Parthian Shot (Marcus Corvinus Book 9) by Wishart David

Author:Wishart, David [Wishart, David]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2015-03-02T16:00:00+00:00

15.

Perilla was still fast asleep when I came down to breakfast the next morning, and when she finally surfaced I was already almost finished. Seeing her coming with a definite preoccupied expression on her face, I steeled myself for round two as promised, but as she passed my couch she leaned down and kissed me.

‘You haven’t had a shave this morning,’ she murmured.

We breathe again. Evidently for reasons of her own the lady had decided on a truce, at least temporarily. I mopped up the last of my honey with a crust. ‘I thought I’d go down to Market Square for a change,’ I said. ‘Have one there.’

Bathyllus was hovering with a tray of rolls. Perilla lowered herself onto the facing couch like she was afraid her head would fall off if she moved it too much. Yeah, right; that explained things. I offered up a silent prayer of thanks to whatever god protected peabrain husbands who couldn’t keep their mouths shut in carriages.

‘I don’t think I’ll bother with breakfast this morning, Bathyllus,’ she said. ‘Perhaps just a camomile tisane. Or preferably something a little more fatal.’

‘Yes, madam. I will consult with the chef.’

I grinned. ‘You should stay off the booze, lady. You aren’t used to it.’

That got me a level, bleary-eyed stare and a set to the lips you could’ve drawn lines with. ‘I’m feeling quite recriminatory enough for both of us at the moment, thank you,’ she said tartly. ‘And the next time one of your cronies asks me to try his sixty-year-old Falernian just say “Phraates” to me. Is that clear?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, sure. And it was eighty-year-old.’

‘Fine. Good. That makes me a lot happier. Now I’m sorry, dear, but I really don’t really feel capable of breakfast conversation at present, especially if it takes the form of smart repartee. If you’re going out then go and leave me to die in peace.’

‘Okay,’ I said, getting up and dabbing my lips with the napkin. ‘I’ll see you later.’

‘Marcus.’

‘Yeah?’

‘You will be careful, won’t you? You know what I mean.’

‘Yeah. I know what you mean. I’ll be careful. Promise.’ I bent down and kissed her. Sure I would. If Gaius was involved in this business I’d go as careful as a flea in party slippers.

It was a beautiful day: the weather had cleared completely, the sky above the city was a pure cloudless blue and there was a stiffish breeze from the east. Good walking weather, and after the previous night I needed the cobwebs blowing away. I turned up Head of Africa in the direction of Suburan Street.

The shave had been a good idea. A Market Square barber’s stool is almost as good as a wineshop for thinking, so long as you choose your barber carefully and avoid the chat merchants, and thinking was something I needed to do. There’d been no word yet from Lippillus over at Public Pond re the knife gang, which was a pity since it was still the most promising avenue. On the other hand, I’d had enough of theorising to be going on with.

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