Wolf Whistle

Claudia listened, made mental notes, and all the while, Silverstreak trotted behind them.

‘This is the carpentry block.’ The Captain had to shout above the whirr of hand drills and the scrape of metal-faced planes. ‘The lads turn out everything from yokes to flutes to plough staffs.’

‘And the girls?’ Claudia asked, pretending to sneeze from the sawdust in order to cover the flush of excitement which had risen to her cheeks. ‘What happens to girls who reach puberty?’

‘Strict segregation.’ Dino pointed to the southernmost wing of the complex, wider at its base end than the part which abutted the house. ‘Women and eunuchs only.’

‘Yourselves excepting, of course?’

‘Us?’ sneered Sargon. ‘Here, my lovely, a rule is a rule and there is never an exception.’

He exchanged a sharp glance with the Captain, who said grimly: ‘Arbil does not tolerate laxity in any form.’

‘Which is why the organization runs so smoothly,’ Sargon added.

Admittedly he oiled his hair just a little too much, wore one ring too many, perfumed his body rather too heavily, but Claudia’s overall impression of Sargon was that of a tireless workaholic loyal to his father’s cause who was backed by a trusted, solid team.

Bugger.

‘Is there anywhere else you’d like to see?’ Dino asked, but he knew, and she knew, that she’d seen everything-and yet nothing. Now here they were, back in the atrium, under the watchful eye of Ishtar and her brood of gilded cherubs. Dammit, it was market day tomorrow and Claudia wasn’t a single step closer to preventing another grisly death. Instead, what had she proved? That Arbil brands his slaves with blue dragons, a fact they knew already? That Sargon whistled his wolf the way any man whistles his dog?

Admit it, you’ve failed. If only, perhaps, I had more time, a chance to get to know these people, find out how their minds work. The killings have to be linked with this place, they have to be…

‘My dear, my dear, won’t you please stay for dinner?’

Of all people, it was the barbarian, the peddlar of young flesh, who came to her rescue. The very man she had come to investigate.

‘Arbil, I should be delighted.’ Truly that was no lie. But first I’d like to snoop around your private quarters. ‘But first I’d like to freshen up.’

‘Be my guest, be my guest,’ he beamed back. ‘First left, second door down on the right is a bath room.’

Claudia followed his directions and put her head round the door to take note of the decor. Right. Now for the rest of the rooms.

The first was patently Arbil’s office, although how he could work in a room painted dark blue beat Claudia, and that ugly green zodiac, yeuk! But the gold she admired, and one thing was sure. Arbil was not stingy with the glittery stuff. It was plastered on the rafters, on the walls, over statues as though Midas himself had passed through. She leafed through Arbil’s documents, but they were recorded in incomprehensible squiggles, and there was also a lock on his moneybox.

Next door was decorated with dragons and an eight-point star which had been inlaid over a sinister contraption that seemed to pass as a bed. What strange habits these Babylonians have! She looked around. More gold, more statues, and on the wall were two portraits, one of Sargon, the other younger and with features similar enough to pass as a brother. But if this was the second son, Shannu, that Marcus had told her about, why had no one here mentioned him? Claudia continued her search. Arbil’s chests and trunks were made of terracotta as opposed to wood (an eccentricity which pervaded the entire complex), and revealed a strange taste in clothing and a clutch of pornographic pamphlets, but nothing, unfortunately, which suggested a propensity for slicing young women to ribbons.

Sargon’s room was light and bright and airy, and although there was the odd nod to Babylon, Sargon was not stuck in the past. Claudia whistled. He liked nice things, did Sargon. His jewel casket was the largest she’d ever seen, gold thread ran through his clothing, there was fine leather tooling on his sandals. He had scent bottles of onyx and fine alabaster, pillows stuffed with rose petals, and he owned more cloaks and tunics than you could buy in the Forum on market day. Right at the bottom of a trunk full of togas lay a soft leather satchel and Claudia unbuckled the straps. Scanning the documents it contained, she quickly selected two-one contract, one invoice and tucked them deep in the folds of her robe.

Oops. The next room was occupied.

‘So sorry,’ she breezed. ‘Thought this led back to the atrium.’