Funeral Games Read Online Free PDF Page B

bottom of the pool and took the big insect right off the surface of the water and rolled away in a red-orange flash, leaving a growing circle of ripples in its wake.
    Melitta grinned in delight, slipping back down the rock and clapping her hands. ‘See?’ she asked, or rather demanded.
    Theron’s grin was lopsided and far friendlier than either of the children had seen from him yet. ‘I do see. This isn’t fishing with nets - it is fishing with insects!’
    ‘Not real insects,’ Satyrus said. ‘For some reason, even if you catch them, the fish won’t take them. But if you tie some feathers to a hook . . .’ He pointed at the rods of young cornel that Philokles had rigged. The dogwood sticks were the height of a grown man, and the horsehair lines were the same length.
    ‘And if you dabble the bug on the surface like the real ones...’ Melitta added.
    ‘Then sometimes - bang! - you get a big fish. They strike like a bolt from Zeus.’ Satyrus took one of the rods eagerly. Melitta grabbed another and untied her sandals.
    ‘I’m going upstream,’ she said.
    Philokles nodded. ‘I’ll go with the young lady.’ He followed her. He seemed sober now, and Satyrus thought that his tutor was as happy as he’d ever seen him. Perhaps he needed company. Adult company. The thought saddened the boy a little. He wanted to be adult company, but he loved the big Spartan, drink and all, and if Theron of Corinth made him happy, so be it.
    Satyrus went back to the rock, pondering the Corinthian and his odd reactions to his sister. He moved carefully up the rock, brought his dogwood rod level with his shoulders and flipped the hook over his head. The feathered hook sank through the still air and landed lightly on the water, the feather of the hackle resting on the surface tension.
    After a heartbeat, Satyrus gave the gentlest of tugs and the bug skittered across the surface. He took a breath and repeated the motion.
    Nothing. He sighed softly and popped the fly back off the water and over his shoulder, the hook arcing through the air and tiny drops of water brushing his skin. Using just his wrist, he flicked the hook back on to the water, took a breath and skipped the fly.
    The movement of the fish was so fast that only long afternoons spent at this pastime enabled the boy to pull the hook just right and he had a fish the length of his arm pulling at the end of his rod. He raised the rod and dropped the fish on the cropped grass behind the rock. ‘Will you take it off ?’ he asked Theron, who wasn’t fishing but just watching.
    The big man knelt in the grass and took the hook from the fish’s mouth. He bashed the fish on a rock, then pulled out a bronze knife and gutted the fish in two strokes.
    ‘You’ve done this before,’ Satyrus said accusingly.
    Theron smiled. ‘I’ve never seen anyone use a fly like that,’ he said. ‘But my father had a fishing boat. Cleaning fish is the same everywhere, I’d wager.’
    Satyrus held out his rod. ‘Want to try?’ he asked.
    Theron rinsed his hands in a side pool and reached out for the rod. ‘I’d love to.’
    ‘Why don’t you like my sister?’ Satyrus asked as the Corinthian flicked his hook on to the water.
    ‘I don’t dislike your sister,’ the man answered. ‘Do you know that in Hellas, women do not go fishing with their brothers?’
    Satyrus could see a rider across the stream. He was a couple of stades away and he was moving so fast that he raised dust.
    ‘I’ve been to Athens,’ Satyrus said proudly. ‘The girls all had to stay at home.’
    ‘Exactly,’ Theron said.
    ‘I thought it was stupid,’ Satyrus added. ‘I think that’s Coenus!’ he said, sliding back off the rock.
    ‘Who’s Coenus?’ Theron asked politely. A fish chose that moment to hit his lure, and despite his inexperience, he jerked the rod and he hooked his prey - a trout at least as long as his forearm.
    ‘Well done!’ Satyrus exclaimed with all the enthusiasm of his age. He