he’d go about moving a body into the public bathhouse. It would not be hard under the cover of night, but there were people he could speak to who might know a little more. Not a lot happened in the city without Cicero having the ability to know about it if he so wished.
Inspecting all of the entrances and exits to the bathhouse, the man sent word to his informants in the lower levels to come to him with anything they might have seen or heard. He would have to have words, for it was unpardonable that something like this could be orchestrated under his nose without someone having knowledge about it beforehand.
Thus a little more informed the master informer had endured a fascinating couple of hours in the company of the royal physician. He was not a squeamish man by nature, a thing only a benefit in his line of work, but even Cicero could find the mutilation of a child’s body distasteful enough to stymie his rampant curiosity. Adding his own observations to those drawn by the physician, the master informer left the man to finish, and with some sense of reluctance, headed toward the Palati.
No doubt the place would be astir, but he ought to at least try and see the princess and offer her some reassurance that there was work being done to identify the culprits of this unpleasant threat. Never mind that hysterical young girls were not his forte, he would deliver an interim report and then be on his way. He needed space, after all, to actually start to fit these pieces together. And that was the enjoyable part.
Cicero could not claim to be entirely disappointed then when access to Princess Emilia was thwarted by the palace stewards, and he was about to turn smartly on his heel to leave and get to the real meat of his work when one of the men spoke up. “By your leave, Master Cicero, the Lord Elias of Stravos has requested you remain”
And that was enough to cause the spymaster’s eyes to roll briefly skyward, but he paused in his movements nonetheless, giving the smallest incline of his head by way of assent.
“Of course” he replied, with an expectant look at the steward who had spoken. He was a nothing sort of man but had an unhealthy fascination with the young scribes who worked in the palati. Cicero shot him a dagger-sharp smile. “I’ll take some wine then, thank you, whilst I wait”
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