The Dark (17 page)

I force a couple of huge spoonfuls down my throat and try not to gag. ‘It just tastes so much better this way.’

Jimmy and Ethan exchange amused glances. Under the table I swing a kick at Ethan’s knee. But his leg is closer than I think and I end up hitting it hard. He jerks, and his knee hits the underside of the table. The plates and cutlery rattle. Mum, Laura and Jenny stare at him. Quickly Jimmy makes a wisecrack, and thankfully, everyone starts to laugh.

By the time Ethan and his family go home, I’m exhausted, and quickly go to bed. Within seconds of
my head hitting the pillow, I feel myself drifting into sleep.

I drop into a room in the Citadel, the one filled with a strange multi-coloured mist. Not long after, Ethan arrives. He looks around, but as yet no doors are open. He walks through the mist towards me and shrugs.

A soft whooshing sound has us both look to the centre of the room. Rochelle appears within a cloud of sooty fog. It makes her cough and she tries to wave some of it away. I flick a brief worried look at Ethan. It looks as if Rochelle’s first mission for the Guard (as opposed to the Order) is going to be with us. Well, that makes sense. I guess she can’t exactly be trusted to work on her own yet.

She looks at us both, and her eyebrows lift. ‘What do you think this means?’

‘Huh?’ I wonder what she’s talking about.

‘There’s always a reason a room chooses you.’

Ethan’s eyes lift to meet Rochelle’s, and for a second it’s as if a spark of recognition lights between them, a spark with the force of electricity. ‘Fog usually means impaired vision. Perhaps this mist is meant as a warning.’

Rochelle’s head flicks, her chin lifting. I get the feeling her nerves are kicking in, but really, I’m helpless to reassure her. It’s not that Rochelle is new at this sort of thing. This is far from her first mission, but it is Rochelle’s first for
our
side. And here she is working with the two of us – Ethan, the guy she dumped at Marduke’s command, and me, her ex-boyfriend’s sister. Then there’s the added worry that the Goddess will be on the lookout for Rochelle’s return.

‘Has anyone been briefed?’ I ask as an awkward
silence develops.

Neither of them have, apparently, and Ethan is quick to add his opinion, ‘That’d be right. It looks like Carter’s stuffing up again.’

Just as Ethan makes his complaint, Mr Carter appears in the room. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He looks stressed, and I feel a moment of empathy for him. He’s filling in for Arkarian, as well as trying to continue in his own position, and teach at the school by day.

After giving Rochelle a long uneasy glance, he gets to the point, ‘You’re needed in Ancient Rome, during the late first century BC, when Octavius takes control of his empire.’

I’ve never been there, and the idea alone makes me gasp. ‘Oh wow.’ For a minute I experience that familiar buzz I get when about to embark on a journey into the past. But then thoughts of Arkarian, never more than fleeting seconds away, come thundering back, and I remember a time when Arkarian and I were about to head off to duel with Marduke and his soldiers. Arkarian handed me a specially made sword, given to him by King Arthur’s knight, Gawain. He knew how worried I was about the upcoming duel and the slim chance we seemed to have of saving Matt’s life, when suddenly he’d said to me, ‘I would die for you.’ At the time, I didn’t reply. His words had taken me by surprise. But now, as I hear them unfold in my head again, a reply springs to mind, and I whisper, ‘And I would die for you.’

I realise I’ve said these words out loud when everyone in the room stops still and looks at me. Rochelle rolls her eyes. Mr Carter looks at me sympathetically.
Ethan comes up behind me and rubs my arm. ‘Are you OK?’

I look up at him and nod, my eyes blurred.

He checks again, ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine.’

Turning back to Mr Carter, Ethan asks him what our roles are. ‘And make sure you get it right this time, and not land us smack bang in the middle of a raging battle.’

Mr Carter’s eyes flare, but we’re not in the classroom now, so his power over Ethan is slightly diminished. Ethan’s mistrust of this man doesn’t have much of a foundation. All the same, I would never dismiss Ethan’s natural instinct.

Mr Carter takes a deep breath. ‘I’m doing my best, Ethan. I’m not the one in this room whose trust should be in doubt.’

As he says these words his eyes travel sideways to Rochelle. It’s no secret that Mr Carter has serious doubts about Rochelle’s allegiance, but apparently the Tribunal think she’s ready to join us, and Mr Carter’s obvious disapproval won’t make our mission any easier.

Rochelle groans, ‘Let’s just get on with it. I don’t know what you lot were taught, but I was told that time isn’t measured in this place.’

‘Really? What else were you told?’ Mr Carter asks. ‘That could make an interesting conversation.’

Her chin does that little flick and lift again. ‘I’ve briefed the Tribunal on everything I know, so I don’t have to tell you anything.’

The air grows thick, even the mist has increased. It’s as if the room itself can feel the tension. ‘Shouldn’t we
get moving?’ I suggest. ‘Before we lose each other and all sense of what we’re supposed to be doing in this fog?’

Mr Carter finally gets his thoughts together. He becomes the teacher once more, his demeanour one of authority and knowledge. ‘The portal has opened during a time when Octavius, or I should say, Gaius Julius Caesar Octavius, is between battles with Mark Antony. He’s relaxing for a few days at home, enjoying the company of his wife, Julia, and her two sons from an earlier marriage, Tiberius and Drusus. He is well into his campaign to attain the title of first Emperor of Rome, using his brilliant political cunning. But it appears that an attempt will be made on his life during these few days, by one or more of the Order. If they should succeed, you must all realise what effect this could have on life as we know it. Rome and Octavius, and all the events that followed, have enormous influences on the culture of the modern world. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

He doesn’t have to be so explicit. Every mission is important, but we get it – this one is vital, especially as the balance of power between the Guard and the Order is very precarious right now.

‘An opportunity has arisen to send you in under the guise of Roman doctors. Ethan will be in charge, with you two girls his assistants. In this way all of you will have access to the house without question to your citizenship, and, should you fail to stop Octavius from receiving a wound, you will be in the best position to heal him.’

Our instructions given, Mr Carter goes to leave, but stops as a doorway opens before him. ‘Whatever the
Order plan, it’s going to be big. Remember that.’

His voice is so serious it unnerves me.

‘They’re out to make a lot of damage,’ he adds. ‘That’s why we’re sending all three of you. Please, be careful.’

He leaves, and with nothing but silence and our own troubled thoughts for company, we go to a wardrobe room. It’s here we’re appropriately outfitted with new identities. All three of us become unrecognisable.

We end up wearing long under tunics, mine made of white satin, and covered mostly by a blue wool wrap. My hair has been changed to yellow gold and pulled back in rope coils to form a tight bun at the back. Rochelle’s hair is a rich red-brown, also pulled tightly back, but the front third is now a mass of short and thick curls. She glances in the mirror, taking in her green tunic and salmon-coloured over dress.

Ethan’s outfit is almost completely white, while his hair is black and cut short all over, except for a fringe pulled down over his forehead. A sprinkling of dust falls over us from the ceiling, and we are endowed with the knowledge we need to fulfil this mission. Specialist tools appear in my hands wrapped in cloth, and I understand that Ethan will be a doctor of professional standing, specialising in internal injuries and ailments.

Ethan turns and points to me. ‘Claudia, my assistant.’ And to Rochelle he says softly, ‘Sempronia.’

Rochelle moves away from the mirror and dips her head in response. ‘Petronius.’

The look they exchange is charged with electricity. They would both have to be numb not to feel it. Strangely they appear as if they’re caught in a trance. I may as well not even be in the room! Ethan is first to
break contact. A scowl appears on his face as if he’s annoyed with himself. Annoyed with his reaction. He hurries us out of the room. The stairwells take us up to a departure room. A door opens in the opposite wall and the three of us quickly leap.

Chapter Sixteen

Isabel

Rome is incredible. People are everywhere – hundreds of them, going about their business all in a rush. There’s an open market, steaming with hot spicy food. The streets are cobbled and straight, the buildings two and three storeys high.

‘Stop gawking,’ Rochelle hisses at me. ‘You’re going to stand out. And ultimately that puts us all at risk.’

My gaze slides sideways. I wonder what’s eating her? But when I think about it, I guess she’s right. I probably am coming across as a typical tourist. Ethan gives a laugh under his breath. I stick him in the ribs with my elbow.

‘Doesn’t this just sweep you away?’ I open my palms to indicate the multitude of people around us. To me, it’s the men that stand out, in their white tunics or togas, slaves trailing behind like bodyguards to the rich and famous. ‘It’s just so alive!’

Rochelle turns sideways, making sure she doesn’t brush up against a man pushing a cart of vegetables. ‘You’re such a romantic. One day your bubble’s going to burst and you’re going to end up with mud on your
face. Life isn’t sweet. It stinks. Just smell it.’ Her nose wrinkles up and I have to wonder where all this negativity is coming from. OK, she’s been through some dramatic changes in the last twelve months, but this bitterness sounds as if it’s specifically aimed – at me, or Ethan. She’s probably just frustrated, unsure of Ethan’s feelings.

‘Can you believe that stench?’

Up until now I hadn’t noticed, too caught up in the excitement of simply being here. But now that she mentions it …‘Phew. What
is
that?’

‘Garbage,’ Ethan says. ‘Sewage too.’

‘And something burning, like a building that’s been smouldering for days,’ Rochelle adds.

We keep walking, a kilometre at least. ‘Does anyone know where we’re going?’

Ethan points up ahead to a white building of many columns. ‘There, to the left of that temple. Octavius should be staying in a villa that’s just a walk down that road.’

It ends up a long walk, but no one complains. And I’m not game to ask Rochelle what she thinks again.

At last we arrive at the front door of a villa Ethan thinks is the one. In a street of large houses, this one is by far the largest of all. At Ethan’s knock the door is opened by a huge man, a slave apparently, wearing a white robe, a stark contrast to his dark African skin.

Ethan introduces himself.

‘The doctor has arrived,’ the slave announces in a strong voice with a bored tone to it. He ushers us into a cool atrium where the floor and sparse furnishings are made almost entirely of marble. As we wait, the slave examines us, a frown forming on his deep set
brow. He notices the tools in my hands but doesn’t say anything. After a minute he calls out again, ‘It appears he has brought his entire entourage. Three in all.’

While the slave’s tone is anything but warm, it’s good to know that we’re expected. At least Ethan is. Finally we’re greeted by a woman who turns out to be Lady Livia herself – Octavius’s wife. An attractive woman, she looks slender in a long dark gown with a sheer red wrap around her shoulders. She welcomes us warmly. Apparently their other doctor recently retired, and her eldest son, Tiberius, a ten-year-old who has lately come to live with them after the death of his father, has come down with some unexplained ailment.

My spine prickles, and I have to wonder if it’s my sixth sense hinting foul play might be at work, or simply my healing instincts kicking into action. ‘Can we see the boy?’ She looks at me as if I’ve spoken out of turn. ‘It wouldn’t be good to delay, should he be afflicted with something serious, my lady,’ I explain, my face heating up under her glare.

Livia’s eyes slide down to the implements wrapped in cloth in my hands, then at Rochelle’s empty ones. She’s obviously got something on her mind, something bothering her. ‘These women,’ she says to Ethan, ‘are they
both
your assistants?’

‘This is Claudia,’ he replies, pointing in my direction. He indicates Rochelle next, but before he has a chance to introduce her, the African slave moves in front of us.

‘We were expecting two.’ He crosses his muscular arms over his equally muscular chest. ‘The doctor and his assistant only.’

It appears Mr Carter got it slightly wrong, putting
our credibility at risk. To my right Ethan’s hand starts to curl into a fist. He has to come up with a plausible explanation for Rochelle’s presence. It thankfully doesn’t take him long, though I’m not sure Rochelle will be impressed with his brainwave. ‘This is Sempronia. She is … my slave. She’s very talented with her … with her hands.’ He freezes. All three of us do. Other than truth-seeing, Rochelle’s skill is her gift of touch. Her hands are capable of identifying just about everything, especially substances like herbs, powders and chemicals. She doesn’t need light or smell or any other sense to know exactly what’s in her hands. Preparing poison is her speciality. Well, it used to be when she worked for Marduke.

A silence follows where all I can hear is Rochelle’s breathing, which has suddenly grown noisy.

Livia speaks first. ‘Very well, she’ll sleep in the slave’s quarters. Wanjala can set a bed up for her.’

Oh great. How do we get out of this? Isolating Rochelle from us would put her in a vulnerable position. If her identity were to be discovered, there’s no doubt the Order would want her captured or destroyed.

Ethan’s eyes spin to Rochelle’s. Just identifying her as a slave has left her seriously powerless, let alone singling out her hands as ‘special’. She has to keep a low profile now, that’s for sure. She especially can’t go reacting indignantly. Keeping her eyes low and buried, they skitter across the floor from one end of the room to the other, while she waits for her awkward situation to be resolved.