‘Where are you Memor? Where are you? I need you!’

Patricius vomited. He looked down at the half-digested gruel, then sicked up the rest of it. Then he straightened up and looked around: people going about their daily business. Nobody took any notice of the tall, thin boy leaning against the alley wall. He smelt food. There was a taberna nearby selling bread, sausages, cheeses; there was even a thermopolium keeping food warm at the front counter. A group of men laughed as they drank their cervisia. This wasn’t like the last place. Not that he had ever been out of his cell back then. But he had heard sounds of people in the streets – or Patricius assumed that they had been streets – beneath his window. But he had never seen anybody for the openin...

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