In at the Death (Marcus Corvinus Book 11) by Wishart David

Author:Wishart, David [Wishart, David]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2015-02-07T16:00:00+00:00

17

I got the litter guys to drop me at the back gate, paid them off and went inside and through the garden to Alexis’s hut. He was still up and waiting: I could see the line of lamplight under the door. I pushed it open.

‘Hey, Alexis!’ I said. ‘Sorry I took... For shit’s sake, you stupid dog, it’s me!’

OWOO-OO-OO! OWOWOW-OO-OO-OO!

All I had time for was one fast backward step. Not fast enough. Both paws got me square in the chest and I went arse over tip into the rhododendrons.

‘Leave, Placida!’ Alexis pulled at her collar while I tried to fend off the slobbering muzzle. ‘I’m sorry, sir, she’s just saying hello.Are you all right?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.’ Well, I would be if my cut arm wasn’t screaming in agony. Still, there was no point in complicating matters. I picked myself up while Alexis held the brute clear. ‘How was your day?’

‘Not bad, sir. We had a lovely walk, didn’t we, Placida?’

‘What?’

‘No problems at all. She was as good as gold all the way. I took her as far as the third milestone, let her chase some rabbits among the tombs, like you said. Then when we got home I smuggled her in and fed her and she’s been flat out on the floor ever since.’

‘Ah... Well done, Alexis,’ I said weakly. ‘I knew I could depend on you.’

‘You’re welcome, sir. Same thing tomorrow?’

‘Sure. If you don’t mind.’

‘Oh, I don’t mind at all.’ He scratched Placida’s head. ‘She has a lovely nature.’

‘Yeah. Yeah, right. Uh...goodnight, pal.’

‘Goodnight, sir.’

Bloody hell! Even so, it looked like Operation Ditch Placida had been a resounding success. I fastened on her lead, let her drag me to the garden gate then doubled back round to the front door. Bathyllus was still up, not that I’d expected otherwise, and I sank the first cup of Setinian gratefully while Placida nosed around checking whether our lobby had been invaded by any strange canines in her absence.

Bathyllus must’ve noticed the state of my tunic - there were half a dozen lamps burning in the lobby - but he didn’t comment.

‘Meton’s left a plate of cold meatballs for you on the dining-room table, sir,’ he said. ‘And the mistress is waiting for you in the atrium.’

Bugger. I swallowed: this was going to be tricky. ‘Okay, little guy,’ I said, handing him the bag of cardoons. ‘Pass these on for me, would you?’

‘Yes, sir.’

I filled the cup, took another fortifying gulp, and went through to the atrium.

‘Hi, Perilla,’ I said. ‘Nice evening?’

She looked up from her book. Hell: four large candelabra fully equipped with lamps. No chance; no chance. Bathyllus had followed me in, too, and he was hovering at the edge of the lamplight like a third actor who’s hoping he’s in the wrong play.

Perilla set down the book-roll. ‘Oh, good, you’re back,’ she said. ‘Now you can tell me why you -’ - which was when she saw the bloodstain on my tunic sleeve, plus the rest of the extensive collateral damage, and her eyes widened.

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