by Malia Zaidi
"Yes," he says slowly, like a child, "all mine." A flash of confusion appears on his face.
He narrows his eyes and strokes his chin in a gesture reminding me oddly of Daniel. If only he would come and find me. If only anyone would.
"Now," I say echoing his tone, "if you lead me out of here, we can go back to the village. Everything will be all right. This will be our little secret. I am good at keeping secrets."
Is he actually considering this? His shoulders hunch forward, and he sighs tiredly before looking at me again. His eyes meet mine.
"You do not understand," he says. "They will take it away from me. All my treasures, all taken away. Andros tried and … " he breaks off, looking over at the broken body of his brother.
"What happened?" My voice is very low, almost a whisper. I hope it calms him somehow. He turns back to me, a lone tear slides down his cheek.
"Andros, my brother … he heard some tale of a treasure in the mountain. He found it, and he took me with him. He said we would share the profits, the spoils. He said, ‘We will be rich men’. Crete had just declared union with Greece, and Andros wanted to go to Athens. ‘We will be rich men, we could begin life anew in Greece’, he told me. We could become merchants, buy a ship. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay. I wanted the treasure not the glory, not the rewards."
Darius is suddenly somewhere far away. He is lost in his world. Should I pity him? I need only look at the skeleton of Andros Calandra, leaning with his bony back against the wall, to know that pity for this man means closing my eyes to his deeds, and that I cannot do. Theft I could overlook, but murder … murder is unforgiveable. And irrespective of such philosophical meanderings, I may well become his next victim! No, pity is out of the question. Only survival counts now.
"All of this is mine. My heritage," he waves forlornly at the pieces placed neatly around us. "I could not let him take it, let him sell it." He runs a hand over the head of a small gold statue, tenderly as if he were stroking the head of a child.
"You killed him." The words come out before I can stop myself, but he doesn’t seem alarmed, not even shifting his gaze to find mine.
"I had no choice." His hand is resting on the statue’s head, as though the touch, feeling the cool gold against his skin, justifies his action. Gold and marble in exchange for a brother. Disgusted, I want to move away. I stop myself, afraid any abrupt motion will alert him and draw him back into his state of manic raving.
"What about your parents? What did you tell them?" I ask, not knowing where the words come from, grateful for the small space of clarity left in my head, keeping me from running and screaming; keeping me from joining him in madness.
"Father was at sea, and mother was visiting her sister in Chania. When they returned, I said Andros had gone to away," he chuckles. "I even wrote a letter. Everyone believed it. Andros was always talking about leaving."
I have to swallow, the lump in my throat will not move. He robbed his parents of a son, and laughs at his ingenuity in deceiving them.
"A-and Caspar," I nearly choke on the name, still I have to ask, "was he blackmailing you? Is that why you killed him?"
Darius turns his head, his expression betraying his surprise. "He blackmailed me, yes, the filth, but I did not kill him."
Now it is my turn to be shocked (though, admittedly, I must have looked rather shocked for the better part of an hour now, so the expression does not alarm Darius).
"What do you mean?" I ask. "You didn’t kill him?"
"No. I would have, probably," he shrugs as if taking a life is a trivial task. "It was a great relief someone did it for me. He was a vile man, you know." He wrinkles his nose and shakes his head again.
"I-I see. Do you know who—"
"No. Not a clue. Whoever it was did a very nice job. Poison is a good way to kill, I couldn’t use it, unfortunately. It is much better. Much cleaner."
"You used—"
"Oh, a knife. Only sensible thing. On that day I was behind him; Andros always leading the way; Andros always in charge," he grimaces. "And then," he mimicks, drawing a daggar and perfoms a high stab in the air, "done. Very quick. He did not suffer. Not much, anyway."
He did not suffer. I am certain those few last moments of his were pure agony. If the physical pain was not horrendous, the pain of knowing his own brother, with whom he had shared his greatest secret, had stabbed him in the back, had betrayed him, would certainly have been unbearable. Darius talks so easily as if he has been waiting to tell someone. He has to get everything out. I dare not think why else he is so open with me.
"Has your family never wondered why he never returned? Why he hasn’t kept in touch?"
"No. I write the letters."
"They are not post-marked?"
"It does not matter, they believe it. Or they want to believe. I write, ‘I am very happy in Athens.’ or ‘I have found good work here,’ and they are happy."
I wonder whether they really believe him or need simply wish to? Darius has been careful thus far. There is a chance he has truly mislead even his parents. He falls silent and lets his eyes bask in the glory of what surrounds him. Does he fear it is finally over? Or does he think he can go on as he has? Oddly enough, Caspar’s death, of which he insists he is innocent, may be his undoing. A question, gnawing at me all this time, pushes again to the forefront of my mind, and I am too drained to fight it off.
"What will you do now?" What will you do to me? The question hangs heavy in the air, and my muscles tense awaiting his answer.
When he finally answers, he does not look at me, but at the body of his brother. "You know there is only one thing I can do." A chill runs down my spine, and I shudder.
"Please," my voice is hoarse, "Darius, I won’t say a word, please. I’ll leave. Go back to England. Truly, only—"
"No," he takes a menacing step toward me, his eyes glinting like burning embers. A predator’s eyes. It is not his eyes that make me tremble, but the smile twitching on his lips. An inhuman smile, cruel and cold.
I have to buy time. If I can somehow immobilize him, knock him over with one of his little treasures, I can try to make an escape. Anything is better than complacently waiting for execution.
"Before," I swallow, the words clinging to my throat like sticky honey, "before you do it, at least tell me whether it was you who stole the statue from the excavation." A silly last request, but I need to buy time, and this seems the only option.
His grin widens and he shows his teeth. "Of course it was me! Do you think I would let anyone else have her? Do you think I would leave her outside in the cold night? No," he shakes his head emphatically, "I saved her. I rescued her. She is with me now where she belongs." The way he speaks of the statue is unsettling. Nonetheless, it spurs me on in my quest to convince him that I am harmless.
"Is she here?" I play along, hoping he does not see through my feigned sincerity.
He is obliviously immersed in his world, nodding vigorously and rubbing his hands together. "Where else would she be? She is here, among her brothers and sisters."
I feign a smile. "I don’t know if I believe you. Perhaps you are only boasting. Perhaps, as with Caspar, someone else is responsible." His eyes grow wide and his mouth straightens into a thin line. I hope I haven’t pushed him too far. This may be the only chance I have.
"I am telling the truth! You-you," he points an angry finger at me. "You don’t know anything, English woman!"
"Show me." Two words. Simple enough, the two words my plan hinges on, my survival plan.
He wavers, narrowing his eyes at me. I try to look unaffected, all but impossible as one might imagine.
"You will not touch her!" His tone is sharp, warning a naughty child.
"I promise."
He licks his lips and nods. "Come."
Yes, turn your back on me, Darius. Trust me. He begins to lead me across the chamber. Lights flicker, casting eerie shadows on the wall, armless, headless figures like the ones I pass. He has created
a strange sort of order. The pieces are striking, none very large. I keep searching for anything within my reach I might reasonably lift to hit him with before he understands what I am doing. Easier said than done. Everything is just a bit too far to touch, and I am afraid to alarm him by making any sudden moves he might sense even with his back turned. I haven’t much time, and this opportunity will pass quickly.
"Here, come, come, be careful. Don’t touch anything."
He leads me to the left side of the cave, and I see my chance. Ten steps away from me is a golden votive statue, no larger than a bottle of wine, I can easily wield it. My heartbeat races as I draw closer. Five steps, three, one—
"Look!" Just as I reach for it, he turns around, pointing upward. I drop my arm as innocently as I can, fixing an interested expression on my face. We are standing in front of a small female nude. He has set her atop a blue velvet sheet like a crown jewel. She is beautiful, that much is true.
"Very nice. Yes, very nice." I try to cover the fear in my voice.
"Nice? She is beautiful! My lady, my princess." Darius stares dotingly at the figurine, his eyes hidden behind the reflection in his glasses. This is the moment. He is in her thrall.
In one swift motion, I take a tiny step back, swipe up the votive and bring it crashing down onto the back of his neck. He makes a gurgling noise and doubles over. For a moment I stand frozen to the spot, the crumpled body of the museum curator on the ground. Have I killed him? Oh God, I hope not! I cannot bring my trembling fingers to touch him, to feel for a pulse. Dropping the statuette, I grab one of the neaby torches. Out. Out, out, out, is my only thought now.
CHAPTER 33
In quick strides, I am at the chamber’s entryway. Glancing back to reassure myself no angry lunatic is pursuing, I climb through the opening. For a second, I close my eyes, trying to remember which way to go. Right. It was right, because coming in we turned left. Good.
Holding the flickering torch in front of me, I make my way. At the next intersection of two pitchblack tunnels, I am less certain. Wavering, yet afraid to wait too long, an idea strikes. Might not Darius have left some marks to show himself the way?
Frantically, all the time awaiting his pursuit, I hold the light up to the walls, searching for a sign, a symbol to show me the way. Carefully, I run my hand over the rough stone. There is nothing unusual on its damp, cool surface. What am I to do? My breath is ragged and my heart frantic, ready to burst from my chest, desperate as I am for escape. Taking a few steps toward the tunnel on the right, I am almost certain it is the one we came from.
Nervously, I plunge into the darkness. The light emanating from the torch is weak and small, barely enough to guide the way, though hopefully enough to keep me from plumeting into some hidden depth.
I move quickly, all the time afraid any wrong move may send me tumbling, or worse. After some time, I reach another crossroads. A few minutes have gone by, and if I am moving in the right direction, the exit of the cave ought to be nearing soon. Unfortunately, it is night outside, and sunlight won’t be beckoning me forth. Still, I sense it is the correct path. Darius did not make many turns, and the tunnels I have chosen led only in a slight curve off the central way. I would have remembered any drastic bends, but cannot be certain. I only hope not to be heading too deeply into the wrong direction, farther and farther into the mountain. I push down my swelling sense of panic, building inside me. One way or another, I have to get away from Darius.
Walking on, the torch heavy in my damp hand, my arm is growing weary, and rough stones poke through the thin soles of my shoes. Every few moments I stop, holding my breath to listen for sounds of pursuit, but as yet have heard none. I wonder whether Darius has woken up, and, if so, what he will do.
Onward it goes. I must be reaching the mouth of the cave soon. The dust in the air is making my eyes sting and water. I cannot dally. Wiping away the tears with the sleeve of my jacket, I push on. Rounding a slight bend, I feel a chill. No, not a chill, a breeze! Air! Fresh air is coming from somewhere ahead. My feet pull me forward faster, the lure of freedom a magnet my whole body cannot resist.
Yes, I see it! I want to scream with relief. Vague outlines of a hole in the wall. My escape. Thank heavens, my escape! I almost fly the next few feet, so fast am I at that most welcome, perfect, beautiful portal. Sticking my head out first, I suck in a welcome lungful of fresh air. Casting a quick look around, I make certain Darius hasn’t come by some other route to intercept me. No one in sight. Quickly, with all measure of lady-like decorum abandoned, I scramble out into the open. Taking a moment to steady myself, I turn to the right side of the mountain and break into a run.
The cool night wind bites my cheeks. It is a good pain, a sign of being alive and free. In moments, I reach the dirt road. The torchlight is growing dim, and I hope it will last until I see the village. The slight shimmer of the moon will be enough to guide me on last stretch of the way. It doesn’t take long. Like Hermes with his winged sandals, I fly over the dusty road, my feet barely touching the earth. Desperation and fear burn inside me, fueling me until I can finally collapse in safety.
My lungs are stinging as I discern the village gates in the distance. Without a motor or bicycle, Darius would be hard-pressed to catch me now, and if he did, I could scream and would likely be heard. My throat is dry from running as I stumble through the gates and into the village.
A hum of cheerful music still fills the air, and it smells as it did before, salty and delicious. Everything has remained as it was, while for me, everything has been turned upside down and quite roughly at that. Slowing to a walk, my pulse is still pumping rhythmically in my neck. I cast my eyes around. Where are the others? Where is Dymas? Yes, Dymas. I have to show him the cave so they can find Darius, not least to tell me that I haven’t killed him.
With quick steps, while my legs feel like jelly after the frantic run, I rush towards the town square. At the sound of voices, I sigh with immense relief. People, I am amongst people again. Leaning momentarily against the high wall to my right, assailed by exhaustion, I force myself on. The music grows louder and the lights brighter, such a welcome assault on the senses. Finally in the square, I sweep my eyes around, searching for a familiar face. Where are they? The Delage was still parked by the road. They wouldn’t have left without me.
I start to feel dizzy. There are so many people. So many faces and noises and smells. Dancing and laughing and drinking. Where are they? Where are they?
Summoning the last of my energy, I shout, "Briony! Daniel! Jeffrey!" My voice is not as loud as I had hoped, instead it comes out raspy and ragged from the run. I call out again, people around me regarding me with puzzled expressions. Please, please be here somewhere! All I want now is to sit down somewhere warm and quiet and have a good long cry. Perhaps I will. I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to go home, wherever that is. I want to be safe.
"Miss Carlisle?" I feel a hand on my shoulder and for an instant fear it is Darius, come to finish what he began. Twisting around, shaking off the hand, I recognize with tremendous relief the hulking figure of Dymas.
"Oh, thank God!" I collapse against the unsuspecting man. I cannot describe the relief at having escaped, and it ebbs out of me in choking sobs.
"What happened? Are you hurt?" Dymas takes a step back, his hands on my shoulders, eyes scanning me up and down.
"N-no," I sniffle, "Darius, h-he is mad!" I wipe at my eyes, a twinge of shame for having allowed myself this outburst in front of a near stranger.
"What do you mean? Where is he?"
Before I can answer I hear the most welcome voice of my counsin. "Evie! Oh, Evie, there you are. We’ve been looking all over for you!" I turn around and see Briony, Jeffrey, and Daniel approaching. Briony’s steps quicken when she sees my tearstained face. She knows I never cry in public and rarely in private. Besides, I must be filthy, covered in ancient dust.
"What happened?" Her voice is steady and she takes my hand, looking suspiciously at Dymas. "D
id he hurt you?"
"What? No, no." I swallow a hiccupping sob. "It’s Darius."
"Come," Briony leads me to an empty bench next to the crumbling side of a town house. The others follow, their expressions ranging from shock to relief.
"Now, take a deep breath and tell us what happened." Briony sits down beside me, leaving no room for the men who position themselves awkwardly around us, blocking the light. Their presence is so comforting, and with a tremor in my voice, I manage to recount the events of my evening.
When I finish, the others are silent. Dymas is the first to find his voice again. He clears his throat before he speaks.
"Andros Calandra." He shakes his head. "His poor parents. They go around saying he has important work in Athens. This will be a terrible shock. Terrible."
"Oh Evie, what have you been through!" Briony places an arm around my shoulder.
Daniel nods. "We ought to go and find Darius. He has to be arrested before he can escape."
"Yes, of course. I will summon a few of my collegues. Hopefully, I will find some who haven’t been too liberal in sampling the wine tonight. Darius is not exactly a menacing figure of a man. A few of us should manage to frighten him into submission." Dymas’ voice is somber and resolute. "Miss Carlisle, you have been very lucky tonight. It was dangerous to follow him, though I believe none of us imagined him capable of violence." Dymas shakes his head again, still at odds with the truth, and makes his exit. I have told him exactly where to go, and with any luck they will be successful in locating him.
"I was a fool." I pull my jacket a little closer to me. Here, with the fires and people, it should be warmer, but I still feel the creeping cold of the cave deep in my bones.
"The important fact is that you got away." Jeffrey steps forward, patting my shoulder in a brotherly manner. "
"Come, let us take you home. Or do you want to see a doctor? I am sure, I can find Nikolas somewhere." Daniel looks around, scanning the crowd for Laria’s husband.
"No, no. I am all right, just tired and—"