Free Saboteur: A Novel by J. Travis Phelps

for not liking his poems, which he
read to them incessantly while captive. His outrage that they had only offered
fifty talents for his ransom, claiming he was worth five times that. His
promise to return and capture and crucify them, which he made good on. Out of
the corner of his eye he could see Samara, who now seemed focused on the man in
the hat too. Downy turned toward back to the screen to pull up a slide of the
Campus Martius, where Roman politics had played out in the first century and then
of course the slide of the newly discovered Theater of Pompey, where Caesar had
actually been slain. It was Charlie’s discovery in fact, his last contribution
to the field he so loved. He had completely forgotten that Charlie was in the
picture pointing proudly at the very spot where Caesar had probably fallen and
of course Samara was in the audience. Downy looked up at the picture and went
silent. He put the clicker on the podium in front of him.
    “This final slide shows our own
Professor Charles Patterson, known affectionately as the man with the Midas
touch, pointing to the location of Caesar’s assassination at the foot of the
statue of Pompey the Great, his rival, one of the great archeological finds of
our century. Caesar himself had the statue erected to honor his slain
adversary. It was his style to be gracious in victory, overly so in fact. More
on that later. Let it be an inspiration that there are still many great
discoveries to be made by studying the past. I’m sorry,” he said, “that’s all we
have time for today.” An hour went by faster than he could believe sometimes.
Few moved in their seats though and he knew he would be staying around to
answer lots of questions.
    He looked for Samara, but her seat
was now empty. He hoped he hadn’t upset her. He turned and standing in front of
him was the man in the hat.
    “Hello, it’s Taro right?”
    The man stepped closer, which was
unfortunate. The smell of body odor hit him like a wave. Downy tried to plug
his nose, but to no avail.
    “Yes, yes professor. My name is Guy
actually, but friends call me Taro. I know what an incredibly busy man you must
be, but I wonder if you will accept this letter of recommendation? I know it is
somewhat an old custom, but where I come from such a thing is still highly
valued. I would like to schedule an appointment to speak with you, once you
have had a chance to read it of course.” He handed a rolled parchment to Downy.
    “Thank you, thank you, please come
by my office any time though, really no letter is necessary.”
    “How wonderful of you, still the
letter may help explain some things in advance. I will schedule an appointment
then.”
    The man’s English was good enough,
but he could tell it took great effort for him to put his thoughts together in
what was clearly a foreign tongue for him. There was Italian in there, but
Italian from the country, rustic even. He tried to place the accent, but it too
was somehow indistinct.
    The man bowed a half bow and turned
to go. Some of the other students waiting in line watched suspiciously,
snickering and laughing as he walked away, half at the smell and half at the
bow. There was something overly formal in the man’s demeanor, but he smiled as
he left, seeming unfazed. Downy felt bad sometimes for older students who faced
the wrath of the younger one’s sense of what was cool and what wasn’t. Downy
stared at the line of students and sighed. He needed a chair. It looked like he
wasn’t going to be leaving anytime soon.

Chapter
12
    The moonlight made it possible
to see in both directions and most importantly up the hill to the carriage. The
horses would be spooked if anyone disturbed them, so the man felt free to taste
the first true air of relief. The water was very cold, but it didn’t matter. He
stripped off his clothing. In his state he needed something to slow down his
heart, the heat of his fevered mind. In the darkness he lay on his back and
floated toward the