"Of course."

"He should do," I growled. Now it was my turn to attack the spy: "Anacrites may be disorganized, but even he rarely forgets occasions when he sends agents into hostile territory, then deliberately writes to let the local ruler know to look out for them. I owe this man a great deal, Laeta. But for my own ingenuity he might have had me tied out on a rock in the Nabataean desert for all the crows of Petra to pick clean my bones. And in the case of unwelcome visitors I don't believe the cruel Nabataeans bother to kill you first."

"Falco exaggerates," Anacrites smirked. "It was a regrettable accident."

"Or a tactical ploy," I returned coolly. "If I was at fault, I apologize."

"Don't bother," I told him. "For one thing you're lying, and for another, it's a pleasure to continue hating your guts."

"Falco is a wonderful agent," Anacrites said to Laeta. "He knows almost everything there is to know about tricky foreign missions-and he learned it all from me."

"That's right," I agreed mildly. "Campania, two years ago. You taught me all the mistakes and bungles. All the ways to upset local sensitivities, trample the evidence and fail to come home with the goods. You showed me that-then I went out and did the job properly. The Emperor still thanks me for learning to avoid your mistakes that summer!"

Laeta took a turn: "I'm sure we all profit from your mutual past relationship!" He was letting Anacrites know I was working for him now. "The entertainment is starting," Laeta smiled in my direction. The general noise in the room had dropped in response to signs of impending action from the dancer. Laeta patted me on the shoulder-a gesture I found highly annoying, though I made sure Anacrites did not see me react. "Stay and enjoy yourself, Falco; I'd like to hear your opinion in due course…" It was obvious he was not talking about the musicians. He wanted Anacrites to think something was going on. Well, that suited me.