Marilyn Todd - Widow's Pique

'You still haven't said what practices the King is against.'

For the first time since Salome left them, Mazares laughed. 'Try all of them! Do you know the locals' nickname for her farm? Amazonia!'

'Amazonia?'

'Land of the Amazons,' he said, rubbing his jaw. 'Claudia, I swear that woman flies in the face of every convention you can think of and then half a dozen on top. You see, not only does our Salome have strong views on women not being treated as chattels, she rejects the concept of slavery on every level. The first thing she did after inheriting the farm from her husband was to free his slaves, then before you know it, women started to appear on her farm from all over, calling it a refuge-'

'Is that so bad?

'Of course it bloody is!' The anger in his voice surprised her. 'I told you before, you can't make the sun travel backwards, but equally you cannot force its progress.'

He ran his fingers through his glossy curls.

'The Histri have had to cope with a lot of change in a very short space of time. New laws, new practices, new rulers — these things don't come easy, but they're adjusting the best that they can.'

'Your King seems to be making a pretty good stab of the merger.'

Mazares shrugged the King's good deeds aside. 'It's his job. The point is, for the last decade our people have seen land that's been in their families since the dawn of time snatched away and given to strangers.'

There was no question of holding the passion back now.

'Then along comes Salome and suddenly their principles are eroded, as well as their security. You have to understand, Claudia, that in a Histrian's eyes, women need the protection of men. To them, anything else flies in the face of nature and it's quite beyond their understanding how battered wives might need a refuge. To put it bluntly, they view Salome's farm as a lesbian commune, and unfortunately there's always an element that wants to teach Sappho a lesson by trampling her crops, or…'

Just as quickly as the heat had flared up, it died down, to be replaced by a weariness she hadn't imagined.

'Or else they view the women as a ready supply of whores and, quite frankly, Claudia, we're sick and tired of burning rapists around here.'

'Did you say burning?'

'Oh, don't look so shocked. No one forces a man to commit rape and ultimately it's their choice whether they die that way, they could always leave the women in peace! But I'm telling you straight. Amazonia has stirred up a lot of trouble round here and, if Salome doesn't change her ways, and soon, something terrible is going to happen. I know it.'

Looking at the anguish behind his eyes, Claudia almost felt guilty about what she was about to do next.

'Let's talk about Rovin,' she said sweetly.

What was it Salome had said? Much to explore in the area? And that Mazares would make sure she had a wonderful time here…?

'Because I was under the impression that this was an overnight stop.'

'If that's what you want, then of course it can be one night,' he said smoothly. 'Only, it's so beautiful here, all these rocky coves, pinewoods and golden, sandy beaches, that I thought you might prefer to relax for a day or so before moving on. Take a boat round the islands, swim in the lagoons-'

'Beat around the bush? No, thank you, Mazares. Tomorrow we head for Gora.'

'If that's your wish, then-'

But he was talking to himself. Claudia had spun on her heel and was marching purposefully down the street. She could hear him yelling behind her, but he could shout all he liked, she didn't trust him or this place; as his pace stretched to catch up, so her pace quickened with it. Lit by his own torchlight, she could see his arms waving and now he'd broken into a run. Sooner or later, she'd let him catch up, but right now, cutting that smarmy snake down to size by having him chase after her seemed a good idea.

Except she'd forgotten about the steps on this island and too late she realized that what he'd been yelling at her had, in fact, been a warning. That he'd been trying, goddammit, to save her from breaking her neck. Running too fast and with nothing to grab hold of, Claudia pitched forwards into nothingness.

Nosferatu, huh?

The reflection staring back from the mirror couldn't decide whether to be pleased or insulted at this allusion to Histria's shuffling demon of the night, the bastard son of a bastard son who was supposed to drink human blood and feast off the warm, dripping flesh of his victims.

Insulted, because the figure in the mirror was no ghoul, no monster, no killer for pleasure, and the suggestion of having an oversized head, long curved claws and a fat, lolling tongue could not be further removed from the well-groomed figure reflected in the flickering lamplight. Ogre indeed!

All the same…

Where better to hide than under the umbrella of a mythical monster? In which case, could any description be more pleasing?

The reflection turned this way then that, admiring what it saw, until, satisfied with the result from every angle, it smiled. Very well. Nosferatu it is!

But what to do about the little witness, that was the question. By all accounts, the child hadn't actually seen the ghoul, only its shadow, where a full moon would account for the physical distortions that she'd seen played out on the wall. That, and a child's overactive imagination!

'Nosferatu' paced the room — up and down, up and down — then finally came to a decision. The girl could be safely left to her demons. Superstitious though the islanders were, no one believed her when she said she'd seen Nosferatu, not even her mother, and since no evidence of slaughter was left behind, it was probably wise to leave well alone and not start tempting providence at this stage.

The plan was going well and according to schedule. Let it be. Right now, there were more pressing matters to deal with.

Nosferatu picked up the blade from the table, tested its edge, then slipped the knife back in its sheath. The dagger was carried for protection, not harm. For tonight's work, Nosferatu needed a noose.

Through an explosion of fireballs, Claudia was distantly aware of being asked to count fingers. Since the fingers that were being held up were dancing like fireflies, she could not see the point and closed her eyes again.

The next time she awoke, it was to an orchestra of tone-deaf percussionists and she could smell comfrey and catnip, elder and borage, and thought, dear me, some poor soul must have an awful lot of bruises to warrant that lot, but then something warm and scented was sloshed down her throat and she promptly lapsed back into unconsciousness.

She dreamed.

She dreamed the Nymphs of the West were singing lullabies to her in the Gardens of the Hesperides, watched over by Night and the Evening Star. The walls of the garden were made from blocks of pure, white, limestone that kept making her sneeze, but then Atlas came along and laid a cool compress over her forehead and everything in the garden was lovely. Atlas was younger than she'd imagined, with an aureole of glossy dark curls framing his face, but she supposed old men couldn't be expected to hold up the universe, and it was kind of him to use the waters of purity to wash her face, though she hadn't expected purity to smell quite so like hyssop.

Atlas left. Darkness closed over the garden. Juno's golden apples glinted on their tree in the moonlight, and Claudia halfexpected to see Hercules sneak in any moment and steal a few for his penultimate labour. She was not disappointed. In he strode, but he was accompanied by Diana of the Hunt, who plucked an arrow from the quiver on her back and fired it over the wall. But this Diana was no virgin goddess. She straddled her muscular thighs over Hercules as he sat, took his impossibly handsome face in both hands and pressed her lips hard to his.