A ship horn blasts, followed by growls and grunts and splintering wood. I hear a man yelling he’s going to kill another. I feel the rumble of footfalls as men race to intercede.
“For Cauldron’s sakes, half-bloods are all crooks,” Silvius huffs. “Toss him into the canal.” He must speak the order to the guard beside him because he doesn’t bark it.
The quay has grown quiet, save for a few muffled grunts.
“Commander, the man is clearly inebriated.” Gia’s voice is slightly shrill. “Hardly a reason to have him put to death.”
“There’s nothing quite like cold water to clear the mind.”
“Don’t do it,” she grits out.
“Or what, Signorina Amari?”
“Or you’ll lose everyone’s respect and obedience.” The barrel is definitely palpitating. “Think of the order you gave these men not to allow Fallon passage. If you send Mattia into that canal, and he gets taken by the serpents, do you really think anyone would hesitate to work against you the next time you require their compliance?”
“I could only wish them luck considering the fleet of guards.”
“Here I thought you possessed a modicum of political savviness, but I guess that isn’t necessary to lead soldiers.”
My pulse is so wild, my ears have started to ring.
“Perhaps you require a little swim to clearyourhead, Giana.”
My mind begins to whirl as though the wine-soaked wood is liberating spiritous fumes, and the air grows oppressive to the point where I begin to panic because the oxygen feels worryingly thin.
Oh Gods, I’m going to suffocate to death. The palms I have pressed against the sides of the barrel grow clammy, and my spine damp with sweat.
I will the commander to walk away and leave Mattia be.
I will Giana to start rolling me again.
I will the serpents to rise from the water’s depths and to put on a show, splash dirty water on all the guards.
I will Minimus not to be part of the maritime assault.
The commander gasps. Or maybe it’s Giana. Perhaps it’s the both of them.
“What in the underworld is that?” Silvius asks, tone no longer bladed but almost fearful.
I must’ve prayed to the gods hard enough because something is clearly coming.
“It looks like a cloud of birds,” Giana murmurs as though she’s sensed my panic and is trying to calm me by giving me a play-by-play of what’s unfolding beyond my cramped hidey-hole.
Squawking pierces the moist, airless darkness surrounding me. From the ruckus the creatures make and Giana’s comparison to a cloud, I fathom the birds number in the hundreds.
“Bloody Cauldron. Guards, ready your weapons!” Although loud, Silvius’s voice seems to grow fainter as he gives the order.
And then I’m rolling, my head and bum alternately whacking against the sides of the barrel. Giana is running, no longer taking care not to bang me up. I know she has no choice, so I squeeze my eyes and steel my muscles.
“Fuck, that was close.” Antoni’s voice penetrates my hideout, and my lids flutter open, lashes damp from the swirl of emotion.
“He wanted to throw Mattia into the canal.” Giana’s voice is full of nerves.
“I suspected as much when they dangled him above it. Now quit gawking at the birds, Riccio, and give me a hand.”
“Have you ever seen so many ducks and herons and—”
“Riccio, focus.” Antoni sounds on edge and irate enough to snap my barrel with just his bare hands. “Giana, get back to the tavern.”
