Marilyn Todd - Second Act

‘What’s your real name?’ Claudia had asked.

And what was the reply? Tongue in cheek and designed to mislead, the reply had still come straight from the heart. Daphne. Doris was not a man, but a girl. She disguised it with over-the-top feminine gestures and who would guess from strong muscles built up from hauling on scenery? But unless she wanted to contain herself to musical farce, it was the only way a woman could appear on the stage. And Doris (Daphne!) was a natural actor. She played the Miser to comic perfection. No doubt, she would play tragedy to wring out the tears Yet even as she was picturing the moment Ion found out about the bandages binding her breasts, there seemed to be something wrong with Claudia’s legs. They just weren’t getting the message to walk and were setting off in directions all of their own. She put her hand up to the lump where that thug had knocked her out on the dray cart, and as she did so she brushed another, much larger bump on her temple.

‘What happ-?’

Her knees buckled. As Orbilio staggered towards her, his face white with concern, she found herself clutching at bedclothes.

‘That’s why Skyles had to carry you home,’ Marcus said, and she hoped it was the blood thundering in her ears, but dammit, it sounded for all the world like he was laughing.

‘As he whooped for joy at Erinna’s survival, he-um-accidentally set the hook in motion again.’

It was always going to be like this with Orbilio, she realized, as she reeled sideways on to the floor. Ups and downs, storms and torrents, it would never be a smooth ride with this man. He wouldn’t get the credit for saving the Empire, either, because there was no credit to take. When Cotta died, the evidence died with him and the Senate would sincerely mourn their Arch-Hawk, whose life was tragically snuffed out by an accident in his warehouse, where a carelessly tied hoist had swung loose. Marcus would always be fighting for his seat in the Senate, just as she would always be fighting to maintain her position as a woman in trade.

Aristocrat in a pleb’s world.

Woman in a man’s world.

They were more alike than she’d realized.

She tried to laugh with him at the absurdity of the second bump, at the ridiculous mass of walking wounded downstairs, at the sheer farce played out within a farce, but the pull of the blackness was stronger. She had to tell him, though. She had to tell him, before she passed out again. Make him understand ‘You’re right,’ she whispered, as oblivion rushed up to meet her. ‘You are the best friend I’ve ever had.’

Orbilio shouted to someone to call the herbalist back quickly. Claudia Seferius was clearly delirious.