Elodie Harper

“But he is!” Victoria insists, her face solemn. “It’s Mr GarlicFarticus who runs that fast-food place near the baths!”
“He was kind of smelly.” Dido looks a little brighter as she starts to play the game.
“And garlicky. And farty.” Victoria nods. “Yes, definitely him. Mr GarlicFarticus.”

“Amara is not a name I have heard before,” he says, when they are lying facing one another in the dark. “I take it it is not your real name.”
“My master gave it to me,” she says, and the mention of Felix is like the cold of a knife laid flat against her heart. “He told me it is halfway between love and bitterness.”
“Yes, amare, amarum,” he says. “A bit poetic for a pimp.”

Amara picks up the bundle of clothes, expecting to find coins slipped between her robes. But whatever it is, it is much heavier. She draws out the scroll Pliny has left her. On Pulses by Herophilos.