Ariadne came close. "More cloth, my lord?"
Burke prodded the Greek ungently with his toe, without response; then once more glanced at his watch.
Ten forty-five now.
And that left only an hour-and-a-quarter more, at best.
The back of Burke's neck prickled. "Forget it," he clipped. "The Hero of Athens is too drunk to turn over, even, let alone give us trouble."
"This way, then," the girl said. Her voice all at once was not too steady, and the hand that gripped Burke's showed a tendency to tremble.
Together, they made their way from the apartment, down the corridor past a row of great painted jars and, finally, out onto the long ascending ramp that led to the palace's central court.
Now Ariadne turned right, keeping to the shadows of the colonnaded buildings past which they moved.
Close behind her, gun in hand, Burke tried to watch all ways at once. Every rattling stone, every wind-tossed branch against the cloud-blocked sky, became for him a trigger for new tension. Once, when the shadows behind him flickered, he almost persuaded himself that Theseus must be on their heels. Or perhaps, somehow, they'd caught the attention of another of old Minos' guards....
Again Ariadne veered right. A door creaked as she put her shoulder to it.