Ten for Dying

DAY SEVEN
Chapter Forty-five

John was standing in front of the office of a shipping concern not far from the docks when he spotted the aristocratic stranger from the Leviathan prowling the opposite side of the square. The ship had finally reached a port where it could be properly repaired. He had wondered whether he and his family would be forbidden to go ashore. But apparently Captain Theon had not been instructed to insure that the former Lord Chamberlain was, in fact, delivered to his intended destination. Or else he considered there was no threat of John fleeing.

Then there was the further possibility that the mysterious passenger who was lodged in the captain’s cabin had been dispatched to keep a watch on John.

John had seen the man loitering at a distance as soon as he and Cornelia and the servants had left the ship. Wherever John went, the stranger was there as well.

The square was surrounded by low buildings faced with stucco which might once have been painted blue. Beside the doorways competing shippers advertised their services in black and white mosaics depicting the type of sea and land transport available. Pedestrians and laden carts filled the square. Down a colonnaded side street could be seen inviting rows of shops.

Reluctantly, John had left Cornelia, Peter, and Hypatia scouring the marketplace. He supposed that whoever had attacked Peter on the Leviathan would not risk violence in public, and Peter insisted on purchasing provisions-fruit, figs, olives-anything that didn’t need cooking since Captain Theon had barred him from the makeshift kitchen in the cabin.

“He thinks I fell over the rail,” Peter told John indignantly. “Says he’s afraid I’ll fall into the brazier and set the ship on fire!”

Hypatia, standing beside her husband, added, “Theon has no right to talk-a captain who sails his ship onto the rocks. He’s only pretending to think Peter fell overboard. Peter’s as spry as a young mountain goat.”

John had seen Peter stumble on the stairs of the house in Constantinople. He was not so sure that the servant possessed the spryness of even a very old goat. He did, however, believe in Peter’s unwavering honesty. If Peter said he’d been pushed overboard then he had.

It might actually have been John who was being attacked-or warned-through the attempted murder of one of his party. But about what? That he was not to think of returning to Constantinople? That no matter how far away John might be he would never be beyond the emperor’s grasp?

He walked away from the shipping company, went along the alley hugging the building, and past the stables behind it. Beyond, a short street ran between three and four story brick tenements. John turned down the street, then ducked into the first doorway he came to.

He waited. Shortly thereafter a figure walked past his hiding place. The passenger from the Leviathan.

The young man paused just beyond where John had drawn back into the shadow, and appeared to study the street in front of him. Then he broke into a run.

When the young man turned the corner at the end of the street, John left his hiding place and returned the way he’d come.

There appeared to be nothing on the street to attract a one who didn’t know the city. So, John deduced, the young aristocrat must indeed have been following him. With ill intent? To make sure he didn’t abscond? Suspicious of what John might be doing-or persons he might be meeting?

John hurried back to the Leviathan. He had seen Captain Theon preparing to leave the ship to consult a carpenter about the rudder. With both Theon and his passenger ashore John would be able to investigate the cabin. He was convinced that Peter hadn’t been banned from cooking there because of fear that he’d cause a fire.

The crew members left on board were all at the prow, throwing knucklebones and debating the best places ashore for drinking and women in anticipation of their watch ending. If they were keeping watch for anything, it was for Captain Theon’s return. They paid no attention to John.

“Wait until we get to Crotone,” said one of the men. “There’s a temple to Priapus there!”

John did not wait to hear the ensuing argument about the veracity of the statement. He strolled along beside the rail keeping a prudent distance as he always did until he reached the stern. Peering around the edge of the cabin he waited until there was a rattling noise and the players’ attention was fixed on the bones tumbling along the deck. Then he moved speedily to the cabin door.

Because the ship had been left in the care of a handful of trusted men, or from what seemed to be customary carelessness, the door was unlocked.

As soon as John stepped inside his boot landed on a stain on the plank floor. A reddish patch of half congealed liquid. Spilled wine to judge by the smell.

Beams of light lanced in through gaps in the closed shutters. The brazier sat against the back wall. Along one side lay rumpled bedding and dirty clothing. The walls were mostly concealed behind shelves cluttered with items ranging from small boxes and amphorae in wooden cradles to hammers and cooking utensils. On a wooden table stained navigational charts lay half-unrolled across dirty metal plates.

Apart from the absence of water it might have been the remains of a shipwreck on the bottom of the sea.

John stood still, listening carefully. He could hear the muted voices of the gamblers at the other end of the ship. No one came to the door. Apparently he had not been seen.

He went to work.

He searched the bedding and the chests, finding nothing but the personal items one might expect. Nor was there anything of interest on the table. He started to examine the shelves as silently as possible, shifting a box to get to the ceramic jars behind it and moving them aside to find nothing but a broken knife.

His shoulder banged a shelf. Something flashed down past him. He reached out reflexively and caught it before it smashed against the floor. It turned out to be an empty blue glass bottle.

He paused. Had he made any tell tale noise?

After a short while he resumed. He had broken out in a sweat. The hot, stifling air in the cabin lay against his skin with a pressure as palpable as that of water in a hot bath. Fat flies circled above the grease-encrusted brazier grill.

How long had he been searching?

At some point Captain Theon would be back, or the stranger would decide John had eluded him and return to the Leviathan.

He knelt down to examine the bottom shelves. He removed a sack. All it concealed was a large lidded pot.

This was what Peter had been doing before someone tried to push him overboard. Searching the shelves, in his case for cooking utensils. In John’s case…

He pulled the pot forward and removed its lid.

Inside sat a small package, firmly secured and bearing a wax imperial seal.

He picked it up. It was light and felt soft.

Then there was a movement but before he could make sense of it or react a garrote was tightening around his neck.

For years he had lived at the Great Palace and dealt with intrigue more often than with weapons. But the reflexes from his fighting days as a young mercenary had never left him.

He reached back and ducked forward in the same motion and with a convulsive effort managed to pull his assailant half over his head.

A body crashed into a shelf sending down a torrent of wares.

John clambered to his feet. As he did so, the attacker leapt at him, driving him across the cabin.

John twisted away, trying to break his fall.

He saw the corner of the table coming up at him and then the world dissolved in a fiery flash.