A Poisonous Journey

by Malia Zaidi

  "Briony, did I leave my jacket in the car?"

  She furrows her brows. "You may have, I don’t think I saw it once we left the car."

  "Is Yannick around? I am feeling a bit of a chill."

  "Yes, I saw him a while ago," she glances around. "There he is!" I follow her gesture and find the pale young man at the fringe of the crowd, speaking with an older man and a boy of about sixteen.

  "I will quickly dash over and ask where he left the car."

  "Shall I go with you?" Daniel offers, already lowering his plate.

  "No, no," I shake my head. "Stay, I will only be a moment."

  I squeeze my way through the throng of people. Everyone has been gripped by a monstrous hunger and is swarming to the buffet. Still, I manage to push through and meet Yannick and his group of friends.

  "Yannick," I call out as I reach them, "would you tell me where you left the car? I need my jacket."

  "It is only around the corner. I will get it for you."

  "You are very kind, but I will not take you away from your friends." Nodding at them, I take off before he can protest. Get my jacket, indeed. I am not a child, I can manage this much. Fortunately, I have dropped the habit of speaking to myself, at least in public.

  CHAPTER 32

  The alley is well lit, and the occasional reveller comes my way. My heels make a soft tapping sound on the cobbles, an accompaniment to the music filling the night around me. As I reach the end of the lane and turn the corner, my eyes find the hulking form of the Delage a few houses away. The street is deserted here, dipped into shadow, a contrast to it’s light and bustle during the day. I am calm, the small crouched-together houses emanating a sense of cozy comfort rather than concealed menace.

  The roof of the Delage is down. Yannick probably saw little chance of rain on a clear night such as this. I tilt my head back. The sky is blue velvet with tiny diamonds twinkling in a random pattern. I never learned the constellations, I should admit, I never felt much inclined to. Now I wish I could say, ah, there is Orion and isn’t Pegasus ever so bright tonight? Even so, this natural spectacle is enough to make me pause for a moment to admire. A chill tingles down my spine as the cool evening air fills my lungs and feeds my body. How many others are looking at this sky right now, at this very moment? In England it may still be lighter; in London it will never be as clear. The sky and the sea surround this lovely strip of land, and I feel very small, enveloped in realms of blue beyond measure, which have been forever and may be forever more. My grandchildren or theirs will be looking at this same sky, at these same stars. I stand quietly for another moment, the world so large and uncontrollable around me, a force to be feared and revered. Suddenly, there is a sound farther up the road. My head snaps forward, and I am back on earth, back in a dark, empty street.

  Pricking my ears, I identify the sound as that of footsteps. Light steps. Quick steps. Someone is searching for a loo probably, considering the vats of wine on offer tonight. The footsteps do not stop, and I peak around the car, shielding my view. Squinting in the low light, I make out a figure about fifty meters ahead. There is something familiar … Darius? Is it him? As if on cue, the figure turns. Instinctively I duck down. It is him. What to do? What to do?

  Should I ignore it? He may be dashing off to relieve himself or to go home. Maybe he is meeting someone? A secret lover? Should I follow him? No other choice, really. At least none my feet, already stealthily creeping along the shadowed side of the road, will permit.

  Darius does not turn back. His stride is quick and purposeful and nearly silent. I am walking on my toes to avoid my heels giving me away, an effort, which is costing me a fair bit of concentration.

  We are nearing the end of the main street, and I speculate what to do if he simply enters a house and disappears. Probably walk back to the others and never say a thing. This really is quite improper of me. Despite this insight, I cannot shake off the suspicion that there is something amiss, something Darius is hiding. As he reaches the gate, he steps right through it. Blast! He is leaving the village. Oh, what should I do? Briony will have a fit if she discovers I am gone, but I can’t give up now. Gnawing on my lower lip, I am jittery with indecision. I will have a quick look where he is going and then return to the others. I will be careful. Besides, all of this may very well be completely innocent. I am probably making a fool of myself.

  Deciding to chance, it I follow. I could not have hesitated a moment longer, for Darius is a distance ahead of me now. It is difficult to keep my eyes on his shadowy form, away from the bright light of the town square. At least here, on the dirt road, I can walk properly. My toes are aching like anything. You are no ballerina, my body reminds me.

  The museum curator walks on for a few minutes before turning right, apparently intent on hiking up the mountain. It is not a proper path at all, and I debate following him to the certain ruination of my freshly soled kidskin shoes, or turning back.

  Again, curiosity is the stronger force, propelling me onward. The going is not easy in the dark and I tread carefully, aware of dangerously protruding roots or worse, a snake! Are there snakes on Crete? Heavens, I hope not. Ruined shoes and a snake bite! And the evening started out so well. I allow myself a quiet sigh. In for a penny, in for a pound. Soldier on, Evie.

  Darius is moving alongside the mountain wall. Occasionally he runs his hand along the cracked rock, perhaps to steady himself. What is he doing? I am too far away to observe anything clearly and do not dare to move closer, lest he should become aware of my presence. Perhaps it is all quite harmless, and I am being irrational. Yet my instinct tells me to remain concealed.

  The dark is growing even darker, and in the open country the night is colder. Luckily, I remembered my jacket before setting out on this fool’s errand. In spite of the extra layer of fabric against my skin, I am shivering and sure to catch a monstrous cold. Was it maddness to come out here following a man, who may well be a murderer? The answer, now that I take a moment to think on it, is a resounding YES!

  Before I can give up and hurry back along the road to Miklos, a flash of light glimmers in the near distance where Darius stood a moment ago. With nervous caution, I take a few quiet creeping steps forward, shielding my body as best I can, against the uneven rock wall and scraggly bushes.

  Ahead, I see him more clearly now, his face illuminated by the white glow of a torch. Where did that come from, I wonder. Was he carrying it all along? Again and again the question runs through my mind, What is he doing here?

  He walks on even more slowly, as if expecting something or someone up ahead. Suddenly, he stops, the waning moon casts a meagre light upon the scene, but it is enough. Pausing a moment, he disappears inside the mountain! A cave? He is entering a cave. Quickly, without much sense or thought, I scramble forward. Soon I have reached the mouth of the cave. It is a small black hole, not in the least inviting. Couldn’t he have snuck off to meet his mistress or to sit in a garden? A cave? He had to choose a blasted cave in the black of night, and I had to be the one to see him.

  Nothing to do now but follow. His beam of light flickers up ahead. He is making slow progress. Taking a deep silent breath, I sincerely hope ruined shoes are the only sacrifice I will have to make this night. Into the mouth of the beast.

  The air inside the cave smells of dust and damp. Somewhere above me or beyond, I hear the monotonous dripping of water. The ground is sandy and soft, and my steps make no sound as I follow the man with the torch. He appears completely unaware of my presence, which I sincerely hope will remain so. I decide to count seconds to measure how long we walk from the entrance of the cave, realizing I will have to wait inside until he decides to return, for I have no chance of safely finding my way out without the guiding light of his torch.

  After about three minutes, he stops again. He is standing before a flat rock wall. Maybe he has taken a wrong turn. Yet he doesn’t search around as one who is lost may do. Instead, he passes the torch from his right hand to his left and slides his f
ree hand along the right side of the wall. He presses against something and takes a step back.

  Now, this sounds as if I have read the tales of Ali Baba one too many times, but the wall begins to move! It is tossing up a great swirl of dust, which dances thick and yellow in the light of the torch. Heavens, what is this place! Darius waits patiently, covering his mouth and nose to avoid the worst of the clouds of earthy air.

  The dust settles and Darius steps through the opening in the wall. A cave within a cave. A secret lair. I rub my eyes, and hold my sleeve up to my mouth, carefully sliding around the rock I have been hiding behind and in the direction of the newly revealed portal. I must not cough or sneeze! Something very dubious is happening and—

  He is speaking. Is there someone with him? What if he is keeping someone locked away in this place? For the first time this evening, I am afraid. I try to listen. He is speaking in rapid Greek mixed with the local dialogue. He may as well be speaking Chinese for all the good it does me. After a few moments, I have to believe he is the only one in there. No one answers. No other voice joins his. The glow from inside the cave intensifies, and I peak my head a fraction around the corner.

  I almost gasp aloud. Darius has lit at least four torches within the chamber, revealing what he has been so careful to conceal. The room is full of relics. Not crumbly terra-cotta pots either; gold and marble statues, chalices and urns. And that is only my first impression. A treasure chamber? Or maybe a tomb? One thing is crushingly clear: Caspar was right about Darius’ theft. But how? How could he make such a hoard vanish. It is obvious now, he must be the one who took the statue from the excavation. He has a car, after all. He has easy access and easy transport for whatever he deems worth having. Why though? He can study these objects as much as he wants. Why the need to hide them away, to deprive the world of such glorious finds? Is he driven by desire or by greed? Does he sell these pieces? Is he a smuggler, too? So many questions, and no answers.

  Darius is still talking, not loudly, but I can hear him well enough to give me chills. His voice is as calm and measured as ever. I wish I could understand what he is saying, but I only make out the odd, meaningless word. He is moving around, the echo of his voice carries into different directions.

  My fingers and feet are beginning to grow numb from the cold, and I yearn to move or cozy up safely under my soft blanket and forget I was ever such a fool to come here. I refrain from sighing. Instead, I lean closer against the wall. Please, Darius, finish whatever you are doing and lead me out of here!

  As I shift my body to fit into a crevice in the rock, I hear a light tapping sound right above me. Horrified at the thought of nasty little creatures lurking in the dark, I look up. The light emanating from the opening in the wall is enough to show me that not a bat, but a long, dripping stalachtite hanging above me. Where then did that sound—

  Before I can finish the thought, a monstrous rock detatches itself from the ceiling and crashes to the floor only fingerwidths from my feet. I cannot stop myself. I give a startled shriek, which echos like a cruel reminder of my folly. Then utter silence. In a panic, I make myself fit tighter into the crevice. My legs are aching, and a jagged rock bites into my back. Darius has stopped talking to himself, and I hear footsteps drawing closer.

  If I am lucky, he may think it is an animal? What sounds do bats make? No, it is no use. He is coming, and he will find me and then … What will he do? Will he hurt me? What can I say? What explanation can I offer for being in this obsure place?

  I hold my breath, my heart is thumping so loudly against my chest I may as well call out: Here I am!

  The beam of light from the torch grows brighter and finally Darius’ figure emerges, framed by the lit chamber behind. "Hello?" His voice is tentative, and he is speaking Greek. Might it be wise simply to answer back? Better than prolonging this misery. I cannot find my voice. A lump is lodged in my throat, and I feel the suffocating fear that I will not be able even to scream.

  Darius calls out again, moving out of the make-shift doorway. He is only steps away from me now. The torch beam dances through the cave, light cutting into the darkness with the sharpness of a blade. And then … my face glows. The ray falls upon me.

  "You?" Darius sounds more puzzled than angry, although it is difficult to say with the shadows blackening the contours of his eyes.

  "I-I …" I stammer amid the flutter of hysteria rising within me, grateful to find I can still make a sound. This relief passes quickly as the realization dawns on me that nobody at all can hear us.

  "What are you doing here?" His voice is calm. He is already overcoming his initial shock at finding me. He takes three quick steps closer, and before I can say another word of pointless explanation, he takes hold of my arm and yanks me forward.

  "Please—"

  "You should not have done this. You should not have done this." he repeats himself, pulling me towards the entrance of the chamber. He is holding the torch tightly in his right hand and has his back half-turned as he drags me along. I cannot see his face, which frightens me even more.

  "Darius, I am sorry. It was foolish of me. If you will let me go, I won’t say a word." I realize my mistake as the words pass my lips.

  Darius whips around. "You won’t say a word? So you know!" His dark eyes grow wide behind his glasses, light reflecting eerily in those small round lenses. I see my own reflection in them. My face is drawn into a terrified grimace.

  "I only meant—" I try, but he gives my arm a forceful tug, and we are in the treasure hall. All around us are urns and vases, chalices and chests, statues and votives worthy of museum treatment. The torches positioned at various angles gently illuminate these treasures, casting everything in a pale golden glow. There is gold aplenty as it is.

  "Why did you follow me?" Darius demands, his voice taking on a higher pitch, and his short, neat nails dig into the skin of my arm.

  "I am sorry. Truly, I never meant any harm—" I break off in horror as my eyes fix on the empty ones of a skeleton in the corner. My jaw falls, and I stmble backward. There is a dead person, a long dead person, feet away from me.

  "He turns his head wildy, following my gaze. When he looks at me again, his expression is bland and unreadable. "Oh, it is only Andros." He shifts again and begins addressing the dead man. "This foolish girl, Andros! She should not have come here," he shakes his head. "No, no, she should not."

  My breath is stuck in my throat, and I feel a wave of nausea washing over me. I am not built for this. I am not brave or strong. I want to be safe and alive, not staring into the empty eyesockets of a dead man. But I am here, and I must try somehow to stay at least outwardly composed, in the hope that it will calm this mad-man as well.

  "Darius, could you … could you let my arm go, please, you are hurting me. I can’t run. I don’t know the way."

  He gives me a curious gaze, his eyes narrowing. To my surprise, he releases his grip entirely. Angry pink marks are imprinted on the pale flesh of my forarm. It is such a relief to be out of his grasp, I hardly care. Darius has begun pacing, casting both Andros and me strange looks in turn.

  "You know. You know now, and you will tell. You will ruin everything." He shakes his head, twisting his hands together.

  "I won’t," I attempt meekly. "I won’t say anything, I don’t know anything, please, Darius, let me go. I am only visiting. I will be gone soon."

  Darius doesn’t show any sign of having heard me. His forehead is creased, and his specs sit crookedly on his nose. He doesn’t seem aware.

  "You didn’t understand either. You, you—" he points an accusing finger at the skeleton, "you would have betrayed me, too! Would have betrayed this!" He gestures wildly at the opulence surrounding us.

  What in heavens name is he raving about. If only I could snatch up one of the torches and make a run for it, but I am afraid to attempt anything that may startle him. He is clearly out of his right mind, and I am convinced he must be Caspar’s killer. The thought makes me shudder, and my thoughts
drift to the unpleasant possibility of no one else ever finding out. I could disappear like this poor Andros, and no one will ever know what happened. The possibility is so unbearble, I force it from my mind.

  Darius interrupts my thoughts and pulls me back to the present. He is standing, feet apart, in front of the skeleton. I see his profile, but the light is low and his expression again is hard to decipher.

  "What will I do with her, Andros? Tell me brother, what will I do?"

  Brother? Brother! I swallow and take a small, slow step backwards. Andros is his brother. What devils are at work in this place?

  "Answer me, you fool," he sounds angry now, jabbing a finger into the air. "You don’t know. Ha, you don’t know anything. I was always the intelligent one. I—" he pounds his chest in a primitive gesture, "I knew you would be too greedy, too selfish. You only wanted me to come along so I would help carry, so I would be impressed by you, big brother. I wasn’t though, was I?" He lets out a high-pitched giggle. "I got you. And now it’s all mine. Mine, mine, mine. You wanted to sell it, be rich, leave Crete. Stupid, stupid!" He swivels around, and I nearly fall back at the shock.

  "Don’t think I forgot about you. I followed him and look at him now," he points at the figure of his brother. "You followed me. You are trying to steal from me. You are trying to stab me in the back. Well," he steps closer, and I instinctively shrink back, "you will not trick me, silly girl. I know the tricks. I created the tricks." His eyes are wide and mad. He runs a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. Within the stretch of an hour, a neat, dignified man has turned into a raving lunatic. Or was the lunatic only disguised as the museum curator? Which mask fits?

  "Darius, you don’t understand. I was simply curious. I do not want to take anything, I swear it. It’s all yours. All yours"