To Indigo by Tanith Lee (read along books txt) 📕

food, and no crockery either in the sink or washed and draining.

From the fridge I took out the last of the ham and cut a couple of slices from the uncut loaf, spreading it with margarine. I thought of mustard too, then decided that might be too strong.

I had put on the same clothes from earlier. Just one addition. Something in my pocket.

While I’d made the sandwich, I had kept an ear and an eye on the hall. But Sej hadn’t moved, he didn’t come to see what I was doing. Generally, if I made myself food, he ignored me.

I took a couple of bites out of one half of the sandwich. I was almost hungry, which startled me slightly. When I’d swallowed them I opened up that half of the sandwich again and dropped in the wasp from my handkerchief. It barely reacted and seemed mostly dead already; I’d reckoned any mustard would kill it outright. I replaced the top slice of bread gently, not to crush the wasp. Then I coughed loudly and started to swear.

Sej didn’t come to see what was the matter.

I went quickly back up the hall, carrying the plate, and into the front room.

He glanced up. This time I met his eyes, mine bulging. Now it was bizarrely possible.

“What have you done to this?” I shouted.

He raised his eyebrows.

“Tell me what you’ve done to it. You’ve put something on it – God knows what – it tastes like – cough mixture…”

“Oh, Roy. I haven’t done a thing. You’re the one tries to drug people.”

“What about the fucking Rohypnol?” I ranted.

“Well, I’ll tell you a secret, Roy. I lied about that. Yeah, I lied. There wasn’t any Rohypnol in your glass. You must just have been rather tired and gone to sleep. But you were so keen I’d done something I hated to disillusion you.”

“You’ve put poison on this bread – or the ham – That wasn’t the deal.”

“OK,” he said. “So I’ve poisoned you. With, what was it? Cabdriver’s linctus. Oh dear.”

“Taste it,” I roared. My face was hot. I had absolutely no trouble in glaring right at him. It was easy, almost – pleasing. “That’s the arrangement. You taste my food, I taste yours. If you haven’t done anything…”

“All right. Give it here. If it’ll calm you down.”

I shoved the plate at him. He looked amused. Supercilious, as if at all other times we led a happy low-key life together. “This piece?” He lifted the half with the wasp and put it to his mouth. And bit down on it.

Something happened in his eyes. I was staring now so intently and fixedly I saw it, like a spark, as if he had said “Ah – but wait…”

And then he gave a cry. The plate went flying. The two portions of the sandwich fell off and the bitten half opened. I couldn’t see the wasp.

Sej was gripping his mouth. He had jumped up.

“What…” he said though his hand, “burns…?”

Then he made a noise as if he were retching, just as I had done earlier upstairs.

I said, “I told you so.”

And I turned and walked out and straight into the library next door. His phone was still lying on the carpet. I detached it from the socket and stabbed in the number, ready memorised, that Cart had given me. I shut the library door and leaned on it.

Next door Sej was coughing violently, on and on, perhaps beginning to choke. I couldn’t bank on that, or perhaps I could. But could I bank on Cart?

And it was only then I remembered that Cart had said his number would be available only for a ‘few’ weeks – was it too late?

After three rings an accented voice answered. “Bizan poos,” it cheerily, incomprehensibly said. I must risk it. Had no other choice.

“I have to speak to Cart.” I said, “quickly.” I was almost whispering. Probably Cart was gone. Probably – The voice had heard. If this was still the right number – maybe they were used to panicked whisperers.

“Who is asking, innit?”

“Phillips. Say R.P. Phillips.”

“Phillip.”

Next door now there was a soft thud.

Another voice came from the phone. I knew it.

“Mr Phillips.”

“Cart – I need you at my house – your man knows where. How quickly can you…”

“Quite quickly. An emergency, yes?”

“Yes.”

“I have tried to warn you, Mr Phillips.”

“The front door’s locked – can’t open it – need to break in – I’m his prisoner. And there’s no money here to pay you.” I added, “You can hold me hostage until my bank opens.”

“Mr Phillips, have no worries. We will always accept a recognised credit card.”

The line went dead.

I felt a deadly triumph and a sickened fear. If Sej was still conscious or able-bodied, how long would I be able to survive him? I dropped the mobile back on the carpet and reconnected it to the socket. I went out again into the hall.

No one was in the front room – he had gone.

Christ –

From the kitchen I heard water running.

I should get upstairs, barricade myself in the study. The desk and file cabinet, if I could lug them to the door, should keep him out a while.

“Roy,” Sej called. His voice was a little roughened, that was all. He was there then, standing in the doorway. His lip was bleeding. “Something scratched me,” he said. “Burn’s like hell.” Neither his mouth nor his face were at all swollen.

I stood my ground; I had begun to shake now, and getting up the stairs was going to take longer than I’d planned.

“I said…” I repeated.

“You put something in it, didn’t you?” he asked. His face was neither enraged nor did it have that dangerous quality of concern. “And I fell for it.”

“If I put something in the fucking thing why would I have been eating it?”

“Well. I didn’t see you eat any, did I?”

Where before I had been unable to look into his face or eyes, precisely as a few minutes earlier I found I couldn’t look away.

He came