Gary Corby - The Ionia Sanction

We’d rushed downhill at great speed. Over my enemy’s shoulder I saw the closed gates at the Piraeus end of the road and the two guards who defended them.

With a sinking feeling, I realized nobody had briefed those guards. It never occurred to me Araxes would get this far.

Araxes saw it too. He grabbed the whip and deliberately cracked it against the horse’s wound, goading the already panicking animal into going faster.

The guards held their spears with points facing us and ends dug into the earth. I could hear one of them shouting, “Halt! I order you to halt!”

He didn’t have a hope in Hades.

Araxes said, “Good luck.” Then he jumped. His body slammed into the Long Wall and disappeared to the rear as the cart sped onwards.

I wanted to pick up the scroll case. But if I did, I would die on the cart. I turned and jumped.

Hitting the wall pushed the air out of my lungs. I hooked my arms over the top to stop from falling under the wheels. Splinters embedded in the flesh of my forearms. I tried to scream but there was no air.

The horse ran headlong into the gates and squealed, a terrible, sickening sound.

I heard cracking, whether wood or bones I don’t know. One guard went down. His body jerked as a wheel drove over him. Then the other. He lay still.

The cart left the ground. It spun in the air, smashed into the gates. They cracked and flew outward. Men on the other side screamed.

Araxes had bounced off the wall and landed on a roll. He picked himself up and waded through the bloodied wreck of horse, cart, and men.

The scroll case had been thrown clear. It lay in plain sight on the other side of the ruined gates. Araxes picked it up as he stumbled past.

I cursed and let go of the wall. There were a hundred tiny wooden splinters sticking out of my flesh, each one a painful red dot of blood.

On the other side, men lay with wounds, or stood in simple shock. I ignored them.

Araxes veered away from the streets of Piraeus. He headed right, to the commercial docks.

I felt a small surge of relief. If he tried to hide in the warehouses, he would be trapped, and a small army would eventually root him out.

I was exhausted and shaking, but surely he had to be too. Araxes staggered and came to a stop.

I’d run him down.

Araxes stood on the wooden docks and waved to me as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

Suddenly I was aware of the sea-salt air, the crisp breeze tossing my hair, the wash of the sea against the wharves, and the large ship docked right next to where Araxes waved.

It was stern-to-wharf, which some ships will do when they’re ready to depart. A gangplank led from the wharf to the stern.

Araxes turned and walked up. They didn’t even stop for the gangplank. A sailor kicked it crashing to the wharf.

I heard the call, “Oars out!” A single row of oars appeared over both sides.

I came to a juddering halt at the gangplank, gasping for breath. The ship was five paces away. I thought about jumping, but it would have been suicidal. Even if I made the leap, there was a boatful of sailors to fight.

The ship on which Araxes slipped away was long, but with only a single row of oars. She was either a diplomatic boat, the sort that belonged to a city, or … and this seemed all too depressingly likely … before me was a Phoenician warship, or maybe a pirate.

Araxes appeared at the stern. He waved cheerily, and then, with his left hand, held up the scroll for me to see. He cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted, “So pleased you made it. Take care, dear fellow. Bye!”

I gritted my teeth, but couldn’t prevent myself from screaming in frustration. Araxes had escaped, and taken with him the information that had killed at least three men, maybe more, plus he’d made me look incompetent. I watched as whatever fledgling reputation I had for investigation departed on that boat.

I swore on the spot, by Zeus, by Athena, by every God that knew revenge, that I would track down Araxes.

Then a trickle of sweat and a cold shiver ran down my back. I’d promised Pericles success.

I’d actually said, “He can’t escape.”

What was Pericles going to say?

“It’s a disaster, Nicolaos, a bloody disaster.”

Pericles stalked back and forth in his office, as if he could find the source of his anguish underfoot and grind it out of existence.

I shifted in my seat. My arms were on fire from the splintering they’d taken. They had a crust of blood over them, but the scabs broke and bled every time I moved. My forehead sported a lump-I had no idea how it got there-and my chest muscles ached with every breath.

“How could you have let him get away so easily?” Pericles demanded.

“We did our best,” I muttered. “I didn’t get these injuries sitting still.”

“Don’t whine,” he said testily. He turned his back and gazed out the window.

“There are men worse off than you. Two of those guards are dead. One has his kneecap shattered and will probably never walk straight again. He was chosen to run at the next Olympics. How am I supposed to explain this to their fathers?” He turned back to me.

“And how in Hades did a Phoenician ship get alongside the commercial docks without anyone noticing?”

“I’ll ask the harbormaster, but Pericles, is there a law against it?”

“If there isn’t, there will be now!”

I decided not to point out that horse had bolted. In fact, any mention of a bolting horse would probably be a bad idea.

“I’m disappointed, Nicolaos. I trusted you with a vital, delicate mission, and this is the result you bring me. I’m reconsidering our arrangement.”

Disaster. If Pericles dismissed me, it would prove my father’s contention-that there was no future to be made from investigation-and I would be bound by our agreement to return to his sculptor’s workshop.

“Pericles, this is unfair. The investigation has barely begun.”

“It should be over. Look at the mess you’ve made so far.”

Shouting would be the fastest route to my dismissal. “All right, that’s a fair point,” I conceded. “Araxes proved to be more able than anyone could reasonably have expected.”

It sounded weak even to my ears, but I had to try something. “Who’s going to catch him, if I don’t?”

“I’ve been asking myself that same question, but with a slightly different emphasis.”

I dredged my brain for some morsel of progress, to show I was not a complete failure. “At least we know his name is Araxes.”

“We know nothing.” Pericles glared at me. “Araxes is the name of a river in Asia.”

“Oh.”

Pericles drummed his fingers on his desk while I contemplated life as a sculptor and rehearsed the words I would use to tell my father I had failed. Then Pericles spoke.

“We have wars with four cities dragging on. Four at once, how many cities could manage that? Plus there’s talk of a major war with Corinth or Sparta. If it gets any worse, we’ll have to think about bringing old men and boys into the army.” Pericles glared at me. “The only reason I’m retaining you, Nicolaos-for now-is we’re stretched so thin. You’re the only man available. That’s the only reason. When this commission is over, you can consider our agreement terminated.”

“Unless I succeed,” I said at once.

Pericles paused, while my heart gyrated about my chest.

“Unless you are spectacularly successful,” he said at last, and I breathed again. “Which, frankly, I doubt.”

It was the best deal I could hope for, perhaps better than I deserved, because Pericles was right; I had comprehensively underestimated my opponent, and been comprehensively defeated. I wasn’t planning on anything less than total success before I finished.