Read Online Jester Leaps In: A Medieval Mystery by Alan Gordon - Free Book Online

cuffed him. “You’re a puppy,” I said. “I was picking pockets when your mother’s milk was still wet on your lips. You think I don’t know this city? Maybe I’ll just give you to Esaias and be done with you.”
    “Please, sir, I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” he babbled.
    I cuffed him again, and he shut up.
    “What say you, Claudius?” I asked. “Shall we let him live?”
    “I don’t see what use he could be to us,” said Claudius slowly. “He bungled this job.”
    “No, no, I’m no good at nightwork, but I can pick pockets, and I’m a good lookout, and I can find you anything you want here.”
    I raised my hand, and he quieted. I lowered it.
    “As it happens, I am looking for someone,” I said. “A fool like myself. His name is Tiberius.”
    “I know him!” he said excitedly. “You see? I’m useful!”
    “I’d like to know where he is,” I continued. “Find him, andthere may even be a little something in it for you. Although continued existence seems ample profit under the circumstances, don’t you think?”
    “Yes, yes. I’ll have word for you by sundown tomorrow.”
    “Search him, then let him go,” I commanded.
    She rummaged through his clothing, found no weapons, and then let him stand, her sword constantly at his chest.
    “Until tomorrow, my friend,” I said. “Go get some sleep. And wash that face. Our landlord may not appreciate the mess on his fine linens.”
    He slunk into the hallway. I leaned outside the doorway and watched him until he entered his room.
    “Well done,” I said to Viola. “Only use your knife next time. Swords are a liability when there’s no room to swing them.”
    “All right. Shall we assume that’s it for the evening?”
    “Not at all. Get some sleep. It’s my turn to keep watch.”
    We left the Rooster at midmorning, a jester’s normal working time. I took only my working bag with me, leaving most of my gear behind. I left my sword as well. We could afford to appear less belligerent now that we had made it inside the city walls. Viola kept her sword. It was the day’s plan that I would do the performing, and she would keep an eye on the crowd.
    “Is that our entire plan?” she asked.
    “No,” I replied. “But I have to establish myself immediately. A fool who does not care about entertaining is clearly a spy. At some point, we’ll go search out where my colleagues dwelled.”
    The road from our immediate neighborhood carried us south, following the gentle rise of the Xerolophon toward the southwest branch of the Mese. Bakeries on both sides of the road scented the air until we could stand it no longer and bought enough bread for two meals. Although the road was more or less straight,the side streets twisted and turned in a labyrinth of passages, houses of stone and brick crammed together, the upper floors projecting over the streets, greedily seizing every possible square foot while blocking the sun from reaching the pedestrians.
    People swarmed everywhere. Constantinople is the crossroads of the world, and every nation sent its representatives to seek their fortunes, or to seek someone else’s fortune. Franks, Vlachs, Pechenegs, Turks, Russians, Alans, and Latins all scurried about, speaking Greek with varying proficiencies and in a profusion of accents.
    Our road met the Mese in the Forum of Arkadios. The pillar erected to the memory of that emperor overlooked us, a pile of immense, squared stones stacked to over a hundred feet. They say there had once been a statue of Arkadios himself on top, but an earthquake had sent it plummeting long ago.
    There were pillars all over the city, as various emperors and their wives competed for posterity. Many in this superstitious time would observe which personage’s representation was struck down by one calamity or another and try to interpret what it portended. Some of the more cynical would merely place elaborate wagers on which statue would be the next to topple.
    A small squad of soldiers