He sat drinking contentedly. He deserved this bit of extra compensation, didn’t he? The difficult job he had been entrusted with had gone as planned. As far as he was concerned, it was over. He had been understandably on edge since that night, startled more than once by half-glimpsed shadows and stealthy noises such as he had been hearing earlier. Just deranged humors and imagination.
Again he dipped his cup into the jug, took a gulp, and contemplatively smacked his lips. This was different than usual. Did he detect a hint of bitterness? Perhaps it had been a bad year, a less than stellar vintage. Had Antonina brought a new batch back from Italy with her? It had been a bad year for generals, why not for grapes also?
Suddenly he was very tired. It was all catching up to him. More wine would help.
The tangled rose bushes beyond the wind moved, as if in a breeze.
Had the wind risen? There might be another storm on the way.
The bushes writhed like a nest of entwined snakes.
Was something hiding there?
Tychon put his cup back behind the amphorae, turned, and banged hard into the edge of the nearest table. Strange. He knew the workshop like the back of his hand. Actually the back of his hand was trembling. He ran toward the door, stumbling, feeling as if he were inexplicably going down hill.
He burst out into a nightmare landscape of looming grotesques. Shadows were swaying, crawling through the dark pool of night caught between the house and the garden walls. No, they were only trees and shrubs. For all their apparent movement they remained anchored to their spots. Except…
One shadow darted away from the side wall of the workshop.
Tychon gave chase.
A street urchin who had managed to creep in, judging by its size.
Yet the proportions seemed all wrong. And the loping gait was unlike that of a child.
An ape, Tychon thought. It’s an ape!
Sure enough, as the creature came to the garden’s perimeter it clambered up into a yew and then vanished over the top of the wall.
Some part of Tychon’s mind begged him to pause and consider the likelihood of Antonina’s garden being invaded by an ape. But it pleaded to no avail with the irrationality that had taken hold. He was to the gate and out into the street before the guard could react. He raced along parallel to the wall. His mouth was filled with the weirdly bitter taste of the wine.
There was the ape, blocking his path. staring straight at him.
No, a short creature with a hideous face, a mouth moving like that of a landed fish.
“Demon! By the Goddess of the Frogs, I command you!” The monstrosity waved its arms.
Demon. Yes, that’s what it was! “No,” Tychon cried. “I meant no harm!”
The horror came hopping at him, reaching out with clawed hands. Now Tychon saw that every shadow in the street had come to life, waving phantom arms, slithering through the gutters. Was this the way an angry god dealt with malefactors?
He screamed and ran.
Reason, locked deep inside his panicked mind, pounded helplessly, unheard, at the door of its dungeon as he fled through the streets, alleyways, and squares pursued by a shape that was part Fury and part avenging angel.
He burst into an open promenade overlooking the water. The last thing Tychon saw were city lights reflected in the water far below the sea wall.
DAY SIX
Chapter Thirty-eight
Peter lay stretched out on his sleeping mat, eyes closed, hands clasped peacefully on his chest. As if he sensed John looking at him, he opened his eyes. “Master? What is it?”
“I didn’t mean to wake you, Peter. I wished to question you again, in case you recalled anything more.”
Peter propped himself up on his elbows. “I tried, master, but my memory isn’t what it used to be.”
On the mat next to his, Hypatia stirred and sat up. She looked at John crossly, but addressed Peter. “Your recollection has nothing to do with age, Peter. Why would you remember every single thing you saw and did right before? You weren’t expecting to be thrown into the sea!”
Peter looked in distress from John to Hypatia and back. “I’m sorry-”
“Never mind, Peter. Hypatia is right. Go back to sleep. It’s barely dawn and you need to rest.”
“Really, master. I’m all right. I can swim, you know. And thank the Lord, I also had the protection of Hypatia’s charm.” He lifted his arm to display the knotted bracelet around his wrist. “It was just the shock of it. When you’re standing there minding your own business and someone grabs the back of your-”
“Yes, I understand.” John did not want to contemplate what it would be like to be grabbed from behind, hoisted over the rail, and dropped into the bottomless waters. Which is what had happened to Peter, as he had already told John.
He had also told John several times that, no, he had not managed to see the culprit. All he had time to notice was the water rushing up at him.
No, he couldn’t say who had been on deck when he emerged from the captain’s cabin. A few crew members no doubt. He had no reason to take note. He’d just wanted to get a breath of air while the pot on the brazier came to a boil.
No, he hadn’t heard his attacker approach.
The captain’s cabin had been empty when he arrived so he fanned the brazier’s embers to life and began cooking stew. He had had to search for a knife suitable for slicing onions. Cooking utensils were jumbled on the shelves with hammers and files and the like. Jars of olives were mixed up with jars of ointment. Much of what Peter needed was hidden under a stack of packages, pouches, and navigational charts. The disarray was shocking.
John was amazed Peter seemed more upset by the disorder in his adopted kitchen than he was about his near encounter with Poseidon.
He went on deck to search for the captain and found the plump, red-faced man at the stern where the huge, iron crosses of the anchors had been winched on board.
“Are the repairs completed?”
“Patched up well enough to reach the shore. Needs a new rudder, among other things. Hope you’re not in a big hurry.” There was a sneer in his voice.
John wondered if he had been apprised of who the tall Greek and his party were and the reason for their journey.
“I’m not concerned about that. Did you find anything out about who tried to murder my servant?”
“Been a little busy as you might have noticed.”
“Too busy to question your crew about attempted murder?”
The captain screwed up his features and scratched a pink, bristly chin as if pondering the question. “Questioned my men. None of them seen anything. Merchant ship’s no place for an old relic like that one. Standing around, always in the way. Someone brushed past him, busy, concentrating on his job, and the old man loses his balance and over he goes. Or perhaps he had one of them falling spells as them that’s his advanced age often has and just imagines he was pushed. He wouldn’t be much of a loss, if you ask me.”
“You like his honey cakes well enough. You and your traveling companion.”
“I’d miss those cakes, certainly. As for the passenger you’re talking about, you won’t get nothing out of me. It’s no one’s business who takes ship on the Leviathan. All I want to know about my passengers is they put the proper number of coins into my hand. I don’t know who they are. And even if I do know, I don’t know. And now, if you don’t want us to drift back onto them rocks…” He turned and waddled off, barking instructions at the crew.