Helen and Troy's Epic Road Quest (19 page)

“You started before you were born. Before your parents or grandparents. Before even the gods above were birthed in the primordial dawn of time. You didn't think this was all a coincidence, did you? Your lives have led you to this moment. Everything you've done, everything you've never done, all the choices you've made, and all the choices others have made for you…your path started long ago, same as everyone's.”

“We've met the fates,” said Helen. “They didn't seem all that organized. And they admitted there's no such thing as destiny.”

“Listening to metaphysical personifications of abstract concepts is a crapshoot at best,” said Waechter. “Or so a personification of wisdom once told me. Of course, the very next day a personification of deceit told me the very same thing, so I guess it's a wash.

“I can't tell you there's a master plan at work. I can't tell you there isn't. Every quest is different. Certainly there tends to be an expected way for things to unfold, but that is less about predestination and more about the stories people like to tell.

“That's the secret, you see. The universe doesn't shape legends. People and storytellers do. So what if Odysseus wasn't cursed by the gods, but just having fun with the boys and lost track of time? Or that Momotaro wasn't born inside a peach and no one ever heard his dog talk but him? The details are just that: details. Things for the storytellers to clean up, after the fact. After a while the universe says, ‘Sure, why not? That'll work.'”

Helen said, “That's all just double-talk and pseudo-intellectual nonsense.”

“Most of it,” admitted Waechter.

Troy asked, “Is our quest dangerous?”

“Dangerous to whom?” asked Waechter. “Don't worry. That's just clarification. Not an official third question.”

“To the world?” asked Troy.

“Not the world, no. Just a substantial portion of it.”

Helen's first instinct was to ask how big a portion, but she didn't want to use up their last question.

“But you're letting us do this anyway,” she said. “That wasn't a question, by the way. It was a statement.”

Waechter grinned. “Clever. I really shouldn't let that slide, but I will because I like the both of you. Yes, I'm letting you attempt your quest. Yes, it could bring terrible results to many innocent people. And, yes, it would probably be safer for everyone, including yourselves, if you were, as we say in the bureau, de-quested.”

He took another sip.

“I won't force you to find a clever little way around your next question. Yes, we at the NQB do see that certain quests are never completed. It's a delicate art. You can't just kill a quester. Such actions usually just help them on their journey. If you want to de-quest someone, you have to manipulate things from the shadows in such a way that the gods and destiny don't notice. It isn't easy, but we are the NQB. And before that we were something else. And before that…you get the idea. There have always been those who stand in the darkness, unnoticed. By going unnoticed, they are allowed to break some of the universe's most sacred rules.

“Now, it bears mentioning that I, by merely being here, have become part of your quest. It makes me unable to de-quest you at this point, even if I wanted to do so. But the NQB has many operatives, and we operate with little interagency communication to ensure that there's always someone capable of handling things when they get messy. There might very well be someone attempting to de-quest you right now. I don't know. Not my end. My end is helping you complete your quest, which I shall do to the best of my ability.”

“What happens when we get all the relics together?” asked Troy. “Don't tell us you don't know. We know you keep records.”

“It varies. Sometimes faces melt as thousands of souls scream. Other times cataclysm. But it will be more than indigestion and a few burning cities, I can assure you.”

“That sucks,” said Helen. “You're basically telling us that we can either destroy the world or die.”

“Not the world,” he corrected.

“There has to be a way around it,” said Troy.

Waechter offered no reply as he uncrossed his legs.

“Is there a way around it?” asked Helen.

He put a finger to his lips.

“Come on,” she said. “You can't do this to us. You can't tell us we're going to destroy the world and then leave us hanging. Who came up with this three-question rule anyway?”

Waechter shrugged.

Helen jumped out of her chair and stomped her hoof. Her foot smashed through the wooden porch. Irritated, she extracted it, then grabbed her empty chair and hurled it. It sailed far into the distance.

“Take it easy, Hel,” said Troy.

“Why are you always so cool?” she asked. “Why doesn't this bother you more?”

“Because I believe in us. I know we can do this.”

“Do what? Unleash the wrath of the gods? Melt faces?”

He stood, put his hand on her arm. “We can do this.”

Her rage burned. She tamped it down by closing her eyes and counting to ten. It still smoldered within her, but she could ignore it.

“Are you OK, Hel?” asked Troy.

“I'll be OK. It's just frustrating. That's all.”

She rubbed her wrist where her anti-enchantment bracelet should have been. She didn't know if its absence had anything to do with how she felt, but she still wanted to smash something.

“What now, Agent Waechter?” asked Troy.

“He won't answer that,” said Helen. “It's a question.”

“No, I can answer that one,” said Waechter. “You continue on your journey. You follow the road where it takes you. Same as any of us. And you hope that, if it's going to lead you someplace unpleasant, then at least it will be an interesting unpleasantness.”

He petted Achilles.

“But if I were going to offer advice, I'd recommend checking out the Mystery Cottage. It's a fun place. Little touristy, but fun nonetheless.”

Agent Campbell unfolded a road map from her inside jacket pocket and handed it to Troy. “I recommend the jerky,” she said without expression.

Helen and Troy climbed into the Chimera and drove away.

“Think they'll finally be the ones to do it?” asked Campbell.

“Who knows? I've got a good feeling about those two. But I also had a good feeling about those other two, and we both remember how that turned out.”

She frowned. “Still feel bad about those two.”

“Questing is a dirty business,” said Waechter. “You knew that when you signed up with the bureau.”

“Maybe we should've given them more warning.”

“If the story is to play out properly, we have to play our part. The rest is up to the gods above. And to them.”

Waechter vanished from the rearview mirror. Helen waited until she couldn't see him before saying anything.

“I don't trust that guy.”

“He's a secret agent,” said Troy. “They're untrustworthy by nature. Hush-hush. Need-to-know. All that kind of stuff.”

“So you don't trust him either?”

“I don't know. I don't not trust him. He hasn't steered us wrong so far.”

“You and I have very different definitions of
wrong
then.”

They cruised down the desert road in the Chimera. The ride felt bumpier than normal to Helen. She wondered if it was the road or if her increased weight put extra pressure on the shocks. She was getting bigger. She could sense herself expanding a quarter of an inch every day.

“Helen, maybe it's out of line for me to say this, but you seem a bit edgy lately,” said Troy.

“I'm fine.”

She wasn't. She didn't know if it was her minotaurism, unchecked by her bracelet. Or maybe it was the quest. Or him, so cool and smart and perfect and handsome and charming.

She'd liked Troy for a while, but they were just friends. It had been easy to be just friends when they saw each other for a few hours a week, and most of those hours were at the Magic Burger, where the smell of grease kept things in check. Now they were on this quest, trapped in a car together, fighting dragons and godlings together, sharing hotel rooms…together.

She had to remind herself that Troy was good with people, and that he had a talent for making everyone feel special. When he smiled at her, he wasn't smiling
at her
. When he demonstrated some intimate knowledge of her likes and dislikes, it wasn't because he was focused especially on her. He liked her because he liked people, and people liked him. It was his nature.

He was like a puppy. You couldn't resist him, and it was easy to believe there was some special connection. Then you caught him devoting as much attention to a rubber ball or a stuffed zebra.

But she was really, really starting to like him. And that smile.

It sucked.

Troy watched the road. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. She caught herself doing that more often lately.

“Hel, if you want to talk about something—” he said.

She closed her eyes. “I'm tired of talking, Troy.”

“But if you ever want to talk—”

“I know where to find you.”

Guided by their map, they crossed into northern Utah. The desert fell away and forest flanked the road. It wasn't the untamed wilderness of the dragon preserve. There were signs of civilization everywhere. Little towns. Houses. Signs advertising ski resorts. She welcomed the ordinariness of it. After the last few days, it seemed almost magical to return to the normal world. Although she was certain it was only a pit stop.

The Mystery Cottage wasn't hard to locate. There were billboards advertising it, and as they drew closer the signs grew more numerous.

VISIT THE MYSTERY COTTAGE, WHERE THE GODS OF YORE WAIT
.

And
THE MYSTERY COTTAGE, FREE BALLOONS FOR THE KIDS
.

And
WHAT MAKES THE MYSTERY COTTAGE SO MYSTERIOUS? STOP IN AND FIND OUT
.

And finally,
ALL QUESTERS WELCOME AT THE MYSTERY COTTAGE
.

None of the billboards had any pictures. Perhaps it would've ruined the mystery.

Helen suspected what they'd find. There would be somebody there to guide them on their journey. Probably some sort of challenge, internal or external. Like a monster to fight or a boulder to be lifted. Or some sort of metaphysical revelation followed by an unpleasant confrontation of inner truth.

Gods above, she was hoping for the monster.

They reached the Mystery Cottage late in the afternoon. It was a giant wooden construction. It was as if someone had planted a cottage, given it plenty of sunlight and water, and grown it into a mansion. Coniferous trees wrapped around it. The highest were still only half as tall as the house itself, as if the house took the lion's share of the soil's nutrients and left the trees to fight over the scraps.

The sun hid behind the Mystery Cottage, and the house's chill shadow stretched across the parking lot. Helen shivered as they found a spot. She never shivered. Fur meant she was almost never cold.

Several families wandered around the manicured front lawn. They took photos or piled into cars. A brother and sister ran around, their balloons trailing behind them.

She stepped out of the Chimera. It squeaked and rocked. She compared the squeaking and rocking to her memory of yesterday, but there was no way of knowing if she was imagining that they were more pronounced today.

“Doesn't look very mysterious,” said Troy.

“What would mysterious look like?” she asked.

“A figure in black, beckoning from the doorway. A fleeting shadow barely seen in a window. Ravens perched everywhere. Vines creeping up the walls. A peculiar statue out front.”

“You've been thinking about this.”

“We weren't talking. What else was I going to do?”

“Troy, I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you or anything like that.”

“No need to apologize, Hel,” he said. “It's a long ride. It's OK to want some quiet time.”

There he went again. Being reasonable. Never offended. Never bothered. It troubled her that he wasn't quite human in that way. She'd decided it meant he was either shallow and overconfident
or
deep and Zen. She hadn't determined which.

Achilles wandered off to sniff around while they entered the cottage. The entrance room was festooned with touristy offerings. Bumper stickers, postcards, T-shirts, souvenir glasses. Helen glanced through the postcard rack while Troy talked to the elderly woman behind the front desk.

The woman sniffed the air. “You, young man, have the unmistakable scent of a quester.” She smiled. Her teeth were shiny white dentures. “Am I right?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Always am.” She tapped her nose. “Hasn't let me down yet. These old bones might not be what they used to be, but I can still smell a hero from a mile away.”

He said, “I don't know if I'm a hero, ma'am.”

“Call me Babs, Troy.”

“You know my name?”

“A talent of mine,” replied the old woman. “Comes in handy with so many people passing through. You most certainly are a hero, and a rare breed of hero indeed. One of genuine heroic mettle. I've seen many a strong young man come through here and few have what you have.” She reached out with a long skinny arm and put a finger on his chest. “A fine soul you have there.”

Helen cleared her throat to cover her groan.

“Ah, and I see this lovely young lady walks the journey beside you,” said the woman. “Welcome to the both of you. The Mystery Cottage loves questers. We don't get quite so many as we once did.”

“What's the deal here?” asked Helen. “What do you give us? Or cryptically warn us about? Or tell us we have to fight to carry on?”

The woman chuckled. “I can't tell you. That is the mystery of the cottage. It's late anyway. You probably want a room for the night. We can deal with the details tomorrow.”

“Can't we just do what we have to do already?” asked Helen.

“You'll want to be refreshed. Trust me on this.” Babs stood. She was a tall, lanky figure of a woman with a bent back and hands like spiders. “Get your things, and I'll show you to your room.”

“Rooms,” said Helen. “We'd like two.”

“As you wish.” Babs smiled coyly in a way that Helen found suspicious. As if the old woman knew something Helen didn't. The thought didn't strike Helen as paranoid because it was most definitely true.

She showed them to their rooms. The second floor was for guests. It had a more homey feel, though its halls were cluttered with junk. Old suits of armor, odd oil paintings, stuffed animal heads, vases. Oh so many vases. Whether it was charming or claustrophobic remained uncertain, but it was an impressive collection. This was what a dragon's lair should've looked like.

They scanned the items, hoping to find their next relic. A sharp heat stung their hands, telling them they were close, but the sheer amount of odds and ends meant they could spend the better part of a day searching for it.

There were seven rooms on the floor. All of them were unoccupied.

“I apologize if they're a bit dusty,” said Babs. “I do try to keep on top of things, but there's a lot to look after for a woman of my advancing years. Take your pick. Dinner is at seven.”

She patted their cheeks. Helen had to bend down to accommodate the gesture. Babs excused herself to check on the other visitors.

“Kind of creepy,” said Helen.

“I prefer to think of it as cozy, Hel.”

“I wasn't talking about the cottage.”

Troy laughed despite himself. “Oh, she's a bit strange, but that probably only means she's wise or something. It's not fair to judge her on first impressions.”

“You're only saying that because she called you a hero.”

“No, I'm saying it because she's a bit obvious to be a danger.”

She slapped him on the back. “Aha, so you do think she's creepy.”

“There is a certain uncanny valley factor,” he admitted, “but we shouldn't hold that against her.”

She agreed, but they decided not to unpack, just as a precaution, and they chose the two rooms closest to the stairs in case they needed to make a quick escape.

They spent the remaining hour and a half before dinnertime touring the cottage. Babs said nothing was off-limits, and that they were free to examine and handle the many antiques. It took them most of that time to explore a single room, picking through the knickknacks.

“Do you think all this stuff is magic?” asked Helen. “Just waiting for the right person to come along?”

“Good question. I have no idea.” He held up a six-pack of Billy Beer. “But probably not. Then again, does it have to be magic? It's like that teapot the fates gave me. They said it would be helpful against a dragon and it was, even if it wasn't magic.”

“No, they didn't say that. They said the teapot couldn't hurt.”

“But it did help us escape.”

“No, you helped us escape by using it as a distraction. You could've just as easily thrown a rock. There was nothing unique about the teapot that made it the right tool for that job. And the fates practically said that they get a lot of credit for stuff they don't do.”

Troy played with an old marionette, making the wooden puppet dance a jig. “But I did use the teapot, so they do get credit for that one.”

“Do they? What if you had used a rock? You'd still have that teapot, and if some day it came in handy, you'd think how fortuitous. And if you stuck it in the back of your closet and never thought about it again, you wouldn't say the fates were slacking on the job.”

He made the puppet nod, cup its chin in a thoughtful pose. “I can't argue with you.”

“Will you stop that?”

The simple wooden puppet held up its hands in mock innocence. “Stop what?”

She grinned at the puppet, then at him. “If you don't stop playing with that, I might have to reassess your cool factor.”

“Really? What's my cool factor now, pray tell?”

The puppet cupped its face and looked eagerly at her. It had no eyes, but he somehow conveyed everything through body language.

She laughed. “Don't tell me you've never picked up a puppet before.”

“Oh no. I love puppets. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a puppeteer for a while.”

Helen feigned a shocked stagger. “Oh, gods above, please tell me that's not true. You're not cool at all. You're a dork!”

“Puppets aren't dorky. They're an ancient and venerated art.”

Achilles, a Slinky wrapped around his head, whined at Helen's hooves. She bent down and untangled him.

“Whatever, dork.”

“You're just jealous because you haven't mastered the art of ventriloquism.”

“Ventriloquism? Well, I take it all back. You're clearly more awesome than I realized.”

He handed her the crossbars. “Go on. Try it. It's a lot of fun.”

She attempted to make the marionette dance, but it only looked as if it were having a spasm. It was fun watching the little wooden figure convulse.

“You're moving it too much, Hel. You need to use small gentle movements.”

Troy put his hand on hers and guided her.

It felt weird, though not bad. Troy had touched her before, but this was different somehow. It might have been feelings she wasn't comfortable with or the strange intimacy of trying to bring a semblance of life to a block of wood. Her hands tingled, and it wasn't because of curses.

She stopped watching the puppet and looked at him as he intently focused not on the puppet, but on their hands.

“There you go, Hel. That's better. See, not so hard, right?”

“Yes,” she said. “Dance, puppet, dance.”

Troy looked into her eyes so suddenly she was too surprised to look away. She swallowed, though her mouth was terribly dry.

“Hel…”

Warmth ran up her thigh, and she jumped, breaking contact, destroying the moment. If there had been a moment. She wasn't so sure about that.

She rubbed her hands together. He did the same.

“Hel…”

Now this was a moment. She had no doubt about that. She was terrified of whatever he might say next.

Achilles barked, shattering the awkward pause. She didn't know if she should be grateful for that or not.

The puppet danced. No one was holding its strings. The warmth in Helen's pocket remained.

“I guess some things here are magic,” he said.

She pulled the warm amulet from her pocket. She pointed it at the puppet.

“Stop.”