Free What Lot's Wife Saw by Ioanna Bourazopoulou Page A

slippers on their rack and the bed made and unruffled. And there was that ghastly smile on his hateful mouth, frozen and mocking. Bera rarely smiled, if he’d ever smiled at all. If someone had asked me what I’d found most odd about the death scene, it wouldn’t have been the clothes or the undisturbed bed he was lying on, or even the fact of his death, but that smile.
    Captain Drake was moving up and down the room, totally at a loss, stomping about with his gangly limbs and twirling his handlebar moustache. Without his master’s prompts he was notorious for not being able to think for himself. Searching for guidance, he looked at each of us in turn, decided that we were unworthy so turned inwards for inspiration. His face went puce from the effort but still he found nothing to say. He seemed to be preparing to salute the corpse, due to the uniform one presumes, but he changed his mind, brought his heels together and abandoned the effort. He couldn’t tear his eyes off the dead body, as if hoping to find the last orders printed there.
    In truth, none of us knew what we should do. Bera had been the first Governor of the Colony, the only one it had known to date and the first one it would bury. We weren’t aware of any appropriate procedures, how to announce the death, for example, or what consequences we should prepare for, or how succession is arranged, or what we should be doing in the meantime. The only certainty, unfortunately, was that with the arrival of a replacement, we would be handing in our Stars and the keys to our villas and looking on as our successors were appointed. It was imperative for the names of the “favoured” to change to protect the Governor from his court and the likelihood that the gradual corruption of power would lead them to undermine his work or even have designs on his life. Being totally dependent on the Governor and sharing his fate ensured their deep devotion to his person and his success. The Seventy-Five leave nothing to chance. For the same reason his wife is not protected. I would be buried with him just like a Pharaoh’s consort.
    Captain Drake asked in a funereal tone of voice whether we’re supposed to hand in our Stars on our own initiative. Judge Bateau covered his with his hand.
    “I’m not handing anything in. I’ve paid a very high price for this Star. My beloved Clara died in childbirth to satisfy the Governor’s wishes for the child to be born here. The Consortium owes me and has not yet paid in full. They’ll have to drag my dead body from my villa.”
    Secretary Siccouane was standing very still, small and wizened as he was, wrapped in his threadbare redingote, which he surely must sleep in, and waiting patiently for the exclamations of shock and horror to subside before venturing with his ratty squeak. “We must think of a way to defend our interests in the face of the imminent change, which may well not be so favourable for us.”
    The words of that treacherous little secretary immediately put us on our guard. He’d used the plural to imply that we were partners in this, although no one in the room trusted him – with the possible exception of the deceased; yet another reason for us not to trust him. In any case, we couldn’t envision gaining the favour of the new Governor if we didn’t know who he’d be. Presumably he’d be sent from the Consortium’s head office, and that meant Paris.
    Siccouane innocently studied his fingertips, as if he were seeing them for the first time. “We can at least plan a few constructive moves since we’re here at the moment and the new Governor is not even on his way to the Colony. At least we have a time advantage. Let’s capitalise on that head start.”
    “Your baseness is an insult to the deceased,” Captain Drake interjected angrily.
    “And your hypocrisy is an insult to my intelligence, Captain. Or should I call you ‘former Captain’?” countered the Secretary sibilantly.
    “Of course I’m worried about