The Viper's Venom
LADY JOCASTA WAS alone in her quarters deep beneath the ruins of the ancient city of Fantoma. Sweeping velvet curtains hung from the ceiling to the floor, and a large bed stood in the centre of the room. Wearing a flowing white silk dress, Jocasta was easily the brightest thing in the room. Flickering candles on her table signalled the entrance of a visitor, and Jocasta's eyes greeted Baron Remus. His ice-white three-piece suit was blemish-free, and the man had an equally pristine white hat perched upon his head. But under its brim, a subdued expression hung on his tanned face.
'Is anything the matter, teacher?' Jocasta asked.
'I have received word from Miss Ivy at our headquarters in Rome. Events in the Crimean peninsula are escalating and I must leave Egypt immediately,' the Baron's booming voice resounded. 'The Russian navy has been flexing its muscles in the Black Sea for weeks. They have stationed troops en masse near Wallachia's borders, and are busying themselves with the Turks, but soon many other nations will have no choice but to intervene. If everything unfolds as I have conceived, the French and British will soon join the battle, and when that happens war will be inevitable.'
Lady Jocasta nodded. 'Forward planning is one of your strengths.'
'A most coincidental selection of words,' said Remus. 'Before I take my leave, I need to be sure that your plans proceed in alignment with your schedule.'
'Why so concerned, Baron?' teased Jocasta. 'Afraid that I will not succeed…or afraid that I will and it will outshine your little fracas in the Crimea?'
From out of nowhere, the Baron lunged towards her, sending the contents of the table flying into the air. His thick, hairy hands compressed around her neck, his nails digging deeply into her flesh. Jocasta tried to force air down her throat as the Baron's grip squeezed ever tighter.
'Do not test me, woman!' he snarled, his teeth bared like fangs. 'There is more at stake here than you realise!'
'You are…hurting me,' Jocasta gasped, trying to unlock the Italian's fingers from her throat. 'Please, I beg of you – you're…killing me!'
At her words, the Baron released his hold, staring at his hands as if they were dripping with blood. Jocasta steadied herself against the bedside table, clawing at her neck. Thick red marks were smeared like a scarf around her throat, and tears were in her eyes as she stared up at the Baron. He made a move to grab her hand, but the Greek woman snatched it away. She glanced at him nervously as he fought to master his rage, his broad shoulders quivering as he turned his face from hers.
'Jocasta, I apologise…' he said. 'This place…its confinement is affecting my condition. My campaign in the Crimea is at a critical stage…and I should not have taken my anxieties out on you. Please forgive me.'
'You sought only assurances of my plot's success, teacher,' said Jocasta hoarsely. 'You need make no apology for that. But your concerns are unnecessary, Baron. Every eventuality of my plot has been catered for. Soon the banks of the Nile will burst, but this time the river will be overflowing with corpses.'
'I hope your plot matches your confidence,' growled the Baron, as he removed himself from her quarters, lingering at the door. 'If it does not, your corpse will be amongst that number…and everything that we have fought for will be for nothing. Remember my words, Jocasta…for one day soon, it might not be me that seeks assurances from you, and you need to be prepared.'
Lady Jocasta watched the Baron leave, wondering what on earth he could have meant.