Five for Silver: A John, the Lord Chamberlain Mystery Read Online Free PDF

baker meant no grain to feed the rats and no rats to feed the cats.
    The creature glared balefully at John, who had nothing to give it.
    Only a few coins.
    No use at all to a hungry cat.
    John realized he was hungry too. It had been a long time since the chunk of bread that had formed his breakfast.
    The sun, now high overhead, drove all shadow from the streets here, a lengthy walk from the Great Palace grounds. John had made his way along the northern ridge from which, between buildings crowded conspiratorially together, he could occasionally glimpse the scintillant waters of the Golden Horn. He had planned his route to avoid climbing and reclimbing the seven-hilled city’s precipitous streets.
    Now, however, he decided to walk down toward the docks.
    When he reached a square facing the sea wall he was disappointed again. The seller of grilled fish, whose smoking brazier usually sat beside the marble statue of Emperor Anastasius, had gone. No sign of him remained except soot on the emperor’s chin and a few discarded fish bones, picked clean by seagulls.
    There were still a fair number of pedestrians. A traveler unaccustomed to the capital’s jostling masses might not have noticed how relatively few they were or how most maintained careful courses, keeping a safe distance from strangers—rather like ships navigating the harbor, except that the ships in the harbor were not moving. There wasn’t a sail to be seen, only a forest of bare masts.
    John recalled what Peter had said about his visits with Gregory. Sometimes they met at the Great Church or the Church of the Holy Apostles. Both were certainly places of some interest to Christians, but the latter was a long walk from John’s house. Was it was nearer to where Gregory lived? The thought occurred that there must be some record of where Gregory lived, either at the customs house or in the administrative warrens of the palace.
    John turned away from the sea wall and started back up the steep thoroughfare. He often walked, since he found he thought better when his feet were moving. Thus he knew the alleys and byways of the city well. He crossed the top of the ridge, navigated a series of side streets not quite narrow enough to be called alleyways, passed under the Aqueduct of Valens, and eventually reached the Church of the Holy Apostles.
    A motley assortment of associated ecclesiastical buildings all but hid the church. Not far beyond, the city’s inner wall stood guard. Impregnable to men, the walls had provided no defense against the plague.
    John looked up and down nearby streets until he found an establishment that appeared to be open. A pyramid chiseled above its entrance bore the admonition The Wise Man is Prepared . A plaque beside the door identified the establishment as belonging to one Paraskeve, Builder of Tombs of Distinction.
    John found the owner in the courtyard behind the shop, surrounded by the equivalent of a warehouse’s stock of marble, granite, and more exotic stones. Some were blank, awaiting the chisel, while others were in the midst of being carved into bas reliefs, cornices, or vine-entwined columns, or inscribed with appropriate verse.
    Paraskeve hurried over to greet John, beaming. He had one of those round, snub-nosed faces that never age yet never look quite adult. Over his work tunic he wore an embroidered rectangular apron.
    “How can I serve you, excellency?”
    “I’m trying to find a man I believe may live in the area. Do you know a customs official named Gregory?”
    “Yes, indeed I do.” Paraskeve looked crushed.
    “I shall naturally reimburse you for the information.”
    Paraskeve waved a stubby-fingered hand. “No. No, please, there is no need. I must apologize if my disappointment showed. The plague has all but carried my business off and I hoped you might wish to order…that is to say, for future use of course, not wishing any tragedy on your household, or in other words…” He floundered to a halt.
    “I