Automata Romana

Chapter 12: Decluttering.

     "It's Alexios, he's been stabbed!"

The barriers of Heron's sanctum had been intruded upon by some dishevelled mess of a man. He had let him in, sure, but the loud banging on the door was an unwelcome surprise. Heron hadn't planned an evening of tending to the feelings of people he didn't know and helping clean a mess he had absolutely zero business being involved in. But, lo, that's what happened. As Hadrian ran out and the door clanged shut Heron found himself in his cluttered workshop alone, save a sweaty and heaving man laying on the floor next to him.

After a moment of standing there and considering the situation, Heron turned to walk away from the man on the floor who continued to heave.

     "Here, drink." Heron said a few minutes later as he handed a tall clay vase down to the stranger, now lying on his back.

The man grabbed the container and poured it all directly into his gaping mouth, most of it pouring over his face and chest.

Sitting up and putting his hands on the floor to either side of him, he gulped in before responding with a hoarse and breathy "Thanks."

     "Welcome." Heron returned plainly. "Now, clearly there's a situation here. But this is hardly the best place for that, and you ought have a bit more time for recovery. Whats say you to the cafeteria?"

     "What's the menu?" the man blurted out, an inkling of excitement and energy.

     "Ah, the eagerness! I love it! I could tell you, but wouldn't a surprise be more fun?" Heron said with a light sarcasm.

     "They have fruit juice?" the tired man said, shooting past Heron's attempt at a conversation.

     "No preformative rejection of gifts with you. Straight to the point. Yes, there's fruit juice."

     "Lead the way, then."

*****

     "Now, I don't believe that I've caught your name," said Heron. "Care to tell?"

The man responded to this by continuing to chug his tall mug of juice. Having clearly been too eager he broke into a coughing fit, spreading murky orange specks across the table. Once done with that business, he responded.

     "Oh, mine most gracious and generous host, I be the humble cook Macus. And hither beest no necessity for thou to tell me whomst thou art, for thine name is known in many circles."

     "So I've been told." Heron noted. "Now, I hear that there's been a murder. Do tell more, if that's well and right with you."

     "Ah, but of course. It twas, after all, how I was introduced to thyself!" Macus said in a slightly defeated chuckle.

     "Right you are." Heron nodded. "What happened, exactly?"

Macus then proceeded to describe the morning he had, from the bright, optimistic and refreshed beginning of the day to the sudden drop in the pit of his stomach when he stumbled upon a scene of wretched horror, all described with the most heart wrenching and beautifully poetic set of words Heron had ever heard. Truly, it was a spectacle to behold.

     "Well. I thank you for bringing clarity to this situation, quite certainly you've made the case for how dire it is. I'd like to ask, if I am not overstepping in doing so, if I might be of assistance."

     "How might thou beest' of that?" Macus asked. "And why?"

     "Naturally, I've come to know people who might be useful. Namely, I, through my brother, can get you discounted funerary supplies." Heron chirped, then adding "It's an off day, my favourite server at this luncheon house is visiting family. I'm terribly bored."