Scorpia

outside. No. He had told him to go back to the hotel.
    The man spoke to him a second time. Alex had no choice.
    “I don’t speak Italian,” he said.
    “You’re English?” The man switched effortlessly into Alex’s language.
    “Yes.”
    “What are you doing in Mrs Rothman’s study?”
    “My name is Alex Rider—”
    “And my name is Nile. But that’s not what I asked you.”
    “I’m looking for Scorpia.”
    The man—Nile—smiled, showing perfect teeth. With the tiger neutralized, Alex was able to examine him more closely. Without the skin problem, he would be classically handsome. He was clean-shaven, elegant, in perfect physical shape. His hair was cut close to his skull, with a pattern of curving lines shaved around his ears.
    Although he looked relaxed, Alex knew that he was already in a combat stance, poised on the balls of his feet.
    This was a dangerous man; he radiated self-confidence and control. He wasn’t alarmed to find a teenager here in the study. Instead he seemed to be amused.

    “What do you know about Scorpia?” the man asked. His voice was soft and very precise.
    Alex said nothing.
    “It’s a name you overheard downstairs,” Nile said. “Or perhaps you found it in the desk. Were you searching the desk? Is that why you’re here? Are you a thief?”
    “No.”
    Alex had already decided he’d had enough. Any minute now, someone else would arrive. It was time to go. He turned away and began to move towards the door he had first come in.
    “If you take one more step, I’m afraid I’ll have to kill you,” Nile warned.
    Alex didn’t pause.
    He heard the light footfall on the wooden floor behind him and timed it exactly right. At the last moment, he stopped and swivelled round, lashing out with his heel in a back kick that should have driven into the man’s abdomen, winding him at the very least, and possibly knocking him out. But with a sense of shock Alex felt his foot meet only empty air. Nile had either anticipated what he was about to do or twisted away with unbelievable speed.
    Alex turned full circle, trying to follow through with a front jab—the kizami-zuki—he had learnt in karate. But it was too late. Nile had dodged again and there was a blur of movement as the edge of his hand scythed down.
    It was like being hit by a block of wood. Alex was almost thrown off his feet. The whole room shuddered and went dark. Desperately he tried to adopt a defensive position, crossing his arms, keeping his head low. Nile had been expecting it. Alex felt an arm close around his throat. A hand pressed against his head. With a single twist, Nile could now break his neck.
    “You shouldn’t have done that,” Nile said, talking as if to a little child. “I did warn you and you didn’t listen. So now you’re dead.”

    There was a moment of blinding pain, a flash of white light. Then nothing.

    Alex came round with the feeling that his head had been wrenched off. Even after he had opened his eyes it took a few seconds for his vision to return. He tried to move a hand and was relieved to see his fingers curl inwards. So his neck wasn’t broken. He tried to play back what had happened. Nile must have let go of his head at the last moment and used an elbow strike. Alex had been knocked out before but he had never woken up in as much pain as this. Had Nile meant to kill him? Somehow he doubted it. Even from their short encounter, Alex knew that he had met a master of unarmed combat, someone who knew exactly what he was doing and didn’t make mistakes.
    Nile had knocked Alex out and dragged him here. Where was he? With his head still pounding, Alex gazed around him. He didn’t like the look of what he saw. He was in a small chamber, somewhere underneath the palace, he guessed. The walls were made of mottled plaster and the way they sloped reminded him of a cellar.
    The floor had recently been flooded. He was standing on a sort of trellis-work of damp and rotting wooden planks. The room was lit by a single bulb behind a dirty glass covering. There were no windows. Alex shivered.
    It was cold in here, despite the earlier heat of the September evening. And there was something else. He ran a finger along one of the walls and felt a coating of slime. He had thought the cellar was painted a dirty shade of green, but now he realized that the flooding had risen further than the floor. It had continued all the way up to the ceiling. Even the light bulb had at some stage been underwater.
    As