Successio by Alison Morton Read Free Book Online Page B

Today’s strong sunlight emphasised the flaking portico columns, and the red brickwork exposed here and there, but the world wouldn’t end if they weren’t re-faced. I left my side arm in the vestibule safebox and made my way through to the atrium.
    ‘Carina. I am honoured. Both of you within a day. Dear me.’
    ‘Don’t give me that bullshit, Uncle Quintus.’ I grinned at him, leaned over and kissed his cheek. ‘You know why I’m here.’
    A little over eighty, Quintus still thought and spoke like the clever politician he’d been. Not only that, he had the sharpest sense of survival I’d ever seen and everything was subordinate to it. I loved him dearly.
    He gestured me to a seat by the window overlooking the garden. Only the night irrigation was keeping anything green in this summer’s heat. But this evening a breeze was just starting to relieve the heaviness of today’s exceptional temperature. I was sure we’d have storm rain tonight. A servant brought us wine, then we were completely alone.
    ‘Is this an official visit?’
    I wore my PGSF summer uniform; I’d come straight from work.
    ‘Believe me, Quintus, if this was an official Mitela family visit, I’d have half the family council here to support me.’
    The Mitelae were the senior of the original Twelve Families who’d founded Roma Nova. Endowed with privilege, the Twelve had been the ruler’s supporters and servants for over sixteen hundred years. But to balance it, they had greater responsibilities. They served the imperatrix while protecting their own families and the Roma Novan society they’d helped found. The Families’ Code regulated and balanced affairs between these powerful families in a fair but disciplined way. Undemocratic, but it kept order. It worked.
    Technically, Conrad had violated the code by not disclosing voluntarily about Nicola, but how stupid would it have been for me to discipline him for that?
    ‘You underestimate yourself, Carina. You’re sufficiently terrifying by yourself.’
    I smiled at him. He smiled back.
    ‘I thought we’d have a little chat, just between ourselves,’ I said. ‘Not only do I not want to make it official, I want your advice.’
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘C’mon, Uncle Quintus, don’t be difficult. I really do need your help.’
    His eyes scrutinised my face for some moments. He waved his hand, inviting me to speak. I knew he’d manoeuvre me to be first up to bat.
    ‘I don’t know what Conradus has discussed with you and I don’t suppose you’ll tell me.’ I glanced at him. The expression on his face was impassive. He waited for me to continue. ‘I’m concerned he didn’t confide in me when we were in London,’ I said. ‘I only found out by accident.’
    He grimaced. ‘Conradus put it in rather stronger terms. “Sneaky” and “underhand” were somewhere in the conversation.’
    ‘Whatever. What did he expect from another spook?’
    We sat in silence for a few moments. I heard faint sounds of crockery being set on surfaces from his dining room. Of course, like many older people he ate early.
    ‘Quintus, I only want to help. I’m worried he’ll internalise it and get depressed like after the accident.’
    A little over six months ago, Conrad and I had been out on a rare shopping expedition in the old quarter of the city. Fed up and impatient to get home, we’d headed for a short cut through a narrow alley behind the shops. Just before it opened on to the Via Nova, we’d heard shouting and crying. In front of a recessed timber-framed building we found a stocky, middle-aged man smacking a kid of around six or seven. The kid cowered in the old beam-framed doorway, pinioned by the man’s hand against the timber door. The man’s other hand travelled back and forth across the boy’s face and side of his head, palm and back of hand hitting the child with increasing ferocity. It wasn’t a casual slap or two, it was systemised beating.
    With an almost feral cry of ‘Nooo!’ Conrad