Man Eater Read Free Page A

amount of shouting and squawking, and despite Claudia’s obvious shock and revulsion, she had been conscious of immense confusion within the household. Perhaps it was not entirely surprising that Sergius recovered first. Propelling her gently away from the carnage (and unwittingly straight into his sister’s predatory arms), he could not apologize enough. The shame of it, having a guest subjected to violence. Was she hurt? Was she frightened? She mustn’t be put off by this, please don’t think badly of us, I hope you’ll feel safe still. Tulola, look after her, will you? Hot, honeyed wine, please, to put colour in her cheeks.
    Pallas carefully cut away a blemish. ‘Didn’t winter very well,’ he said, chopping the pear in half and sniffing intently. ‘But then neither did the apples. Damp in the fruit store, presumably.’
    Outdoors, the five monotonous notes from the wood pigeon perched on the bath-house roof added a curiously sleepy dimension to the proceedings.
    ‘Claudia, Claudia, what a terrible experience! How you must be feeling!’ Alis fluttered into the breakfast room, pale as ever. ‘Was it—? Oh, I say! What a wonderful tunic! So vibrant. Wherever did you find it?’
    ‘It’s Tulola’s.’ That, if nothing else, would teach her not to travel light in future. Bright orange cotton with a blue band round the neck and a large blue flounce? It might suit Egyptian hairstyles and heavily painted eyes, but on a sophisticated city girl, it was as out of place as a corpse at a wedding. Corpse? Bad joke, Claudia.
    ‘It suits you. I mean, really suits you.’
    ‘It makes me look like a common tart.’
    Claudia hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud until Pallas said drily, ‘Definitely Tulola’s, then.’
    Alis’ eyes widened in shock. ‘Pallas!’
    ‘Dear child, you are quite right and I take it back.’ He laid down his chicken wing and swivelled his eyes towards Claudia. ‘My cousin’s morals do not aspire to such heights.’
    Colour flooded Alis’ white cheeks. ‘Sssh!’
    Pallas began to dissect a quail. ‘I think you’ll find Tulola is aware of my sentiments.’
    Claudia bit her lip. ‘Forget Tulola, what about—’
    ‘Oh dear, were you two in the middle of a conversation?’ Alis clicked her tongue. ‘Well, don’t mind me.’ She unlocked one of the carved chests and examined a green glass jug. ‘Carry on as though I’m not here.’
    It was wellnigh impossible, but Claudia made a gallant effort. ‘Why,’ she leaned over the breakfast table, ‘has Sergius sent for the military?’
    Why not handle it himself? Come on, jurisprudence isn’t reserved for patricians. We merchant classes are equally entitled to administer justice among our own, it’s one of the perks.
    ‘Pallas, are you listening? I’m trying to work out—’
    ‘Why Sergius sent for the Prefect. I heard you.’ He searched around for a finger bowl. ‘I presume you’ve asked him?’
    Claudia pushed across a bronze bowl filled with warm, scented water. ‘He felt, and I quote, it was essential for the officials to get to the bottom of the matter.’ She refrained from mentioning the crispness in his tone which brooked no argument.
    ‘There you are then.’ He shook the drips from his pudgy fingers. ‘Try a dried cornel and stop worrying. They’re simply divine and—’
    ‘I’m not worrying, I—’
    ‘Claudia, which do you think will look best centre stage at dinner tonight?’ Alis weighed a green bowl in one hand, a yellow bowl in the other.
    ‘—I repeat, I’m not worrying, but it’s not every day a man’s life-blood drains itself out on your nightshift.’ Claudia smiled a beguiling smile. ‘Couldn’t you have a word with him?’ There were enough skeletons in her closet to keep a pack of hungry jackals happy for a year. The last thing she needed was Officialdom picking over the bones.
    ‘Ah!’ The big man’s nose wrinkled ominously. ‘Unfortunately my stock is not that high with the man of the