Three for a Letter by Mary Reed, Eric Mayer

I’ll send word to you immediately. One who murders a child deserves all that he gets, but first he must be caught and I’ll do whatever I can to assist you to do that.” Isis waved a soft, beringed hand emphatically to underline her words.
    John parted with yet another coin. He and Isis were old friends, but business was business and their friendship never interfered with that.
    ***
    As he left Isis’ establishment, John realized it would soon be time for his audience with Justinian. He would have to attend even though his search for Barnabas or information concerning his whereabouts had so far proved fruitless. He had not really expected to find his quarry in the crowded city but he had, he hoped, contrived to provide himself with several extra pairs of eyes to keep watch for the missing mime.
    His walk back to the palace took him past the theater. He briefly considered stepping in again to have another word with Brontes. However, deciding against a second visit, he instead cut down a short alley nearby. Emerging into the sunlight of another nondescript square, he had to step quickly aside to avoid treading on a three-legged cat that suddenly scuttled across his path.
    The cat loped with remarkable speed to the portico of a warehouse a few paces away. Sitting there was a woman he had hoped to find. He had encountered her in the course of a previous investigation when she had provided him with valuable information about life on the streets of the city.
    “Pulcheria!” he greeted her.
    The woman looked up, startled. There was no mistaking her. Her hair was decorated with colored scraps of ribbon, her clothes a wild, layered collection of garish tatters. More memorable yet, while one side of her face retained a hint of its youthful beauty, the other was a shapeless mass where the flesh had melted like a guttering candle, the result of burning lamp oil flung at her by an unhappy client. She fixed John with her one good eye as her mouth made half a smile.
    “Do you remember me?” John asked.
    She got to her feet in a flurry of multi-hued rags. “Who could forget such a tall, handsome fellow? And a man of mystery, no less! I see that you’re much better dressed than when we first met, excellency. Perhaps your fortune has changed for the better? Though I think it’s much more likely that it is now exactly as it was then.”
    “I apologize if you feel that I misled you when we first met, my friend.”
    “Friend? When was the last time you visited me? Come now, you’re here on business, plain and simple, and nothing more. Am I not right?”
    It was true, John admitted. “Then tell me, you’re familiar with the theater in the next square?”
    “Of course. When there’s a performance there’s not a street anywhere near it that can boast a single one of us working folks. We all go over there where we can easily find clients.”
    “Do you have an acquaintance with any of the actors who work there?”
    Pulcheria nodded, the bright ribbons in her black, matted hair fluttering.
    John quickly described the man he was seeking.
    “Barnabas, you mean?” Half of the woman’s face creased into a grin. “Sometimes on a summer day I hear what sounds like thunder, as if a great storm is approaching over the sea, yet there’s not a cloud in the sky. Then I realize that Barnabas must be performing and the thunder I think I hear is the laughter of his audience. I remember when I first came to live in this square, excellency. I was rendering service in that very alley and my client suddenly became incapable from laughter. I was mortified, fearing he would not pay me, but he told me not to mind, he was just recalling Barnabas. He’d seen his act with the phalluses not long before. And in fact he did pay me, despite lack of satisfaction.”
    Her one good eye looked intently at John as she continued. “Of course, excellency, if I should hear anything that would assist you…”
    John pressed two coins, rather than the single coin