Jail Bait (34 page)

‘Do have another glass of wine—you have no idea how I’ve longed for an appreciative audience,’ Lais was saying.

Claudia glanced at the door, guarded by the massive Oriental in his leather vest and kilt, feet solidly apart, hands across his chest. She did not like the gleam in his eye.

‘Efficient, isn’t he?’ Lais gloated.

Efficient. The word sent shivers down Claudia’s skin. Like a well-greased machine, Pul arranges for families to be evicted, men beaten up, property destroyed, he calmly tells Kamar who should die. Did Pul, she wondered, experience no flutterings of remorse when he brought food to the woman scheduled to die in Lais’ place? Was there the slightest nip of conscience when he put his hands around her throat and squeezed? And what skipped through his mind when he crept up behind Cal and snapped his neck like a dry twig?

Cold-blooded, cold-hearted, but Claudia felt a faint glimpse of comprehension. All men have a living to earn, even Pul.
But Lais?
Claudia swallowed her revulsion along with the wine. ‘Why?’ she asked simply.

With a short laugh, the hard-eyed, ravaged harpy indicated the rows of chests, embellished by glorious lamplight. Gold plate, gem-studded salvers, goblets, vases, silver pitchers twinkled back.

‘Tuder was a banker, a successful one at that, but he also was a miser.’ She let out her deep, throaty chuckle. ‘And in that he was most successful, too. Which is why he purchased an island isolated from virtually every living soul and built himself this hidden chamber. Day after day he spent closeted in here, feasting his eyes on the proceeds of his business, running his fat hands over their contours, yet what of his wife of thirty-six years? What of the wife who had buried three sons all aged under five? The first I knew of our move to this hellhole was when the wagons arrived to transport us from Rome.’

For one brief second, Claudia was almost tempted to feel sorry for her.

‘Faced with a choice, twenty years of obscurity against the chance of fulfilling a vocation, what would you do?’

A ball of lead settled in Claudia’s stomach. ‘I’d get rid of my husband,’ she said quietly, ‘with the aid of a greedy physician.’

‘Exactly.’ When Lais clapped her hands, Claudia counted seven liver spots. ‘After that he kept on doing my bidding, for which he received ample rewards, with the choice of keeping quiet—or me screaming to the world that he murdered my dear, departed husband. And who would be believed in this scenario? A sexual pervert or the faithful wife?’

‘Pervert?’

‘You didn’t know about his predilection for boys? Oh, my, he likes them tender, does Kamar.”

Fire shot through Claudia’s veins. Janus, Croesus, she’d had him in her power, with ample hemlock in his dispensary. Instead, she didn’t just fall into his honeyed trap, she pinched her nose and jumped in.
Small surprise he led her here.
When she’d given the game away by saying it was Tarraco she was after, he’d simply handed her over to Lais.

Idly, she wondered what expression would be on his face when he was chained in the arena with a pack of snarling, starving dogs and a warm glow spread over her. Then Claudia recalled what Lais had said earlier and snapped out of her reverie.

‘
What
vocation?’ she asked. Pretending to smooth her skirt as she crossed her legs, she felt for the thin-bladed knife. Juno be praised, it was still there.

‘Have you ever been in the position where you know there is something missing in your life, but have never known what that gap might represent?’ Lais moved across the room, draped herself across a blue upholstered couch and began to toy with the arm carved in a lion’s head. ‘When I was younger, I suspected it was children, my lost boys, but then we arrived here—’ she waved her hand around to indicate not just the villa, but the island ‘—and I knew. Just—’ she snapped her fingers ‘—like that, I understood my destiny was to be Queen of the Lake.’

‘Ex-cuse me?’

Lais smiled a patronizing smile. ‘Let me simplify it for you. You see, for so long, Plasimene, like myself, had been spiritually abandoned. Suddenly here was my chance to redress the balance. Using Tuder’s precious fortune, I was able to start building up my empire—indeed, Pul reports that in another three months, maybe four, the entire town and its environs will belong to me.’

‘Apart from Atlantis.’

Lais shrugged. ‘That shouldn’t take longer than another six or seven weeks to acquire once I have the rest, and I’m practically there. I can see from your face, you’re impressed?’

Your majesty! But maybe this was Claudia’s chance? ‘Who couldn’t be overwhelmed?’ she gushed. ‘And your…’ she forced herself to spit it out. ‘Your people?’

‘Will revere and respect me,’ Lais said, stretching out along the couch. ‘Until Atlantis is under my control, I shall naturally refrain from announcing myself, but you’ll find I shall rule my subjects fairly, I shall be just in quarrels, generous in famine, they will have no cause for complaint.’

Lucky them. ‘And what of the killings which take place under Kamar’s medicinal aegis? It’s tantamount to a murder factory up there.’

‘Don’t be so suburban,’ Lais snorted. ‘No one dies who doesn’t deserve it.’ Her face softened. ‘Look upon them as dead wood, and you’ll understand. In life these people serve no useful purpose, whereas in death, whether into money, business or marriage, so many others are made free. I am merely performing a service.’

Claudia thought of a woman she’d never even met. The woman who kept cats. Twelve of them, strangled before their mistress had her first luxurious massage in Atlantis…

She thought of a silversmith. The woman in the mudbath. The orphan killed in the hills.

She thought of Cal. Vibrant, laughing, walking the tightrope between danger and fun. She didn’t know which way he’d end up living his life…but the choice should have been his to make, not Lais’.
Whoever possesses the gold rules.
Not any more, they don’t. Not any more. People have families. They have feelings. You can’t prune them like old trees.

‘What did you expect to achieve, coming here?’ Lais asked, arching one thickly painted eyebrow. ‘Me to row back with you and confess everything to—who is it pays you? Tuder’s buttoned-up brother?’

Claudia nodded. ‘You shouldn’t have cut him out of the will.’ She was taking a chance, but—

‘Why not?’
Holy Hades, the ploy worked!
‘I needed the money to finance my operation, and you don’t seriously expect me to give up everything I’ve worked for?’

Claudia’s heart raced like snowmelts down a mountain. This was the moment she had been building up to. With a studied languidity, she leaned back in the chair and stretched out her hands to examine the half-moons on her fingernails. ‘Hardly.’ She kept her eyes on her hands. ‘You see, it occurred to me that once you knew I was clever enough to trace you and confront you with my findings, you might be inclined to cut me in.’

Lais chewed her lip. ‘You have guts, I’ll give you that. The fact you came out here alone inclines me
towards
you, but it’s a firm rule of mine. Never deal with blackmail.’

Claudia breathed on her thumbnail and buffed it against the lap of her gown. ‘I had you pegged as a smarter businesswoman than that,’ she replied, and without even looking up, knew she had Lais’ attention.

‘You don’t want a pay-off?’ Old Stonyface couldn’t hide the intrigue from her voice.

‘Oh, no.’ Still Claudia refused to meet her eye. ‘I want you to add my name to the payroll.’

‘Hire you?’ Lais nearly fell off the couch.

‘My financial situation is somewhat rocky.’ Claudia smiled. ‘My wine business is faltering, I need funds to shore it up—and let’s face it, Kamar and Pul can only do so much without attracting attention. Imagine what another
woman
can get away with.’

Was she hooked? Claudia pressed on.

‘Don’t you think that, if I meant you harm, I’d have approached the authorities? Had you and Kamar and Cyrus arrested? Pul, too?’

‘I’d considered that,’ Lais said slowly. ‘You are either very arrogant or very stupid.’

‘Or very skint. So test me. Tell me who’s next on your list and I’ll kill that person for you. Tonight.’

There was a moment’s hesitation, almost a smile playing on Lais’ lip, and Claudia capitalized on her moment’s good fortune.

‘What’s there to lose?’ she asked, shrugging. ‘I go back to Atlantis and shout my head off and what happens? Either Kamar dopes me or your creature Cyrus declares me insane and whoosh, Claudia Seferius disappears for ever. On the other hand, you might just have one very valuable asset on your side. Win-win.’

Long seconds ticked past on the water clock, then eventually Lais smiled. ‘Very well,’ she said, ‘I’m prepared to take a risk. The woman’s name is Phoebe. Her husband is sick of her philandering, she has become an embarrassment to him. Kill Phoebe and you will never want for funds again, I give you my word.’

Claudia’s face betrayed none of the emotions which tumbled within. Fear. Satisfaction. Anticipation. Relief. Soon, she thought, very soon, Lais and her cronies will be in irons, on their way to be tried for their crimes, and let’s see the faces of the families involved. Some guilty, standing alongside. Some innocent, horrified at what had befallen their relatives. The townsfolk of Spesium would find the trip to Rome well worth their while, jeering and spitting as they were hauled through the streets.

Claudia uncrossed her legs and stood up. ‘By morning,’ she assured Lais, ‘Phoebe will be history.’ Not too fast, not too fast. Casually she walked towards the door. ‘Thanks for the wine,’ she said.

‘My pleasure.’ Lais held up her goblet. ‘To a successful union.’

As Claudia turned, Lais’ voice changed to an echo. Shadows closed in. Her ankles could not bear her weight and now she was falling…Falling…And the room was growing dark.
Dammit, the wine had been drugged!
As though down a long tunnel, she heard a woman’s autocratic instructions weave in and out of her consciousness.

‘Dump her in the…(mumble, mumble)…should not pose a problem…(mumble, mumble)…natural causes…’

Bitch! Claudia flung out an arm. She’d kill her. She’d kill that bitch Lais for this! The room was swimming, but she had time. The wine was just making her dizzy. Disorientated. She could fight it. Win. Old Stonyface would regret doing this—

But before Claudia’s hand had a chance to close round her knife, a great rush of blackness swallowed her up.

XXXVI

She was dead. Lais’ doped wine had killed her. Claudia had crossed the Styx and here were the caves of the Underworld, the ghosts of her long-dead ancestors writhing in some grisly welcome ritual. Drums were throbbing. Claudia prised open her second eyelid and winced from the swelling which surrounded it, a sweet memento from Pul. Once more, she was lying face down, although here was no fancy mosaic, no opulent marble. It was dust, she could smell it. Taste it. Sour at the back of her throat. Great. Charon the Ferryman had dumped her without so much as a guide or a hint to direction.

Lifting her head was like lifting a hippo. All around, the ghosts—red ghosts, if you please—danced to the pulsating drumbeats with rigid, flickering movements. Wooden puppets jerking on strings. Oddly repellent. Far from comforting. Someone groaned when she tried to sit up. Claudia had a feeling it was her. No one put out a hand to assist.

The dancers reeled towards her, then receded. Forward and back, jerk and jolt. Forward and back, jerk… Slowly her vision cleared, and Claudia saw they were not phantoms—hell, they were not even real people. These were painted figures, lit by a flickering flame. Red? Yes, they were red. Etruscan red. Their bodies, their faces, their hands. And they danced round a wall to a drum which pounded inside her head.

Using a stone tabletop for support, Claudia hauled herself to her knees as a wisp of fear tugged at her gut.
Why should these painted Etruscans dance around a stone slab?
She brushed the wisp away and rose groggily to her feet. A cheetah came into view, its painted spots brilliantly preserved.
Preserved where?

Rats with razor-sharp teeth began to gnaw at her insides. She was cold. Icy cold.

There was a dark patch on the floor. And something glinting in the flickering, stinking tallow light. An emerald.
Don’t look.
Block it out, block it out, for as long as you
can…

‘The dark patch on the floor there, that’s blood,’ she tried to tell the yawning cheetah, except there was a pebble bunging up her voice box. Human blood, stale and dry, and the emerald clinched any doubt. It was set in an earring. The one which was absent from the body fished out of the lake… ‘I suppose you got to know Lais’ double quite well, while she was kept prisoner here.’ But the cheetah was bored, it kept yawning.

While a giant’s hand crushed her heart in his fist, Claudia forced herself to pick up the candle and hold it up to walls covered with these Etruscan paintings.
Tomb paintings.
The stone tabletops were sarcophagi. The giant squeezed tighter. All Etruscan burial sites were the same. Gouged underground out of the rock. Leading off from this central chamber would be other, narrower resting places. But one thing was certain.