Silk Over Razor Blades (26 page)

‘
Stop!’ The voice came from ahead of
him. ‘Who approaches the tower?’

He raised his hand. ‘Saar, son of
Yafeu, of Cleopatra’s guard.’

The men at the gate straightened their
shoulders. ‘Forgive me, Captain. We didn’t recognise you.’

‘
There’s nothing to forgive. Let me
pass, and return to your duties.’

The young pair, fresh and unscarred by
battle, exchanged nervous looks.

‘
What?’

‘
None but Pharos attendants may
enter the tower at night.’

Saar chewed his thumbnail. ‘Strange.
I’ve never heard this order, though I longed to give it.’

The second of the pair looked down at
his feet. ‘Lord Antony sent word at dusk, the light is an important
guide to our ships and must be protected at all times.’

‘
I agree, but surely I’m not
included in that order.’

‘
Anyone, Captain. Including soldiers
unless they present Antony’s token or seal. Other delicate or
vulnerable points through Brucheum have received the same
orders.’

Saar gritted his teeth, pondering if he
felt able to lie. Finally he said, ‘Antony’s orders are sound and
I’m happy to follow them. However I have urgent business within
that cannot wait.’ He thought again of Kazemde, with his withered
hands, mottled skin and frightening insight into palace politics.
‘Let me pass.’

With another of those shared glances
the men shook their heads. ‘Sorry, Captain.’

Stepping back from the gate Saar
studied the walls. The pale stone was smooth and the gaps between
them lined with molten lead to withstand the pounding action of the
sea. There would be no climbing that way.

‘
Men,’ he said, ‘you do a fine job
in protecting the Pharos, but my mission must go forth. Step
aside.’

‘
If the mission is so important, why
not return to the city? Obtain a seal and we will let you
through.’

The idea of having anything further to
do with Antony put Saar’s teeth on edge. Desperation over the
Roman’s sudden return had fuelled this mad mission in the first
place.

‘
No time. It must be now.’

The soldiers stood firm.

Saar sighed, levelled his torch and
held it like a club. ‘Please move.’

The younger of the men looked alarmed.
His hand tightened on the shaft of his spear. ‘Captain?’

He bit his lip. Thoughts of Kiya
strayed through his mind. Of his mother. Of the latest limestone
monstrosity built to honour Cleopatra, the self-styled ‘new Isis.’
He saw Antony and the gleeful expression in the eyes of the queen
as she agreed to marry him.

Within hours, Antony had already made
his presence known by issuing orders to the military over Saar’s
head. What else would he change if given the opportunity? If there
was even the smallest chance that Kazemde had the answer, Saar
couldn’t afford to let it go.

‘
Re, forgive me,’ he murmured. He
stepped forward, thrusting up with the torch as he went. It cut a
sharp arc through the air, and struck the first soldier in the
face. Blood burst from his split lip and nose, almost black in the
moonlight.

The man screamed and dropped his spear,
falling against the gates to clutch his face. The second, though
clearly alarmed, recovered quickly and advanced to parry. Saar
struck at his spear shaft, snapping it. Then he kicked the man in
the stomach, a powerful blow that sent him reeling.

Both men writhed on the ground. The
second guard would recover in time, but the first looked pale and
frightened.

Saar bent down to him, tugging off his
overtunic as he did so. He wadded it up and put it beneath the
moaning man’s head. ‘Your bones may be broken,’ he said after a
glance. ‘Don’t move until help arrives. Try not to speak.’

‘
Captain, why?’ The winded man gave
a wheezing gasp.

‘
To save us all. Please believe
that.’ Pausing long enough to swap his torch for the remaining
functional spear, he stepped over the two men and through the
gate.

It was quiet within, civilian residents
having long retired for the night. Soldiers walking the perimeter
kept watch for any intruder quick, sly or crazy enough to scale the
walls. Hugging the inside wall, Saar searched the stones beneath
his feet, seeking a mark in the shape of a bared sword.

Despite the brightness of the moon on
the Hepastadion, the area inside the Pharos lay beneath the shadow
of the tower, with patches of deep black amongst the paler ones. He
heard approaching footsteps and hurried on, keen to keep a blind
corner between himself and pursuit.

Only when he heard raised voices did he
realise that the patrolling men would have to be blind not to see
the injured pair at the gate.

Saar cursed and moved faster, bent
double and straining his sight. The stones beneath his feet bore no
marks, bared sword or otherwise, having been trampled flat and
smooth by the passage of hundreds of feet.

The voices behind him became shouts and
the sound of running feet cut the air. Saar gripped his stolen
spear and turned to face them. Men he had trained with. Fought
with. Laughed with.

His shoulders slumped. He couldn’t harm
them. Not for doing their sworn duty. It didn’t matter that his
mission was the same as theirs.

Dropping the spear he ran on, watching
the stones as he went. On the second corner he ran into another
soldier. Literally. Bouncing off his wide, thick chest, Saar
stumbled back several steps.

‘
Wasret.’ He steadied himself and
took another step back.

‘
Captain! Why are you here?’

He hesitated.

‘
I heard shouts. Help me defend the
tower.’

Saar backed further away, his gaze
darting to and fro.

Wasret gaped. ‘You?’ He drew his sword
and, though his shoulders shook, his grip was firm. ‘What have you
done?’

‘
Nothing. This is for the good of us
all.’

Wasret’s sword never wavered. ‘What
could possibly be so important that you flout the king’s
orders?’

Rage bubbled through Saar’s attempts
to reason. ‘He is
not
king.’

‘
He will be, second only to the
queen in the line of command.’

‘
Antony isn’t fit for any command.
Cleopatra has no need of him.’

‘
You’ve finally lost your senses.
Age has dulled your mind, no soldier should live as long as you
have.’

‘
I don’t have time for this, let me
by. This is for the good of the city.’

‘
You know I can’t do that.’

Though Wasret was bigger, stronger and
younger, Saar had the skill and experience on his side. He knocked
aside the advancing sword with the flat of his hand and took a
large step forward. Grabbing Wasret about the shoulders, he drove
his forehead into the larger man’s nose. Wasret grunted but didn’t
fall, angling his sword for a back slice. The blade bit flesh and
Saar caged a cry of pain behind clenched teeth.

‘
Here!’ Wasret bellowed. ‘He’s
here!’

‘
You don’t know what you’re doing.’
Saar winced as he spoke.

‘
I know Antony will have you killed
for this.’

With a jolt Saar realised Wasret was
right. His hatred for the Roman interloper paled in comparison to
the smouldering fury he received in return. If caught, there would
be no safety.

A smile widened Wasret’s lips. ‘Yes . .
. you understand. Antony will kill you. Cleopatra will do as she
pleases and this strange quest will come to nothing.’

‘
Then I mustn’t fail.’

Diving between Wasret’s widespread
legs, Saar flipped on to his back and kicked at the backs of the
taller man’s knees.

The screams filled his ears, stabbing
his brain like knives. Nausea boiled through his gut and threatened
to paralyse him, but the image of Antony’s leering face spurred him
forward. Saar scrambled away from Wasret’s shrieks and ran on.

The sound of shouts and tramping feet
grew louder. Rounding the third corner of the outer square, Saar
saw more men approaching and clenched his fists. He cut right. An
arrow whistled through the air near his cheek. Double doors loomed
before him, leading into the lower section of the tower itself.
Sand scuffed beneath him as he dived through. Inside, Saar spun
about and slammed the doors shut, pulling the shaft which lowered
the locking bar.

The core of the tower was formed of
limestone, sparsely decorated. A set of steps led to the next
level, just visible in the shadows cast by torches hanging from the
walls. He heard pounding on the doors and knew that men stationed
in the octagonal second level would soon arrive to help. Grabbing
one of the torches, he carried it around the walls, watching the
floor as he went.

Three circuits later, with no sign of a
curved sword anywhere, Saar wiped sweat off his face. He tried to
stop his fingers shaking, but the true implications of his actions
made it difficult. If caught, he would never see his mother again.
Nor Kiya.

Saar bit his lip as he considered the
possibility that Antony himself had sent Kazemde to find him. It
would be just like the man to choose such an underhanded method of
removing obstacles.

The air seemed hot. Sticky. Close. He
rolled his shoulders, conscious of the ache in his back from
Wasret’s lucky sword strike. More sand shifted beneath his feet.
His skin tingled as fear crawled over him, making the hairs on his
neck stand on end.

‘
No . . . it has to be
here.’

On his hands and knees, Saar crawled
across the floor, nose scraping the dust. One hand held the torch
aloft, giving his gait a painful rolling quality as he neared the
bottom of the steps. Heavy pounding rocked the main doors. The wood
whined beneath the impact. His hand brushed a jagged peak in the
stone, slicing his palm and staining the cold surface with red. A
faint scratch appeared on the stone, picked out by a smear of
blood. Small. About the length of his finger.

Dry air caught in his lungs. Saar
dropped the torch and scraped the stone with both hands, smearing
his blood all over it until he could see the rest of the scratch
marks. A curve like a scimitar and a shorter straight mark. Like a
handle. Or a hilt.

Saar laughed. His breath flooded out in
a great rush. ‘It’s real!’ Grabbing the torch again, he jabbed
around the edges of the stone slab, alternately working his fingers
into the tiny gap.

Nothing.

‘
No!’ He beat the stone with his
fists. Stamped on it. Struck the sword mark with the butt of the
torch.

‘
Please, no!’

The shadows of men descending the
stairs began to flicker across the room. Their shouts grew
louder.

‘
I’m Saar! Kazemde sent me.’ He beat
it again with both fists and leaned on one corner. ‘Please help
me.’

The slab began to rumble.

He had the vague impression of soldiers
arriving at the bottom of the stairs before the slab tipped up and
dropped Saar into darkness.

He screamed as he fell; relief, fear
and desperation mingled into one. He fell until he imagined he
might land in the belly of the earth, never again to see sun or
stars.

Then his feet hit water and he plunged
into a pool of salty, icy cold. Using hands and feet he struck out
for the surface, but it never seemed to come. The current tugged
him on, spinning him, twirling him, twisting him round. He
floundered in darkness so deep, he no longer knew which way was up.
Pain filled his chest, rushing through his lungs like the stale air
he longed to release. He let it go, then fought back a rush of
panic knowing he needed to replace it.

Gold stars swam across his vision. His
skin grew numb all over except for the wound on his back that
burned in the chilly salt water. Terrible thudding filled his ears,
the desperate racing of his own heart.

His fingers struck sand. Fighting waves
of nausea, Saar flipped round. Both feet kicked off the solid
surface and he pushed himself through the darkness. Salty water
squeezed through his lips. The ocean flooded into his mouth and
Saar screamed with the last scraps of breath left to him.

Cold air touched his face.

Gasping, Saar floundered in the water,
his hands clutching at nothing. Echoes of splashing water and his
own ragged breathing bounced back at him.

Something hard knocked his head. Under
once more. This time Saar led with his hands, feeling above his
head until his fingers flexed in the open air again.

The bobbing water lifted him up and
down and with each movement his palms brushed stone. With one arm
extended to feel the roof, the other groping for the sides, Saar
caught his breath and let the water carry him on.

His gasps continued to echo around him,
like the sinister whispers of an invisible watcher hanging over his
shoulder.

Saar’s numb fingers slipped away from
the wall. The impact with the water splashed his face and brought
him back to full consciousness though opening his eyes made no
difference to what he could see.

The water carried him on, with no way
of knowing how far. Gentle sloshing filled his ears with a rhythmic
quality he equated to marching drills outside the palace. The
comparison soothed him, but not enough to ignore the shivers in his
limbs. Though head and shoulders above the surface, everything else
felt numb and thick in the water.

He licked his cracked lips and turned
slowly, facing back up the tunnel. Still nothing.

When the ceiling dipped suddenly and
cracked the back of his head, Saar found comfort in the fact that
it hadn’t hit his face. Regardless, as the lapping water closed
over his head again, he felt a chill that had nothing to do with
the damp around him. What if he continued underground forever? What
if the ceiling dipped and prevented him from snatching another
breath of air? Would he be cast out to sea?