Death's Mistress
Page 69

“Let’s go.”
I pulled him down the corridor, a little faster than his feet wanted to work. He kept wobbling over to one side or another, almost forcing me headfirst into a wall more than once. I finally pulled him into a fireman’s carry, since most of the stakes along his torso had already been pushed through to the back, thanks to his dragging crawl along the floor.
We hit the main corridor again a few minutes later, Anthony lolling like an old drunk and me swearing. I propped my hand on the wall for a moment, trying to get my breath back. And when I moved it, I left a sweaty outline behind. I stared at it resentfully, breathing hard, and wondering why I never got the skinny villains. And then I heard that sound again. And unless I was very much mistaken, it was closer.
But I still couldn’t tell the direction. There were too many side tunnels, too many echoes. Even our own voices sounded strangely like they were coming from several places at once.
“Come on, come on, what are you waiting for?” Anthony demanded anxiously.
To decide whether or not to leave your ass here, I didn’t say.
“We have to move it!” he said, poking me.
I pushed off the wall, and slung him back over my shoulders. “I’ll move it. As long as you tell me what you’re doing here.”
“Geminus called me up in a fearful panic, raving about the fey and retribution and Zeus knows what all. Turns out someone was trying to blackmail him for that damned rune and he’d gotten it into his head that I had it. He threatened to go to the Senate unless I handed it over.”
“And did you?”
“I couldn’t give him what I don’t have,” Anthony said testily.
“Then why did he think you did?”
“Who can say? You know these gladiator types. A little thick in the skull.”
“Unlike these Senate types,” I said, stopping. “A little slippery of the tongue.”
Anthony waited me out for maybe half a minute, and then he cracked. “You would leave me here? A wounded man?”
“You’re not a man, and in a heartbeat.”
He expanded my vocabulary of ancient Roman curses for another moment, while I just stood there. “Oh, very well!” he said resentfully. “He saw me going into Elyas’s study last night, moments before he died.”
“So Louis-Cesare was right. You did kill him.”
“I may have my flaws, but I am loyal to those who are loyal to me. And Elyas was an old supporter. I didn’t go there to kill the man!”
“Then why did you go?”
“For Christine. Louis-Cesare has been looking for her for a century; he has some strange obsession with the woman. I thought if she was under my control, I would hold him. I went there to strike a bargain with Elyas. I would protect him from any retribution from Alejandro, but I wanted the girl.”
“But you didn’t get her,” I said as I started staggering back toward the arena. I just hoped like hell that the stairs were still there.
“No, thank the gods!”
“What happened?”
“I arrived to see Elyas and was told he’d retired to his study. I went along and knocked, but there was no answer. I went in and found him, trussed up like a Christmas goose.”
“Why didn’t you do something? You could have saved him—”
“I could have done nothing of the kind. I’d seen this trick a time or two, and one look was enough. The wax was already soft. Removing the blade would have dislodged it and merely killed him sooner.”
“You could have tried to heal him, then.”
He made an exasperated sound. “That sort of thing may run in your line, but mine isn’t so gifted! And even had it been, it is doubtful I could have helped him. You saw his throat—it wasn’t slit; it was bisected. He was seconds away from death, and there was nothing to be done about it.”
“So that’s what you did? Nothing?”
“I attempted to question him, to find out who was responsible, but he was groggy. I couldn’t get anything useful out of the man and was about to summon his second when Louis-Cesare showed up.”
“The study was soundproofed,” I pointed out. “You couldn’t have heard him.”
“The charm doesn’t work when the door isn’t fully closed, and in my surprise, I hadn’t bothered to pull it shut.”
I tried to think back, and it seemed to me that he was telling the truth—about that much, anyway. The study door had been partly open when I arrived, sending a wedge of light out into the hall. That was how I’d known where to go.
“I heard the servant conducting him down the corridor,” Anthony continued. “And… an idea presented itself.”
“You left him there, knowing he would die and that Louis-Cesare would be blamed.”
“And that I would get him off. He was never in any danger, other than to his pride. Which could stand a prick or two, I might say.”
“You planned to force him to remain under your control, practically as a slave!”
Anthony sighed wistfully. “It was perfect. I should have known; the Fates have always hated me.”
I stopped because we’d reached the door to the arena, or at least I assumed it was behind there somewhere. A massive fall of dirt, bricks and rock blocked the way. The whole damn thing might have caved in, or it could be a localized fall caused by a weak spot in the tunnel. And there was only one way to tell.
I swore under my breath, letting the flashlight play over the rough ceiling, or as much of it as I could see through the hanging cloud of dust. I could see where the old bricks had given way, letting through a ton of dirt and a cascade of long white roots. In the flickering light, they looked almost like grasping fingers, reaching out—
Okay, yeah. Enough of that. I’d been down here a little too long, listening to Anthony’s ravings. I needed to get us both out of here, although it wasn’t looking promising. The only way through the fall, assuming there was one, was going to be at the very top. I had a sudden vision of myself having to shimmy through on my back, the rock inches from my nose, another cave-in just waiting to happen…
Have I mentioned that I really, really hate little dark places?
But there wasn’t much choice in this case. I tucked the flashlight in my belt to leave both hands free. “I’m going to check it out,” I told Anthony. “Stay here.”
“As opposed to?” he asked wryly.
“I’ll be right back,” I promised. I wasn’t sure who I was reassuring: him or me. From Anthony’s expression, I think he figured that out, but he didn’t say anything. I started to climb.
It was about as fun as I’d expected. It was pitch-dark except for the bouncing beam of the flashlight, which never seemed to be pointed where I needed it to be. And even when it was, it mostly highlighted the choking dust cloud, which wasn’t helping me see or breathe. I misjudged the distance and cracked my head on the rough ceiling, and then my foot fell through a gap in the loose earth, causing a mini-avalanche.
My feet managed to find purchase at the last second on a section of brick that had all come down in a piece. I held on, hiding my face in my jacket and trying not to breathe as a few hundred pounds of dirt flowed over me. It finally stopped, and I looked up, blinking dirt and dust out of my eyes.
I was practically buried, with only my head sticking out of the fall. I coughed, got my bearings and started trying to fight my way free, causing the load of debris around me to shift. Unfortunately it mostly shifted back onto me. I scrambled to try to compensate, thinking I saw a gap up ahead, but a sudden cascade sent me sliding back down the mound on my stomach, getting pummeled by rocks, roots and sharp-edged bricks the whole way.
I slid to a stop at Anthony’s feet, gasping and choking on the new wash of dirt in the air. “Now what?” he demanded. It didn’t look like patience was the consul’s strong suit.
I scowled up at him, bruised and filthy. “Now we’re going to have to find another—”
“No!” He was starting to look panicked again. “There’s no time. We have to go out here.”
“I don’t have a backhoe in my pocket,” I snapped, struggling to my feet and vainly trying to dust off my clothes. But my sweat and his blood had caked the dirt onto them; all I was doing was smearing it around. I decided it could wait and looked up to find Anthony staring at me.
He wasn’t going to plead, wasn’t about to beg. But his face was doing it for him. The heatless flame of the flashlight flickered over drawn features and colorless flesh. Around his many wounds, dark rings glistened like hungry mouths, smearing his clothes and staining his skin. But it didn’t look like any more was flowing. I suspected that might be because there wasn’t much left.
Anthony was running out of time.
I stared into the blackness of the corridor behind us, seeing nothing. But my brain supplied an image of the dark, unknown passageway, which probably opened onto more caverns and then more passageways… endless regressions into deeper and more silent darkness. I could find my way out, eventually, of that I had no doubt. But I couldn’t do it and carry Anthony, and I wasn’t sure what I’d find when I got back.
“I’ll give it another try,” I said reluctantly, and he nodded, looking slightly relieved. He got a hand to my backside and pushed, and I scrambled up the slippery slope once again.
I don’t know if the previous avalanche had sloughed off most of the looser debris, or if I was just getting the hang of things. But I made it to the top this time with little difficulty, putting out a cautious hand to the ceiling so as to spare my head. I wedged myself into a somewhat secure-feeling space between the ceiling and wall, and sent a pale tongue of light through the small space I’d previously noticed.
It was a definite gap. But I couldn’t see anything on the other side, either because the flashlight’s beam didn’t extend that far, or because there wasn’t anything to see. I could slither in there only to find another wall of dirt and rock. Or another avalanche waiting to come down on my head.