The walk back from the Warehouse District was quieter than the journey there.
Marcus seed lost in thought. Arthur could hardly bla him.
They had found the place where Gaius died.
That alone was troubling.
The fact that nobody appeared eager to discuss it was even worse.
By the ti they reached the center of the city, the afternoon sun hung low above the rooftops. The streets remained crowded, though the atmosphere had changed. rchants were beginning to close their stalls while laborers hurried to finish their work before nightfall.
Arthur found himself paying less attention to the city than before.
His thoughts kept returning to the bloodstain.
To the mory.
To the fear he had felt that did not belong to him.
The sensation still lingered.
Not the fear itself.
The certainty behind it.
Gaius had known he was in danger.
That much seed obvious.
The question was why.
Marcus suddenly changed direction.
Arthur noticed imdiately.
This was not the route back to Gaius’s apartnt.
The soldier glanced over his shoulder and motioned for him to continue following.
Arthur obeyed.
At this point, Marcus possessed significantly more information than he did.
After several minutes, they arrived at a large administrative building overlooking a busy square.
Unlike most of the structures Arthur had seen so far, this one appeared almost painfully familiar.
Rows of officials moved in and out carrying tablets and scrolls.
ssengers hurried between offices.
Citizens waited in lines.
For a mont, Arthur forgot he was standing in ancient Ro.
Administration looked remarkably similar in every century.
Only the paperwork changed.
Marcus spoke briefly with a guard stationed near the entrance.
The man looked suspiciously at Arthur before eventually stepping aside.
A few monts later, they entered.
The interior was cooler than the street outside.
Long corridors stretched through the building. Small offices lined the walls. Everywhere Arthur looked, people were writing.
Wax tablets.
Parchnt.
Official records.
Reports.
Requests.
Complaints.
The Roman Empire, he realized, was held together by paperwork.
An oddly comforting thought.
Marcus led him toward a small room near the back of the building.
The door stood partially open.
Inside were two desks, several shelves, and enough docunts to bury a man.
Arthur stepped inside.
Sothing imdiately felt familiar.
Not consciously.
Instinctively.
His gaze moved toward the desk near the window.
The feeling grew stronger.
This had been Gaius’s workspace.
Marcus seed to reach the sa conclusion.
The soldier pointed toward the desk.
Then at Arthur.
"Gaius."
Arthur nodded.
The word no longer felt entirely foreign.
He approached slowly.
The desk was cluttered but organized. Stacks of tablets occupied one corner. Several sealed docunts rested in another.
Nothing appeared unusual.
At least initially.
Arthur sat down.
The chair creaked beneath his weight.
A strange feeling settled over him.
For the briefest mont, he knew exactly where everything should be.
Then the sensation vanished.
A fragnt.
Nothing more.
He opened the top drawer.
Inside were writing tools, spare wax tablets, and a small pouch containing a few coins.
Ordinary items.
The second drawer proved more interesting.
Several reports had been placed there.
Arthur struggled through the text.
His understanding of written Latin remained imperfect, but he recognized enough to identify a pattern.
Taxes.
Storage records.
Grain shipnts.
Trade inventories.
Administrative work.
Very boring administrative work.
Which raised another question.
Why would anyone murder a minor clerk?
Marcus was searching the shelves when he suddenly paused.
The soldier removed a wax tablet and stared at it for several seconds.
Then he carried it over.
Arthur examined it carefully.
Most of the writing ant little to him.
One section, however, had been scratched away.
Deliberately.
Soone had removed part of the text.
Marcus tapped the damaged area with one finger.
Then looked directly at Arthur.
Neither needed words.
Soone had hidden information.
The question was whether it had been Gaius or soone else.
Arthur leaned back in his chair.
For the first ti since arriving in Ro, he felt as though he was following a trail rather than wandering blindly.
The trail was faint.
Possibly dangerous.
But it existed.
And sowhere ahead lay the answer to why Gaius had died.
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