"Damn it!" cried Thomasus. "Every time I have a dirty story, either you've heard it, or you know a better one."
Padway didn't see fit to tell the banker that he had read that bit of dirt in a book that hadn't yet been written, namely, the Anecdotes by Procopius of Caesarea.
Thomasus went on: "I've got a letter from my cousin Antiochus in Naples. He's in the shipping business. He has news from Constantinople." He paused impressively. "War."
"Between us and the Empire?"
"Between the Goths and the Empire, anyway. They've been carrying on mysterious dickerings ever since Amalaswentha was killed. Thiudahad has tried to duck responsibility for the murder, but I think our old poet-king has come to the end of his rope."
Padway said: "Watch Dalmatia and Sicily. Before the end of the year—" He stopped.
"Doing a bit of soothsaying?"
"No, just an opinion."
The good eye sparkled at Padway through the steam, very black and very intelligent. "Martinus, just who are you?"
"What do you mean?"