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I expect it always will. Perhaps I should ask old Bony for his opinion.”
    “Who is he—or was he?”
    “That’s what I named the skull when I was a child. Do you imagine you’re the only one who talks to inanimate representations? I used to have nightmares about old Bony. I’d hear a sound in the night and put my head under my coverlet. I imagined it was the skull, pulling itself up out of the tiles and rattling down the hallway after me. What kind of decoration would you choose for a lawyer’s office, John?”
    “Probably plain plaster. Are you certain you didn’t mention Zoe to anyone? We all have a little too much to drink at times and some of us become garrulous.”
    Anatolius refused to be offended at the implication. “If intoxication’s involved, the main suspect would be Felix. How long would I have lasted as Justinian’s private secretary if I gave away secrets every time I drank?”
    “A lover perhaps?” John persisted. “One’s reserve often gets lost in the bedroom.”
    “I’m sure it’s just what a woman wants to hear, John! Do you know, my little sparrow, you remind me of the girl on the Lord Chamberlain’s wall. The one he talks to at night. Why, I can tell you the most amazing things about the Lord Chamberlain. He loves grilled swordfish and—”
    “I concede the point, Anatolius! Setting aside the question of the name for now, then, first I want to find out the identity of the murdered woman. After that, I’ll be able to work backward to those responsible.”
    “Maybe she died in a brawl with a client. That’s a common enough end for some.”
    “Perhaps, but that’s irrelevant to the matter in hand. You see, Anatolius, I’ve always been convinced that, because of its individuality, the girl in the mosaic was a portrait of an actual person, perhaps the artisan’s daughter. If the mosaic maker is still alive, and I can find him, he might know who the model was.”
    Anatolius pondered the notion. “It’s a long time since the mosaic was created. It was in the house when you acquired it, as I recall.”
    “That’s right, a little less than ten years ago. The previous owner lost the place after the riots. He lost his head as well.”
    “Aside from so much time passing, those riots claimed a lot of lives and lately the plague has cut a swathe through the populace,” Anatolius pointed out. “I wouldn’t roll the knucklebones on your chance of finding the man you want to interview. I could ask one of the imperial clerks to consult the archives, given the house is on the palace grounds. There might be some record of payment for the work.”
    “Unless the previous occupant personally paid for the work. More importantly, I don’t want to alert anyone at court to my investigation. It’s purely a private matter.”
    “Yes, certainly. Very wise. But wouldn’t it be even wiser to forget the whole thing?”
    “That would be dangerous. The woman approached me for a reason. I am convinced she was killed because she was seen talking to me.”
    “Or it may have been a prank gone wrong, a mistake, a coincidence.”
    “Even so, I cannot be certain until I investigate.”
    “True enough, but that’s not why you want to investigate, is it? John, the woman who was murdered, even if she served as the model, wasn’t Zoe. She wasn’t the girl you conjure up in your solitary conversations.”
    “Do you think I don’t know that?”
    “I believe you know it, but I’m afraid you don’t feel it is so. We can’t reason ourselves out of what we feel. Take it from a former poet.”
    John observed he had looked into the murders of friends before.
    “But Zoe is family,” Anatolius pointed out. “She’s the daughter of your own imagination.”
    John shook his head. “You can’t persuade me, my friend.”
    “I thought not. And now how do you intend to begin?”
    “By making inquiries around the artisans’ quarter. I will say I admire the man’s work and want to engage him for another