Timothy Boggs - Hercules Legendary Joureneys 02 (17 page)

She laughed. "You look silly."

"Maybe, but I'm screaming inside."

In the fishing quarter, men and women rushed to secure their boats. The small fleet had quit early, and the people were anxious to join the celebration. They weren't concerned about their profits. On festival day the council made up the shortfall out of the public treasury, aided by a few private donations.

What the council didn't know this year, however, is the relief the fishermen felt.

Maybe the city fathers couldn't count, but these people could.

This was the seventh year, and no one wanted to be on the water.

In the grove outside the rebel cave, Rotus sneered at the crumpled body lying at his feet.

"That," he said to the others, "is what happens to all traitors."

One of the rebels shuddered. "Hercules is going to be ticked when he finds out."

"I can handle Hercules. Don't worry about that."

None of the rebels responded, although a couple of them turned quickly to their horses, anxious to be away.

"Remember the signal," Rotus told them once they were all mounted.

"What signal?"

"The one I told you."

The rebels shook their heads. "You didn't tell us any signal," one dared say.

Rotus rolled his eyes. "I did. You weren't listening."

"I was too listening. Your trouble is, you mumble all the time."

"I do not mumble. I enunciate."

"What's that?"

"I speak clearly."

"Well, sure you do, Rotus. When you're not mumbling."

Rotus glared, sighed, repeated the signal, and led them at a gallop away from the cave.

Less than a minute later a raven settled on Jax's body, cocked its head, and tried to decide where it would begin its dinner.

The household was in an uproar about Cire's behavior. The master threatened to take the girl's head and exhibit it on a stake at the garden gate; the mistress, on the other hand, didn't want to wait for the head to come off.

Only when Sana reminded them that the council was waiting did they swallow their anger and order Cire dressed.

When they were alone, the twins looked at each other tearfully.

"I'm so happy," Sana said, wiping her eyes delicately with one finger. She wore a rippling, floor-length shift, elegantly embroidered with silver thread, and a heavy necklace. Her red hair was pulled back behind her ears and braided, the braid twined with rainbow ribbons. On her head she wore a simple laurel wreath.

"I am, too," Cire told her, forcing herself to sound cheerful.

"Do you think they'll pick me?"

"You're the prettier of the two of us."

"But how will they know that?"

"Sana!"

"I'm joking, Sister, just joking. Now hold still, I have to brush your hair. What a mess!"

"It's windy."

"So ... are you going to tell me where you were?"

"No. I can't."

"A man, right?"

"I can't."

"That means you won't."

"Whatever."

"Stop fidgeting, Sister. How can I make you pretty if you keep fidgeting all the time?"

"Gods, Sana, just give me my sandals and the damn wreath and let's get out of here."

"My, my, we're testy tonight, aren't we?"

"Sorry. It's the .. . excitement."

"I know, I know. I can't wait, can you? Of course you can't. I can see it in your eyes."

Cire nodded, closed her eyes in a brief prayer for miracles and Holix not falling off and ruining the plan, and headed for the exit.

"Cire?"

"What now?"

"Your sandals are on backward."

Venitia had no one to talk to.

She hadn't been able to locate any of the rebels, her mother had already left, her father was with the council in its chambers, Iolaus was with Hercules, she didn't trust the servants, and Bea was with whomever she was with, probably a man, probably one of the guard officers.

She didn't bother with Zarel. That woman was probably with Rotus and the others, sharpening her knife, her nails, and her tongue.

Thus abandoned, she dressed alone.

In a way that was good, because the outfit she chose exposed more of her than her father would like.

Considerably more. Although, if the truth be told and he had his way, she'd be wearing a sack all the time anyway, only her eyes and feet showing.

Iolaus, on the other hand, had better come up with the right reaction when he saw her, or she'd be forced to do something drastic. Like get him alone, wear him down, and carry him home over her shoulder. Figuratively speaking, of course. Mother would never approve, otherwise.

She sighed.

She shivered.

The festival was supposed to be fun. Parties, food, wine, messing around, getting
i
n trouble with Father and getting out of trouble with Father... in short, fun.

But this time everything had gone wrong. The rebellion wasn't fun anymore, and with Iolaus muttering all the time about monsters and vengeful goddesses, she feared people were going to get hurt, or worse.

Still, she thought, with Hercules around, how bad could it get?

"Herc, what's the worst thing that can happen if we don't pull this off?"

"I
don't want to think about it."

"That bad?"

"That bad."

Iolaus followed him around the plaza's perimeter, heading for the steps. "I want to get something straight, okay? If this doesn't work, the festival will be ruined, a monster will show up and people will die, Demeter and Poseidon will be pissed because their festival was ruined, Hera will win, and if I survive, I'll have about half a dozen gods chasing after me for the rest of my life."

Hercules thought about it a while before saying, "Yep, that about covers it."

Iolaus stopped.

Hercules stopped, turned, and said with a soft smile, "Would you have it any other way?"

Iolaus laughed. "No, I guess not."

They shook hands then, and embraced briefly.

Then they stepped out of the crowd into the plaza, and Iolaus whispered, "Oh, my."

The plaza had been transformed into a miniature amphitheater. Small columns, holding large pans of oil that would be lit when the sun dropped below the rooftops, had been placed beside the marble colonnade.

The stands were now over a dozen rows high and swept away from each side of the municipal building's steps in a gentle arc that remained open where the boulevard began.

They were jammed, the wealthy sitting nearest the steps, the ordinary citizens taking all the other places.

In addition, people sat on the ground behind long red ropes attached to gleaming brass posts; and nearby rooftops were crowded with those who hadn't been able to squeeze into the plaza.

On the chamber porch, beneath the blossom-covered peaked roof, were three tables covered with white cloth, facing the plaza, each with a row of ornately carved high-back chairs behind them. On the left sat dignitaries and their wives from the surrounding villages and inland farm towns, puffed with importance and already flushed with wine. The center table held the council. The right was empty, reserved for the women who would be competing for the title of festival queen.

Hercules and Iolaus sat at the center table.

Iolaus gaped at the platters of food and jugs of wine spread before him. "Gods, what am I supposed to do now?"

Hercules laughed. "Eat, what else?"

"What, with all those people staring at me?'

And they were—hundreds of them, in the stands and on the ground, their own food and wineskins in their laps, their attention torn between picking out the famous and not so famous at the head tables, and the entertainment that played continuously in the plaza's center. Musicians, dance troupes, jugglers, trick riders, mock swordplay, gymnasts: each act had its brief turn before being replaced by another. There was no ringmaster and no introductions, just one act after another.

Hercules barely noticed.

Ever since his and Iolaus' arrival, they had been swamped with men and women proclaiming their favorites for the summer queen, not bothering to listen when he told them he didn't even know who the can-didates were. Finally one of the councilman had taken over, insisting they wear garlands of flowers as a sign of their standing, then dragging them from chair to chair, introducing them to everyone as if bringing them here was his own idea.

Shortly after they finally escaped to their own seats, Venitia grabbed the chair to Iolaus' right. To Hercules' left was a suspiciously large gap between himself and Jocasta Perical. His attempts to speak to either Titus or his wife had thus far failed miserably. The man kept himself busy with orders to the servants and guards, so much so that Hercules began to wonder if the council leader was avoiding him. Jocasta proved just as elusive; she seemed to make sure she was seldom seated, fussing constantly over the comfort of her other guests.

Iolaus wasn't much help either.

He didn't know how Venitia managed it, but she wore a clinging and somewhat translucent dress that evidently came with a magic red shawl, one that remained demurely draped over her shoulders and chest whenever her father was around, and somehow vanished whenever he wasn't.

Iolaus had obviously noticed the dress—and all that it revealed—and tried so terribly hard not to that Hercules couldn't help but laugh.

Incorrigible; the man was incorrigible.

And apparently doomed to break his neck, when his attention became torn between Venitia's blatant efforts at flirtation and the afternoon's final performance—an all-female dance ensemble from the Isle of Minnsci. They were lovely and lithe, and forever stumbling and losing the veils that barely concealed their barely concealing costumes.

The crowd loved it.

Iolaus loved it.

Venitia hated it and damn near plunked herself in Iolaus' lap to get him to pay attention to her, not them.

Hercules admitted that he himself was not entirely immune to the ladies' charms as they danced out of the plaza, but at the moment he was more concerned with what he saw above Themon.

He nudged Iolaus with an elbow. "Look."

"I am," Iolaus said without turning around.

Venitia giggled.

"Not that," Hercules said, rapping his friend's skull with a knuckle. He pointed to the east. "That."

Although the sun still shone brightly over the city, the sky over the distant sea was filled with clouds.

Black clouds laced with sickly gray, shifting constantly, expanding, every once in a while flaring with hidden lightning.

Iolaus watched the clouds for several seconds. "They aren't moving."

"Not yet."

"How much time?"

Hercules shook his head.

This was the tricky part of his half-formed plan. Actually, there were lots of tricky parts to the plan, most of them unavoidable because he had no real idea exactly how Hera would set things in motion. He had been tempted to try to contact Poseidon again, but there'd been no time. All he had left was his instinct, and a finely tuned sense of self-preservation.

Movement to his left made him turn, just in time to see a messenger whisper something in Jocasta's ear. She stiffened, and the eye Hercules could see instantly brimmed with tears. She nodded at another word, dismissed the boy with a gesture, and pushed away from the table. As Titus strode by she took his arm, said something, and pulled him away. Now, Hercules thought; it has to be now.

The plaza fell silent.

Although conversations were still whispered in the stands, and among those who sat around the perimeter, there was no laughter, no cheers, only a communal sense of delighted anticipation.

Hercules waited until Titus and his wife approached the tall brass doors before leaving his seat. He crossed the porch quickly, before anyone could intercept him, and reached them just as Jocasta said,

"They found him by the cave. The others were gone."

Seeing Hercules approach, Titus shook his head slightly in warning and beamed at his guest. "Hercules! I certainly hope you're enjoying our little celebration." He took him by the elbow. "Why don't we just return to our seats? The finale is about to—"

Hercules didn't budge. "What did Hera promise you?" he said, keeping his voice low.

Titus blinked. "What did ... what are you talking about?"

Hercules held out his left arm to prevent Jocasta from leaving, the smile at his lips completely without mirth. "You know what I mean."

He waited, hoping his expression explained to them both that he was giving them only this one chance.

Jocasta touched her husband's arm. "Titus." It was a plea.

The councillor drew himself up, one hand at his chest.

"Titus," she said again.