Scorpia (6 page)

What he had taken to be a tiger-skin rug had just stood up.

It was a tiger, alive and angry.

A Siberian tiger. How did he know it was Siberian? The colour, of course. The stripes were more white and gold than orange and black, and there weren’t so many as usual. As the creature
turned its gaze on him, weighing him up, Alex tried to remember what he knew about this rarest of species. There were fewer than five hundred Siberian tigers left in the wild, with only slightly more in captivity. It was the largest living cat in the world. And … yes! It had retractable claws. That was a very useful piece of information to consider as the animal prepared to tear him apart.

Because Alex had no doubt that that was exactly what was about to happen. The tiger seemed to have awoken from a deep sleep but its yellow eyes were now fixed on him and he could almost hear the messages being sent to the brain. Food. That was another thing, he remembered now. A Siberian tiger could eat one hundred pounds of meat in a single sitting. By the time this one finished with him, there wouldn’t be a great deal left.

Alex’s mind was in a whirl. What exactly had he stumbled on in the Widow’s Palace? What sort of woman didn’t bother with locks and security cameras but kept a live tiger by her desk? The creature stretched. Alex saw the perfect muscles rippling beneath the thick fur. He tried to move but found that he couldn’t. He wondered what had happened to him, then realized. He was terrified. Rooted to the spot. He was just steps away from a predator that had, for centuries, inspired dread across the world. It was almost beyond belief that this animal should have found itself imprisoned in a Venetian palace. But it was here. That was all that mattered.
And whatever the surroundings, the carnage would be the same.

The tiger growled. It was a low, rumbling noise, more terrible than anything Alex had ever heard. He tried to find the strength to move, to put a barrier between them. But there was nothing.

The tiger took a stride forward. It was preparing to spring. Its eyes had darkened. Its jaw hung open, revealing two lines of white, dagger-sharp teeth. It growled a second time, louder and more continuous.

Then it leapt.

A
lex did the only thing he could. Faced with five hundred pounds of snarling tiger hurtling towards him, he fell to his knees, slid along the wooden floor and disappeared under the desk. The tiger landed above him. He could sense its bulk, separated from him only by the surface of the desk – and he could hear its claws gouging into the wood. Two things went through his mind. The first was the sheer improbability of coming face to face with a live tiger. The second was the knowledge that, if he didn’t find a way out of the room fast, this might be the last thought he would ever have.

He had a choice of two doors. The one he had come in through was the closest. The tiger was half on the floor, half on the desk, momentarily confused. In the forest it would have found him at once, but this world was alien to it. Alex seized his
chance and scrambled forward. It was only when he was out in the open, away from the scant protection of the desk, that he realized he wasn’t going to make it.

The tiger was watching him. Alex had twisted round, his hands behind him, his legs bent sideways, in the act of standing up. The tiger’s front paws were resting on the desk. Neither of them moved. Alex knew that the door was too far away. There was nowhere else to hide. A surge of anger flooded through him. He should never have come in here. He should have been more careful.

The tiger roared. A deep, rattling blast of air that made every nerve tingle. It was, quite simply, the sound of terror.

And then the second door opened and a man came in.

All Alex’s attention was fixed on the tiger, but he noticed that the man wasn’t wearing a costume. He was dressed in a polo-neck jersey, jeans and trainers; the clothes looked quietly, confidently expensive. And from the way they clung to the muscles in his arms and chest, Alex could see that he was extremely fit. He was young, in his mid-twenties. And he was black.

But there was something wrong.

The man turned his head and Alex saw that one side of his face was covered in strange white blotches, as if he had been involved in some sort of chemical accident or perhaps a fire. Then Alex
noticed his hands. They too were different colours. The man should have been handsome. But in fact he was just a mess.

The man took in the scene instantly. He saw that the tiger was about to pounce. Without a second thought he reached out and picked up the remote control that Alex had noticed on the table. He pointed it vaguely in the direction of the tiger and pressed a button.

And then the impossible happened. The tiger climbed off the desk. Alex saw its eyes begin to dim, and it slumped down on the floor. Alex stared. The tiger had been transformed, in seconds, from a dreadful monster to nothing more than an oversized pussy cat. And then it was asleep, its chest rising and falling, its eyes closed.

How had it worked?

Alex looked back at the man who had just come in. He was still holding the device, whatever it was, in his hand. For a moment Alex wondered if the animal was even real. Could it possibly be some sort of robot that could be switched on and off by remote control? No. That was ridiculous. He had been close enough to the tiger to notice every detail. He had smelt its breath. He could see it now, twitching, as it returned to the forests it had come from … in its dreams. It was a living thing. But somehow it had been turned off as quickly and as easily as a light bulb. Alex had never felt more out of his depth. He had followed a boat with a
silver scorpion, and it had led him into some sort of Italian wonderland.

“Chi sei? Cosa fai qui?”

The man was talking to him. Alex didn’t understand the words but he got the gist.
Who are you? What are you doing here?
He stood up, wishing that he had been able to change out of his costume. He felt half naked and horribly vulnerable. He wondered if Tom was still waiting for him outside. No. He had told him to go back to the hotel.

The man spoke to him a second time. Alex had no choice.

“I don’t speak Italian,” he said.

“You’re English?” The man switched effortlessly into Alex’s language.

“Yes.”

“What are you doing in Mrs Rothman’s study?”

“My name is Alex Rider—”

“And my name is Nile. But that’s not what I asked you.”

“I’m looking for Scorpia.”

The man – Nile – smiled, showing perfect teeth. With the tiger neutralized, Alex was able to examine him more closely. Without the skin problem, he would be classically handsome. He was clean-shaven, elegant, in perfect physical shape. His hair was cut close to his skull, with a pattern of curving lines shaved around his ears. Although he looked relaxed, Alex knew that he was already in a combat stance, poised on the balls of his
feet. This was a dangerous man; he radiated self-confidence and control. He wasn’t alarmed to find a teenager here in the study. Instead he seemed to be amused.

“What do you know about Scorpia?” the man asked. His voice was soft and very precise.

Alex said nothing.

“It’s a name you overheard downstairs,” Nile said. “Or perhaps you found it in the desk. Were you searching the desk? Is that why you’re here? Are you a thief?”

“No.”

Alex had already decided he’d had enough. Any minute now, someone else would arrive. It was time to go. He turned away and began to move towards the door he had first come in.

“If you take one more step, I’m afraid I’ll have to kill you,” Nile warned.

Alex didn’t pause.

He heard the light footfall on the wooden floor behind him and timed it exactly right. At the last moment, he stopped and swivelled round, lashing out with his heel in a back kick that should have driven into the man’s abdomen, winding him at the very least, and possibly knocking him out. But with a sense of shock Alex felt his foot meet only empty air. Nile had either anticipated what he was about to do or twisted away with unbelievable speed.

Alex turned full circle, trying to follow through
with a front jab – the
kizami-zuki
– he had learnt in karate. But it was too late. Nile had dodged again and there was a blur of movement as the edge of his hand scythed down. It was like being hit by a block of wood. Alex was almost thrown off his feet. The whole room shuddered and went dark. Desperately he tried to adopt a defensive position, crossing his arms, keeping his head low. Nile had been expecting it. Alex felt an arm close around his throat. A hand pressed against his head. With a single twist, Nile could now break his neck.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Nile said, talking as if to a little child. “I did warn you and you didn’t listen. So now you’re dead.”

There was a moment of blinding pain, a flash of white light. Then nothing.

Alex came round with the feeling that his head had been wrenched off. Even after he had opened his eyes it took a few seconds for his vision to return. He tried to move a hand and was relieved to see his fingers curl inwards. So his neck wasn’t broken. He tried to play back what had happened. Nile must have let go of his head at the last moment and used an elbow strike. Alex had been knocked out before but he had never woken up in as much pain as this. Had Nile meant to kill him? Somehow he doubted it. Even from their short encounter, Alex knew that he had met a master of unarmed
combat, someone who knew exactly what he was doing and didn’t make mistakes.

Nile had knocked Alex out and dragged him here. Where was he? With his head still pounding, Alex gazed around him. He didn’t like the look of what he saw. He was in a small chamber, somewhere underneath the palace, he guessed. The walls were made of mottled plaster and the way they sloped reminded him of a cellar. The floor had recently been flooded. He was standing on a sort of trellis-work of damp and rotting wooden planks. The room was lit by a single bulb behind a dirty glass covering. There were no windows. Alex shivered. It was cold in here, despite the earlier heat of the September evening. And there was something else. He ran a finger along one of the walls and felt a coating of slime. He had thought the cellar was painted a dirty shade of green, but now he realized that the flooding had risen further than the floor. It had continued all the way up to the ceiling. Even the light bulb had at some stage been underwater.

As his senses slowly returned, Alex became aware of the smell of water in the air and recognized the stench of the rotting vegetables, mud and salt of the Venice canal system. He could even hear water. It was lapping not on the other side of the wall but somewhere beneath him. He knelt down and examined the floor. One of the boards was loose and he was able to swivel it
enough to make a narrow opening. He stretched a hand through and touched water. There was no way out. He turned round. A short flight of wooden steps led up to a solid-looking door. He went up to it and pressed his weight against it. The door was covered in slime too. There was no give in it at all.

What now?

Alex was still dressed in the silk trousers and waistcoat that had been his costume. There was nothing to protect him against the dank chill. He thought briefly about Tom, and that gave him a little comfort. If he hadn’t returned to the hotel by the morning, Tom would surely raise the alarm. Daybreak couldn’t be far away. Alex had no idea how long he’d been unconscious, and he had taken off his watch when he put on his disguise, something he was now regretting. There was no sound on the other side of the door. It seemed he had no choice but to wait.

He crouched in a corner, wrapping his arms around himself. Most of the gold paint had come off, and he felt ragged and dirty. He wondered what Scorpia would do with him. Surely someone – Nile or Mrs Rothman – would come down, if only to find out why he had bothered to break in.

Incredibly, he managed to fall asleep. The next thing he knew, he had jerked awake with a crick in his neck. A cold numbness had spread through his body. Some sort of siren had woken him. He
could hear it howling – not inside the building but far away. At the same time, he was aware that something in the room had changed. He glanced down and saw water spreading across the floor.

For a second he was puzzled. Had a pipe burst? Where was the water coming from? Then his thoughts came together and he understood his fate. Scorpia wasn’t interested in him. Nile had told him he was going to die and he had meant what he said.

The siren was warning that there was going to be a flood. Venice has an alarm system in place all year round. The city stands at sea level and because of the wind and the atmospheric pressure, there are frequent storm surges. These cause water from the Adriatic to pour into the Venice lagoon, with the result that the canals break their banks and whole streets and squares simply disappear for several hours. Cold black water was bubbling up into the room even now. How high would it go? Alex didn’t need to ask. The stains on the walls went all the way up to the ceiling. The water would rise over him and he would struggle helplessly, unable to save himself, until he drowned. Eventually the level would fall again and they would clear out his body, perhaps dumping it in the lagoon.

He leapt to his feet and ran to the door, slamming his hands against it. He was shouting too,
although he knew it was hopeless. Nobody came. Nobody cared. He surely wasn’t the first to end up locked in here. Ask too many questions, go into rooms where you had no right to be, and this was the result.

The water was rising steadily. It must have been five centimetres deep already. The floor had disappeared. There were no windows, and the door was rock solid. There was only one possible way out of here and Alex was almost too afraid to try it. But one of the planks was loose. Maybe there was some sort of well or large pipe underneath. After all, he reasoned, there had to be some way for the water to come in.

And it was gushing in now, more quickly than ever. Alex hurried back down the stairs. The water level was well over his ankles, almost reaching his knees. He made a quick calculation. At this rate, the room would be completely submerged in about three minutes. He ripped off the waistcoat and threw it aside. He wouldn’t need that now. He waded forward, searching with his feet for the loose plank. He remembered that it was somewhere in the middle and soon found it, stubbing his toe against one side of the opening. He knelt down, the water now circling his waist. He wasn’t even sure he could squeeze through. And if he did, what would he find on the other side?