Another man swore softly.
They were close—very close.
Apollo rolled from his pallet, glad that he’d slept in his clothes, and grabbed his shoes and his pruning knife. There was no door to the alcove in the musician’s gallery where he slept, only the tarp he’d hung over the corner. He slipped, barefoot, to the side, down the gallery.
Just as men appeared in the pink-gray light of morning in his garden. They were closing in on him.
Soldiers. They were soldiers. Red-coated, with bayonets fixed on their guns.
The breath caught in his throat. His right heel skidded on grit-strewn marble, and he beat back a sudden, cowardly wave of panic.
He whirled to his right only to find a soldier within arm’s distance, just a young boy beneath his tall cap, blue, blue eyes wide and frightened.
The soldier brought up his bayonet and Apollo swung his pruning knife in a vicious feint.
The boy soldier screamed, flailing as he scrambled away from the knife, his breath pluming white in the cold morning air.
“Oi!” someone shouted.
“Watch it!” cried another. “ ’E’s a murderer thrice over!”
No. No. No.
Not again. Never again. He’d slit his own throat before returning to Bedlam.
Apollo ran.
Through the beautiful morning light, through the blackened garden he’d hoped to redeem, with demons on his heels.
Not all were corporal.
Chapter Eleven
Ariadne stared thoughtfully after Theseus and then, unwinding the red thread from the queen’s spindle as she walked, turned left into the labyrinth.
It was a cold, silent place. The walls of the labyrinth were of ancient, worn stone, for ’twas said that it had stood since before men had discovered the island. No birds sang, nor wind blew there, as if all had been put to sleep under a spell…
—From The Minotaur
A pounding at the theater door startled Lily awake that morning. She sat up in bed, groggily looking around as Daff barked hysterically.
Shaking her head, she found her wrap and stumbled out of the bedroom, calling, “Who is it?”
She expected perhaps Edwin’s voice—although normally he never arose before noon—but it was another voice entirely that shouted back.
“Open in the name of the King!”
That made her halt abruptly, her eyes widening as she stared at her door.
The pounding came again, provoking Daffodil into a frenzy of yapping.
Lily threw a glance at Maude, who had risen as well and stood with her hand on Indio’s shoulder. Indio looked excited and a little frightened.
“Catch her and hold her,” Lily told Maude. “The last thing we need is Daffodil attacking soldiers.”
She went to the door and opened it, putting on her most charming smile. “Yes?”
The man without was an officer. He wore a red-coated uniform with smart white facing, breeches, and waistcoat, but his face was unshaven and lined. His eyes widened at the sight of her.