Marilyn Todd - Wolf Whistle

As he shook off the drips, Severina’s face floated into his memory. Not how she’d looked in death, but how she looked in life. Beautiful, full of joy, with everything to live for. Why? he wondered. Why, of all the girls who bore a blue tattoo, should dark, vivacious Zygia be a target for the killer’s warped and twisted mind? What is it that sets the elfin Annia apart?

Orbilio felt he was on the brink of more than just the plunge pool. He was-if only he dared follow up his instinct-poised on the brink of a terrible solution, because suppose (just suppose) he’d got this whole thing back to front? Arms outstretched, Marcus Cornelius Orbilio dived into the icy waters of the plunge pool.

And shuddered.

‘Claudia?’

The bunch of keys jangled in his hand as Marcus let himself in, but only his voice came back to him, the echo undistorted by kitchen steam or by the clatters, bangs and jabber that denote a household’s heart.

‘I need to talk to you about Arbil.’

Tossing the keys upon a vacant chopping block, he crossed the silent kitchen into an atrium where only marble eyes stared out and chatter came solely from the fountain. Where the hell was everybody?

‘Claudia,’ he bellowed, and ‘ya, ya, ya’ echoed back to him as he belted up the stairs. Her bedroom, and all the guest rooms, were deserted. Where the devil were the servants?

‘Like whether a goblet is half empty,’ he called out, as he checked the second gallery, ‘or half full-’

Dare he barge into the bathroom? Nine days ago, she’d staunched his bleeding wounds and pressed sweet balms on to his bruises. You’d never know, from looking round, what had passed between them in this room.

‘-it’s a question of perspective.’

Dammit, Claudia, I thought you’d be home. And then he remembered the musical farce. She must have taken the whole household as a treat.

‘This murder business,’ he said, more to keep himself company in this ringing hall of columns. ‘You talked of conjurors, remember? Seeing only what you’re deceived to see?’

He may as well check the office before leaving.

‘Hell, we’ve been fed a stage set from the start.’

‘I know,’ Claudia said quietly. From her upright, hard-backed chair behind the desk, she swivelled her eyes to meet his, but her head didn’t move, and today he could forgive the lack of courtesy.

On account of the knife which pressed against the artery in her neck.

*

Orbilio felt himself stumble. For the first time in his life, he knew what failure meant. Total, abject failure. He had seen death in all its forms, had killed in war and self-defence. There were occasions, he recalled, where men had died when they need not have, and he had been powerless to help. Partly that was why he joined the Security Police. To rectify those errors, and avenge.

‘Let her go,’ he said, edging through the doorway. ‘Untie her and take me instead.’

A hand slid under Claudia’s chin and jerked it upwards, stretching her neck like a sacrificial beast’s. ‘Suppose I give Nemesis his rein and slit her throat, right here and now? What would you do then?’

He watched, transfixed with horror, as the flat of the blade travelled slowly, almost sensuously, up and down, up and down Claudia’s throat.

Orbilio heard the tremble in his voice. ‘I’d kill you.’ Claudia had closed her eyes, he noticed. Otherwise, there was no trace of fear upon her face. His gut turned over.

‘You might lock me away, like poor Shannu was locked away, an embarrassment to the family-’ the blade reverted to a point and pressed against the throbbing artery ‘-but my dear Marcus, you will never harm Penelope’s beloved baby.’

Annia turned the full force of her beautiful, treacherous smile upon the man she called her cousin. ‘That I’m sure of.’

Marcus was right, Claudia thought. Annia had played him like a sucker from the start.

Three murders so gruesome, so bizarre they would automatically attract the attention of the Security Police, though it was Marcus in particular she needed to hook, hence the encounter with Daphne. Heaven knows how long she’d been trailing the poor woman, waiting for the moment when her path would cross with Orbilio’s, but Annia-as ever-had played her part to perfection. There was no way, after hearing Penelope’s history, that he could remain on the sidelines.

Not that he was the only mug. Claudia, too, had allowed logic and emotion to outweigh her natural instinct, and now she was about to pay the price. How strange, she thought. Despite Nemesis pressing at her throat, her mind drifted high above it, clear and calm. As though all this was happening to someone else and she was merely a spectator, watching from afar. Nothing seemed real. Not this warren of a house, unnaturally silenced. Not Marcus, unbuckling his sword belt with reluctance. And especially not sweet little Annia with her shiny, scrubbed face and glistening fair hair which she washed every day and tied back with a clean cerise ribbon. The same ribbon, incidentally, which bound Claudia’s wrists.

‘Take these.’ Annia tossed across a pair of handcuffs. ‘Back up slowly,’ she instructed Marcus. ‘Kneel beside that column, put your arms around it and clip on the manacles.’

‘Annia-’

He advanced half a pace and Claudia felt a warm trickle run down her neck. The blade was so sharp, she hadn’t felt it puncture her skin.

‘All right, Annia.’ Marcus held up a placatory hand. ‘Anything you say.’

His tone was conciliatory, yet even as he chained himself to the pillar, Claudia could see in his eyes that, by complying, Marcus Cornelius Orbilio had sealed his own death warrant.

Like a shattered pot, the dream burst.

Suddenly, the tiniest of details sprang to life. On the wall, Claudia could almost hear the leopard purring through its spots as Orpheus strummed his lyre. That tessellated peacock might strut off at any second, and Claudia could all but taste the ripened apricots and medlars drawn in paint. This is real, she thought. It’s not a dream, a play to be applauded. Her heart was thumping, her hands had turned to ice. The ivory inlays glinting in the sunlight, the aromatic herbs burning in the brazier, the monkey’s gouge marks in the satinwood and maple. They are real. As is Marcus. As is Annia.

And so, goddammit, as am I!

She bit deep into her lower lip to stop it trembling and for a moment, everything went dark and out of focus. Deep breaths, deep breaths. For gods’ sake, don’t pass out. Deep breaths. Her eye picked out a flax plant painted on the wall. Blue, like the peacock on the floor. Concentrate, concentrate. In Greece, whole hillsides would be covered in it. Atta girl, concentrate, concentrate. Think of how the stems are steeped to separate the fibres. Then bleached out in the sun before they can be woven into linen. That’s the stuff, well done. Once panic had subsided and cold beads of sweat ran hot again, Claudia could almost smile. As triumphs went, it might look small, but victory was relative.

For Claudia, knowing that her mind was no longer held captive by Annia was akin to subduing Gaul.

Not-she struggled with the bonds which tied her hands behind the chair-that it would necessarily be wise to let Annia in on the secret. Her sanity remained stable only so long as the Puppet Master’s stage was undisturbed. Ritual was all. She fed upon defencelessness and fear. Indeed, Claudia suspected that it was because Zygia had not crumpled that Annia lost her temper, and slit her throat in anger. How she must have despised that lack of self-control! She’d have blamed Zygia, of course. The girl provoked her, had it coming, she deserved to die like that, the bitch. But inside, her intemperance would have gnawed away. Next time, they would play by her rules-and thus had Severina come to grief, taunted to the end.