Mountain of Black Glass (100 page)

“Means something? You mean, like you knew her before?” Renie thought back, but the apparition they had seen in the House had been as tenuous as the end of a dream. “Can't you think of anywhere you might have known her in your life? Lover, friend . . . sister, daughter . . . ?”

Jonas hesitated. “Something was there for a moment, when you said that, but it's gone now.” He sighed. “We need to talk all together, perhaps. Is this all that remains of your group? Orlando seemed to suggest there were many more than this.”

“No, we've left three people inside Troy.” Renie shook her head in frustration. “We were told ‘Priam's Walls,' but we had no idea where or why, so we split up.”

“Got no clock for this,” T4b said suddenly. He had been listening with surprising attention, but now it seemed his youthful patience was growing thin. “Let's just get on and bust Fredericks and Orlando out of that camp and fly back to Troy Town.”

!Xabbu nodded. “T4b is right. The clash will begin again at dawn, and look . . .”—he pointed to the eastern sky—“the Morning Star is on his way back from his hunt across the night. At any moment now, he will be kicking up red dust along the horizon.”

“True—we can't just be sitting here when the hostilities start.” Renie turned to Jonas, but the newcomer was looking at !Xabbu.

“You have a poetic way with words, friend,” he said. “Are you sure you're a real person? You'd fit in well with the Greeks.”

!Xabbu smiled. “Renie taught me it is impolite to question whether someone is real, but I am fairly certain I am not just code.”

“He's a Bushman,” Renie said. “Originally from the Okavango Delta. Did I say that right, !Xabbu?”

Jonas raised his eyebrows. “You're a fascinating group, there's no question. I can see we could spend days telling stories, but we'd better get into the Greek camp before dawn.” He frowned, thinking. “I don't think they'd take too kindly to me bringing home some Trojan friends for breakfast, so perhaps you'd better be my prisoners.” He stood up. “Let's bundle up your weapons so that I can carry them, then I can walk behind you with a spear and make it look good.” He saw the glowering expression on the youngest of their company and smiled sourly. “You're going to have to trust me . . . what was your name again, sorry? T2v? There's just no other way.”

“T4b, but you can call him Javier,” said Renie, giving the teenager a stern look. “It's easier to remember.”

T4b glared back at her, but having his true name revealed had taken some of his starch out, and he meekly handed his spear over to Jonas.

They had only gone a hundred paces before T4b stopped in midstep and jumped back, swearing. “Shit!” he said. “Give me that sticker back!”

“What are you talking about?” Renie snapped. “We explained . . .”

“It's a locking big snake!” T4b said, pointing. “Right there!”

Renie and !Xabbu could see nothing.

“I ain't dupping!”

Paul Jonas stepped up beside the quivering teenager. “Ask it what it wants.”

“Can
you
see it?” Renie asked.

“No, but I think I know what it is,” Jonas replied. “I had one earlier—it was a quail.”

T4b turned back to them, more shaken than before. “Did you hear that? It talked to me!”

“It's part of the system,” Paul said. “I think everyone gets one—certainly all the important characters do, I suppose so they can get the details right. Orlando had one, too.” He turned to T4b. “What did it say?”

“Told me I was heading for the Greek camp, seen? Which was, like, a bad idea—but that if they captured me, I should ask for some Greek guy named Die-Tommy-Tees or something, because he knows my family.”

“Diomedes—he's one of the likely lads on the Greek side.” Paul inclined his head. “Well, your snake could have been more useful, but at least it sounds like you're important enough that I might be able to get some ransom for you.”

It took T4b a long, distrustful moment before he realized the man was joking. “Oh, chizz, man,” he growled. “Wild funny, you.”

The eastern sky had lost a few layers of black when they reached the gate. The soldiers standing watch there recognized Odysseus and were excited to see he had brought back Trojan prisoners. The high flames of the watch fire also revealed something that Renie and her companions had completely forgotten.

“By the Thunderer!” One of the soldiers gaped at T4b. “Look at his armor—all of gold!”

“Odysseus has captured a hero!” one of the others said, then turned and shouted to a nearby group of soldiers, just stirring awake, “Crafty Odysseus has captured Glaucus of Lycia! The man with the golden armor!”

Much to Renie's distress, they were quickly surrounded by a cheering throng of soldiers and camp followers. The mob shoved them toward Agamemnon's headquarters, intent on sharing the good news.

Paul Jonas leaned close to her as people clapped him on the back and congratulated his daring. “We can't afford this. The bird-woman, the angel . . . she said time was running out.”

“Don't look at me!” Renie hissed in frustration. “You're supposed to be the smartest man in Greece—think of something!”

Roused by the noise, Agamemnon came out of his cabin. Half-buckled into his armor and with his plaited hair disarranged, the big man looked like a bear jostled from hibernation. “Ah, godlike Odysseus, you have indeed performed a feat for the ages,” the high king said with a hard grin. “Sarpedon's heart will be heavy in his breast when he discovers we have his kinsman alive. Even courageous Hector will wonder if the gods still favor his cause.”

“We haven't much time,” Jonas said. “I have questioned these Trojans, and they say the attack will come with dawn.” He looked to Renie and !Xabbu, who nodded—even their few sparse exchanges with other Trojans after the battle had made that clear. “This time Hector and the others intend to drive us all the way into the sea.”

Agamemnon held out an arm so one of his men could tie an ornate bronze guard onto his forearm. “I guessed as much. We will all be ready, though—you, noble Odysseus, and my brother Menelaus, and mighty Ajax, and Diomedes, master of the war cry. The Trojans will find out what kind of men are born in the Greek isles, and much Trojan blood will stain their own earth.”

Renie was almost ready to scream with impatience as Agamemnon summoned them all back into his cabin so he could finish dressing. Despite Jonas' assurances that the prisoners had surrendered and no such precautions were necessary, she and her two companions found themselves surrounded by helmeted spearmen, all of whom wore expressions of frightened anger that made her even more nervous than Agamemnon's pragmatic nastiness.

“There might be more these enemies have held back,” said the high king. “We will prick them a bit and let out some blood, and thus discover whether they have told all they know.”

“Please,” Jonas said, fighting to keep desperation from his voice. “I will work on them with more . . . subtle means. Leave them with me.”

Agamemnon had finished pouring ritual libations on the fire and was hesitating, clearly relishing the prospect of torturing a few Trojans, when there was a commotion outside and an old man came through the door, flapping his hands in the air.

“The Trojans are at the walls!” he wailed. “Apollo's golden chariot has not risen above the hills, yet they are already slavering at our gate like wild dogs!”

Agamemnon clapped his meaty hands together, calling for his high, plumed helmet. “We will go, then. Leave the prisoners to these guards, noble Odysseus—your Ithacans await you, and the fighting will be fierce.”

“Give me just a few moments more,” Jonas begged him. “I suspect there is something these Trojans can tell me that might bring great Achilles out to fight—surely that's worth the time?”

The high king cocked his head. His plumes waggled like a peacock's tail. “Certainly, although I doubt anything you can do now will sway that stiff-necked man.” He marched to the door, his retinue falling in behind him. Just as Renie was breathing a sigh of relief, he stopped and turned, a look of mistrust twisting his face. “Did you not swear to me, clever Odysseus, that Achilles could not fight because he was ill?”

“I did,” Jonas said, caught off guard. “Yes, I did. But . . . but perhaps it is a plague brought by the gods, and if they have turned in our favor, perhaps they have made him well again.”

Agamemnon stared at him for a moment, then nodded heavily. “Very well. But I cannot help remembering that you also were reluctant to join us, Odysseus. I hope that you have not become changeable again on this day of our great need.”

The door creaked closed behind him, but half-a-dozen armed soldiers still remained in the cabin, along with the rest of Agamemnon's household, several women and old men. The din of conflict was already loud outside, and Renie could almost feel the advantage of having found Paul Jonas sliding away from them like water down a drain.

“Let's do something!” she whispered to him. He started, as though he had been daydreaming.

“I just . . . something was on the tip of my tongue,” he told her quietly. “From something you said earlier, about the woman. You said ‘sister, daughter . . .' and I almost heard a name.” His eyes again became distant. “Avis? Could that be it?”

“We know it is important, Mr. Jonas,” !Xabbu said quietly, “but perhaps we could talk about it at some later time . . . ?”

“Good God, of course.” He turned to face the guards, who had been suspiciously watching their quiet conversation. “We must take these people to Achilles,” he announced to them.

One of the soldiers, a clean-shaven man with a scar across his broken nose, elected himself spokesman for the others. “The high king said you were to question them . . .”

“Yes, but he didn't say I had to do it here,” Jonas declared. “Come with us if you like, but we must take them to Achilles. What they have to say could mean the difference in this war.” His face hardened. “Where are you from?”

The soldier looked startled, as though he expected Jonas to know. “Argos, noble Odysseus. But . . .”

“Do you want a chance to see it again? You saw what happened yesterday, didn't you? Without Achilles to help us, who will stop the Trojans?” The soldiers still hesitated; Renie saw Jonas make a decision. “The gods decree it! Are you calling me a liar? How do you think I captured mighty Glaucus and these others in the first place? The gods sent me a dream!”

This clearly shook the guards, and Jonas was not going to give them time for any lengthy theological pondering. He picked up the bundled weapons and prodded Renie, !Xabbu, and T4b toward the door. After an exchange of troubled glances, the soldiers fell in behind them and followed them out into the shouting and confusion of the Greek defense.

They were scarcely a dozen paces away from Agamemnon's cabin when the huge gate of the encampment burst inward, swinging so wildly on its hinges that two men were killed just by the force of its collapse. Great Hector loomed in the opening, still holding the massive log with which he had smashed the bolt, and the Greeks stumbled back from him in superstitious terror. Just hours before Priam's son had been carried from the field; now he stood glowering before them, recovered from injuries that would have killed any normal man. A moment later his Trojans came pouring through the shattered gate like floodwater over a crumbling dam, slaughtering all before them. Desperate Greek defenders leaped down from the walls to try to halt their advance, and any semblance of order vanished. The fire of battle now raged in the center of the Greek camp.

The guards who had followed Renie and the others from the high king's hearth rushed forward to join their comrades, leaving the prisoners alone. “Hell!” Jonas fumed. “The Trojans are between us and Orlando! We'll never sneak past without someone seeing us.”

Already a group of warring soldiers had spun out of the battle toward them, locked breast to breast and oblivious, as though the conflict itself were throwing out a tentacle toward Renie and her companions in an attempt to draw them in. Jonas threw down their bundled weapons and slashed the cord with his short sword, but it was almost too late: a Greek soldier rushing to aid his comrades saw T4b and abruptly changed direction to try to put a spear through him. The intended victim snatched one of the newly untied spears from the ground just in time to knock away the first lunge, but the other man had a shield and he did not. Even as Renie scrambled for a spear of her own, a Trojan arrow struck the Greek in his unprotected back and flung him onto the ground. He crawled away, leaving a red trail on the sandy soil.