Mary Reed - Four for a Boy

For an instant John stood transfixed at the shattered window as the noisy cloud flowed around him and then outside, like multi-hued smoke.

Avis’ winged captives had gained their freedom.

John did not expect to soar across the Golden Horn, but he had seen leaves drift placidly to the earth, moving lazily back and forth on unseen air currents.

It was a chance he had to take.

Offering a swift prayer to Mithra for escape or a quick death, he grasped the loops tighter and jumped.

He was never certain what saved him, whether it was the updraft from the docks supporting taut, silk-covered wings and belling out his tunic, or that one wing scraped against the side of the tower and slowed his fall, or perhaps a combination of both.

Whatever the reason, the dock rushed up to slam into him and a few heartbeats later, John lay amid the wreckage of Avis’ wings, safe but almost senseless.

The Gourd’s men would be after him immediately. He had to get up and run, he thought groggily as he got up on his hands and knees.

A hand clamped around his arm and dragged him to his feet. “Quick! Come with me!” shouted the huge man who hauled him up.

It was Victor, Viator’s son.

“There’s a door around the corner! Hurry up!” Victor pulled John roughly along and thrust him through the doorway as nearby workers pretended not to notice anything amiss.

That was always the best response to anything unusual.

John’s head began to clear as the pair ran along a short corridor that was wet and slippery beneath their boots, and through a crude, stone doorway into yet another corridor, one that led to a narrow, dark tunnel that eventually branched into three even narrower ways. Without hesitation Victor plunged into the central passage.

John was already lost.

“My friends and I played in here when we were young,” Victor explained breathlessly as they clattered further into the labyrinth. “Know them all like the back of my hand. The Gourd’s men don’t.”

They turned aside into an arched tunnel, its noisome muck up to their ankles. There were more doors and passageways, and then without warning John was in a place he remembered.

Viator’s warehouse.

“You probably wondered where I disappeared after you chased me in here,” Victor said with a wry grin. “Now you know.”

They flopped down on a pile of packing straw.

John looked down at the blood soaking through his tunic. A broken wooden slat from the wings must have scraped him, he thought vaguely. “Should I thank Fortuna you were on hand at the right time?”

“Not really,” Victor replied. “I’ve been hiding around here for my own safety. When the Gourd’s little army started thundering around so noisily I naturally took a look to see what was going on. And there you were, forcing your way into Avis’ tower with a pack of armed men after you. Naturally that caught my attention, even before you came crashing out the window as gracefully as a marble Icarus.”

John managed a smile at the imagery.

“Besides which, I wanted to see if the wings worked,” Victor admitted. “I’ve been waiting years to see them tested. Avis visits quite often asking for what he calls a small monetary contribution to help defray the necessary expenses of his work. Naturally I’ve developed quite an interest in the project.”

“Yes, I ran into him when we tried to arrest you, Victor,” John said wearily. “However, I suspect there was some other reason involved. Why did you really help me just now?”

The big man shrugged. “I’m a Christian, I’m supposed to help people in need.”

John was reminded of the cart driver who had tried to do the same thing and paid dearly for his effort, but found himself instead mentioning the doorkeeper who needed assistance after being stabbed as Victor and his friends escaped from the Great Church.

“I didn’t stab the old man,” Victor said. “I only found out about that later. However, I admit I do have a selfish motive for aiding you. I’m trying to find out who murdered my father.”

John awkwardly offered his condolences.

“Thank you,” Victor replied. “We tried to leave immediately after your visit, you see. We intended to sail on one of the ships father employed to transport marble, but as we made our way along the docks, a demon swooped down on us.”

A dark wave passed in front of John’s eyes. He blinked, but the dark mist remained. “A demon?”

“Oh, not a real demon, but it’s a good description. It was a black shape that struck out of nowhere. We were taken by surprise. The beast got in a telling blow and father fell into the water.”

Victor bowed his partially shaven head in sorrow, suddenly looking much younger. “I didn’t know what to do. Needless to say, nobody came to our aid. I should have grabbed the miserable creature. Instead I dived into the sea to try to save father, but he was gone. You wouldn’t think that such a big man could disappear like that. The water was so cold and dark. I couldn’t find him. It was as if Hades had swallowed him up the instant he hit the water. If I could just have found him…”

The thought of the greedy, dark water made John shudder. The importer of marble had indeed been swallowed up by Hades or at least by John’s idea of its antechamber.

“I saw your father when he was taken to the hospice, Victor, and he would have died whether you had rescued him or not. You acted bravely.”

Victor raised his head. His eyes were full of tears. “So he has been recovered? Then I must trust to others to bury him and honor him when I can. In the meantime, we are both hunted men.”

“The Gourd’s men must know that the labyrinth we fled through leads eventually to the docks. Before long there will be dozens of them here, searching every ship and warehouse for us.”

“We can leave by one of many exits.”

John made a sudden decision. “Help me to my feet.” His voice was fading.

Victor complied. “You’re very pale. You need medical attention, and soon. But where can we go?”

John managed to move his lips and whispered the only sanctuary that came to mind.

“The house of Senator Opimius.”

“Why did you bring me here?” John demanded.

“You told me to,” Victor replied. “I pretended I’d come to work on the bath house and asked for Lady Anna. Just as you instructed. Don’t you remember?”

“No.” John struggled to sit up and failed.

He lay at the bottom of Senator Opimius’ private bath. The sunken room, usually filled waist deep with warm water, had been drained for repair. What little light seeped in wavered as a slight breeze stirred the vegetation half blocking the slitted windows. The rippling effect mimicked the missing water. John saw that not only was Victor present, but Felix and Gaius as well.

The physician, who had examined John, climbed to his feet with a grunt. “That’s likely the result of smacking your head on the ground. It’s made you groggy. Yes, there’s a nasty bruise there. Despite all the blood, that new cut is nothing. But I see you have some more serious wounds just starting to heal. You should not exert yourself for a day or so. No violent exercise. I’ll send achillea in case you start bleeding again. That’s what you have to watch for. The stuff is wonderful for stanching blood. In fact, what I always say is, if it was good enough for Achilles, it will certainly suit my patients.”

“That’s all very well, Gaius,” John said weakly, “but I have tasks to carry out. They can’t wait. Besides, staying here puts the senator and his daughter in danger.” Again John attempted to sit. This time he succeeded. He leaned back and shivered. The disused bath house was cold as a mausoleum. “I’d be surprised if everyone in the house doesn’t know we’re here by now.”