Jail Bait (37 page)

‘Here,’ she called.

With his face black from temper and smoke, Tarraco turned towards her. Just in time to catch the spear which came flying towards him. ‘What’s this for?’ he growled.

As the roof of the storehouse collapsed in on itself, Claudia jabbed a finger in the direction of Lais’ chamber. ‘I thought it was about time we hunted some bears,’ she said.

There’s at least one hide I want nailed to my wall
.

XLI

They may not have fallen for the cheap diversion, but Lais and her cronies were far from relaxed. One peep behind the second tapestry revealed four people in varying degrees of agitation.

On the left, Cyrus, half-drunk, throwing his chubby hands in the air in a frantic effort to convince Kamar that the fire was the result of a lightning strike on the villa. Janus-fucking-Croesus, how could it be the army? He was the tribune, for gods’ sake, didn’t he have the garrison firmly under control? No buts, Kamar, that was hysteria spewing from the mouths of frightened slaves. They too, he snarled, hand on his scabbard, were overreacting.

At the far end of the room, Pul had his great curved blade drawn and was swishing it about in a series of practice decapitations, and Lais, the Queen herself, was marching up and down the lamplit chamber, clenching and unclenching her fists, shouting to everyone to sit down. Just sit down and shut the fuck up.

‘Now,’ Claudia whispered. There’d never be a better time, they were rattled and edgy and, despite how they saw themselves, all four were offguard at the moment. ‘I’ll take Lais and Kamar,’ she hissed, ‘and leave the soft touches for you.’

Beside the Argonaut tapestry, Tarraco grinned and
hefted the spear in his hand. ‘Are you sure?’ he mouthed back. ‘Is not too late to swap.’

Out in the courtyard, a spark from the west wing dodged the raindrops and was caught by the long line of clipped box. For a count of five, it was touch and go between wet leaves and oily resins, then whoosh! Half a bush was alight in an instant.

Claudia and Tarraco watched the flames zip along the line and exchanged glances. What he had failed to achieve, nature amended. Another minute and the fire would spread to this wing…

Claudia’s eyes flashed to the bed and the bulky tables and chests. There was only one way into that room. Therefore only one exit. She swallowed hard. An hour ago, in the underground tomb, she would cheerfully have barricaded Lais into her den and set light to the fire herself. But that was theory. This was practice. Could she hack it in cold blood?

Was there an option?

One boat, which the Spaniard had hidden. Four killers. Three survivors, one seriously wounded. If she ran fast enough, she would not hear their screams as they burned alive in that room.

Her hands were shaking as she turned to face Tarraco, but one glimpse of his rigid jaw was enough. White knuckles gripped the cherrywood shaft of his lance and in his right hand, he weighted a short stabbing sword. For him this had become a crusade. A matter of honour. Self-respect. All those years of pandering to petulant old women, long nights making love with the lights off, there was a debt to be settled, for which he was prepared to lay down his life.

His dark eyes circled round to hers, and now he was looking past the reflection of the burning bushes, to lay bare her emotions and scour her soul.

‘You must go,’ he rasped. ‘Take the patrician back to Atlantis. This is my fight, not yours.’

Talons gripped Claudia’s gut. Orbilio, white from loss of blood, lying underneath the willow. Cal, sprawled red and helpless on the shingle. She had sworn to avenge the one, and now the other’s life depended on her rowing him to safety. Another box tree burst into flames. Due to the pressure of making that one vow of vengeance, Claudia had sought refuge with the one man outside the unholy mess in Atlantis—only to find him in it up to his eyebrows. And willing to die for the cause. This is my fight, he had said. He was right. Showers of resinous sparks hit the door, the door jamb, and the drapes.

But it was also Claudia’s battle.

Lais had left Orbilio for dead, and condemned Claudia to an agonizing death. That she was responsible for the death of a number of innocent victims was one thing.
Now it was personal.

‘For goodness sake, Tarraco,’ Claudia winked as she swept aside the Golden Fleece, ‘someone has to show you how this thing is done.’

As she flung open the secret door, she thought she heard a man tell her that he loved her, but then again, it was probably the crackle of the flames around the threshold and the growl of the sky overhead.

‘Ladies,’ she breezed. ‘Am I interrupting your embroidery lessons?’

Eight eyes swivelled and suddenly each figure was frozen like marble. For one brief, delicious second, Claudia felt the same rush of power that Medusa must have felt when, with one look, her victims were turned to stone. But the moment was fleet, broken by the sudden rush for weaponry. Beside her, Tarraco began kicking over tables and chairs, to confuse and distract the enemy, then the sobering tribune and Pul lunged towards him.

Claudia advanced towards the self-styled Queen of the Lake and her lanky physician, brandishing the knife in her hand.

‘By the gods, you meddlesome bitch,’ Lais spat, ‘you’ve no idea how I hate you!’

‘You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?’ From the corner of Claudia’s eye, she was aware of three men slugging it out, and it was clear from Lais’ lack of action, that she expected her own men to win. Her assumption was probably correct…

Kamar, however, had gone straight into panic, giving Claudia a chance to shorten the odds. Jabbing the knife at his face, she danced towards him, and with each step she advanced, he backed up, until finally his back was hard up against the wall and the blade was an inch from his nose.

‘I surrender, I surrender,’ he squealed, holding both hands up. In the glow of the lamplight, Claudia noticed a satisfying weal down his cheek. ‘Let me go and I swear, on the life of my mother, I swear I’ll tell you everything. Names, dates, the lot! P-please. Let me go.’

Last time, buster, I believed you were scared. Now you’ve wet yourself, I know you mean business.

‘Scum.’ Lais turned on Kamar. ‘Sell me out, would you?’ Her lip curled back. ‘I don’t think so!’

Something flew past Claudia’s ear. Kamar screamed. His eyes bulged. ‘Lais?’ he spluttered weakly and, disbelieving, goggled at the cleaver protruding from the pit of his stomach. ‘Lais?’

‘How very kind,’ Claudia told her. ‘I didn’t realize you were on the side of the good and the great.’

Across the room, Pul dropped to his knees, blood pouring from a deep cut on his chest, and Claudia heard the clash of raw metal as Tarraco engaged Cyrus in hand-to-hand combat. Around the door, flames had taken hold of both tapestries, blocking the only way out.

‘You!’ The older woman sneered. ‘Think you’re a match for me?’

Nonchalantly, Claudia tossed her thin blade from hand to hand and back again. ‘More than.’

And I don’t want you dead, after all, Lais, my love. I want you alive. Screaming for mercy in front of the families of those you have either murdered or driven to ruin. Oh, yes. I want you alive.

The place was a bloodbath. Against the wall, Kamar had slumped to the floor in a puddle of urine, gibbering, clutching the handle of Lais’ cleaver as thick scarlet fluid pumped through his fingers. Pul was back on his feet, the three men slithering and slipping in red, sticky pools as steel crashed against steel. The knees, Tarraco! Slash at the knees! But Claudia dare not call out, lest the tribune or Pul tried the tactic.

‘Well?’ she asked Lais. ‘What are you waiting for?’ Behind her, one of the rafters caught alight. ‘Old bones too stiff to take a young woman on?’

‘Bitch! You’ll pay for that.’

The more agitated Lais became, the more mistakes she would make, and in contrast, the calmer she portrayed herself, the more confident Claudia actually felt. She followed Lais’ glance to where her henchmen were fighting the wrath of her husband. No doubt that his passion doubled his efforts, but the battle could still go either way—

‘Then you’d better hurry,’ Claudia said. ‘I’m booked for a massage at eight.’

That did it. With a hiss of fury, Lais hurled a footstool through the air, and as Claudia ducked, she surged towards the table. Smoke had obliterated the three fighting men, but not the fruit knife Lais was after.

‘Shame,’ Claudia tutted. ‘Just four inches, eh? No wonder you couldn’t get enough of the Spaniard.’

Under the pancake of cosmetics, rage coloured her ravaged face and a claw lashed round the hilt of the fruit knife. Hard eyes glittered in the smoke-filled room, twin mirrors of the blaze round the door frame. Come on, come on, Claudia willed. Lunge at me, Lais. She twizzled her own thin-bladed knife in the air as a taunt. Lunge at me, you evil cow.

A stranger to physical action, Lais made an ineffectual thrust through the air.

‘Tut, tut.’ Claudia tightened her grip on the object she’d seized and hidden behind her back. ‘Is that the best you can do?’

Lais glanced round. She was alone in facing the enemy. She had no option but fight—

For a dance of twelve steps, they sized up and parried, oblivious to the flames and the smoke, until with a bloodcurdling scream Lais lost her temper. She charged forward, stabbing hard. Claudia dived, sticking out a judicious foot as she fell. Lais tripped, and Claudia smiled to herself. Gotcha. Dropping her knife, she grasped with both hands the piece of wood she’d concealed behind her back and cracked it down hard on Lais’ head. The harpy’s eyes rolled upwards and she sank face forward on to the mosaic floor.

‘Nothing communicates quite like a piece of four by two,’ Claudia told her unconscious majesty, picking a splinter out of her finger. ‘And how are you feeling, Kamar?’ The physician was incoherent with pain and fear and shock. ‘Up to standing trial? I think we can patch you up enough for that.’

The fire had taken a hold, crackling the rafters and devouring Lais’ prized treasure chests. Remus! The ceiling would crash any minute.

‘Tarraco?’ Suddenly she couldn’t see for the smoke.
‘Tarraco?’

She was coughing now, couldn’t speak. Tiles showered down, sending up clouds of plaster and clay and knocking Claudia off her feet. When the dust settled and she hauled herself upright, she could feel rain on her face. Shit. The ceiling at the far end had gone. Pinned under a rafter, Kamar’s feet twitched in their death throes,

Overhead, the flames spat and crackled. The plaster began to bow. The doorway was a wall of orange fire.

‘Tarraco?’ This time, Claudia’s voice had a tremulous quality.

‘Here,’ a voice rasped. ‘Over here.’

Stumbling across the overturned furniture, slipping in puddles of rain and blood, Claudia was aware of two men on their knees, their weapons long gone, slugging it out in a fist fight. Then one saw the knife which Claudia had dropped and he lunged—and through the black and red, the blood and the smoke, Claudia recognized Cyrus. She screamed as he reached it before her, his fist closing over the hilt. As Tarraco frantically clawed at the air, Cyrus raised himself high, brought up his fist, took aim, then…keeled backwards into the rubble.

‘What the…?’ The Spaniard turned. In the doorway, a man with high patrician boots was beckoning them towards him. He was barely able to stand.

‘I thought you might want your dagger back.’ Orbilio grinned.

‘Then why did you give it to Cyrus?’ Tarraco returned the smile, hauling himself to his feet. One arm hung limp and useless at his side, there was a cut down his cheek, a slash near the collar bone and what looked like a stab wound in his thigh.

Claudia had a notion that she’d be the one working the oars back to Atlantis.

Miraculously, though it was charred and smoking and black, the door jamb was no longer alight. Drips of water trickled down and over the threshold. How..?

‘That
was
the purpose of your atrium pool?’ Marcus asked. ‘Emergency fire-fighting equipment? Now are you two going to stand there all day, or do I have to carry you both, one on each shoulder?’

Hauling Lais across the smoke-filled chamber by her dyed hair (and none too worried about any obstacles the bitch might encounter), Claudia paused, panting and coughing, in the doorway. ‘Do me a favour, Orbilio,’ she wheezed. ‘Next time, come to the party earlier, will you?’

‘What?’ he flashed back. ‘And break up your cosy girl talk? No fear.’

She watched him stagger down the atrium, his prisoner firmly secured, though still unconscious. Perhaps it was just as well, in the long run, that Lais was alone in facing trial and public execution. Isolation and loneliness at the end of her life would be just as much punishment as being hated and reviled, laughed and spat on. The minions might have got away, but without their mastermind, they’d be simple thugs, easy to trace. At least Lais would get her comeuppance.

Oh, no!
‘Where’s Pul?’ she shrieked. ‘Where the hell’s Pul?’

‘Calm down,’ a thick accent soothed, and Claudia followed the direction that his bloodied finger indicated.

Flat on his back, his walrus moustache pointing up to the open sky through the rafters, the massive Oriental stared up at the rains through one slanted, almond eye.