In the bowl beside the young girl's pillow, sleep stones wafted their lavender fragrance into the warm night air, and the sound of water lapping against the shore made for a peaceful lullaby. Occasionally, a breath of wind would ruffle the fringes of the tasselled counterpane or lift the edges of the ribbons that hung over the back of the wicker chair beneath the window, ribbons that would tie up her long, black hair in the morning, but for now flittered like pennants from a ship's mast.
Broda didn't know what woke her. A creak, perhaps? The tread of unfamiliar feet? Small ears strained in the darkness for other foreign sounds, but nothing came, and she almost believed that she'd been woken by a dream when she heard the grating noise. As though a table or a stool had been pushed aside.
Swinging her little chubby legs off the bed, she pushed her long, black hair behind her ears and tiptoed across the cool, tiled floor. Pushing aside the curtain that hung across the door, she heard whispering — but who was whispering at this time of night? And why? She oughtn't go any closer (how many times had she been told that eavesdroppers grow ears like asses if they're caught?), but she couldn't help herself. She thought she'd heard her father's name and she was curious. Three tiptoed steps. Four. Five. Then a soft scrape told her that the whisperers had gone outside, closing the house door quietly behind them as they left. Pattering back to her bedroom, Broda climbed up on the wicker chair and was mindful not to catch her nightshift on the windowsill as she wriggled through.
Outside, Juraj had bathed the landscape in his moonlight glow, turning the sea to rolling molten silver and causing everything, from the ancient gnarled olive trees to the little fishing boats lined up along the beach, to cast huge, black pools of shadow across a town which dreamed in silence beneath a million twinkling stars. Keeping close to the stone wall of the house, the child could see the dark line of the deep but narrow channel that separated this hilly island from the mainland and, in the Moon God's clear blue light, the ropes that worked the ferry glistened white, like elephants' tusks.
For a moment, the little girl was tempted to forget about the whisperers and explore Rovin's deserted streets instead. Racing up and down the white stone steps in a way that was never possible in daytime, or skipping down to the water's edge, hoping (who knows?) for a glimpse of those elusive night spirits known as wander-lights, or maybe just lying on the pebbles, staring up at the Milky Way and listening to the croak of the frogs! Then she remembered that she'd heard mention of her father's name. Bare feet padded determinedly on.
The whisperers were in no hurry, but Broda faced some serious distractions. A shiny brass coin on the wayside, which she bit with her back teeth — yes, it was real. An octopus crawling over the pavement — she'd heard they could 'walk' but hadn't ever seen it. A cat rubbing up against her leg. Finally, Broda turned the corner and the coin fell from her hand.
Nosferatu!
She could see the demon's long shadow. Saw his great, bald, lolling head and giant hands that ended in long curved claws black as night against the white stone wall 'O, Svarog!' she gabbled. 'O, Sun God who sees everything, I'll never be naughty again, never ever, and I'll go to bed when I'm told and I'll stay there, I promise!'
Until now, Nosferatu was just something grown-ups threatened you with. And if you were naughty and didn't obey, then you knew the Shuffling One would come and get you…
But Nosferatu was real. All Broda wanted now was to run back to her lavender-scented room and pull the counterpane over her head. But her little legs wouldn't move. She wanted to scream for help. But her jaw was locked solid. Quivering with terror, the child had no choice as the scene unfolded before her.
In stark silhouette, she watched conversation turning to anger.. Nosferatu's hands lashing out… claws grasping his victim's neck.
With eyes bulging in horror, she watched the terrible bobbing backwards-forwards-backwards-forwards of that grotesque oversized head
… giant fingers squeezing and squeezing.
Broda closed her eyes, but there was hissing. Grunting. Gurgling. She opened them again and saw shadow arms flailing.
Feet kicking in a dance that never ended…
But eventually, as the talons gripped tighter, the struggles grew feebler, until the shadow finally fell limp at the demon's feet. Even then, Nosferatu did not lessen his grip. He kept squeezing and squeezing, and it was only when he'd dragged his lifeless victim out of sight that the little girl's legs finally moved. They buckled beneath her as she fainted.
Three
Under a cloudless cobalt sky and in waters so clear you could almost reach down and stroke the wings of the rays gliding through the turquoise Adriatic, the little galley that had brought Claudia from Rome brailed her red and white striped canvas sails, shipped her polished steering oars and let the tug guide her through the maze of larger merchantmen and warships that were anchored in the bay.
Such was the demand for trade in this new and bustling port of Pula that no sooner had the crew dropped the anchor stones than a swarm of scribes and accountants began positioning their tables and tally stones on the quayside down below, and the poor old gangplank had hardly hit the wharf before the first of the harbour clerks was scampering up, scrolls and ledgers stuffed every which way beneath his arm.
'Ladies first, if you don't mind,' Claudia told him, sweeping down.
Twelve days was quite enough. She had no intention of waiting another second before stretching her legs, and besides… That fanfare of trumpets accompanying the long line of rugs being laid across the wharf was obviously in aid of some foreign dignitary's arrival. If she didn't make a break for it now, she'd be stuck aboard this vile floating bucket for another three hours, and dammit, she had an appointment ashore.
'I'll thank you not to use such language in my presence, either,' she added, as the clerk's backwards shuffle consigned two wax tablets and four scrolls to Neptune.
'Wait!' he called after her, manfully juggling the remainder of his scrolls. 'No one's allowed to disembark without registering-'
But the young woman with dark, tousled ringlets had already been swallowed up by the crowd. With a shrug, the clerk tossed his redundant register into the sea and decided he might as well be sacked for a sheep as a lamb.
Dear Diana, did I say stretch my legs?
Between dodging butcher's poles hung with carcases and chased by every mongrel in the neighbourhood and negotiating hawsers, chains and mooring rings while mules brayed and great yellow cheeses were wheeled across the cobbles, it was touch and go whether Claudia's nose had room to run, much less her legs. Crossing Pula's wharf was like taking part in some Persian fire dance, leaping this way to avoid amphorae of olive oil and wine that were being rumbled on and off the ships, sidestepping that way to evade the tanks of live fish that thrashed and splashed her dress, and goodness, if that wasn't enough, progress was now blocked by an oak tree in shirt and pantaloons. With his long hair tied back in a leather thong at the nape, he had the air of a man for whom the term wildlife preservation meant pickling badgers in brine.
'Excuse me,' she said.
But when she moved to her right, the human oak stepped to his left and she caught a whiff of strong, leathery scent.