The Spook Who Spoke Again: A Flavia Albia Short Story by Lindsey Davis Page B

frowning seriously.
    ‘What are you thinking of, Postumus?’ demanded the props man in a suspicious tone. His name was Dama. He seemed a better class of person than the acrobats, though not much better.
    I gave him my mysterious smile. That normally settles a conversation. Most people who receive my mysterious smile go away in a hurry.
    I had got the hang of investigating, and the next stage would be something that always happens to annoy the investigator. That was clear because of what Dama said: ‘Ho, ho!’ He sounded alert and stern. ‘Don’t tell me you are looking for a means to protect yourself, young man?’

8
    This is what I mean about the next stage of the investigation. I know from my father and sister that when you have stirred up everyone sufficiently by your penetrating enquiries, the suspects and conspirators believe they have to defend themselves by trying to block you from asking any more questions. This is likely to involve some kind of violent attack on you. Suspects are always dim people who imagine you will be frightened off. They never reckon on courage and grit.
    What it tells you is that you have touched a nerve and are worrying them by coming too near the truth for comfort. This confirms you are being successful. You can take heart – though you must also be extremely careful and keep looking behind you wherever you go.
    Although Dama had suggested it was me who might need protection, I knew he must be bluffing. Underneath his question was a threat. What he meant was: ‘Are you wanting protection? – Because I am going to lure you down a dark alley and thump you horribly until you are covered in blood and can barely crawl home to be bandaged up and given hot soup.’
    Of course there were no alleys in the Circus of Gaius and Nero, though threateners who were small enough could crouch down and hide between the seats, ready to jump out at you.
    I gave Dama my thoughtful look, the one Albia says means I am considering whose head to put a hatchet in. Normally people who receive that smile then make themselves scarce. Sometimes I hear them muttering. If they complain to my parents, it used to be that Falco or Helena had a little talk with me, but they have now stopped bothering.
    ‘Oh,’ I replied coolly when he failed to leave the scene. ‘I am a boy, Dama. Naturally I like to pretend I am a soldier thwacking the enemy. I do it every day until my mother says, Alexander Postumus, do stop damaging the furniture and making such a racket. Please may I borrow this sword while nobody else is using it, so I can march around being a legionary in my imagination?’
    ‘No,’ said Dama.
    ‘It’s only a game, Dama.’
    ‘The theatre props are not toys, Postumus. Put it back immediately and don’t touch anything else.’
    I put back the sword tidily as soon as he told me to, like a meek obedient boy. This time I gave him my saddest look, all downcast and big brown eyes.
    ‘Cut it out,’ said Dama. ‘Now hop off and irritate somebody else.’
    I walked off as he had told me, still pretending to be well-behaved. I went far enough for him to think he had safely got rid of me, then I turned around. I was still in hearing distance. Of course I was, or there would have been no point.
    ‘Just one other thing, Dama, if you don’t mind.’ This is called tactics. Dama scowled. I ignored that. He was pretending I had not spoken to him. You have to carry on anyway, to catch them out. ‘What was the reason, please, why you thought I might need to protect myself?’ He wasn’t going to answer me, but I made myself look horribly anxious about it. ‘Am I in some kind of danger that I don’t know about?’ I sounded as nervous as I could. Since I didn’t know of any danger, I wasn’t really.
    Dama still made no answer but he stopped looking angry. I waited a little then walked back slowly until I was close up again. I was showing I trusted him utterly, so it was his duty to be kind to me. I sat down