Marilyn Todd - Sour Grapes

'Then come to my house tonight,' Claudia said, dabbling her fingers in the fishpond. 'Having eaten all the pancakes, you'll probably be too stuffed to want dinner, but Candace is walking the winds again, or so Larentia tells me.'

'All the pancakes?'

'Every last one.'

Oh, well. No point in leaving that last plump little raisin, then. 'And what exactly do you expect me to gain from summoning the dead?'

'While the gateway's open, you might ask to speak to Lichas.'

He tipped back his head and roared. 'Now that will set the cats among the pigeons!' He sobered instantly and the pancakes turned to butterflies in his stomach. 'But how about you? Time's running out if Larentia decides to set a date to wed Darius, which I presume is the object of tonight's exercise.'

Another time he would have expected her to quip, 'Did you say exorcise?' Instead, Claudia pursed her lips and stared into the distance.

'Darius,' she said slowly, 'is proving a much bigger problem than I'd imagined.'

'Are you having second thoughts about him?' he asked, the butterflies fluttering uncontrollably now.

'Good heavens, no. Once a girl has second thoughts, she finds there's a third, then a fourth, and before you know it, she's thinking for ever, and you know how dangerous it is when we women think.'

His smile was as tight as hers, though, he noticed. Was she as nervous as him? He coughed. Shuffled. Stuffed his hands under his armpits. This wasn't how he'd planned it. Unshaven, dishevelled, it was hardly the time or the place to ask a girl to marry him…

'Have you thought about my proposal?' he blurted.

'What?' The faraway look disappeared as she spun round to face him. 'The marriage thing?'

'Yes.' There were so many butterflies now, he was scared that if he opened his mouth they'd fly out. 'The marriage thing.'

'Well, Marcus, if you must know, I think it's an absolutely brilliant idea.'

Her dark eyes gleamed with something that might have been satisfaction, might have been pride, but which he hoped was something entirely different. Even though he had no right to hope it.

'Look.' She held out her hand. 'I even have a betrothal ring. Do you like it?'

He laughed. Relief. Excitement. Elation. Fear. 'Actually, I'd rather hoped that was something we could have chosen together, but… '

What did he care? What the hell did he care who chose the bloody thing, or whether it was rubies or sapphires? She'd said yes, hadn't she? That was the main thing. Claudia Seferius had agreed to be his wife.

'Oh, you Security Police,' she tutted comically. 'Always so thorough, but you don't have to worry about my — what did you call them the other night? My lying, cheating, stealing, fiddling taxes, making fraudulent deals, forging documents, signatures and seals? From now on, Marcus, I promise, cross my heart, I'll be a good girl and you can claim all the credit you like for solving the cases. Plus I won't even gamble, which is also against the law as you very kindly pointed out, and hell I'll probably even be there, waving to you as you climb the steps of the Senate.'

Butterflies began to turn into thumping great elephants. Had he missed something? 'Claudia, I realize it's only a marriage of convenience-'

'Convenience? Orbilio, who on earth contracts themselves to someone for something as mercenary as expediency? Not when there's this much money at stake.'

There was a joke there, he realized, but he couldn't riposte. The pancakes were threatening to come up. Every last bloody one.

'Money?' he muttered stupidly. 'How much money?'

'You'd have to ask Croesus and Midas that question, then double their combined income for what Terrence is worth.'

'Terrence?'

'You will come to the wedding, won't you? We've booked the Ides of June. Always propitious! I do so hope you won't miss it.'

You had to hand it to these patricians, Claudia thought as she made her way up the steep, cobbled alleyway. They take their obligations seriously.

On the one hand, you could argue that six sweet pancakes would test anyone's digestive system and it served him bloody well right, being sick in the fishpond. She turned left into Saturn Street then right at the fountain, where a bored-looking mule slurped noisily while its rider adjusted its pack. Unfortunately, there had been a pain in Orbilio's eyes that suggested throwing up hadn't been payback for greed, and there was only one explanation. Marcus Conscientious Orbilio had been so shaken by Rex's betrayal of his class that it had made him physically ill.

At the public ovens she paused to admire the gorgon's head that had been painted on the doors, with a curse underneath on any nosey parkers who felt like peering inside and ruining the rising process.

In fact, Orbilio had looked so utterly wretched that she'd been tempted to console him by reminding him that it was his idea to thwart Darius with remarriage, and hoping that by congratulating him on his cracking idea it would cheer Old Green Features up. However, it's not easy making polite conversation to a chap who's feeding six sweet pancakes to the carp, so she took another look at her betrothal ring (Terrence was no slouch on the gem front), gave it a rub for good luck and came straight up here to Mercurium. And oh, ho, ho, who's this, then, gawping at the goldsmith's intricate skill?

'You really shouldn't wear so much jewellery at any one time,' Claudia murmured in Candace's ear. 'One of these days, you're going to get robbed, and for that amount of gold the thieves'll mean business.'

'No one is going to murder me for my money,' she replied in her rich, velvety, dead-communing voice.

'You can see that in your crystal?'

'Any would-be thief is aware of my powers.' In the sunlight, her oiled skin shone like the ebony wood of her native Kush, her beauty enhanced by wine lees rubbed into her lips and cheeks, turning them tawny, while a blackcurrant pigment on her eyelids added to the stunning effect. 'They know that if they touch me, their skin will blister and their eyeballs will burn, they will die in torment as their bowels corrode and their livers explode, and my curse will follow them beyond the grave, where they will be consumed for eternity in hell fire.'

'But I'll bet it hurts, lugging so much metal around every day.'

'No more than a warrior going into battle.'

'Except warriors don't fight every day.'

Glittering eyes bored into her. 'Gold oozes out of the rocks of the Nile. Gold is my birthright, the symbol of Kush, and cursed is he who attacks my country.' Candace turned into the shop. 'I will walk the winds in pursuit of the blasphemer,' she hissed over her shoulder, 'and see his wickedness punished.'

Good for you, girl, good for you. You keep up the charade, but you're not fooling me.

Claudia checked her directions. First on the left past the shield-maker's shop and you can't miss it, the apothecary had said. It's the only inn on Juniper Square with vermilion lintels. At the time she'd thanked him for such clear directions, but what the apothecary had failed to mention was that every Etruscan tavern decked their lintels with greenery. She had to walk round the entire square, stretching her neck like a giraffe to determine paint colour until finally, under a welter of pine (for healthy lungs) she spotted a hint of vermilion.

'Milady?'

If the landlord was surprised to find a young unchaperoned wine merchant's widow strolling round his premises admiring walls decorated in bold, earthy colours depicting scenes of Fuflunic delights, he hid it well. But then, for a man whose cart's axle had broken, costing him not only its replacement but thirty gallons of wine after three amphorae had smashed — as well as his stocks turning to vinegar overnight — she suspected very little interested the poor man beyond financial survival. Which, looking around, seemed decidedly doubtful. Claudia was the only customer in the place and the flowers planted in pots outside the door only acted as a magnet for dogs.