Hero for Hire (16 page)

“Don’t you want to know what they were saying?”

“No.” I closed my eyes and imitated a snore.

He dug into my ribs with his foot. “I must tell you.”

“Tell me, then go to bed.”

“They said, “Eno must go to Troezen. Death waits for him there.” Who have you so offended that Death sends so many messengers for you, my friend?”

“My death will be of boredom right here. But I won’t be going to Hades alone if you don’t get to bed.”

I didn’t have to see him to know he threw his hands in the air before stalking off. He’d killed sleep for me that was certain. I’d turned him off with a joke, not wanting to see how much he’d disquieted me.

It occurred to me that the best way to stop the recurrent dreams would be to go to Troezen and not die. A prophetic dream loses its potency if the prophesy is shattered. Besides, ‘Death waits at Troezen’ might be interpreted different ways. It could be that I’d like the place so much I’d settle down to live happily ever after there until the day I died. No one had ever dodged a prophecy. Usually trying only made things worse in the long run.

I was a little confused that so many people seemed to want me at some city I'd hardly heard of before this mission. Even now I didn't know much beyond what Phandros had told me, that there, as at Leros, one of the gates to Hades could be found, an open secret.

Even the dream-images of people quite well-disposed toward me had urged me to hurry there, some saying 'before it's too late'...too late for what? Others promised me death or the possibly demonic delights of my black-haired beauty.

I fell asleep eventually, lulled by the splash of the waves and the motion of the ship. No dreams came to me except the usual half-glimpsed nonsense.

When I awoke, the eastern sky blushed with dawn and the sail had slipped off the cage. The harpy sat near the bars, her feathers bedraggled, her face paler than usual, thin gold instead of bronze. She watched me with the steady, fathomless gaze of a very young child.

Her water bowl was empty. I went aft to the cook’s area, taking a pitcher of water and a leg of lamb, the last one he said.

I poured the water through the bars into the bowl and then I poked the raw leg in between. She didn’t touch it, though soon she crawled over to dip her mouth in the water.

After watching her for a few minutes, I noticed the crew was stirring. I covered the cage and went back to the cook’s area to settle a dispute between him and Phandros over soup. Truthfully, Phandros had a gift for creating tasty dishes that the sullen cook lacked. Jori tried to soothe the chef's injured pride but it was evident he preferred Phandros' skill.

I did not leave the ship at Mykonos. The crew would talk, there was no way of stopping them. I didn’t want to be pointed at in the streets or questioned for anyone’s entertainment. I occupied my time by polishing the weapons stored onboard which had the added effect of keeping off the curious and the potentially violent. One man tried to bribe me with fifty obols for a single glance at the creature.

“There’s a minotaur coming in on the next ship,” I said, to get him to leave. “Talk to that captain, but you didn’t hear it from me. It’s supposed to be a big secret.”

I hoped the next captain would throw him overboard as a drunken fool when he insisted on seeing a non-existent monster.

Jori came back, full of plans to exhibit the harpy as a curiosity. "The king is coming in an hour, as soon as his wife is dressed. The whole court is thrilled at this chance. If you are wise, you will sell this beast here and now."

"I don't want to do that."

"I will negotiate a better price for you, minus my commission, of course." He pressed his hands together prayerfully. "We could make a fortune, you and I. You capture these beasts and we sell them to royalty. It could be most lucrative."

"I'm not interested in helping spoiled princes set up zoos."

"Who said anything about a zoo? The king here is interested in making a cloak of those pretty feathers. He has some mad idea it would make him fly," he added, chuckling.

"Because you gave him the idea?"

He rolled his eyes. "It was not very hard to do. So you agree?"

"No," I said again. "Get your supplies on board. We'll shove off as soon as we can. And before the king comes down from the palace."

"He has offered good coin." Jori sighed regretfully, knowing when I am unlikely to change my mind. "What can it harm just to look?"

I couldn't answer that. I only knew that I did not want the harpy exposed to prying eyes and gossiping tongues. Oddly protective behavior toward a creature I intended to sell to its death. Surely life in a cage would be better than being sacrificed by a cowardly king to appease a bloodthirsty crowd.

Lifting the sailcloth to peep at her in the soft light of a sunset, I knew the thought of her caged up forever would haunt me. I thought of her in the night sky above Leros, a meteor of flashing gold, setting the heavens on fire. Better to die cleanly than to suffer never reaching the sky again. Perhaps I should even do it myself. A swift stroke with a blade and she would die at my hands, painlessly.

She looked at me with those soft, clear eyes. A chirruping purr reached out through the bars. Abruptly, I dropped the cloth and went to harry the men. They grumbled, having hopes of tasting the fleshpots of Mykonos, but worked willingly enough. It still took longer to get the supplies on board than my patience liked. We pushed off as darkness fell, deep enough to show the torchlight procession leaving the palace on the hillside. Jori spat over the side. "50 drachmas...gone. Gone as though they had never been."

"How much did you get for promising to miss the tide to satisfy the king's curiosity?"

"Ten pieces only. And a small, very small, keg of wine."

"What kind of wine?" Phandros asked. He'd slept most of the afternoon, lying forward with an angled strip of sail over him to keep out the sun.

"What do you care?" Jori sniffed. "You giving up drinking, yes?"

I left them to their bickering. I felt uneasy, as if a storm were approaching over the waves. My skin prickled as if with heat but there was only the refreshing sea air rushing past us as we sailed out of the harbor. We put some miles between ourselves and Mykonos before Jori declared it was too dark and dangerous to go any farther that night.

Once again, I didn’t dream as I slept on deck and if anyone else on the
Chelidion
did, they did not mention it. In the morning, the sail was off and the harpy again huddled near the bars, closer this time to where I had slept.

On the third morning, her wing was touching my hand when I awoke. The feathers, razor-sharp, lay over my hand and forearm like a blanket. Seeing I was awake, she lifted her wing with great delicacy and folded it back against her body. Then she crouched down, her wing-joints up to where her ears would be, if she had any visible. I sat up and sighed, my decision taken.

Jori awoke to find me in his quarters, poring over a chart. It wasn’t a lot of help, as the names and distances written in a Phoenician code. Phoenician is strange, all lines and angles. Hard enough to read even without adding in the natural paranoia of traders and pirates which made them turn everything, even a letter to their mothers, into ciphers.

“I need an island,” I said as he yawned and rubbed his eyes.

“Of course. A very useful item. What kind of an island?”

“Something fair-sized but not so big that it has people living on it. Fifty plethron or so. Lots of trees.”

“Are you planning a picnic?”

“No, a sanctuary.”

He pushed me to one side and spread out his hands on the map. “I take it this has something to do with that beast out there.”

“Exactly.”

“You have a heart of surpassing softness, my old friend.”

“I just can’t take her to be killed.”

“Her? It is an it. A beautiful creature, in certain lights, but still an it.”

“Be that as it may. I'm not taking her to Troezan to be killed. I can’t take her back to Leros; they’d kill her just as fast, though I don’t believe she is guilty of any of things they are afraid of. So an island, far enough away so that she can’t fly someplace else. There should be water and something to eat....”

“You would like an abandoned palace and lots of sheep?”

“I’m serious, Jori.”

“Am I not? Look here....” He pointed to a speck upon the map. “This is Telemenos. Fifty years ago, more or less, there was a plague or a giant or something and everyone was killed or they left. They left in such a hurry, as a matter of fact, that they abandoned their sheep and goats who have been filling in the time ever since by breeding like mad. Your feathered friend would never go hungry here.”

“Surely somebody has claimed it?”

“No, no one. The neighboring islands all believe Telemenos is haunted. We mariners stop there sometimes for water, but only in the daytime. Seafarers are superstitious folk. I’d have another mutiny on my hands if ever I tried to remain overnight. And the palace, or at least fortress is still there. Roofless, of course, all the better.”

I hadn’t told Jori that Eurytos had claimed a history with him. He might scoff at the superstitions of his crew but there were enough votives and images of the gods around, some that I'd never heard of, to show how often he implored this one or that one’s protection. Knowing that a former enemy had come back from the Underworld would unsettle him for months. His sword had run red too often to find that thought comfortable. I wasn’t any too happy about it myself.

“You won’t be the loser by this,” I swore. “I earned an extra fee from the King of Leros. I’ll split that with you instead of the reward for the harpy. It’s not quite as much, but I’ll make up the difference.”

“Please!” Jori protested, his shoulders and hands working overtime. “Am I such a money-grubber that I would rob a friend? No, no, keep it.”

We went back and forth for a little while over the issue. At last he agreed to take an extra third, though he still didn’t agree with my decision not to sell the harpy to King Pavlos of Troezen.

We changed course for Telemenos. Two days later, as we ran toward the island, I went forward, eager for a first impression. I stepped up into the bow.

The sweep of the bay was shallow, like a cupped hand turned sideways. There were rolling hills, turned gray by distance, and white cliffs. Trees clustered here and there, dwarfed by the roofless acropolis atop the highest cliff. I couldn’t see livestock but I could smell them, an odor wafting out toward us, a little stronger than the sea-smell.

I turned to wave my approval at Jori, standing to the tiller. He nodded back then, abruptly, pushed the tiller over. The boat swung wide, I, to all intents and purposes, stayed put. Only there was nothing under me now and I fell into the sea like Icarus falling out of the sky.

As I came up again, there was a shout from the
Chelidion
. It was not ‘man overboard’. I heard the drumming of feet running along the rail and then a splash as Phandros tossed himself over into the water. He coughed and snorted as he came up but didn’t seem to be in any distress.

Jori poked his head over the side of the ship. “There you are, my friend. Ai, ai, please do nothing rash!” Beside him appeared the cook, the spear he used to catch fish at the ready. It had an iron barb on the end as long as my hand.

I was floating along on my back, feeling quite at ease. Looking up at the face of my friend, I shook my head. “The money wasn’t enough?”

“Your offer was fine so far as it went. But now, you see, I have all your money plus whatever Pavlos will pay for the creature. As for you, there is a fine island here. Perhaps one day you will escape from it if that is the will of the Gods. Come see me at Tyre if you do. I will be so very glad to see you! You can even bring the snoring one, if you don’t slaughter and joint him for food in the meantime. Farewell, my friend. Farewell!”

He put the
Chelidion
’s helm over and she spun on her heel like an Egyptian dancing girl. She trailed no ropes for me to grab, no convenient net dragged over the side, not even a piece of laundry. Some members of the crew waved a cheery goodbye to me from the mast where they’d just finished cracking on more sail.

Then, heart-rending, frantic cries arose piercingly from the cage on the deck. The crewmembers I could see clapped their hands over their ears, holding on with their knees to the cross-beams. I saw the cook run aft, spear held high. Would Jori retain enough greed to overcome the harpy’s spell and stop him? I had no way to know.

I swam hard but it was useless. I shouted desperately, willing her to understand, “Hush, hush! Don’t make them hurt you! I’ll come for you. I swear I will come for you!”

* * *

So there I was, in the damn water again. I felt so hot with rage that my only other emotion was surprise that the ocean wasn’t boiling for ten yards in every direction. I wanted Jori’s head on a platter, nicely decorated with parsley, giant fennel, and saffron flowers. I chose the herbs I knew made him ill or that he just didn’t like.

I dwelt lovingly on this image to quell my fears. It would take the
Chelidion
not more than a week to reach Troezen, if the wind blew fair. I could be marooned on this empty little island for months, with no company but sheep and....

“Phandros!” I bellowed. I didn’t even know if he could swim.

“Here!” he called back.

The sea was calm, thankfully. I could catch a glimpse of him as the swells rose and fell. He moved through the water more peculiarly than anyone I’d ever seen. For a moment, I thought he must be riding a dolphin, but no sea-brother ever bobbed around like that.

I cut through the water toward him. “What are you doing?”

His beard looked like seaweed and his nose was running. “I can’t swim but a philosopher once explained to me that  this kind of cask should float. More or less, anyway.”

He was trying to stay on top of a small cask, stamped with burnt-in Illyrian symbols, which rolled like a frisky kitten among the waves. Ideally, it would have stayed under his chest, keeping his head out of the water. In reality, it knocked him under the chin, tried to flip over, and popped out of his hands to float temptingly just out of reach. He’d then thrash frantically in the water until he could haul it in again.

“I wish that bloody philosopher was here now, instead of me! His theories are useless.”

I took a few strokes and dragged it back to him. It was small but heavy.

“Where did you find that?”

“It’s from your friend the Captain’s secret stash. I think it’s that very special wine they make in Illyria to sell in Babylon.”

“How’d you find it?”

“Sneaking around in the middle of the night,” he confessed cheerfully. "He had quite the collection of rare vintages." More somberly, he added, “Forgive me, Eno, but I didn’t altogether trust your friend.”