Looks like us Snake People aren’t the only ones using the old Egyptian tombs. Belly flat to the edge, Sophia curled up next to me, we watch.
Aeson’s curly hair looks neat compared to the wild manes of the boys playing dice in a circle near him. Legs hugged up to his chest, he’s not moved from the spot where the man in the yellow toga ordered him to sit.
Finally we found prophecy boy, Sophia. Henite said he’s fated. If I save him, maybe I’ll get my Aberamentho robes…
Boys perch on ledges and dangle dirty feet over the funerary area, lit up by torches like an atrium in a grand villa. The gang must have lived here for ages by the look of all the furniture: chairs of all shapes and sizes, tables, cooking pots and jugs of wine.
He must be the ringleader, the one in the yellow toga, lounging on a mattress plonked on top of the sacrificial stone table. Who does he think he is, the Emperor? On the ground in front of him, the group of seven, no eight boys argue over who’s winning at dice.
‘Patch, throw Pretty the dice. Make him feel welcome.’
Aeson gives the leader a look, shifts closer to the circle, and takes the dice from the boy with an eye-patch.
‘We don’t want Pretty to think we’re not friendly, do we, eh? No wonder he did a runner on Venus Street. Show him we’re all one big happy family, eh, lads?’
The ringleader leans on one elbow and swigs from a beaker. Why’s he calling him Pretty?
‘Pretty needs a copper to join the game.’ A tall, skinny man tightens his scabbard round his waist and jumps down from the ledge. I hadn’t seen him there. My heart-spasms flutter like flamingos fleeing from a lion. He has the dark energy of a demon. Long in the tooth, that grin is fiendish. Sophia juts her head forward and hisses. She needs a stroke. There, there, Sophia. Snakes are nervy creatures.
‘I don’t know how to play.’ Aeson looks up at the ringleader. Who in Hades does he think he is anyway, dressed up like a grand Roman in that toga? I don’t like the look of him either, but he’s no demon. He’s just full of himself.
‘He don’t know how to play, you hear that lads?’
They all laugh, dirty laughs like drunk old men.
‘About time you learnt then, eh? Lanky will teach you.’ The ringleader downs the rest of his drink and holds out his beaker. A young boy, no more than six, crawls onto the mattress and fills the beaker from a wine jug that’s nearly as big as him.
The demon slaps Aeson on the back. That was too hard; it hurt him. Swine.
‘You can’t play without money.’ The demon’s toothy sneer shows both sets of long teeth, upper and lower. He’s horrible. Aeson looks like he wants to punch him.
‘I gave you all my money.’ Aeson’s voice sizzles with rage.
The ringleader laughs, props himself upright, pulls a coin from his purse and flicks it into the middle of the circle. ‘That’s a loan, Pretty.’
The boy with the eye-patch throws Aeson a playful grin. ‘I’ll have your copper before you realise what’s hit ya.’
‘Just try, cockeye.’ Aeson has a tongue on him. That’s good, these sort of boys respect rude talk.
‘Nothing wrong with my eye. This patch is protection against spells.’
The demon, all long-limbed, knees bony and jutting out, sits cross-legged in the circle and leers at little Patch. ‘I can put a charm on the other one for you.’
Patch drops his head and rattles the dice in the box. For no reason at all, the demon slaps him round the head. Nasty demon.
‘What you do that for?’ Aeson, keep your mouth shut. He’ll hit you too.
The demon turns his toothy sneer on Aeson. ‘You want an eye-patch too, Pretty?’
The slap of the demon’s long, bony hand against Aeson’s face stings my own. Sophia, what can we do?
Aeson’s on his feet. ‘Don’t call me Pretty.’
Sweet Sophia, he punched the demon in the face!
Boys shift closer and chant encouragement, ‘fight, fight, fight, fight.’
Sophia’s tucked her head under my armpit. She hates commotion.
Aeson runs at the demon’s ribs, but the demon grabs him by the waist and pins him down. Aeson swings and kicks for all he’s worth, but the demon’s too strong. His fist thuds down on Aeson’s cheek, sending his head swinging like a ball on a string. Aeson’s dazed. Oh, Sophia. What can we do to help?
The demon raises his fist again. Aeson just looks at it. Hit him back. Hit him.
‘Eh, eh, Lanky, that’s enough. We don’t want Pretty losing his looks before his first night on Venus Street.’
Lanky the Demon is poised, arm back, fist clenched ready to throw another right hook. He loosens his hold on Aeson’s tunic. Aeson slumps to the gravel with a crunch, rolls on to his side, hands over his face.
Sweet Sophia, is he hurt? We should fetch Seth… but what can he do? The gang’s armed with knives and judging by the scars and bruises, this lot won’t hesitate to use them.
The demon laughs and whips off Patch’s eye-patch. There’s just skin where his eye used to be, a permanent wink.
‘Look, Pretty. Ain’t much profit in one-eyed trade is there, Patch?
Lanky grins. ‘You won’t have those looks long, Pretty.’
‘I, Turk, will decide Pretty’s fate. Now settle down and throw in your bets, men.’
Turk talks like he’s delivering a line he’s memorised from a play.
Directly below me and Sophia, Aeson and Patch lean against the wall and watch the three players left in the game. Aeson’s rubbish at dice – lost his coin on the first throw.
‘The object is to finish as low as you can with all five dice you started with,’ Patch leans over and tells Aeson.
Aeson nods. ‘I worked that out too late.’
‘Quiet!’ The demon shrieks in his shrill evil voice, moves his focus from the dice on the ground in front of him to Aeson and back. Sweet Sophia, he’s a vile, evil creature. Aeson keeps glancing over to the entrance, but there’s no way he’ll escape with the demon leering at him.
Patch pokes his tongue out behind Lanky’s back, then looks at Aeson and grins. Aeson gives him a half smile, but looks tired. Don’t trust any of them, Aeson, not even little Patch.
Turk yawns, pushes himself off the mattress and walks over to the entrance. He slaps one of the skulls hanging over the archway. It swings and clatters against the bones strung next to it. My heart flips – they’re human bones.
‘Lanky, anyone for debt-watch? Otherwise it’s your turn.’
‘I’m in the middle of a game, Julius Caesar.’ Lanky’s tone is a lash of evil.
‘We all do our share here, Lanky.’ Turk clenches his fist and smashes a skull square in the jaw. It’s bottom set of teeth come lose and clatter to the ground. The boys’ murmurs stop. All eyes dart from Lanky to Turk and back again.
Lanky continues to stare at the dice.
‘Pretty owes me a copper. He’s skint, so he can pay it off on watch.’
Turk clicks his fingers at Aeson, and points up to ground level.
‘Don’t owe no one nothing, I don’t,’ Aeson shouts as he walks past Lanky.
Aeson, don’t argue with him.
‘You little shit.’ Lanky looks shocked, gets up, and stomps over to Aeson. Aeson’s fists are up, his stance grounded.
‘Lanky, sit down. Pretty, follow me. It’ll do you good to learn the ropes.’
Right Sophia, round my neck, and keep quiet. We can follow them if they walk slow enough.
The tomb Turk’s taken Aeson to near the seawall must be their lookout. There’s a limestone staircase cut into the rock that leads to a high roof terrace. Let’s squat behind this bush, Sophia, see if we can catch any of their conversation. It’s hard to hear with the sea sloshing against the wall.
‘First time you played dice?’
‘I play by different rules.’
‘Best to let Lanky win…’
The thud of a wave against the wall drowns out Turk’s voice. Be quiet, sea.
‘… you’ll get a good view up there. If you’re taken by surprise, yell. Got it?’
Turk gives Aeson a friendly slap on the back and walks off.
Aeson climbs the steps to the roof terrace then shouts, ‘When shall I come back?’ His voice is shaky – he’s scared of the hungry ghosts, Sophia.
‘Sunrise. No yelling unless there’s danger. I don’t want to come and rescue you from a fox!’ Turk takes a few steps, then turns and shouts back, ‘The Necropolis is the safest place in Alexandria.’
Turk holds up his filthy yellow toga like a young girl, and disappears into the shadows as soon as he’s out of range of the torches lining the seawall. His silhouette appears against the faint glow at the entrance to the gang’s hideout, then disappears below ground.
Up the steps we go, Sophia. My crutch scrapes the crumbly old limestone.
‘Who’s there?’ Aeson’s voice trembles.
‘It’s only Kiya.’
He stands at the top, fists clenched, jaw tight, feet set ready to attack. I can’t see his eyes or his face. In the thin white blade of light thrown off from the Pharos behind him he’s just a black outline.
‘It’s just Kiya and Sophia the snake.’
‘You again! What are you doing here? You have to go. If Turk finds you, or worse Lanky, Serapis only knows what they’ll do to you.’
‘That demon doesn’t scare me. You need saving and I’m here to rescue you.’
‘Keep that snake away from me. Hooded snakes are deadly.’
‘Sophia protects me. Look, stroke her like this. Feel her soft scales on your fingers? She’s friendly.’
‘Her skin’s dry… and so warm…’
‘That’s because she’s full of the Holy Spirit of Sophia.’
Good, Aeson’s asleep at last, curled up, knees tucked to chest, head resting on his arm.
‘Aoi, aoi, aoi.’ The sacred vowels sung to the melody mothers use to lull babies to sleep has calmed the night. Even the sea is silent.
We must be quiet as we leave, Sophia. We need to get back to the church before sunrise or Henite will worry.