Wolf Whistle

Suddenly, the tiniest of details sprang to life. On the wall, Claudia could almost hear the leopard purring through its spots as Orpheus strummed his lyre. That tessellated peacock might strut off at any second, and Claudia could all but taste the ripened apricots and medlars drawn in paint. This is real, she thought. It’s not a dream, a play to be applauded. Her heart was thumping, her hands had turned to ice. The ivory inlays glinting in the sunlight, the aromatic herbs burning in the brazier, the monkey’s gouge marks in the satinwood and maple. They are real. As is Marcus. As is Annia.

And so, goddammit, as am I!

She bit deep into her lower lip to stop it trembling and for a moment, everything went dark and out of focus. Deep breaths, deep breaths. For gods’ sake, don’t pass out. Deep breaths. Her eye picked out a flax plant painted on the wall. Blue, like the peacock on the floor. Concentrate, concentrate. In Greece, whole hillsides would be covered in it. Atta girl, concentrate, concentrate. Think of how the stems are steeped to separate the fibres. Then bleached out in the sun before they can be woven into linen. That’s the stuff, well done. Once panic had subsided and cold beads of sweat ran hot again, Claudia could almost smile. As triumphs went, it might look small, but victory was relative.

For Claudia, knowing that her mind was no longer held captive by Annia was akin to subduing Gaul.

Not-she struggled with the bonds which tied her hands behind the chair-that it would necessarily be wise to let Annia in on the secret. Her sanity remained stable only so long as the Puppet Master’s stage was undisturbed. Ritual was all. She fed upon defencelessness and fear. Indeed, Claudia suspected that it was because Zygia had not crumpled that Annia lost her temper, and slit her throat in anger. How she must have despised that lack of self-control! She’d have blamed Zygia, of course. The girl provoked her, had it coming, she deserved to die like that, the bitch. But inside, her intemperance would have gnawed away. Next time, they would play by her rules-and thus had Severina come to grief, taunted to the end.

Annia snatched the string of corals from around Claudia’s neck and began to assess their size and weight and value. She preferred the deeper red, herself, although other women swore by… Buttressed by her inner strength, Claudia blocked her out.

What happened the day Zygia died? Did she really set out early, or had Severina covered up for, say, an illicit shopping spree or perhaps a long lie-in? Claudia imagined dark-haired Zygia pacing up and down the Cattle Market, stabbing her spiky curls with her fingers and wondering how best to make her approach to Annia. It was raining, but Zygia would not have noticed as she chewed her knuckle along the street beside the Circus. Claudia pictured her climbing the steep and slippery Cacian Steps, maybe pausing at the Lupercal to catch her breath. She would have approached the Temple of Apollo from the east, glad the library porticoes were deserted because the light was far too poor to read by. She would not have noticed droplets running down the marble columns, or dogs lapping water from the gutter. Wide-eyed and squeaky clean, Annia would have heard her out and doubts would have begun to form long before Annia spun some frilly tale to exonerate herself. ‘Come with me,’ she would have said. ‘I’ll prove it.’ And feeling foolish, Zygia would have backtracked down the Palatine with Annia, little knowing that this time when she approached the Lupercal, she would stare straight into Hell.

During the time Claudia had been re-living Zygia’s nightmare, Annia had been tormenting Marcus the way a cat torments a mouse, pressing Nemesis flat to Claudia’s windpipe, or pointing the knife as though to slice her cheek, and emitting squeaks of satisfaction every time he flinched. But Claudia sensed a subtle change. Annia was preparing to move on.

Time.

Claudia needed to buy time I mean, it’s all very well having your mind set free to roam, but let’s face it, legs would be much better. Shackled to the pillar in the hall, Orbilio was every bit as helpless as herself, but sooner or later someone-surely-had to visit the house. Maybe a launderess would come home with a toothache? Or a messenger arrive with a letter? Goddammit, there wasn’t even the possibility of Magic’s filthy missives interrupting.

‘Is-’ Claudia cleared her throat and started again. ‘Is this your objective?’ she enquired. ‘The aristocracy at your feet upon their knees?’

Whose bright idea was it to reward the servants with an afternoon off? And guess which silly bitch agreed! Down on the Field of Mars, the musical farce would not yet have begun. Just as Annia had contrived.

‘Revenge appears in many forms,’ the sprite trilled, pocketing the corals. ‘With each level guaranteeing satisfaction.’ She leaned forward to thrust her speedwell blue eyes close to Claudia’s. ‘You do know what I mean by satisfaction?’