Dark Horse

Twenty-Six

Short but shrill, surprise mixed with panic. Marcus sprang.

In three paces he was off the bed, through the door and racing along the portico. In Silvia's doorway, the little oriental pedicurist slammed into him, her eyes bulging with panic. Her breath was drawn, ready to scream a second time, but at the sight of Orbilio, leadership personified, she gulped it back. 'Sir, sir, it's the mistress-'

He had already pushed the girl to one side. 'Fetch the physician,' he ordered.

A fine example of patrician tact, Claudia thought, racing behind. Anyone else would have called for the undertaker. Shamshi's soft, girlie voice floated somewhere above her.

Before the sun rises thrice more over our heads, a woman shall die.

Silvia lay on the bed, arms by her side, as though she was sleeping and had thrown back the covers in the night. She wore a nightshift of the palest buttermilk linen, so fine it was transparent, emphasizing the swell of her tiny breasts. Her head was turned sideways, facing the wall, and her honey-coloured hair streamed across the bolster, soft and shining and longer than one might imagine from seeing it curled. Around her throat, like some hideous necklace, hung a string of purple bruises.

'Pass me a mirror,' Marcus said, leaning over. 'Quickly.' Claudia grabbed a polished bronze mirror from Silvia's table and thrust it into his hand. She watched as he turned Silvia's head towards him and held the mirror close to her lips.

So young, she thought. Death had stripped ten years from the Ice Queen. Impossible to believe Silvia had borne three small children. Who, she wondered, would break the news that their mother was dead? Indeed, who would know where to find them?

Three murders on top of an uprising and piracy, Orbilio would have enough on his plate here. Right about now, the freighter would be weighing anchor, hoisting her red and white striped mainsail as she set off back for Rome, but no matter. There was still Plan B in reserve. Namely, Junius rowing his mistress across to the mainland just as quickly as she could give Supersnoop here the slip.

'Mother of Tarquin,' Marcus breathed. 'She's alive!'

The mirror clattered to the floor as he pressed his mouth to Silvia's, forcing life from his lips into hers. Claudia wondered why the sight of it should bring such a sharp pain to her chest. Five, six, seven times the needle jabbed before Silvia's eyelids fluttered open.

'M-Marcus!'

'Don't try to speak,' he said, trickling water a few drops at a time down Silvia's throat.

A colourless hand closed over his wrist. 'You — saved my life.'

'I can't take the credit for that,' he said gently. 'I merely speeded up the recovery process.' He pulled up the bedsheet to cover the transparent nightshift, smoothed the crumples on the counterpane, brushed a strand of hair from her eyes.

'Thank you.'

'Hey!' He wagged a finger in mock anger. 'Doctor Orbilio expressly ordered his patient not to talk, remember? And when she does, he confidently expects her first words to be the name of the man who did this.'

With trembling fingers, Silvia explored the bruising on her throat. 'Don't — know,' she rasped. 'Dark. I was asleep.' Tears filled her big blue eyes. 'Thought I was — going to — die.'

Orbilio said nothing, but then what could he say?

That was what her attacker had expected, too.