Marilyn Todd - Dark Horse

Claudia jerked awake. Of course. Breasts. Clio could never have fitted into that tight, white shirt on board the Soskia. Her curvaceous hips could never have squeezed into those pantaloons, which meant Clio was no pirate's moll. Jason might have introduced her to Leo, but it must have been purely as a recommendation. No, wait. Claudia tried to rub the sleep out of her eyes and failed miserably. Her throat was too dry to swallow and she knew she should be in bed, but dammit, the game had to stop now. She tried to concentrate. Why should Jason go around recommending harpists to Leo? Why, for that matter, would Jason have any contact with Leo? Shoot, that vintage was strong. Exhausted from play, the stable kittens had fallen asleep in a furry, communal heap. A rat scuttled across the open doorway.

What she needed to clear the cobwebs from her head was a good walk. The moon was waning but it was still full, the sky clear, she should have no trouble locating the hilltop cottage in the dark. Leaving in a hurry as she had, Clio would have had no time to pack. Maybe the answer lay there? Give back what is mine. Because what did Leo owe Jason, if not money?

But the vintage was strong and Claudia's feet felt like they'd been strapped into lead, instead of light, leather sandals. Her gown weighed a ton; every bone resisted the orders despatched from her brain. As though Medea's evil was crushing her spirit as well as her movements… What a mix, island superstition and drink! But as she approached the tiny stone cottage, with its piles of whitethorn and heaps of slimy innards being pulled apart by scavengers scuffling away at the sound of her footsteps, the hairs on the back of her neck started to prickle.

The door creaked as she pushed it open, flooding the single room with silvery moonlight. She sniffed. The cottage smelled of burning. Roast meat. Recently, too. From the corner she heard the whimpering of some poor injured animal. It was too dark to make out what kind of creature or where it was hiding, but if the animal was in pain, it would show no mercy to anyone it perceived as a threat. The stiletto slipped from the strap on her calf as she stepped across the stone threshold. The whimpering grew louder.

'Help,' it rasped. 'Please.'

The knife clenched in Claudia's hand. 'Who's there?'

'Help… me.'

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, they made out a bed, and on the bed something which had once been human. Except now there was not a shred of skin left which wasn't blackened or raw.

'Clio.' The long black hair was burned away. What few wisps remained were welded to the remnants of her skin in treacly strands. 'Clio, listen to me. Don't be frightened.' Sweet Janus, there was nothing left of her. 'I'm going for help.'

'Don't… leave.'

'I won't be gone long.' Her head was spinning with the shock. She wondered whether she would make it out of the cottage before she was sick. 'You'll be fine, Clio, I promise.'

As she backed away from the twitching creature on the bed, the moon slipped behind a cloud, plunging the cottage into blackness.

'You are foolish to make such a promise,' a husky voice whispered. What cloud? The night was clear. 'Clio is dying.'

Oh, shit. Moonlight had been blocked by the closing of the door.

'You'll be in Hades before her.' Claudia reached for the stiletto. Then remembered she'd dropped it when she ran to help Clio.

'Three days and three nights will pass before she succumbs to her injuries.' The voice purred. 'Without balm to soothe the burns. Without poppy juice to ease the pain.'

Clio, Clio, why did you have to come back? Claudia inched backwards. Why the hell hadn't she rammed that stiletto into his chest when she had the chance? 'You sick bastard.'

'Delirious only with pleasure. Talking Clio into disembarking was a master stroke, don't you think?'

Claudia's toe probed the floor. With the door shut, everything was fuzzy and the steel cast no reflection in the dark. She knew she had just one chance before he jumped her. She had to make it first time.

'As I explained to Clio, although I'm not sure she could hear me through her screams, when Odysseus visited his ancestors in the Kingdom of Decay, he had to first navigate the River of Flaming Fire.'

Stall. Stall for time, while her feet located their deadly steel target. 'Kill me if you must, but for heaven's sake do it quickly, don't bore me to death.'

Yet even as he laughed in the darkness, a jolt of terror shot through her. This wasn't wine making her head thick. This wasn't shock making her limbs leaden and disorientating her co-ordination. Sweet Jupiter, she had been drugged. You bastard, Jason. You dirty, rotten conniving sonofabitch, I even took the goblet from your hand while you continued to charm the pants off us as we debated the Quest for the Golden Fleece. Nikias's opinion was that it would have been a raid along the Black Sea to break the Scythian monopoly on trade. Llagos, of course, being local born and bred insisted it was a delegation of amber merchants. But you. You insisted, it was the stolen death cloak of a Scythian king, without which his soul was unable to rest. In other words, a quest to return the embodiment of the king's spirit, the way your own soul would be doomed without sons to carry the bull tattoo on their chests.

And I fell for it. Even though I had Junius standing closer than your own shadow, to ensure you could cause no more harm!

'Your knees are buckling, Claudia. You cannot stand up, no matter how hard you try.'

I can! I can stand up. And when I do, I'll kill you, you bastard. If only I could find that bloody knife.

'Circe plied her victims with moly. It made them forget, but that is not what I have planned for you, Claudia. Your fate is to remember.'

'Go to hell,' she said, but her voice was slurred.

'I've been there,' he said. 'It's a grey place, without power, without control, without domination. Hell is a place to which I can no longer return.'

But Claudia could no longer hear the boasts of the demon. The drug had sucked her too deep into oblivion. Although in the moment before it claimed her totally, she recalled the doctored goblet of wine being passed to Jason by a thinner, much smaller hand.

Life for the demon had never been sweeter. For several days now, it had been hard at work constructing a box. Not personally constructing, of course. This was the product of a master carpenter's skill, but the design had been the demon's, and tell me, who could deny the box was beautiful?

It had been planed until it was silky soft to the touch and a glass panel had been set into the lid. The glass was so thick as to be almost obscure, but it was adequate for the purpose intended.

'Looks more like a blooming coffin,' the carpenter had joked when he and his boy had delivered it.

The demon had forced a smile, but the box was no laughing matter. The approximate height, depth and breadth of a woman, there were a few modifications to be made before it could be put into use. The demon hadn't completed them all, but, inspired by Clio and Volcar, it had decided to bring its schedule forward. This would be a day to remember, would it not!

'Beware of Greeks bearing gifts,' the demon whispered.

As it closed the lid over Claudia.

Claudia's eyelids fluttered open. Everything was dark, pitch black, and she smelled wood. Croesus, where was she? Who was she? What was she doing? More importantly, how much had she drunk? She tried to think back, but memory was a blank, as dark as the void she was trapped in, and when she tried to move, it was as though Medusa had turned her body to stone. After a few minutes, she gave up the unequal struggle and listened. The only sound she could hear was the hammering inside her skull. Oh, lord. That much wine. Her mouth was dry, her tongue way too big, furred, and there was a tickle of sawdust at the back of her throat. She lay helpless, motionless, unable to swallow and too damn weary to care. Hangovers are hangovers. They wear off eventually. Go to sleep.