Snuff the Magic Dragon (and other Bombay Family Bedtime Stories) (Greatest Hits Mysteries) (3 page)

Fantastic.

“Who’s that?” Minos whispered.

“That’s Sparta,” I answered.

The king pulled his gown up over his head. And he had nothing on underneath. Great. “The Spartans have breached the maze! What do we do?” Minos quivered like a column of pomegranate jelly.

“I can hear you!” Sparta shouted. “I know you’re there, Bombay!” The very next instant, he appeared, holding a torch and a spool of gold thread.

“What are you doing here?” I hissed. This guy could ruin everything! Why didn’t I just send him somewhere else?

Sparta shrugged. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He held up the thread. “I figured this would help me find my way back out.” He looked at the man-sized thing with the gown over his head. “Is that the Minotaur?”

Okay. So to sum up, I’m busted hanging with the king—who has the mental capacity of a toddler—while some supposedly stupid Athenian proves he’s not so stupid because he’s the first person ever to breach the maze. Besides myself, of course. (I thought the gold thread was a nice touch.) There was no way I could get myself out of this mess. I’d have to fess up and hope King Minos
ordered Sparta killed on the spot just for starters.

Minos lowered his gown. “Oh. Hello. You don’t look like the Spartan army.”

“His
name
is Sparta,” I replied.

King Minos held out his hand and patted him on the back. “That’s almost as bizarre as Bombay here. I’m King Minos.”

Sparta looked at me, and I shrugged. He stared at the king for a long time. I waited for him to bolt—to run home and tell everyone in Athens the truth. I’d have to leave Greece altogether. Why didn’t I just kill him or trick him or something? Clearly this murder-for-hire thing had gone south.

He sighed. “Well, I guess there really is no Minotaur. Which I always suspected.”

I punched him in the arm. “You didn’t believe it either? Why did you offer to come along?”

Sparta smiled. “I hate Athens. Those people are morons. I’ve been following your work with them. Some of that intelligence you sold them was hilarious. That thing about Cretans being cannibals who preferred Athenian meat over all others? That was awesome!”

“Uh, thanks?” I responded weakly.

“I just think you’re cool. It was my idea to pay you to kill the Minotaur. The Athenian king is my uncle. He totally bought it.”

“Why?” It was the only thing I wanted to know. Why would he fool his countrymen and kin for me?

Sparta shrugged. “I like you. Always have.”

I didn’t expect that. No one liked me. They didn’t dislike me…just didn’t know I was there. It hit me like a thousand, worthless clay pots. Here was this handsome guy, and he’d been watching me all this time. He’d learned my tricks, and he liked me. What was happening?

“That’s nice!” King Minos stood, clapping us both on the shoulders. “But we still have to come up with your proof.”

Sparta laughed. “I told you I had special talents. Here is what we need…”

* * *

One month later, Sparta and I were in Syria, living it up in a house on the beach with a lot of money. I might have fallen for him. I’m not sure. But we had plenty of time. We joked that if we get married, we will have to hide under my name because he’s royal and all. We also joked that we’d name our kids after places, like him.

What happened? Well, turns out Sparta did have some special talents. He practices taxidermy. And attaching a bull’s head to a man’s body was his pièce de résistance. Of course both were dead. I didn’t ask Minos where he got the dead guy. It didn’t seem like a good idea.

So, Minos dragged the “Minotaur’s” carcass into the streets of Knossos and made a decree that the Minotaur was slain by an imaginary Athenian named Theseus who was in love with his daughter. He even threw in the part about Sparta using the gold thread. Spies got back to Athens so fast, Codros was waiting with my money when I got back to the crossroads. Sparta and I fled immediately after.

Syria is still too close. It’ll do for a while, but eventually we want to work our way toward Italy. That might be far enough away in case Minos changes his mind about me…or fully loses it. Besides, Italy is a quiet backwater. I don’t see it ever becoming an empire or anything like that.

I think Sparta and I have a future together. Turns out he’s pretty smart. And he has excellent taste in girls. As long as he doesn’t strip down and cover himself in olive oil and want to wrestle other boys, we might just be okay.

“More rope, please, Ria,” I said to my twin sister as we slowly strangled the life out of the corrupt politician in front of me. Assyria nodded and loosened her end, which happened to be wrapped around a marble pillar.

Marble was so convenient. It was everywhere in its extremely useful column form. The man turning purple before me probably didn’t think so. But then, he shouldn’t have enslaved his neighbors and sold his daughters into brothels. Such a bad man. Well, he’d learn his lesson once and for all…the final lesson.

The victim finally turned blue and collapsed. I took up the slack and held it for a few more minutes, just to make sure. Assyria nodded, letting me know he was gone, and we gathered up our things and fled.

My name is Samaria Bombay, and my twin sister Assyria (or Ria as I call her) and I are seventeen years old and assassins. It’s all part of the family business, which we had no choice in entering. Not that there are many opportunities for girls around Greece. And it gives us time to work on music and poetry. Ria has mad skills with a lyre, and I write a mean poem.

Back at home, Mom joined us in the music room where Ria was laying down some keen riffs, and I was noshing on a bowl of grapes.

“Girls.” Mom looked great—she always looked great. Her hair was perfection, with cascading, shiny onyx curls, and her chiton was always pressed. Ria and I tried to emulate her, but our clothes always seemed more wrinkled and our wild, wiry brown hair did whatever it wanted. Don’t even get me started on the pimples…

Mom continued, “You have another assignment.” She handed us a sheet of coiled papyrus sealed with wax and paused, waiting for our whining to commence.

“What? No!” I stamped my foot. “We just got done with one!”

“It’s not fair!” Ria complained. “They think because we work together that they can give us twice as much!”

Mom rolled her eyes and left the room. She knew there was no way out. As a Bombay herself, she still worked the occasional assignment. Once a Bombay – always an assassin. There was no way out of the family business but death.

Ria pouted as she cracked open the seal. Stupid parchment. Papyrus was so old school. The Bombays were too old-fashioned. She read the instructions and then a devilish grin grew on her face. “OH. MY. GODS! This is soooo cool! You’ll like this one!” she said to me.

I snatched the information from her hand and read eagerly. “NO WAY!” I said loudly. “We get to kill Draco? AWESOME!”

Ria nodded, and the two of us held hands and jumped up and down, squealing with joy. Draco was an asshat. We lived in Athens—the home of asshattery, if you ask us—and Draco was the lawgiver and the reason we killed that dude earlier today.

Get this! In Athens, because of this jerk, the penalty for virtually any crime was death. That’s right. If you stole a stupid cabbage (although why anyone would steal or even buy a cabbage was beyond me) you were put to death. Why? Because according to Draco, you deserved it. I was personally hoping that once we killed Draco things would get better, right? I mean, who in their right mind would pick up where this jerk left off?

Oh right, back to the dead guy from earlier, Asp…something or other. Well, if you weren’t part of the aristocracy, and you were in debt to someone, even for as little as five obols, the person who loaned you the money could enslave you. If you were part of the one-percenters, they couldn’t do that to you, because, somehow, you were better than anyone else.

This douchecanoe loaned his neighbor one obol for a loaf of bread when they were at the store so his neighbor wouldn’t have to make change on a ten. As soon as they got home, BAM! Asparagus or whatever his name was served his neighbor a summons to be his slave and sold his daughters. And this wasn’t the first time Asparagus (I kind of liked calling him that now.) had done it either. But as a member of the upper class, no one could touch him. So he ended up on our assignment roster, and Ria and I happily took him out.

FYI—we’d rescued the daughters earlier and set them up on Crete with their own fashion design business. No girl was going to be a slave on our watch, and they made some awesomely cute sandals…

You might think it unusual that Ria and I can work together. Bombays don’t usually do that. But Ria and I are identical
twins which is very useful in this field. We’d trained together and could totally read each other’s minds. The Council had no problem with us being a team. Unfortunately, that meant we ended up with twice the assignments everyone else did. Whatever.

Draco was a big baddie and a choice assignment! Of course this meant that this was also a tricky job. He was an official legislator and part of the ruling class. It would be impossible to get next to him. Unlike the other guy this morning—in which case we just walked right into his home when his family and slaves were at an outing (that we'd organized).

Ria and I were fantastic organizers! We could throw a party like nobody else. (This one time, we threw a kick-ass school party with gladiator games, a “design your own toga out of toilet paper” contest and we got the coolest singer in Athens—Justinius Beberius—to perform!)! And with two of us handling the hits, we were always successful.

“That rope from this morning ruined my hands!” Ria whined as she examined her skin and fingernails. She was the more fashion-conscious of the two of us. I was a bit more tomboyish. My nails were super short, and I had calluses everywhere. Our hands were the only way you could tell us apart, really.

“So,” I said, getting excited now, “how are we going to do it?”

Ria stopped examining her hands and looked at me with arched eyebrows (perfectly plucked, I might add)
. “Do what?”

I threw my hands in the air and rolled my eyes. “The job! Duh!”

“Oh, right.” Ria sprawled on the settee on her stomach, ankles crossed and in the air as her ponytail bobbed. “We need to think about that.”

I flopped down beside her. “It has to be an accident or natural causes. I don’t want us to end up victims of his stupid laws.”

My sister nodded absently. She was already scrolling through ideas in her head. I started munching on grapes. Grapes are my favorite.

After a while, she stood up and shook her head, her ponytail bobbing behind her. She looked good like that (which meant
we
looked good like that). “I’ve got nothing. Let’s head to the market.”

“Great idea!” I grabbed my bag and we were off. The market really was the happening place. You could buy anything there—in fact, they had a new shipment of silk chitons coming in this week. Maybe we’d get lucky!

Okay, so it’s not all about shopping. The market was also the place where you got the latest news and gossip. We would need to know Draco’s latest if we were going to take him out. Anyone who was anyone knew that.

The market was super crowded. It must have been delivery day—which also meant that it was a good news day. Bonus! I browsed the red ochre paste, looking to see if they had anything new for lips. Finding nothing, Ria and I made our way to the olive oil merchants.

We had horrible hair. I know most teens will tell you that, but ours was dark brown and wiry. Ria and I tried everything to tame it with no luck. We were hoping today there might be a new merchant with a miracle cure.

“This is the best oil for your hair!” a short, fat island man barked at us. He was covered with hair that went in every direction. Clearly his oils didn’t work.

“I don’t think so…” Ria said as we moved on. The next stall had a woman with gorgeous, glossy hair. We stopped.

“I used to have hair like you.” The woman was a knockout. She patted her glossy, bouncy curls and nodded. “Use some of my oil.” She looked from right to left and then whispered conspiratorially, “I add a special oil from Morocco to it. Works like a dream!”

I sniffed at the jar she handed me. The scent was luscious—and didn’t smell like food. I handed over five drachmas for a gallon of the oil. When you found something you liked, you bought in bulk. You might never see the merchant again. Especially under Draco’s laws.

“Where are you from?” Ria made small talk with the woman.

“Aegina. Beautiful island!” the woman said through thick, dark pouty lips. I needed to ask where she got her cosmetics. “If you come to the festival next week on Aegina, stop by my shop. I have a lot more than just this.” She spread her hands over her small stall.

“Festival?” I asked, my ears perking up. I liked festivals. Basically, they were parties with boys.

The woman nodded and handed us a card with her shop’s information. “And the great Draco will be there! He’s giving a speech in the Aeginatan Theater!”

Ria and I looked at each other, eyebrows raised.
A party, shopping, boys, and a chance at Draco! Perfect!

We thanked the woman and headed toward the center of the market. Neither one of us spoke—we didn’t need to. We could basically read each other’s minds since birth. The important thing now was to head to gossip central to get the deets.

The open square was flooded with people and the smell of roasted lamb, citrus fruits, and wine. I snagged some food while Ria found the perfect spot for us to sit. It was quite a coup to pull off, as you had to find the spot where the “in crowd” was, so you could overhear a number of conversations going on at once.

Ria zoomed in on a couple of legislators chatting to our left, while I focused on the desperate housewives on the right. To look at us, you’d think we were just two teen girls noshing and paying no attention to their surroundings. No one ever gave us a second glance, because they assumed teenage girls didn’t care what went on in politics or for the complaints of wealthy, middle-aged women. And I guess they were right about the second part. I mean, these women were really old—like twenty-nine or something. As
if
we’d be interested in them!

“Darling! You simply
must
go to Aegina for the festival! Everyone will be there!” a bored matron dripping in gold snake bracelets said.

“What are you going to wear?” a shrill, skinny woman with huge breasts asked breathlessly. Her hair was blonde, which screamed
fake
! Boy, we think our hair is unruly, but when these rich women used wood ash and lye soap to bleach out their hair, it would eventually have the consistency of straw. Served them right. I stifled a giggle.

“Well, I was thinking of wearing my new, violet cloak! It’s the softest wool you’ll ever touch!” Bracelets responded.

Fake Blonde nodded. “It will be the season. I wouldn’t be caught dead without my scarlet cloak. It’s probably heavier than yours.”

I continued to listen, rolling my eyes internally, as the group of women grew and chatted about their clothes and who had the best of whatever. Intel gathering can be so dull sometimes.

After an hour, Ria looked at me meaningfully, and we gathered up our things to go. We stopped at a few jewelry stalls, and I bought this fabulous jade broach before we headed home.

At dinner that night, we told our parents about going to the festival.

“It’s going to be educational too,” Ria said as she stared at a piece of bread shaped like a lyre. Our cook fancied herself a bit of an artist. “Draco will be speaking.”

I thought the educational pitch was a nice touch. But Dad wasn’t sure.

“I don’t know if you should go off alone to a festival on an island…” he said slowly.

“Mom!” I pleaded, “We can stay with Aunt Lydia—she lives on Aegina! And we want to do some shopping!”

Mom couldn’t really say no. She knew this was a job. But Dad didn’t approve of our entry into the family business even though he didn’t have a choice. (Those who married into the Bombays never did.) So we couldn’t go at it from that angle.

She laid a hand on Dad’s arm. “I’m sure if they stay with my sister it will be okay.” Mom used her soothing voice on Dad. “I’ll write to her and let her know they are coming. In fact, I’ll go with them. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Lydia.”

Ria and I tried not to smile. Dad couldn’t say no to that. And having Mom and Lydia, both trained assassins themselves, would be an extra bonus.

Dad sighed and shook his head. “You know I can’t argue with you. Go and have fun.”

“Thanks, Dad!” we said in unison as our cook brought out the fish and fruit. “You’re the best!” we threw in simultaneously for good measure.

Mom joined us later that evening in our rooms as we started packing. “You have Draco, don’t you?” Her arms were folded across her chest, and she didn’t look very happy.

My sister and I nodded.

“I’m not sure about that,” Mom said. “Seems dangerous to take out such a public figure.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not like we have a choice, you know.”

“You of all people know that,” Ria finished.

Mom sighed. “I know. That’s why Lydia and I are going to help you.”

My sister and I stared at each other. This was a bit of a breach in protocol. We were the rare exception that worked together, but working in a team was a Bombay no-no. The family business had strict rules about working together. The idea was to train us independently as assassins so we didn’t have to rely on anyone else.