‘Ah Hades!’ I twanged a lyre string vacantly, as if seeing how far I could make it stretch before it snapped. I can play a lyre. I use it for disguises. I know what happens when a string breaks and was really not keen to have whipping animal-gut flick at high speed into my eye. Scorpus could only see the threat to his precious instrument.

‘Please don’t do any damage!’

‘Who’s spying on Laeta? Momus? Anacrites?’

‘Both—Everyone thinks I am working for them. Really I’m freelance.’

‘Freelance, as in you’ll take anybody’s money? And you’ll shit on anybody too?’ I sneered. It made no impact. He was shameless. Well, I knew that from what he twangled for helpless listeners. ‘You can do better than this, Scorpus.’

‘What are you after?’ He caved in. He had no interest in the fine practice of resistance. I was almost disappointed.

‘I want to know what you saw.’

‘Much the same as you did, I suppose,’ he retorted defiantly.

‘I was a guest. I couldn’t look around freely, and anyway I’ve been in that house before. I know he has a pornographic art collection, so don’t try to pass that off as news.’

‘Has he?’

‘He’s sold a lot of it. Somebody must have warned him he’s under observation.’

‘I can’t think who would warn that man of anything.’

‘Then you have more taste than I supposed! What have you told Laeta?’

‘I am bound to secrecy.’

‘Let me unbind you.’ I inspected the arms of his instrument, while prising apart the elegant yokes, forcing them against their cross-strut . . .

‘Oh leave off, Falco! I had nothing to tell Laeta, except a list of who attended. The Greek with the big beard was dire, I have to say.’

‘That Greek is a master of jurisprudence. He could sue you in three different courts for insulting him. He might even win.’

‘He’d have to be sober!’ The singer fought back with spirit. I had to stop this; I was starting to like him.

‘I know that the caterers were stealing, for a ransom scam. You must have seen them at it, at other parties. I know who’s paying them as well. Momus. You don’t want to tangle with that bastard.’

‘His money’s good, if you’re desperate.’

‘So you work for Momus too?’

‘Not if I can help it. Sometimes the landlord here is very demanding . . .’

I looked around. The place was bare and unappealing. Not as squalid as rooms I myself had parked in, but unsuitable for a court musician. He wouldn’t want Laeta to spot fleabites. ‘Whatever the rent, he’s overcharging! You can afford better.’

‘Who cares? I’m never here.’

‘Have some self-respect, man!’ I was turning into his wise old nurse. ‘What do you spend your fees on?’

‘Saving for a once-in-a-lifetime cruise to Greece.’ That figured.