After climbing the six flights of stairs up the apartment building in the old Fountain Court (which has never had either fountain or court) what the exhausted and probably desperate client expects to find is the office of a gruff, moody, loner of a man; the type of informer with a hard stare and rough hands; an outsider whose idea of human relationships is limited to the new woman he picks up each case he gets. That, or the famous informer, M. Didius Falco, who doesn't exactly fit that mould but does have an impressive track record when it comes to his cases.

In these situations, there tends to be some disappointment.

For Flavia Albia (now currently occupying her father's old office) looks no more than a demure matron in some fairly unpleasant lodgings — if not someone prone to a few eccentricities, because that's perhaps the nicest way to describe a woman who takes up a man's job at a time when the emperor would rather such an occupation not exist at all. Wait for her to open her mouth, and you might be surprised by the efficient and businesslike demeanour, garnished with a healthy dose of cynicism and sarcasm (you try dealing with the worst of society on a daily basis and see what your world outlook ends up as). Hire her and you'll probably not regret it ; she has a keen eye for details and a determination to get to the bottom of matters that one ought to admire in an informer — she'll lie to the vigiles in a bid to stay on a case, and travel to obscure regions just to get a testimony from a witness, not to mention deal with and protect some of the more irritating and/or unfortunate individuals out there in the name of her profession.

The thing is, she would like to be independent — Albia prefers to make her own way in the world and not become overly comfortable relying on others — you'd think that after a childhood on the streets, she'd want to take every opportunity to indulge, but there's a distinct difference between seizing upon a chance (the decision to be adopted into the Didii) and avoiding falling into a trap of laziness and entitlement (as most aristocrats are wont to). She hasn't much esteem for those who manage to, and outright states not wanting a husband or a lover who would do so (one can only assume that her husband, Lentullus, was the plucky, hardworking sort). Like her father, she doesn't put much faith in the rich (who are generally also the unpleasant), although she at least has the ability to blend in with them — a helpful skill her mother taught her (proving the benefits of having one half of your family from senatorial stock — and if you were wondering, she does feel hypocritical when she does so, but what can you do).

Evidently, she owes much to her family, who plucked her out of poverty and adopted her after a visit to Londinium (well, Helena Justina decided upon it; Falco, like all good Roman paterfamilias, went along with his wife). After fourteen years on the streets, a civilising campaign was brought down upon her, allowing Albia to learn the things all good Roman children must; though she may have been difficult and moody at the time, afraid of being given up on and abandoned eventually, she emerged in one piece, a functioning member of society (with the added bonus of her father's eye for detail and her mother's social know-how). She carries a fierce loyalty for all her family, irritating little sisters and slightly unnerving brother included; though she lives away from them she still makes frequent visits, discussing her work with them and celebrating festivals together. She'll not bring home any potential suitors unless she's terribly sure about them, but then, when your father is a renowned informer capable of digging the dirt up on each and every one of them, you'd be wary too. All this offers her a feeling of belonging she clings to passionately (you are never going to earn her trust if you say or do anything unjust towards them), but which does have its limitations.

She is, after all, a self-confessed outsider (this is, again, one of those British street-child things). For all her speaking like a Roman, acting like a Roman, dressing like a Roman (and, of course, the all-important certificate of citizenship), Albia admits to a feral nature that puts her apart from her (generally) more civilised countrymen. Spending your formative years fighting for your life on a daily basis changes you in a way you can't quite shake off; years later an ill-made comment, a threatening statement, can set her off in dangerous ways. Her run in with Tiberius, who accuses her of murder, ends with his hand impaled by a skewer on the table of a bar (he gets better). The potential for unthinking and animal displays of violence is not something she is proud of — Albia finds herself both angered and shaken by an event which brings back all the worst memories of her earlier life, slinking back home after she patches him up, unable to work — her unRoman wildness not only scares Romans, but her own self, too.

At the same time, her status allows her a more critical view on Roman society. Whilst it's evident she doesn't dislike her adopted home, certain aspects of life — notably the barbarism that occurs during the festival of Ceres, during which foxes are set alight — frustrate and repel her. It is with disappointment rather than anger than Albia relates the way in which the Romans choose to honour the goddess who brought them civilisation with acts that suggest the opposite. Her affinity towards wild animals, whom she notes were once often kinder to her than human beings, reveals a certain compassionate nature, despite her hidden wildness, and can result in an interesting mix — around the time of the Ceres festival, Albia goes about the city, surreptitiously setting free the animals unlucky enough to be caught; in a particularly bold move, she even goes so far as to release foxes being held in the temple of Ceres proper (that the temple almost burns down, however, is the fault of her gleefully amoral companion — she does have her own limits). This sort of working against the authorities is dangerous and particularly illegal, though in the face of her own beliefs, a bit of recklessness doesn't seem too problematic for her. She admits to having done unwise things before — putting herself in danger's way in order to catch criminals — in that sort of situation she simply neglects to tell potentially worried parents until the danger has passed.

She is not entirely fearless, she is not the strongest (though displays enough athleticism to make daring escapes through bathhouse windows), she does not do the dirty work of paranoid emperors in order to earn a cosy wage; in her profession, she is small fry and is always acutely aware of the disadvantages her gender brings her — most of her work involves finding wayward husbands and the like (she can't really afford being picky). She can't just brush off mistakes or instances of unprofessional conduct — especially if they can be related back to some feminine weakness — she knows when to admit to screwing up and is perfectly capable of retracing her steps and doing things the right way. Even then, there are times when a misstep or two can prove exceptionally demoralising (note to self: try not to fall for the guy who turns out to be the murderer, no matter how charming he is at first). The moping is generally saved for her own private moments; since the death of her husband, she has an apartment to herself — a rather more comfortable deal than her office in the same building — a sanctuary that is off limits, even to the occasional lover.

Perhaps the best way of summing up her personality is with one of her own comparisons: like the foxes of Rome she feels such an affinity with, she is inherently untameable — but treat her with enough kindness, earn her trust, and you'll have one fiercely loyal friend by your side.

THE FAMILY BUSINESS | ability Being an informer means being observant — Albia has an eye for detail and a thirst for facts that come in handy in her line of work. She's not the superstitious type, eager to blame mysterious deaths as the work of magic or random acts of bored gods, but follows through the information she collects with logical thinking, piecing them together until she has the complete picture (entirely removed from a world she's familiar with, things may become a little difficult for her). She's certainly not perfect of infallible, but she does have years of experience behind her.

LIKE A LADY | ability From her father she picked up a the basics of deduction, from her mother, the social manners and graces needed to move around society freely. She knows how to behave in certain circumstances in order to convince others that she's only a frail and harmless widow, twisting the expectations of Roman society to her advantage.

ALL GREEK TO ME | ability Being educated late in life by no means dampened her enthusiasm for learning. Becoming a Roman included getting a traditional Roman education — which meant that she also studied Greek, the lingua franca of the Empire. It saves paying for an interpreter, in any case.

SOMETHING WILD ABOUT HER | ability Apparently, you can take the girl out of Londinum, but she will still be prone to jumping out of windows in daring escapes, or taking part in exciting chase scenes over a decade later. She's a little more athletic than most, yes, which does help in her profession. Though no professional, Albia is also capable of defending herself, having taken down a burglar on her own doorstep.

Rain in August; the briefest of reprieves from the relentless heat. Buildings and monuments are covered with a dull sheen, droplets of water hang off the noses of status—today, the Divine Augustus suffers from an embarrassing cold. The streets of Rome are not empty, though most of its citizens are under some sort of shelter if they can help it. Flavia Albia’s quick movements are hampered by the water squelching beneath her boots, and her dress and tunic, clinging to her body, heavy and damp.

The man ahead of her does not notice the way she follows him—though this comes as no particular surprise. He is, for all intents and purposes, supposed to be a missing person, and fits this role insofar he has failed to return to his proper place of residence—and to his wife—in over a month. One bout of innocuous questioning around his old haunts later, she had a lead on his whereabouts; Fortune must have forgotten to scorn her, because the lead became more than a sighting. Cases like these are not the sort of thing that Albia cares to take on all that often, but since other work has failed to materialise, the least she can do is bring in an errant husband and get a few denarii out of it. This is not, after all, a profession she went into because she thought it might be glamorous (watching her father at work taught her that, as did the great deal of trouble she had got herself into the first time she played amateur sleuth), rather than a means to independence; one that she happens to have a particular knack for.

She’s done this before anyway, more times than she cares for. The fellow usually has new lodgings, a new lady friend, and no intention of going back to a wife he’s bored of—her plebeian grandfather had been that man before, and her father had never forgiven him for it. This is, however, not what sparks Albia’s own contempt; she hates the general callousness, they way these people don’t think about the consequences of their actions, or rather, attempt to weasel out of facing them. Albia is more than aware that this world is not one rife with justice and fairness—she doesn’t let that stop her from valuing such things.

By the time he stops to take a break at a bar, the rain has just about petered out and Albia is left shivering. Afternoon is turning to evening; the first stars are out, innocent bystanders twinkling out the message that it isn’t too wise to stay out so late. This advice she takes—better to take up work in the morning than risk catching a chill or falling victim to the countless night-time crimes taking place in the city. She knows where she is and how to return here…

…though considering how the area will be a murder scene by the morning, she'll regret not waiting a little while longer.