Dream Boat

by Marilyn Todd

  There was no need for the head of her bodyguard to answer. Two burly henchmen appeared behind him in the doorway, dragging a ragamuffin urchin between them. Even secure in a double armlock, skinny legs thrashed out in raging kicks. 'Lemme go, you bastards!'

  Julia swept over to the struggling youth. 'So you're the vermin responsible for kidnapping my niece!' A stinging

  slap landed on the boy's cheek, followed by a vicious backhander. 'Where is she, you little shit? Where are you holding Flavia?'

  'Gerroff me, you cow.' One foot caught Julia firmly on the shin and, as she doubled up in agony, the other kicked the soft part of her stomach.

  'I'll see you skinned for that,' Julia hissed. 'Hot irons on your face, the bastinado on your feet!'

  'Up yer arse, you ugly bitch!'

  'Ladies, ladies.' With a flutter of her hands, Claudia indicated the henchmen pull back a pace or two and for Junius to escort Julia to a marble bench, whether she wished to sit down or not. 'This is no time for pleasantries. The Games of Apollo kick off tomorrow and the day after it's the Festival of the Serving Women. If little Flavia is to take the lead, we must have her catch up on rehearsals. Right then.' She bit into a peach, found it woody and tossed it into the laurels. 'From the beginning.' The raspberries were better, but the blue Damascan plums were juicier yet. 'Junius?'

  The young, blue-eyed Gaul clicked his heels to attention. 'I stationed men around the house as you instructed, madam—'

  'My house?' Julia was scandalised. 'How dare you take liberties!'

  Claudia flicked her plumstone into the shrubbery. 'What measures did you take, Julia, to trace the kidnappers?'

  'Me? Well, I - we . . . Good heavens, Marcellus and I never imagined ... I mean, we were sick to our stomachs with worry—'

  'Quite. Now, having established you did sod all, will you kindly let my bodyguard finish?'

  'One hour after dawn,' Junius reported, 'this boy arrived with what I presumed to be a message from the kidnappers.'

  'Liar!' The street Arab had by no means accepted his situation calmly, although the henchmen in whose arms he was trapped appeared not to stretch a single muscle between them in restraining him. 'This is a fit-up, lemme go!'

  Junius didn't so much as glance at the wiry urchin. 'I

  watched him deliver the note to the porter. The porter shouted to him to wait, but the boy was off faster than an elver.' The Gaul allowed himself a rare smile. 'Fortunately for us, we'd set an ambush and were able to follow the rat back to his den. Unfortunately, there was no sign of the gang.'

  'One's a good start,' Claudia said.

  Julia glowered at her sister-in-law. Smart as well as glamorous, she hoped that bloody wine the bitch was knocking back was poisoned. 'So you caught the messenger?' she sneered. 'That's no big deal. In fact,' her eyes narrowed, 'I wouldn't be surprised if your actions haven't signed Flavia's death warrant. Once the gang realise one of their number has been arrested, they'll probably cut their losses along with Flavia's throat!'

  Claudia sliced a thick wedge off the green-striped melon on the table. 'What does the ransom note say, Julia?'

  A sour taste filled the older woman's mouth. (Marcellus, how could you humiliate me like this, why couldn't you have seized the initiative? Why did it have to be this little trollop?) Julia flipped open the greasy scrap. '"Bring two thousand gold pieces, it must be gold, to the Camensis and leave them behind the right-hand statue at midday." Bastards!' She turned a venomous glare on the squirming youth. 'I wonder how haughty you'll look, my lad, facing down a charging rhino in the arena, you and your fellow scum!'

  'Up yer arse!'

  Claudia sliced off a triangle of pecorino cheese and thought, this is better than the Circus Maximus when it comes to entertainment!

  'Just remember.' Julia picked up the hem of her gown and marched down the peristyle, wagging a long, bony finger at her sister-in-law. 'Flavia's life depends upon you.' And thus absolving herself of any further responsibility for her niece's welfare, she clicked her fingers for her slaves to follow and clippety-clopped out of the house, making sure to bang the door behind her.

  'Midday, eh?' Claudia tucked her legs under her and perused the ransom note as she munched her way through a bowl of

  dark brown, sticky dates. The bastards make us wait all night, then force us to rush around like human whirlpools. Well, that still gives us three full hours. 'Junius, when I've sorted out the payment, I want you to take the chest and position it in the shrine, but be careful. They'll be on the lookout for suspicious behaviour, so no lurking behind trees, hoping you won't be noticed!'

  The Camensis was a little wooded valley on the south side of the hill, consisting of a quiet shady grove, a spring and a shrine to the water nymphs who guarded it. But talk about a double-edged sword! Anyone hoping to stake out the area would be spotted instantly by the kidnappers, while the gang themselves would also stand out a mile!

  Claudia drummed her fingers on the marble bench. 'This conundrum calls for subtlety and disguise,' she told Junius. The sudden appearance of a dozen heavies in a tiny woodland grove was hardly the answer! Three, maybe four men at the most to spring a trap. 'Hire a litter, wrap yourself inside a toga and—'

  'Madam!' The young Gaul's eyes popped out of their sockets. 'I'm a slave! If I'm caught wearing the toga, I'll be—'

  'Junius.' Patiently Claudia laid down the bowl of dates. 'Junius, try looking at this the other way round. Not what might happen to you if you're caught impersonating a Roman citizen. Rather what I'll do to you if you don't.'

  She watched his Adam's apple gulp into obedience.

  'Disguised as the spoiled son of a rich merchant,' her eyes defied him to so much as wince, 'you picnic beside the spring. You take a couple of girls, you sing, you play the lyre, you fool around a bit—'

  'I can't do that.'

  Why not? You're young. Twenty, twenty-one. But it was a funny thing about this Gaul. Claudia had never actually seen him look at a girl since she'd promoted him to head her escort. His eyes were always fixed firmly on his mistress, intense and rarely blinking. Which meant, she supposed, that

  he was either an extremely conscientious employee - or was otherwise inclined!

  'Junius, if we're to get Flavia back alive, we have to make this look authentic. Since it's more than likely the gang are familiar with Marcellus and his family, friends, colleagues and acquaintances, you, as head of my bodyguard, will almost certainly be recognised.' Unless you go disguised as a rich man's brat with time on his hands, when your conduct would pass undisputed. 'Hire yourself a couple of whores - rent boys if you prefer - only for gods' sake, act the part. You're rich, you're idle, vulgar, brash. Draw attention to your profligacy, play on it. The more ostentatious your behaviour, the less anyone will suspect you're undercover.'

  'Very good, madam.' His departing shuffle sounded sulky, but she knew he'd follow her instructions to the letter.

  Claudia turned to the bruisers holding the ragamuffin prisoner. 'Am I imagining this,' she asked, 'or can I smell rose petals and lilies in my garden?'

  The henchmen sniffed. 'I can't smell no flowers,' one said.

  'Me neither,' replied the other.

  'Then we are faced with the conclusion that something is masking the scent.' Claudia jerked her thumb towards the urchin. 'Take him to the bath room and don't spare the pumice stone!'

  'Oi!' The voice was shrill in protest. 'You can't keep me here, I'm innocent!'

  'Did I say you weren't?' She smiled. Deliver a message and then run off like quicksilver? You might not share a rat-hole with the gang, but you're in it up to your grubby neck, sunshine! Owing to the tight time-scale, interrogation would have to be postponed - but that was no reason to bring the smell of the sewers indoors! 'I am merely extending hospitality to a welcome guest,' she said silkily.

  'Fuck you!'

  'Oh, and be sure to wash his mouth out while you're at it,' she trilled over her shoulder. Sixteen years old and if this was
/>   his first introduction to a sponge, there'd be two days' hard scrubbing ahead!

  'Hey!' Suddenly loud masculine voices filled the atrium. 'Hey, you! Come back here!'

  From the corner of her eye, Claudia saw a flash of something brown and ragged hurtle past, saw him dive through the vestibule door. Dammit, I don't have time for this! She raced after the urchin, currently wrestling with the janitor. Behind, hobnailed boots echoed on the mosaic as they thundered to catch up. Claudia pitched in to help the troubled doorman. A hand lashed out like a cobra, and in the next instant both the oik and Claudia's bracelet were flying through the door.

  Shit!

  Bathed in summer sunshine, the streets were busier than ever. Boneworkers hawked counters, spindles and needles from trays round their necks, sackmakers praised their own seams and a water carrier sneakily filled his jugs from the sacred fountain on the corner while the warden turned his back. Claudia noted the progress of the tousled mop as it darted in and out of the shoppers. He was lithe, slim and supple, this youthful felon, but he had yet to understand that he was no match for a woman intent on retrieving a bangle set with pearls the size of ladybirds! Vaulting over a crate of clucking pullets and ducking beneath a bale of hemp, Claudia kept pace. Clouds of dust and feathers billowed in her wake, but she had no doubt she'd catch him - and her thick gold bangle!

  Deftly he slipped down a sidestreet, and mentally Claudia punched the air. This was her cabbage patch this boy was on, and she knew every little sprout and floret! Swerving down the next alleyway, between the leatherworker's shop and the toy seller's, Claudia stuck out her foot.

  'Oh, dear, you've tripped!'

  Hobby horses, whipping tops, hoops and rattles went flying to all points of the compass as the urchin sprawled headlong over the counter, spewing out a tirade of filth matched only by that of the toy seller.

  'I object to being robbed,' Claudia told the squirming youth as she hauled him off the counter by the scruff of his grimy tunic. 'I object to being lied to, and I object to foul language being used inside my house.' She jerked him round and slammed him hard against the wooden shutter of the shopfront, finding the crunch of his teeth under the impact eminently rewarding. 'But most of all, I object to the obstruction of justice when a young girl's life is in danger.'

  'Please! Please, miss.' The street Arab's words rolled into a gabble. 'Here's your bracelet back, don't turn me in, only I need the money, miss, for me baby sister. She's very sick, I need to pay a doctor.'

  'Nice try.' Claudia smiled approvingly at the trembling lower lip, the catch in the voice. 'Unfortunately, you need to practise those tears, and you somewhat overdid the wheedle.' She grabbed a handful of tunic from his chest and bunched it in her fist. 'Come along!'

  'Never!' With a sudden twist, the boy squirted free, leaving Claudia clutching nothing more substantial than a lump of filthy wool. Bugger! Just when she'd got her breath back, too - and dammit he still had her bangle set with pearls!

  Pie sellers and spice dealers goggled at the frantic chase, while those too slow to move out of the way found their toes crushed or else took to juggling their wares. The alleyways rang with shouts of encouragement, curses, howls of protests and cheers as the young woman whose long, dark tresses billowed out behind her snaked and slithered after a smelly, foul-mouthed youth.

  What the hell have I got myself into this time? Claudia wheezed, charging through alternating smells of wood and molten copper, aniseed and paint. I'm so broke, I couldn't pay the ransom were my own life at stake, yet here I am, playing jackals and hounds through the mean backstreets of Rome to safeguard the life of a girl I don't even bloody like!

  She hurdled over a box of squirming octopus and squid and ducked underneath a line of washing. Except, she thought, dancing out of the way of a small, black oinking piglet,

  personalities don't come into this. We're talking pond scum holding a fifteen-year-old to ransom, who foolishly imagine extortion is something they can get away with. They wish!

  Dammit, this boy can run! There wasn't even time to pinch a date from the oasis Arab's stall. Up the hill they sped, along narrow twisty lanes, arching left, hooking right, and down the hill the other side, where paint peeled from the plaster on the tenements, windows were barred, and the stench from the runnels was vile. Twice Claudia slipped on cobbles greasy from rotting vegetation, blood, fishscales and discarded oil turned rancid in the heat, but still she pursued her quarry.

  The boy was luring her deeper into the ghetto, but at least it wasn't a ghetto he was familiar with. This was the second time they'd passed that toothless drunk slumped in the doorway. Claudia's lungs were on fire. Her legs couldn't stand the pace much longer.

  She thought of Flavia. This urchin was their only link with the kidnappers. Dammit, whose side were the bloody gods on?

  Gasping, her lungs ragged, she lumbered behind him down another dark and sunless alleyway, no more than a double arm's span in width. What the -?

  'Oh, Jupiter,' she puffed, and would have grinned had she had enough energy. 'I owe you one.'

  The end of the lane was blocked by a twenty-foot wall.

  The little fish was trapped!

  Claudia slewed to a halt. At some stage, the owner of a town house on one street had wished to extend. Unable to go upwards, he'd bought a house in a parallel street and simply linked the two together, and to hell with the street in between.

  Whoever he was, Claudia could have kissed him. Until she saw the knife in the boy's hand.

  Chapter Five

  It was a small knife. Obviously concealed deep within the urchin's tunic, probably in a specially sewn pouch. It was a last-ditch-desperate knife, sharp and glittering, but it was held in a tight, professional grip.

  'Back off, bitch!' The boy had turned feral, snarling and vicious in his fear and desperation. 'Don't think I won't use it.'

  Frankly, the thought hadn't entered her head.

  'I will. I'll bloody use it.'

  Claudia's heart was pounding like a woodpecker on overtime. Her whole body shook. 'Go ahead.' To an outsider, her voice sounded calm. It was only inside her head that there was screaming.

  'I mean it.' The boy's eyes bulged. Sweat cut runnels in the grime on his face.

  Back off, a little voice cried. Leave it alone. You can't win them all, let it go. 'So do I,' she said, with commendable clarity.

  Her mouth was dry. Her breathing had stopped. When fear meets an immovable force, there are only two possible outcomes. The boy had two choices: strike or lay down the weapon. Sweet Janus, there was no middle road.

  The hand which clutched the blade trembled slightly. From anxiety or the strength of the grip? He had every right to be anxious. He'd backed himself into a corner, literally, and the error was of his own making. Pride, resentment, stupidity, weakness, the passions swirled around him like a whirlwind. Which path would he choose? The snarl meant

  nothing. Bravado. An authentic streak of viciousness. Only he could know.

  Dammit, this could still go either way.

  Crouched forward, the boy jabbed the air. To show he meant business? To stall for time?

  Back off, Claudia. Now. While you can. Walk away. This simply isn't worth it. The voice nagged on in her head, but unfortunately Claudia Seferius had never been a good listener.

  This was Life with a capital L. Precious. Precarious.

  You had to taste terror to appreciate life, because without fear, there could be no highs to offset against it. You had to taste death to understand its opposite. You had to gamble. Claudia was a born gambler, and always the stake was the same. Adventure. The difference between tedium and the unknown; humdrum or the zest for living. And who in their right minds would settle for humdrum and tedious, when life turns on the spin of a coin?

  The coin continued to spin.

  Sweat stuck the cotton to her back, fear made the blood thunder past her temples. Time - precious time, maybe all the time she had left - became at once both meaningless a
nd dear.

  She thought of the coin. And wondered how long it would remain spinning in the air.

  Time, already stretched to its limit, now became stuck fast at zero. In this dingy, narrow alley, street sounds from beyond were muted. Only Claudia's heart crashed like a boar in the undergrowth. Perspiration trickled down her forehead and dripped into her eye. She didn't blink. Couldn't -

  Come on. Come on, come on, get it over with . . .

  Suddenly - 'Bitch!' With a wild lunge, the boy rushed towards her.

  SHIT!

  Frozen for so long, his mood shift caught Claudia off her guard. Almost. As he dived forward, she dropped to the ground. It was a move he hadn't expected. It knocked his knees from

  under him. Claudia latched on to his thin, bony ankle. He kicked free, but as he did so, they spun a full semi-circle together and simultaneously sprang to their feet.

  The boy's furious expression told her all she needed to know about his feelings at being back at the point where he had started. Heart thumping, she followed his eyes. Frightened eyes. Angry eyes. Green as a feral cat's. Now the cat was cornered once again, and it did not know what to do.

  With a high-pitched, ululating sound screaming from the back of his throat, he shot forwards, head down, and suddenly Claudia realised the coin of life had, after all, landed her way. The knife was held out to the side.

  His body language told her his intention was to head-butt her in the stomach, not to kill. Just like the first time, she realised somewhat belatedly. Because by charging forward, as he had, he'd expected her to flatten herself against the house wall as he made good his escape. But still he ran towards her. With her breath suspended and his primitive cry ringing in her ears, she waited until the last possible second, made a feint to the left, skewed to the right. As she spun, she grabbed the boy's wrist and twisted as hard as she could.

  'Aaargh!' With a sharp yelp of pain, the blade shot out of his grip and spun harmlessly back down the alley.

  Jack-knifing him round, the momentum carried them both forward until they tumbled - praise be to Juno - on to a soft pile of fleeces, newly washed and ready for market. And this time, when she grabbed hold, Claudia made sure it was by the boy's hair and not by the tunic. White fleeces, brown fleeces, some with black spots lay strewn all over the cobbles.