Wolf Whistle

Claudia threw her arms in the air. ‘You are out, do you hear me, o-u-t, out.’

‘But-’ The big-boned peasant girl lunged with the curling tongs and missed.

‘Thanks to your stupidity, my house has been turned into a trout farm and all you can say is stand-still-madam-there’s-three-ringlets-on-the-prowl-’

‘Four, actually.’

‘-when you should be prostrate on your knees, begging me not to sell you at auction. Why didn’t you tell me those trunks were coming in, not going out?’ She grabbed the handmirror. ‘What do you mean, four?’

‘Five, now,’ Cypassis puffed. ‘If you’d only keep still a second-’

‘How am I supposed to feed them?’ Moneylenders are not the only people who get the hump when you forget to settle up. The fowler was turning pretty nasty, too. ‘Not that you care. Or whether I end up with a bathsponge for a brain from endless bloody small talk.’ Small talk! Any smaller and it’ll be downright invisible. ‘Now, are you going to fix my hair or run up and down this room all night long? I can’t see a thing for curls in my eyes.’

Claudia plumped down in the chair. Why? Why, when right across the city you’ll hear nursemaids crooning lullabies and schoolboys stammering over homework, can I hear nothing but teeth grinding like pine nuts in a pestle? The mirror crashed against the wall and left a gouge in the plaster. What am I supposed to do about that bloody gold and silver plate?

‘Tomorrow you stay by the back door, and if anyone calls who looks like a debt collector, you’re to say,’ she put on a squeaky voice, ‘are you the doctor, come about the typhus? Practise.’

‘Are-you-the-doctor-come-about-the-typhus.’

‘Good. Now what about the wine stain, do you think it’ll come out? I’m very fond of that apricot tunic and-ye gods, what’s that?’

Screaming had broken out from the kitchens. Pans and plates clattered off the tiles, there were shouts, shrieks and curses, then a table overturned. Claudia rushed out of her room and leaned over the gallery.

‘Correct me if I’m wrong, Cypassis, but that-’ she pointed to a small creature with a long tail and a round black face, ‘-looks like a monkey shinning up the atrium drapes.’

‘Ah.’ The broad-cheeked Thessalian scratched at her ear. ‘Jovi’s pet must have slipped its leash.’

‘Which auction block would you prefer to be sold at, Cypassis? The one in the Forum by the Arch of Augustus, or would you prefer to watch dead goats float down the Tiber as you stand by the Sublician Bridge?’

‘I thought it was one of your jokes, madam, honest I did. It came in a little brown sack with a note saying “With love from the man in the frock”.’

Wait till I get my hands on his windpipe!

‘Perhaps that’s what kept Miss Fortunata awake, the monkey?’

‘Fortunata is a silly, neurotic cow, that’s what kept her awake, Cypassis. Now show that simian the door.’

‘But Jovi loves it!’

‘NOW!’

Drusilla arrived to check out the kerfuffle, but Claudia scooped her up and shut the bedroom door, amid howling protests. ‘You’ve done enough damage, thank you, chasing Herky-Perky round the cellar.’ Her fingernails raked the cat’s upturned chin. ‘I say, it wasn’t you chasing mice in the night, giving the old ducks the idea that we’re haunted?’

‘Prrrrr.’

‘Ghoulies and ghosties, indeed.’ She set down the cat. ‘Wait a sec.’

‘Mrrr?’

‘Doesn’t Fannia sleep on the right of Gaius’ bedroom?’

‘Mrrow.’ Drusilla reared up to be cuddled.

‘And Fortunata on the left?’

‘Brrip, brrip.’

‘Sorry, poppet.’ She unhooked the cat’s claws from her lilac linen robe, and noticed six small snags remained as souvenirs. ‘It’s probably nothing more complicated than a hiccup in our chemistry experiments-some of the knockout drops stronger than others.’

Playing up their, shall we say, hallucinogenic properties? Claudia deposited a carmine outline of her lips between the cat’s crossed eyes and, checking the hall was clear of aunts and monkeys, ran lightly down the stairs. I know you, Gaius Seferius. You’ll have far better ways of spending your afterlife than clumping around scaring your cousins. But all the same. It was no coincidence that the occupants of both rooms either side had heard noises. Best check it out.

‘Package for you, ma’am,’ called a bald Sarmatian slave, and handed across a small hide pouch sticky with mildew. ‘Left inside the vestibule.’

‘Inside?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ He pointed to a mosaic fish. ‘Right there.’

Tentatively. Claudia opened the bag. Inside was a strip of peach-coloured linen, and a letter folded in four. Her stomach lurched at the familiar cramped writing…

‘ so you will know i’ve not abandoned you i send this blindfold and when we fuck i’ll — ’ The parchment trembled in her hands. By the gods, this man is sick! Where does he get these vicious, warped fantasies? She forced herself to read on, and the last line jarred her to the marrow, ‘and know i am watching you’.