“Tomorrow, then,” I said to him over my shoulder. “I mean, today. Later.”
I spoke to empty air. Scaevola had moved back to his vigiles, and I was alone.
I stumbled along the wet lane to the Vicus Longus, hoping my feet knew where they were going. I never remembered turning into the street that led to the wine shop, but the next thing I knew cool, slim hands had caught my arms and guided me onwards.
I found myself bending my legs to climb the stairs to the apartment, a fresh, rainy breeze sweeping through it from the balcony.
The same cool hands relieved me of my sopping tunic. I felt dim amazement that the ever-modest Cassia would undress me, then my bunk in the corner seemed to rise to meet me, and I knew nothing more.
When I groggily raised my head again, I was lying flat on my bed against the wall, a blanket draped over my naked body. I was warm and dry, but I’d snored so heavily that the sound of it had awakened me.
Cassia sat at the table, head bent over a scroll. Tablets, papyrus, and many more scrolls took up every inch of space on the table’s flat top. I muzzily wondered where I’d eat my breakfast.
The light from the balcony and the tiny window above told me it was far past breakfast, the day marching into afternoon. Rain splashed quietly outside, the breeze through the apartment cool and damp. Someone must have opened the shutters for Cassia—possibly the wine merchant or his wife—as they were too heavy for her to lift.
“Have you been at that all day?” My voice rasped, my throat aching from the smoke I’d inhaled.
Cassia lifted her head, her smile beaming. “And most of the night.” The smile widened, Cassia’s eyes aglow as they only were when she was deep into her reading. “I have discovered many things.”
Chapter 18
We had nothing to eat or drink, so Cassia’s discoveries would have to wait until I returned with food. She half-rose, as though to go forage for us, but I waved her to her seat and went to the baker myself.
A lingering tang of smoke coated the air, but it was nothing dangerous. The diligence of the vigiles and others who’d joined in had saved the Quirinal from destruction.
At the bake shop, Quintus nearly threw the bread at me, so little did he want to deal with me. He had once almost had me arrested and blamed for a murder—now he gave us free loaves in compensation. I tucked the bread into the bag I’d brought and stopped next at the popina for a bowl of stew to take home.
Blasius, who looked as though he’d slept on his stool by the doorway all night, heaved himself up and plucked at my arm.
“Give us coin, Leonidas.”
I tugged myself from him impatiently. “What for? The landlord feeds you.”
Blasius pushed out his lip. “You took away my livelihood. Ruined my dice.”
“I ruined the stew.” I doubted it had stopped the landlord from selling it or people from eating it. “And kept you from being executed for cheating.”
“It’s not cheating.” Blasius drew himself up. “It makes the game more challenging.”
“You have no idea how close you came to being caught by the wrong man,” I said. “You should thank me for saving your life.”
Blasius spit at me. The spittle did not reach me but hit the floor, earning an aggrieved sigh from the landlord.
Blasius suddenly went still, sucking in his cheeks. I turned to find Scaevola outside the popina, frowning impatiently at Blasius. Blasius scuttled back to his stool, apparently wanting to avoid arrest today.
Scaevola had wiped the soot off his face, but he was still haggard, bruises of exhaustion beneath his eyes.
“Did you sleep at all?” I asked.
“A little.” Scaevola scrubbed at his short hair, which still held powdery ash. “We’re investigating how the fire started.”
“Isn’t it usually a fallen oil lamp or some such?”
“Not always. If I find out that someone deliberately set it, I won’t hold myself back from beating them blue before I give them to the cohorts.”
I suppressed a shudder—both in horror that someone would purposefully start a fire and for that man’s ultimate punishment. Arsonists were burned alive.
Scaevola bent an eye on Blasius as he spoke, and I wondered if he thought Blasius had been the cause of the fire. I did not think so, as Blasius had been in this popina last night when the blaze had started, but Blasius managed to look guilty under Scaevola’s glare.
