Ten for Dying (John the Lord Chamberlain Mysteries) (20 page)

Chapter Forty-four

Dedi sat on a bench in the palace gardens next to a statue of Justinian and mournfully gnawed at a chicken leg stolen from the imperial kitchens while pondering what he might do next to revive Theodora. Dead, his former employer was of less use to him than the deceased chicken which was providing him a meal. For the time being he was managing to live like a rat in the walls but that couldn’t go on forever.

He’d been thwarted in his initial attempt at the mausoleum, and a fine waste of frogs that had been! But what could you expect when demons were on the loose, interfering with rituals by raising the alarm? Clearly, his magick was powerful enough to achieve his aims. Look at how effectively he had controlled Tychon through the agency of the servant’s stolen belt. A pity the result had availed him nothing. On the other hand, the obvious lesson was to obtain a memento of Theodora. Except that being dead she was no longer likely to invite him into her inner sanctum to entertain her.

Those had been the days! How Theodora had laughed when he presented the radish colored cat, a gray feline he explained as resembling a radish that had grown old and molded. And no matter how many times she had him tell the joke to her courtiers they laughed just as hard. Well, what choice did they have?”

His appetite suddenly gone, he tossed the remains of the chicken leg into the rose bush behind the bench. Two cats—neither radish colored, one as black as night and the other brown and white—appeared as from nowhere and commenced a vigorous discussion as to which would eat the remaining scraps.

It was at that instant he caught a glimpse through the rose bushes of Anastasia passing by.

Lady Bast sends a sign, he breathed, ignoring the marble Justinian’s disapproving stare at such pagan blasphemy. For after all, was not Bast the protectoress of cats, women, and secrets? Surely his sacrifice of chicken to her sacred animals, unintentional though it may have been, would cause her to smile on his endeavor to use secret means to return the late empress to life?

Hadn’t he been wondering how he might gain admittance to Theodora’s private domain? Wouldn’t something from her sister, a blood relative, serve to attract the interest of Theodora’s wandering shade and be far easier to steal?

He jumped up and followed her, taking care to stay concealed behind shrubbery, hedges, and trees. Anastasia threaded her way across the palace grounds, passing under an arbor draped with grape vines, through a garden of Greek statuary set against a somber background of pine trees, past an artificial lake shaped as a map of the empire and inhabited by several swans that hissed as he crept by. Now and then she glanced back, as if suspicious she was being followed. Each time he crouched down, scarcely breathing, until she turned and resumed walking.

To his surprise, her destination was the Hormisdas Palace, where Theodora and Justinian had lived before he became emperor. More recently, Theodora had used the Hormisdas to shelter religious refugees adherent to the heretical sect toward which she was sympathetic. They were still in residence.

“By the gods of Egypt!” muttered Dedi, peering around the corner of a frescoed corridor at a raucous reception room buzzing with an assortment of ill-clad men attended by hordes of flies. The din was that of a public market, the smell a combination of refuse heap and public toilet. Apparently Theodora’s protection extended from beyond the grave. At least until Justinian decided otherwise. He had always indulged his wife’s whims but would he continue now that she was gone?

Dedi offered a prayer of thanksgiving for the crowds of humanity concealing him as he stalked after Anastasia. She had gone directly to the reception room, which still retained traces of its former frescoed glory despite the palace occupants’ unfortunate habit of lighting fires on its floors, and from there up the wide, green marble stairs formerly guarded by excubitors and into a room with a gilt-decorated door a few steps to the right of the top of the staircase. After a short stay, she emerged and then trotted quickly downstairs, carrying a package.

Dedi kept her in sight as she exited via a polished oak door, passed through corridors, and out into a rapidly fading warm, gray twilight.

As twilight deepened into velvet darkness, Dedi kept close to Anastasia’s heels.

She reached Antonina’s house where she was bowed in through the front entrance. Dedi scrambled over the back wall of the grounds. Creeping along on all fours from sheltering bush to bush, ears strained for shouts of discovery, he finally rose to his knees and peeked through a window into a dimly lit room.

He was startled to see Anastasia and Antonina standing a hand’s breadth away on the other side of the lattices. Had they spotted him?

They gave no indication they had. He heard Anastasia say, “I’ve brought something you might like to see.”

What it was remained a mystery, because his gaze went past the two women and he gasped in mingled delight and fear.

His magick at the empress’ tomb, though interrupted, had been powerful enough to work, after all.

Theodora was also in the room, staring out toward him.

DAY SEVEN

Chapter Forty-five

John was standing in front of the office of a shipping concern not far from the docks when he spotted the aristocratic stranger from the
Leviathan
prowling the opposite side of the square. The ship had finally reached a port where it could be properly repaired. He had wondered whether he and his family would be forbidden to go ashore. But apparently Captain Theon had not been instructed to insure that the former Lord Chamberlain was, in fact, delivered to his intended destination. Or else he considered there was no threat of John fleeing.

Then there was the further possibility that the mysterious passenger who was lodged in the captain’s cabin had been dispatched to keep a watch on John.

John had seen the man loitering at a distance as soon as he and Cornelia and the servants had left the ship. Wherever John went, the stranger was there as well.

The square was surrounded by low buildings faced with stucco which might once have been painted blue. Beside the doorways competing shippers advertised their services in black and white mosaics depicting the type of sea and land transport available. Pedestrians and laden carts filled the square. Down a colonnaded side street could be seen inviting rows of shops.

Reluctantly, John had left Cornelia, Peter, and Hypatia scouring the marketplace. He supposed that whoever had attacked Peter on the
Leviathan
would not risk violence in public, and Peter insisted on purchasing provisions—fruit, figs, olives—anything that didn’t need cooking since Captain Theon had barred him from the makeshift kitchen in the cabin.

“He thinks I fell over the rail,” Peter told John indignantly. “Says he’s afraid I’ll fall into the brazier and set the ship on fire!”

Hypatia, standing beside her husband, added, “Theon has no right to talk—a captain who sails his ship onto the rocks. He’s only pretending to think Peter fell overboard. Peter’s as spry as a young mountain goat.”

John had seen Peter stumble on the stairs of the house in Constantinople. He was not so sure that the servant possessed the spryness of even a very old goat. He did, however, believe in Peter’s unwavering honesty. If Peter said he’d been pushed overboard then he had.

It might actually have been John who was being attacked—or warned—through the attempted murder of one of his party. But about what? That he was not to think of returning to Constantinople? That no matter how far away John might be he would never be beyond the emperor’s grasp?

He walked away from the shipping company, went along the alley hugging the building, and past the stables behind it. Beyond, a short street ran between three and four story brick tenements. John turned down the street, then ducked into the first doorway he came to.

He waited. Shortly thereafter a figure walked past his hiding place. The passenger from the
Leviathan
.

The young man paused just beyond where John had drawn back into the shadow, and appeared to study the street in front of him. Then he broke into a run.

When the young man turned the corner at the end of the street, John left his hiding place and returned the way he’d come.

There appeared to be nothing on the street to attract a one who didn’t know the city. So, John deduced, the young aristocrat must indeed have been following him. With ill intent? To make sure he didn’t abscond? Suspicious of what John might be doing—or persons he might be meeting?

John hurried back to the
Leviathan
. He had seen Captain Theon preparing to leave the ship to consult a carpenter about the rudder. With both Theon and his passenger ashore John would be able to investigate the cabin. He was convinced that Peter hadn’t been banned from cooking there because of fear that he’d cause a fire.

The crew members left on board were all at the prow, throwing knucklebones and debating the best places ashore for drinking and women in anticipation of their watch ending. If they were keeping watch for anything, it was for Captain Theon’s return. They paid no attention to John.

“Wait until we get to Crotone,” said one of the men. “There’s a temple to Priapus there!”

John did not wait to hear the ensuing argument about the veracity of the statement. He strolled along beside the rail keeping a prudent distance as he always did until he reached the stern. Peering around the edge of the cabin he waited until there was a rattling noise and the players’ attention was fixed on the bones tumbling along the deck. Then he moved speedily to the cabin door.

Because the ship had been left in the care of a handful of trusted men, or from what seemed to be customary carelessness, the door was unlocked.

As soon as John stepped inside his boot landed on a stain on the plank floor. A reddish patch of half congealed liquid. Spilled wine to judge by the smell.

Beams of light lanced in through gaps in the closed shutters. The brazier sat against the back wall. Along one side lay rumpled bedding and dirty clothing. The walls were mostly concealed behind shelves cluttered with items ranging from small boxes and amphorae in wooden cradles to hammers and cooking utensils. On a wooden table stained navigational charts lay half-unrolled across dirty metal plates.

Apart from the absence of water it might have been the remains of a shipwreck on the bottom of the sea.

John stood still, listening carefully. He could hear the muted voices of the gamblers at the other end of the ship. No one came to the door. Apparently he had not been seen.

He went to work.

He searched the bedding and the chests, finding nothing but the personal items one might expect. Nor was there anything of interest on the table. He started to examine the shelves as silently as possible, shifting a box to get to the ceramic jars behind it and moving them aside to find nothing but a broken knife.

His shoulder banged a shelf. Something flashed down past him. He reached out reflexively and caught it before it smashed against the floor. It turned out to be an empty blue glass bottle.

He paused. Had he made any tell tale noise?

After a short while he resumed. He had broken out in a sweat. The hot, stifling air in the cabin lay against his skin with a pressure as palpable as that of water in a hot bath. Fat flies circled above the grease-encrusted brazier grill.

How long had he been searching?

At some point Captain Theon would be back, or the stranger would decide John had eluded him and return to the
Leviathan
.

He knelt down to examine the bottom shelves. He removed a sack. All it concealed was a large lidded pot.

This was what Peter had been doing before someone tried to push him overboard. Searching the shelves, in his case for cooking utensils. In John’s case…

He pulled the pot forward and removed its lid.

Inside sat a small package, firmly secured and bearing a wax imperial seal.

He picked it up. It was light and felt soft.

Then there was a movement but before he could make sense of it or react a garrote was tightening around his neck.

For years he had lived at the Great Palace and dealt with intrigue more often than with weapons. But the reflexes from his fighting days as a young mercenary had never left him.

He reached back and ducked forward in the same motion and with a convulsive effort managed to pull his assailant half over his head.

A body crashed into a shelf sending down a torrent of wares.

John clambered to his feet. As he did so, the attacker leapt at him, driving him across the cabin.

John twisted away, trying to break his fall.

He saw the corner of the table coming up at him and then the world dissolved in a fiery flash.

Chapter Forty-six

Cornelia came into the atrium crying. She wore a plain, white robe like those worn by the girls at Isis’ refuge. Felix noticed that, as was the case at the refuge, there were rows of close-set doors along the walls. Yet he knew this was John’s house.

“My apologies,” he said. “I realize I haven’t visited recently. I suddenly remembered. How long has it been? Years?”

How could it have been years since he had seen his friend? Suddenly there was hollow feeling in his chest. How could he have forgotten him for so long?

Tears streamed down Cornelia’s face as she approached. “It’s too late,” she said. “You waited too long. He’s gone now.”

“Gone?”

“It’s your fault,” she said.

“I don’t understand.”

“Read the letter.” He realized she was holding a scroll out to him, although he had not noticed her holding it before.

He reached out and noticed then that the scroll was glistening red, dripping with blood.

Felix awoke with a start, lying on his back on the concrete floor of a cell. He stared up numbly, without comprehension as his dream dissipated in the shadows squirming across a low, whitewashed ceiling. It took him a little while to remember that the cell belonged to Isis’ girl, Lallis. It was not locked or barred. Unlike the emperor’s dungeons it was devoted to denial of the flesh rather than the flaying of it.

He had had no trouble denying his flesh since Lallis had ushered him in. She had not suggested they resume their former affair—or business relationship, if he were being honest. Perhaps she had actually changed her ways and not just her clothing.

And neither John nor Cornelia were in Constantinople any longer. They were both on a ship to Greece. And both were perfectly safe, weren’t they?

Felix rolled onto his side.

Lallis was sitting on the bed, her legs drawn up under her chaste robe, staring at him as if he were some exotic creature. “I haven’t had a man in here since Isis converted her establishment to a refuge.”

“I should hope not.”

She gazed down with big, brown, dog-like eyes. He had always thought her eyes expressive. Had it just been the way she’d outlined them in kohl?

“I thought I would like my new life. So much easier. But…I’m so bored.”

“If you’d had the excitement I do, you’d wish you could be bored again.” Though it seemed a wise thing to say, he wasn’t so certain it was true. Anastasia seemed to revel in excitement. Was that why she was involved with Felix, because she was so bored?

Lallis’ thin lips tightened into an unattractive pout. “It’s all right for Mother Isis but she’s practically dead. When she had some life in her, she had a lively time of it. How many prayers can a girl say? How many hymns can a girl sing?”

She bent suddenly and came at him with a kiss. He must have misjudged. She hadn’t changed much at all. He moved his head and she got a mouthful of beard. He put his hands on her shoulders and held her away from him, uncomfortably aware of her warmth.

“Oh, Felix, don’t you remember?”

“I recall what you charged.”

She drew away. Her mouth trembled.

“I’m sorry,” Felix said. “Yes, yes, it was more than that. Certainly. But we can’t resume. It’s impossible.”

“Another woman!”

“No. Or, rather…well, it makes no difference. You have a good, secure life here. One that doesn’t include lovers.” He didn’t feel capable of arguing.

Lallis looked at her lap and smoothed down the robe which had ridden up her legs. “I suppose you’re right.”

“And I know your life isn’t all prayers and hymns, Lallis. Isis still has business interests. She owns shops. Surely you work outside this place frequently?”

“I know things aren’t the same, Felix. But since you’re here and no one knows, it wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

“But it probably would hurt, Lallis. Some way or another it always ends up hurting. As it is, it’ll be difficult enough if I’m found with you. If I cause you trouble…” He shook his head wearily. “I would never have imagined Isis would turn me away. She’s a different woman.”

“I know why she threw you out.”

“Obviously, because she’s a good Christian now.”

“It’s not that. It’s because of that relic you were telling her about.”

“You were eavesdropping?”

“I overheard. You told her you were being hunted by men smuggling relics. So needless to say she had to get rid of you as fast as possible.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s part of it! She’s helping the smugglers.”

Felix stared at the girl. “Not Isis! She wouldn’t do that!”

“Selling relics is part of the way she supports the refuge. If you don’t believe me, I’ll show you. This is the day they’re delivered, which is probably why she turned you away at once. She couldn’t risk you staying even a single night in case of what you might see or hear, and later reveal if you were caught and questioned. The messenger arrives just before dawn.”

She rose, opened the door a crack, and looked up and down the hallway. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “Isis doesn’t require us to do early morning devotions, thank the Lord.”

She motioned for him to follow. The hallway was empty, illuminated by a lamp on a wooden table at one end. Lallis crept silently in the opposite direction, into deepening darkness. Felix tip-toed nervously behind, past the closed doors lining the walls. Gone from beside them were the lewd mosaic plaques illustrating the pleasures available within. He thought of the rows of stalls beneath the Hippodrome. Each door here opened onto a bare, utilitarian box like Lallis’ cell, equally suited to serving man or God.

At the end of the hall she stopped, put a finger to her lips, and waved him forward to peer around the corner.

He was looking down another long gloomy hallway. Felix recognized the door at the end as the back entrance which in the old days had been used by tradesmen and discreet high court officials. An orange light spilled feebly into the hallway then grew in intensity until Isis came into view, holding a clay lamp. She set the lamp in the niche beside the door, then slid back the bolt.

Felix felt a pang of guilt to be spying on his old friend.

But then, she’d coldly refused to help him, hadn’t she?

And Lallis claimed…

But how could he believe that Isis was smuggling relics?

Isis pulled the door open. A figure stood in the darkness outside. No words were exchanged. The caller handed Isis a small sack. She opened the top and looked in. Apparently satisfied, she closed the sack. Coins flashed in the lamp light.

Then from down the hall came a shriek. “Lallis has a man with her!”

Felix heard doors opening and more loud comments from Isis’ girls.

Isis heard the racket too and whirled around. The sack slipped from her grasp and hit the floor. Bones rattled out and skittered into the walls, as if invisible hands were playing knucklebones.

“Mithra! Just my luck!” cursed Felix, and ran after the caller.