'How dare you-' he began, but a podgy hand forestalled him.
'Why don't you rejoin the festivities, Neco?' There was steel in the faded blue eyes of the Grand Vizier. 'I'll deal with this.'
Cold glances flickered between Vizier and Scribe. No love lost here, then. Eventually Neco's thin lips curled in acquiescence. 'Sir.'
Claudia followed his retreating back. Hair tortured to within an inch of its life by hot curling rods. A slight stoop from years bent over a desk. Stomach muscles flabby from too much time in a chair. Everyone here looks inwards, she thought, to their own needs. Proof that self-absorption can lead to obsession.
'Never mind Neco,' harrumphed the Grand Vizier. 'Holds a senior post, y'know. Don't tolerate familiarity.'
It wasn't clear whether Min meant Neco or himself.
'Vineyards, eh?'
'In Frascati.' Claudia smiled, and wondered whether it reached as far as her eyes.
'White stuff, presumably.' His full mouth formed a ghastly, kissy pout. 'Too dry for my taste. Prefer the sweet stuff, don't yer know.' And still there was no softening in the steel. 'New girl, are you? Don't believe I've had the pleasure.'
Damn right!
'Heard about you, though.' They were still standing in the middle of the corridor, outside his own bedroom door. 'Caused a bit of stir, what?'
If he grabbed her now, say by the hair, he could drag her inside his room and no one would ever know. Those hands — those big, strong, army hands — could clamp around her throat and within a count of thirty she'd be dead.
'My puppy's missing,' she said with commendable mildness.
'So he said.'
Who? Geb? Penno? Shabak? It wasn't lost on her that someone had reported back, but then Min hadn't intended that it should be! Heatwave or not, suddenly it seemed icily cool.
Claudia swallowed.
In the eighteen hours since her arrival, she'd been unable to find Flavia anywhere, and, by heaven, how she'd searched. Another of Min's conquests? A picture swam before her. Of a chubby fifteen-year-old, sobbing into the sheets as she struggled helplessly beneath the Grand Vizier.
Sweet Janus.
Suppose the total was now seven missing girls?
Chapter Twenty-five
For what seemed like eternity, Min's faded blue eyes stared at Claudia from beneath his wiry, grey brows. She stared back. He couldn't hear (how could he?) the thrashing of her heart. Only Claudia could feel the dampness of her palms. 'Little black fellow, is he?'
Huh? Then she remembered Doodlebug.
'You'll find him in the stables.' The Grand Vizier made a noise in the back of his throat. 'Other dogs, y'know. Companionship.'
Claudia turned to leave. Any excuse. The urge to sabotage Mentu's operation had dulled. She just wanted to go. Get out of here. Before she was sucked in any deeper.
'Bit of a problem, though,' he harrumphed.
Visions of Doodlebug kicked to death by a mule flashed through her mind. Attacked by the other dogs. Torn apart, bleeding and helpless.
'That girl you brought along-'
'Flea?' The hysterical images were replaced by much more realistic pictures of Doodlebug snuggling into his new makeshift family, gallumphing along behind the pack, tumbling, tangling up his stubby legs and rolling in the cowpats.
'Is that what she calls herself?' Min's kissy pout was back. 'Not surprised, frankly. Filthy mouth. Anyway. Been caught stealing. Serious offence. Trial tomorrow.'
Oh, Flea, you silly bitch. Thieving's bad enough, but getting caught? 'The girl's a street thief, Min, stealing's what she does best.'
'Force of habit, you mean?'
'Exactly.' Claudia loaded honey into her voice. 'There's no need for any trial. Confiscate the booty and tell her not to do it again, she'll understand.'
The Grand Vizier snorted.
Shit. 'I had hoped' (another spoonful of honey) 'that by bringing her here, she'd find Ra-'
'She found him all right,' Min retorted. 'Helped herself to half of his bloody offerings! Not allowed, y'know — commoners inside the temple. Restricted area, accessible only to the Pharaoh and his Holy Council. To trespass inside the holy of holies is serious. To steal from it — gad, that's treason.'
Flea, you stupid child, why couldn't keep your sticky hands to yourself for just ten minutes? Surely that wasn't too much to ask?
'I'll have a quiet word with her lawyer,' Claudia said. The silence of the corridor was beginning to grate. Strange, how the eyes of every statue seemed to bore right through you. 'See if we can't thrash this thing out.'
'Don't have lawyers.' Min patted the solid paunch under which his white kilt swung to his calves. 'Defendants plead their own case before the Pharaoh or the Grand Vizier. Witnesses called, judgement pronounced.'
Claudia saw a chink in Flea's plight. 'And who will be presiding over Flea's trial?' Please say it's you. However much I despise you, I'm sure there's a mutual currency to deal in.
'For offences against Ra, the Pharaoh always sits in judgement.' Min produced that throaty noise again. 'But remember, we're all equal in the eyes of Ra. Men and women. No distinction here. Each of us is expected to acquit ourselves well, that's our god-given duty and we shall not falter. Hear what I'm saying, do you?'
'I think I may have missed the point'
He leaned close, and she could smell parsley on his breath. 'The point,' he said acidly, 'is that equality tolerates no prima donnas.'
Ouch.
'And no histrionics, either,' he snarled, his blue eyes blazing hatred. 'Provoke any further disruption and I'll personally see that you regret it.'
So he'd known all along that she'd seen his tearful victim flee his room.
'On the other hand,' he added, with a lightning switch of personality which sent his eyes raking over the curve of her breasts, 'stay on the right side of me, little lady, and you'll be surprised what I can do for you.'
'This little lady is prepared to live without surprises.'
'Your prerogative.' A strange smile twisted half his face. 'Just bear in mind, Flea's won't be the first death sentence we've pronounced.'
An icy blast blew straight in from the Arctic. It sucked her breath away. 'You-' Claudia cleared her throat and tried again. 'You don't execute someone for stealing a few trinkets off a boat,' she said, and her voice carried only the faintest hint of a quiver.
'We do here,' Min replied cheerfully. 'Unless, of course, I put in a word for her tomorrow.'
'And what would it take for you to plead her cause, I wonder.'
'Oh, I think you know the answer.' His faded eyes cast the merest flash towards his bedroom door before they stripped the linen from her body. 'Woman of the world like you.'
'Go to hell.'
'Highly unlikely,' sneered the Grand Vizier. 'I don't force any woman into anything she doesn't want to do.'
'Find yourself a dictionary and look up "tyranny" then.'
The insult rolled off him like raindrops off an oily rag. 'Just ask yourself, m'dear, how much is that scrawny kid's life worth to you? Bugger all to me, I'll tell you that!'
Min's mocking laughter echoed in the empty corridor long after he'd closed his bedroom door.
In the arena in Rome, the executions were well under way. Fourteen hardened murderers and rapists had cried and begged and pleaded for the mercy of the people, only to have their mangled corpses hooked away, fresh sand thrown over their coagulated blood.
The Armenian waited with a patience he had grown used to over the past seven years. Whatever beast the executioners had lined up for him could not be half as bad as the horrors inflicted by his master — the abuse, the beatings, the rapes, the humiliation. He was glad the bastard was dead, unable to inflict any further torture. Whatever he faced now, would be swift.
His turn came. The charge was read out.