Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) by Marcos Chicot

distracted.
    He wants me to try and escape so he can punish me for it , the boy thought in terror. All the same, he could see he was only ten feet from the door, whereas the giant was ten yards away.
    He looked at Boreas again and then, from the corner of his eye, at the door, naively hoping his intentions weren’t obvious. He began to sit up. Boreas didn’t move. Yaco got on all fours. Boreas continued immobile. The boy readied himself to make a dash. The giant was looking elsewhere, as if he hadn’t figured out what Yaco was doing.
    He was no more than three steps from the door, ready to run. Boreas was a whole ten yards away, sitting down.
    Yaco gritted his teeth and leapt with greater strength than before. His feet dug into the ground, scraping it as he lunged forward. The door was less than six feet away. He willed his legs to carry him faster than ever before. One step. Another. He heard a noise behind him, a rapid boom as if a rhino were charging.
    He shot through the door and started up the stairs. Boreas weighs a ton. He can’t climb as fast as me . As if shod in the winged sandals of Hermes, the messenger god, he flew up the stairs. The kitchen was in sight.
    Boreas didn’t need to climb a single step. When he reached the bottom of the stairs he leaned forward, grabbed Yaco by the ankle, and pulled him down.
    Yaco felt as if an iron pincer were crushing his ankle. A second later, he was in free-fall. His face crashed into a step, sending a lightning bolt of pain from his nose through his head.
    He’s broken his nose , thought Boreas when he heard the loud crunch. It didn’t matter to him. After all, Glaucus had asked him to disfigure the boy.
    He yanked on Yaco’s tunic to lift him, but the garment came away in his hand, leaving the boy naked at his feet. Boreas dropped the tunic and dragged the battered body into a brightly lit area of the storeroom. Yaco moaned faintly.
    Glaucus’ fascination is understandable , thought Boreas as he observed him. His body was slender, his skin smooth, white and flawless. He sat beside him and gently turned him over. Blood flowed copiously from his nose and mouth, but the sensuous beauty of his face was clearly discernible. Boreas passed a finger along the boy’s jawline, feeling contradictory urges…or perhaps complementary? On the one hand, his sexual urges were aroused; on the other, he wanted to rip him to pieces.
    I don’t have all night . He got up and went to the urn. Taking one of the pokers by its wooden handle, he pulled it out of the embers. It glowed red. He returned with it to Yaco, who seemed to be unconscious. He whimpered as he breathed. Boreas hesitated. He preferred victims to be awake, but he figured the boy would regain consciousness at the moment of contact. He sat down and immobilized Yaco by extending a leg over his chest and arms. Then he brought the tip of the incandescent iron rod to his face and tapped it quickly on his cheekbone. The sizzle of flesh was instantly drowned out by the boy’s scream.
    Boreas grunted with excitement.
     
     
    Half an hour later, an old slave called Falanto crossed the courtyard on trembling legs, on his way to the kitchen. Since he had escaped from the banquet hall, fleeing from his master’s murderous outburst, he had huddled with other slaves in one of the rooms on the upper floor. They feared Glaucus would order Boreas to crush them all. For many of them, the death of Thessalus the wine servant, wasn’t the first of Boreas’ killings they’d witnessed.
    Falanto had abandoned the relative safety of the room because he had to finish a chore he had left half-done when they were summoned to the banquet hall. In spite of his age, he was entrusted with keeping the palace kitchen fully stocked at all times. This meant he had to keep a constant tally of the ingredients in the pantry, and that day he hadn’t had time to complete the inventory.
    He went into the kitchen. It was as dark as the omens of the oracle of