Page 16

As we rounded another corner, making our way back toward our starting point, I realized Clemens Fabius was still in the middle of speaking.

“And that’s how I took command of the sailing vessel. I waved goodbye to my wife and daughters, and we were off. I was gone for four months that time, seeking new sources of silver ore. But that was hardly my longest voyage.”

“My, what a long journey.” What other secrets had Sebastianus withheld?

“Let’s take a closer look at this magnificent tiger,” he said.

The creature was only a few yards away. The handler sat on the overturned box, and the tiger lapped at the ground with a pink tongue the size of pork loin.

Clemens Fabius drew me forward gently. “Don’t be afraid. I’ve encountered many of these creatures on my travels.”

The handler jumped to his feet, shaking his head. “No, my lord. No closer, please.”

Clemens ignored him. “I want this young lady to have a good look at the animal. I have some experience with these beasts. The thing is to approach with confidence. Stand aside.”

He took a few more steps forward, pulling me along until I could see each stiff white whisker and the twitching of a moist, gray nose the size of my fist.

The tiger stopped its grooming and lifted its head to look at us. Then it sprang to its feet and raised a giant paw.

What happened next took place so quickly that everything was a blur. The trainer shouted something, and the end of his whip soared through the air. The tiger roared and rose onto its hind legs, dwarfing the trainer, who brought the whip down with a crack! The animal struck, claws extended, and the man crumpled. Still balanced on its hind legs, the tiger let out a roar that seemed to shake the terrace. Suddenly there was a whoosh, like a rush of air past my ear, and the tiger collapsed with a heavy thud beside the fallen trainer. A silence settled over the terrace. Sebastianus stood a few feet away. His silver knife was embedded deep in the creature’s skull, the polished handle protruding from its eye socket. Someone behind me screamed.

I was rooted to the spot, trying to get my bearings. Shouting erupted all around me. The matron called for the medicus. A house servant dashed off in the direction of the infirmary. The tiger was slumped as though asleep. Despite the blood seeping through his white toga, the trainer seemed to be trying to reach the animal, his face a grimace of pain: either from his wounds, or from grief for the beautiful creature.

Clemens Fabius was no longer at my side.

Sebastianus had retrieved his knife and was wiping it off with a cloth. He talked quietly with his tall, black-clad servingman, who had appeared at his side.

I noticed Kyra crossing the terrace unsteadily. She sat down quickly on a bench beside Comitissa Klaudia, who smiled and made room for her. I hurried over to join them, desperate for a place to rest my trembling legs. I took a deep breath.

Kyra looked pale and sweaty. Her eyelids were half closed. “Anna, what happened?” she whispered. “Are you all right?”

My heart pounded. “I hardly know what to say.”

The Comitissa said, more to herself than to either of us, “It will be all over the city by morning that he killed that animal.”

“I think he might have been trying to help.” I remembered the rush of air past my ear, and shivered. If he hadn’t acted so quickly, I might be lying there beside the animal trainer and the dead tiger. Would that rumor have caused as much interest?

“He should have learned by now to stop trying to help,” she said. “He shouldn’t even be here. It’s my fault.”

“How could it be your fault?” I asked.

She grimaced. “I think I’m beginning to see what he meant about the tirae bidding being barbaric.”

Kyra leaned back against the wall. Her eyes were closed. “I do not feel well. Tired.”

“Maybe it was all the excitement,” I said. “Want to walk up to the infirmary?”

Kyra nodded, but she could hardly stand. I tried to help her, hoping my own shaky legs would not betray both of us. We took a few steps, and then she was just a lead weight in my arms.

v

I VISITED KYRA IN THE INFIRMARY ON THE FOURTH floor the next morning. It was a small, bright room with whitewashed stone walls and high horizontal windows that let in the sunshine. It smelled faintly of vinegar. The room had two rows of simple white-painted wooden cots. Kyra’s was one of the few occupied. I sat down on the mattress, and the little frame creaked. She looked like she was sleeping. Her small rib cage rose and fell under the thin blanket. I touched her arm gently, but she didn’t stir.

At the far end of the room, an area was partitioned off with a linen screen. Behind it I could see the medicus in his white tunic moving around a patient’s bed. Eventually he made a note on a piece of parchment and came out from behind the divider. He crossed the room hurriedly, but I intercepted him.

“What’s the matter with my friend, Kyra?” I asked. “She collapsed on the terrace last night.”

He responded without slowing his steps. “I believe it’s a sickness of the blood. The pulse is weak.”