Rufius

by Sarah Walton

‘You can’t. I’ve adopted him.’

  The look on Turk’s face is a picture. Ha! His scar puckers as his eyes narrow.

  ‘I’ll prove it, dear. Follow me into the garden.’

  The scoundrel keeps his hand on the hilt of his knife, shoulders tense, his head darts left and right as we walk out of the library, down the stairs and out towards the fountain in the middle of the garden. He’s not used to walking through a house in broad daylight.

  ‘Don’t show me no statues of loverboy. I want Pretty. Where is he?’

  ‘Take a look at the inscription, dear.’

  Turk leans forward and squints at the plaque. I’d fancied Turk at least knew his alphabet. He’s more street than I thought. I’ll let him suffer from his ignorance just a moment longer. His jaw goes slack; he’s worked out what the inscription must mean.

  ‘That reads Aeson Biblus Catamitus. Aeson is now my property and you’re dribbling on it so take your sorry arse out of Biblos and wait until I come to see you tonight. We’ll talk then.’

  Turk looks at me, surprise on his face. I’m not bluffing, dear. I call the shots, not illiterate street urchins.

  ‘Guard!’

  Four burly house guards rush over.

  Turk makes a dash for it, jumps onto the ledge of the fountain and springs on to the hedge. The guards grab him by the legs and drag him back over the hedge. That will need trimming now.

  Turk yanks about, but he’s no match for my guards. The ruffian does look ugly when he loses.

  ‘Not too rough with him, boys. Retired gladiator, that one, an expert with the net and trident, dear.’ The hairy guard holds Turk by the wrists and drags him over to me.

  ‘Release him.’

  Turk smoothes his tunic and sneers at the guard.

  ‘Escort him off the premises, would you, dears.’

  The guard shoves him in the direction of the gates.

  ‘You’ll be sorry, old man.’

  ‘Oh, Piss-off!’ What’s he going to do, throw away a fortune. I don’t think so. He’ll swallow his pride for money’s sake.

  ‌24

  Kiya

  ‘Aoi-aoi-aoi.’ Those old bones rattling over the archway that leads down the steps to the funerary area are giving me the creeps. They’re children’s bones. The gang’s old hideout’s been deserted for two years since Aeson and Croc left – mutiny they called it. Sophia hisses and wraps her warm smooth body around my neck. She senses danger too. This tomb’s jammed with hungry ghosts, young spirits linger, and the air… it’s loaded with pain.

  Sweet Sophia, did you hear that yelp of agony, it came from inside the tomb. What’s Lanky doing to them?

  Stupid crutch, stop slipping or we’ll be over the edge. The weight of Sophia round my neck steadies me. I need to get flat on my belly to hide my shadow. Slide down my crutch: that’s it. Now, pull myself through the scrub – the soil’s dry and stony. Let’s shift on to the smooth marble ledge. That’s it. Now, brace myself for what’s below.

  Sweet Sophia! That must be Aeson, with a bag pulled over his head. He’s on his knees, arms roped behind his back. Lanky circles him, slices his knife across Aeson’s arm. Red cuts criss-cross up his arms, tunic in tatters and stained with blood. Leave him be. He must be petrified, not able to see where the next swipe will come from.

  A handful of street kids – underfed waifs – watch in the subterranean tomb. Is this Lanky’s gang? Some egg Lanky on, others slouch against marble columns.

  Where’s Croc? Sophia, please don’t let him be dead.

  I’m close enough to smell the demon. Lanky stinks, like he’s rolled in pig shit. The top of his head’s just below me. Lanky lunges and jabs Aeson’s shoulder. Aeson jerks away. That’s Aeson’s dagger, the gold one Croc gave him. He treasures that. My body trembles.

  Sophia hisses and stretches forwards, her warm skin heavy on my neck. Shush, Sophia. What can I do?

  Lanky drives the blade further into his shoulder. Aeson screams. The skinny brute is enjoying this: he’s smiling. Sweet Sophia, how I’d like to punch his long teeth into his evil gob.

  ‘We’ll kill you like they killed Caesar. You will feel the knives of every one of us slip into your pretty oiled skin.’

  The young ones cheer and stamp their feet. A boy with an eye patch shifts from foot to foot.

  ‘Ransom him. The old cinaedus will pay a fortune for him.’ That must be the one they call Patch. At least he has balls. ‘No need to kill him, Lanky. We can make some coin.’

  Lanky points the dagger at Patch. ‘I’ll take your other eye, you traitor. Take the first slice of flesh.’

  Patch stares at Lanky, then looks down at Aeson – they were friends once. I hold my breath.

  Patch shakes his head and drops his knife. It clatters on the granite. Bones rattle over the entrance as if they’re clapping at his defiance. Lanky looks up.

  Head down, flatten myself to the ground in case he sees me.

  Lanky spits at Patch. ‘Do it.’

  With a wild thrust to the hilt Lanky sinks the knife into Aeson’s shoulder. Aeson’s yell is dreadful. My gut tightens. Lanky’s going to lose it. I’ve seen that vacant glare before: the man is gone. Lanky’s possessed by a demon.

  Sophia, stay here. I stretch out my arm and she slithers off into the undergrowth.

  Let’s push myself up on my stick. Courage Kiya… for Aeson’s sake. If I save him I’m closer to getting my Aberamentho robes.

  The demon will be directly below me soon, a few more paces. Keep walking this way, Lanky. His dark head is under me. Now, don’t think. Just jump.

  I scream like a Siren. ‘AOIIIIIIII-AAAAAA.’

  Grab his shoulder, his ear: that’s it.

  Bite his ear.

  Lanky flays around with the knife. ‘Get it off me. Kill it.’

  Pain shoots through my leg. He’s stabbed me. Hold on, Kiya. What damage I can do must be done up here, on the demon’s back. Once he throws me I’m dead meat. He’s lurching like a startled horse. My good leg flings away from his waist.

  Need to hold on.

  My hand slips through his greasy hair.

  A young one takes a step forward. Patch slaps him to the ground. They’ll pull me off soon. Think.

  The eyes.

  My thumb presses into his eye socket. It clicks and sucks. The demon’s wail echoes around the tomb. He’s dropped his dagger: it glints on the ground. He’s going to throw me.

  Claw it out.

  My fingers cup and hook the soft liquid space. It’s a scallop – just think scallop. His hands hook mine. Grip his eye, Kiya. He’s going to throw me.

  ‘Back to Hades with you, Demon!’

  I clutch at his ear. My hand slips with blood. He’s got a grip on my arm…

  The thud of the ground, the hard shock of my fall does not release my grip on his eyeball. My hand’s red to the wrist.

  Lanky shrieks like desert prey. The demon’s hands hold his eye, body hunches and shudders in pain.

  Shocked faces of the gang spin around me.

  My clenched hand held out in front of me looks like it belongs to someone else. I cannot open it, cannot move. I’m going to throw up.

  Puke hurls over my hand, splats my dress. That’s my puke. I did this. I took out Lanky’s eye. My sobs wrench my body. Sophia, forgive me.

  The gang glare at me. They will kill me for this.

  ‌25

  Aeson

  What, in the name of Serapis, is Kiya up to? Can’t see more than shadows through this sack over my head. Curse these ropes, they’re tight round my wrists.

  ‘Kiya! Don’t hurt her.’ She’s howling. She must be hurt.

  It’s hopeless struggling – pulling against the rope tightens the knot.

  ‘Keep your wrists still. I’ll cut you lose.’ Patch? That’s Patch’s voice.

  ‘Patch, thanks, mate.’ He pulls the canvas bag off my head.

  What the fuck’s happened?

  ‘Kiya?’ What’s Lanky done to her? Wh
y’s she bent over, retching? ‘Kiya?’ What’s she looking at, what’s that in her hand?… And why’s Lanky stumbling about, hands pressed over his eye, blood on his fingers and down his arm.

  Fuck! She’s gone and ripped his eye out!

  It’s Lanky’s eye in her clenched fist.

  Lanky’s pitiful looking gang’s dumbstruck. All of them gawp at Kiya. Can’t believe it either, I can’t.

  What’s that moving by Kiya’s feet?

  ‘Snake!’ Two scrawny boys nearest Kiya leap away from her and point at the ground.

  It’s Sophia. She’s in attack mode, hood fanned open, she slithers to her mistress, up over Kiya’s hunched back and wraps her long body around Kiya’s neck.

  Kiya stops howling, mumbles something and opens her hand. In her cupped palm is a slop of blood and gore, more like a small red squid than an eye.

  Sophia’s forked tongue flicks in and out like it does before she eats a mouse. She’s smelling it. The skinny boys stare in disbelief as Sophia opens her mouth wide, and swallows Lanky’s eye whole. Her neck swells and it’s gone, crushed by her muscular body.

  All I can do is gawp with the rest of them. Only Lanky doesn’t watch. He shuffles, bumps into the sacrifice altar, holds out an arm to feel his way around it, the other hand pressed against his eye. I should stop his escape, put an end to it. If it wasn’t for Kiya he’d have killed me, but I can’t move. It’s like my knees are glued to the dusty marble floor of the tomb. All I can do is watch him stumble towards the steps.

  ‘Th-There, that’s the L-Librarian’s son, in the middle.’

  Fatty? Is that Fatty up there at the entrance, pointing at me from under the old bones?

  It is Fatty… surrounded by a group of men from the City Guard. That’s a honey-nose solution, that is: call the guard. I cross the street when I see a uniform.

  Boys scarper in different directions.

  ‘Patch, run!’ I hiss it under my breath.

  He jumps up to the first floor of the tomb and is over the edge. Patch will out run them. He was the only one who used to be able to keep up with me.

  A stocky man at the top of the steps draws his sword.

  ‘Catch them, men!’ The commander’s gruff order sends the guards running off after the boys as they make a dash for it. Where’s Croc? My heart squeezes: what’s Lanky done with him?

  Bones rattle above Lanky’s head as he stumbles up the steps. A guard grabs him by the elbow, yanks his hand away from his eye. His horrid long drawn out scream makes me shiver. Even the guard looks away, and most of this lot will have done their time on the battlefield. Lanky’s no good for the mines blind in one eye.

  ‘Lanky, where’s Croc? LANKY!’

  He cackles. Blood trickles into his mouth from his eye and runs down his chin. Evil bastard! My gut tightens. Croc must be in this old tomb somewhere. I heard him shout when Lanky’s gang caught me. I’ll find him.

  ‘Croc?’ Shouting’s no good from down here. If he’s upstairs, he won’t hear me. I need to climb on the altar to project my voice. Ah! Left arm’s useless: too painful where Lanky knifed my shoulder to pull me up. Fatty runs down the steps and give me a leg up.

  ‘Thanks, Fatty.’

  ‘CROC!’

  ‘C-Croc.’ Fatty joins in.

  ‘Crocodile!’ Kiya’s screaming too. There’s panic in her voice. She’s in shock. She crawls about on all fours. Must have lost her crutch.

  ‘Aeson?’ Croc’s voice is a soft groan.

  ‘Croc, where are you?’

  We listen, Fatty, Kiya, and me.

  ‘In here, man.’ Croc’s voice is muffled. It’s coming from the loculus where Turk used to stash his loot.

  ‘Fatty, help Kiya find her crutch will you?’

  ‘Y-yes, certainly. Of course.’ Fatty looks dubious, but starts searching behind shrubs and fallen columns.

  ‘I’m coming, Croc.’ I jump across from the altar to the first floor ledge. Could have sworn there used to be two columns outside Turk’s room.

  ‘A novel choice of p-pet.’ Fatty’s keeping his distance as he hunts for Sophia on the tomb floor.

  ‘She’s not a pet. She’s the goddess Sophia.’

  ‘O-Of course, my apologies. I f-failed to recognise her.’ Fatty looks up at me as if to say, is she a nutcase? He’ll get used to her.

  ‘The snake’s harmless,’ I shout as I press my good shoulder to the slab that’s covering the entrance and push. Lime-dust puffs up as the granite shifts. There was a column on either side, no doubt about it. I remember tracing the hieroglyphs etched in the marble with my finger.

  ‘Hang on, Croc, I’ll get you out of there.’

  My eyes adjust to the darkness. There he is: wrists tied to ankles, curled up in the corner of the loculus.

  ‘You alright, mate?’ I untie him and give him a tender kiss on the lips.

  ‘I am now.’ Our mouths want more of each other. He’s fine.

  Why’s Kiya rocking from side to side like she’s lost her marbles? ‘Aoi-aoi-aoi.’

  Croc kicks the sacrifice altar as we head towards the steps. ‘Man, that’s not a good sign. She only chants when she’s upset.’

  Fatty’s crouched next to her. ‘I’ll buy you a new crutch. Please don’t cry.’

  Unbelievable, the way Fatty dismissed the guard. He spoke to the commander like Rufius orders slaves. Turns out Fatty’s dad’s a magistrate.

  Croc and me kneel down either side of Kiya. She stinks of puke. If she stank of shit I’d still hug her. This will haunt her, ripping out Lanky’s eye. I was grossed out just watching Sophia eat it.

  ‘Kiya. Did Lanky hurt you?’

  She chants louder and stares blankly up at the bones over the entrance.

  ‘Kiya, man?’ Croc pulls her into his arms. She doesn’t seem to notice. ‘Kiya, please stop doing the scary face.’

  She focuses. Croc gives her a gappy grin.

  I stroke her hair.

  ‘The demon didn’t hurt me. Someone broke my crutch.’

  We look at the pieces of broken wood Fatty holds in each hand. Who knows what happened to it in the scuffle between the soldiers and Lanky’s weedy gang.

  ‘I’ll p-purchase you a brand new c-crutch.’ Don’t know what Fatty’s more alarmed at: Sophia or Kiya. He’s probably never spoken to a cripple before.

  Croc throws his head back in relief and laughs. ‘Your stick! Is that what you’re so upset about, Ki?’

  She nods and starts sobbing again as she knows one of us will have to carry her home.

  ‘You should have heard her, Croc: Back to Hades with you, Demon! There was venom in her voice. The gang didn’t dare touch her – in case she sent them to Hades too I reckon!’

  We laugh. Fatty joins in. Croc slaps his back.

  ‘Quick thinking calling the guard, man.’

  Fatty looks so chuffed he’s blushing.

  ‘Gotta give it to you, priestess, you got balls.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  That’s it, Kiya: smile.

  ‘Here. Get on my shoulders.’

  ‘No!’

  This is the worst form of humiliation for her, but we’ve got to get home. The sun will be down soon, Rufius will be impatient and I need to get my wound cleaned up before dinner. Now the shock’s eased off it’s throbbing. The strip of tunic Croc tied tight round the wound’s already soaked in blood.

  ‘We won’t mention this to anyone. Pretend I’m a camel, Kiya.’

  ‘You smell like a camel.’

  I won’t tell her what she smells like.

  Sophia pokes her head out, hisses and tucks herself back inside Kiya’s dress.

  ‘Kiya, give Sophia to Croc or Fatty, just ’til we get to the church.’

  Fatty and Croc both take a step back.

  ‘Come on, Sophia’s harmless.’

  ‘I’ll take it, man.’

  Kiya wraps Sophia round Croc’s neck.

  Right, let’s crouch down. Fatty holds his breath and helps Kiya on.
/>
  ‘Mind the shoulder. Up we go. I’m your chariot, command me, priestess.’

  ‘To the Kingdom of God.’

  ‘Kingdom of God here we come.’

  Up the steps, nice and slow. The way the road slopes down towards Moon Gate always makes me want to speed up. Let’s make this fun.

  ‘Hold on tight, Ki.’

  ‘Faster!’

  She’s loving it. It must feel like she’s running on her own legs.

  ‘Yay!’

  I’ll remember this feeling, running through the Necropolis with Kiya on my back and Croc and Fatty galloping along beside me for the rest of my life – the city spread out ahead of us, pink-orange in the sunset. This is happiness.

  Dionysus Street’s quiet as usual, no one about… then why do I have that creepy feeling we’re being watched? Come on, Fatty. He’s still shuddering from all the snakes.

  ‘I never knew C-Christians lived in that old r-ruin.’ Fatty and me look up at the shabby old Temple of Dionysus. Paint faded, bare marble showing beneath it. Bet it looked grand three hundred years ago when the torches were lit and frankincense wafted from the great iron braziers either side of the huge doors.

  Fatty looked worried sick when Henite dressed my shoulder. Let me take you to the university hospital, Aeson, Fatty had whispered in my ear. But Henite’s balms work – they’ve healed Croc’s and my cuts and grazes faster than anything else.

  ‘Lived here for years, Seth and Henite have. They’re Christian, but the Archbishop’s lot call them heretics, so don’t let on they live here, Fatty. It’s really important.’

  ‘Of course not, Aeson. What’s the A-archbishop got against them?’

  I shrug. ‘Beats me! They worship the same god…’ I need to get back to Biblos. ‘I’m late for dinner. How am I going to explain the shoulder to Rufius?’

  ‘Blame Stubble, say the bullies laid into you. My dad usually gives me a slap round the head for being a wimp. Master Rufius will believe it.’

  Poor Fatty. Those bullies won’t lay another finger on him, not while I’m at the academy, they won’t.

  ‘I’ll try it.’ Rufius won’t be impressed I couldn’t stand my ground, but how else do I explain the bandaged shoulder?