A Poisonous Journey
ISBN: 978-1-4835571-8-2
For my family
“All things are in the hand of heaven, and Folly, eldest of Jove’s daughters, shuts men’s eyes to their destruction. She walks delicately, not on the solid earth, but hovers over the heads of men to make them stumble or to ensnare them.”
—
Homer
, The Iliad
Homer
, The Iliad
“Men are so quick to blame the gods: they say
that we devise their misery. But they
themselves—in their depravity—design
grief greater than the griefs that fate assigns.”
that we devise their misery. But they
themselves—in their depravity—design
grief greater than the griefs that fate assigns.”
—
Homer
, The Odyssey
Homer
, The Odyssey
Contents
PROLOGUE
Crete 1908
A chill ran down his spine and goose-bumps prickled his skin as the cold darkness enveloped him, swallowed him, the realm of Hades tormentingly near. He sucked in a breath of the damp air and blinked furiously, anxious to find his bearings, to discern hard rocky wall from empty space. It was his fault, he had dropped the torch and they had no choice but to save the reserve for later. For their destination. He would manage. He knew the way.
“Andros?” The nervous voice caught him almost unaware.
Andros, Dros, Dros
…the echo bounced off the walls around him and made him feel dizzy for a moment, as though the walls were moving closer and caging him in. He exhaled, trying to steady himself. They just had to follow the plan. He was good at that. Good at being patient, good at doing what he was told, at following directions to the letter.
Andros, Dros, Dros
…the echo bounced off the walls around him and made him feel dizzy for a moment, as though the walls were moving closer and caging him in. He exhaled, trying to steady himself. They just had to follow the plan. He was good at that. Good at being patient, good at doing what he was told, at following directions to the letter.
“It’s all right,” he tried to sound calm, quelling his fear as it mingled with the excitement that bubbled inside him, ready to explode. They were so close now. He could feel the rhythmic beat of his heart increasing, a nervous echo in his chest. “Stay where you are, your eyes will adjust. Have patience.” Listening for a moment, he became aware of the labored breathing of his brother close behind.
He stood still for another moment, no other sounds dared to intrude, eerie silence, thick with mystery, with secrets to be uncovered swathed them in its heavy shroud.
The Sirens are calling, only you can hear. Run for safety, or plunge and fall prey to temptation.
His eyes began to adjust, slowly deciphering the jagged outline of a rocky outcrop above him. It was close. He could feel it. His muscles tensed, stiff and solid, waves of energy pulsing through him, barely contained anticipation. Despite the cold, he felt beads of sweat dotting his brow and running down his temples.
The Sirens are calling, only you can hear. Run for safety, or plunge and fall prey to temptation.
His eyes began to adjust, slowly deciphering the jagged outline of a rocky outcrop above him. It was close. He could feel it. His muscles tensed, stiff and solid, waves of energy pulsing through him, barely contained anticipation. Despite the cold, he felt beads of sweat dotting his brow and running down his temples.
“Andros? I think I see you. Yes.” A few unsure steps followed these words, and he saw the shadowy outline of his younger brother, warily moving toward him.
“Come, but beware your steps, a wrong move could be your last.”
Slowly, with his hands carefully outstretched, he felt his way forward. The air was growing stale, thick and cloying with dust and age.
“Are we almost there?”
“Close, very close.”
Breath was quickening, he shivered. So close now. Everything would change. For a split, indulgent second, he allowed himself a fantasy of the glory that would come, of the life that awaited him. Yes, not much further now. His feet, clad only in his worn leather shoes felt every rock on the uneven ground, a sensation that gave him comfort, a feeling of awareness that had replaced his compromised eyesight and heightened his sense of touch. Hands extended, he reached into the blackness like a blind man. Suddenly they came up against something. Wall. Hard rock wall. The tunnel had come to an abrupt end.
“What is this? Are we lost?”
Andros frowned, small creases folding his forehead, his brother’s voice behind him a distracting intrusion. “No,” he answered carefully, unconsciously holding his breath. He ran his hands along the roughness of the stony wall, seemingly solid and impenetrable, until… Yes, a smooth oval protrusion in the rock face. Sucking in a nervous lungful of dusty air, he pushed. The oval receded into the wall with neat precision. A momentary silence. Then, as if by some miraculous force, the wall gave way, an ingenious mechanism. A dense cloud of dust and debris rose up, sending both men staggering backward, coughing, and rubbing their stinging eyes. Soon the dust settled and silence was again upon them. Neither spoke, fear and excitement taking hold of them. Andros swallowed. It was all coming together. They were here, finally.
“The torch, now.” His voice was almost a whisper, thick with anticipation. A hiss, and a flicker of orange light shot out of the darkness, illuminating his brother’s dirty face. Reluctantly the younger man handed it over. No words were exchanged as Andros took the first careful step, holding the glowing light before him. He entered the chamber, eyes wide, barely breathing. He had found it! He wanted to shout out in joy, in relief. He had known all along, he had found it.
“So, this is it.”
Andros turned, sensing something strange in his brother’s tone. The younger man’s face was still cast in shadow, save for the glittering eyes, shining in the gloom like those of an animal.
“Yes, this is it,” he turned around again, taking it in, the glory. His glory. A sudden coldness at his neck startled him, a stab of pain. And then the blackness returned. Endless and unrelenting.
CHAPTER 1
London March 1925
Rain and Rain and Rain.
"Ran away from home! And with that man, would you believe it!" Aunt Agnes raises her eyebrows, and I roll my eyes. Her voice drops an octave as she hisses, "Lady Margot told me her parents are threatening to disown her." She nods, her smugness nearly impelling me to get to my feet and leave, slamming the door for good measure, but I restrain myself.
There are bigger things to worry about.
Frowning, her mouth falls into its natural disapproving position, small lines at the corners crinkling like the tops of my favorite ginger biscuits. Another subtle but firm shake of the head before she busies herself with her embroidery.
There are bigger things to worry about.
Frowning, her mouth falls into its natural disapproving position, small lines at the corners crinkling like the tops of my favorite ginger biscuits. Another subtle but firm shake of the head before she busies herself with her embroidery.
Tired, or simply bored silly—I can hardly distinguish the difference—I sink back into the stiff cushioned sofa and glance out of the window facing the empty square. Fat raindrops splatter loudly against the glass, and I barely stifle a sigh. My aunt’s ire is fueled by the elopement of my old school friend, Laura Hallan. I secretly wish I could have attended the wedding myself, but it all had to be done very discreetly, and I have little experience in subterfuge, a fact that strikes me as oddly displeasing. There is however, a little nugget of opportunity that has, quite temptingly, been tossed my way; an opportunity that no one in this house could knows about, least of all dear Auntie … certainly not yet.
I was able to seize the letter before Aunt Agnes had a chance to see the name of the sender and question me. I am a terrible liar, and a lie would have been my only option, if I were to see through the plan that had by now taken firm root in my mind.
I snatched the letter off the silver tray our butler carried into the drawing room. Harris, the butler in question, is fond of me and placed my letter on the top of the pile for me to see, before Aunt Agnes had time to prop her spectacles onto her nose. Feigning a migraine, a favorite malady of many a lady of my acquaintance, I snuck off into my room to devour it. Careful not to tear the lovely blue and white stamp that bore the image of Hermes, the messenger god, I slit the envelope open to find to my delight a letter from my favorite cousin, Briony; Briony being the only daughter of my paternal uncle. As only children and of similar ages, we were always thrown together at the boring adult get-togethers or parties, and our friendship was born.
We kept in touch since she left the country over a year ago with her husband, Jeffrey, to live on Crete of all places! In truth, I am envious, more of Crete than the husband, though Jeffrey is a dear and quite acceptable as far as husbands go. Briony was terribly happy when they were married, and when Jeffrey announced he had been offered a position at the Historical Museum in Heraklion and was going to accept it, she agreed. Jeffrey is a scholar and a good nine years older than my cousin. At first, I was concerned when I learned of their union, but it seems my concern was for nothing.
Briony is a real English rose, all pale curls and pink cheeks, so I was not at all certain this change in scenery would be to her liking, especially as it meant I would have to do without her. I told her as much, though perhaps more subtly, nonetheless she seemed excited at the prospect. Thus, with a heavy heart, I waved goodbye, having extracted her solemn promise to write as often as she could. Well, this letter is a bit different than the stack I keep safe in an old biscuit tin at the bottom of my wardrobe.
March 2, 1925
Miklos, Crete
Dearest Evie,
Thank you for you last letter. I am afraid the postal service here in my newly adopted country is still rather lagging behind our majesty’s royal mail, for it arrived a whole three weeks late! I shudder to think you might have felt neglected. To make amends for this flaw in the system, I am inviting you, dear cousin, to visit Jeffrey and me here at our, finally fully furnished
spiti
(that means home, see I am learning). The country is beautiful, and I am greeted everywhere with kindness, but I still feel quite a stranger and would so welcome your company. Jeffrey is lovely, but he is at the museum much of the time, so my days have become a little more solitary than I am used to. I know Greek history has always held a certain fascination for you, so if nothing else, perhaps that is incentive enough to convince you to come. I know our darling Aunt Agnes will not gladly suffer your absence, but if you can bear to tear yourself away from the bleakness of English April, please do come. I can promise you the best room in the house and my undying gratitude.
spiti
(that means home, see I am learning). The country is beautiful, and I am greeted everywhere with kindness, but I still feel quite a stranger and would so welcome your company. Jeffrey is lovely, but he is at the museum much of the time, so my days have become a little more solitary than I am used to. I know Greek history has always held a certain fascination for you, so if nothing else, perhaps that is incentive enough to convince you to come. I know our darling Aunt Agnes will not gladly suffer your absence, but if you can bear to tear yourself away from the bleakness of English April, please do come. I can promise you the best room in the house and my undying gratitude.
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