Pandora Gets Vain (Pandora (Hardback)) (19 page)
That sight was all the jolt Pandy needed to focus again. She stopped dancing and walked quickly to Iole.
As good a time as she was having, Iole saw the serious look on Pandy’s face and instantly stood still.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s right,” Pandy said. “I think I know how we can get to Alexandria . . . tonight!”
9:57 p.m.
Pandy and Iole ran out of the tangerine tent as the dancing continued inside.
The spot where Alcie had tumbled through was now on the farthest side away from them.
“This way is shorter,” said Iole, running to the left.
“No, this way,” Pandy answered, dashing off to the right.
“All right. Great Aphrodite, it doesn’t really matter,” said Iole racing past Pandy.
When they arrived at the place where Alcie should have been, however, she was nowhere to be found; only the bottom of the tent jumbled in upon itself and two left-foot tracks leading off a short distance before disappearing completely.
“Alcie!” Pandy cried. They were on the perimeter of the camp, now completely deserted. Pandy saw the silver slug trail only a few meters away, hoping against hope that Alcie hadn’t stumbled into it.
“Come on.”
They ran as fast as they could to Usumacinta’s garlic-shaped tent. It too was deserted.
“Where did she go?” asked Iole.
“All right,” said Pandy. “First, we find Wang Chun Lo. I have to speak to him right now. Then we’ll find Alcie. I’m sure she’s back in the main tent or she found the cooking tent and she’s eating again or . . . or . . . I don’t know, but she’s around somewhere.” The notion that Alcie might have accidentally fried herself like a little beetle sent a shiver up Pandy’s spine, but she didn’t want to unnecessarily alarm Iole.
Unbeknownst to either of them, Alcie was in none of those places.
Alcie sat up on the sandy ground, having just crashed her way through the tent, and batted at the heavy fabric still caught around her feet. As she cleared the last of it away, she burst into tears.
She stood up and tried to walk in a straight line back toward the garlic-shaped tent but, as usual, her feet kept taking her to the right. She was so tired of her miserable condition (her “bipedal challenge,” as Iole called it) that every step brought more tears. She realized that, as she danced, she’d been happy for the first time in days. Every rare, fleeting moment of joy since she’d left Athens was consistently taken from her as soon as it arrived. She gave up struggling against her feet and just veered, willy-nilly, into the camp, weeping dejectedly and not very softly.
Suddenly, she hit a tree. Before she could fall backward, however, two massive arms caught her and stood her upright again.
Alcie looked up in the light from the half moon and saw Homer staring down at her.
“Oh . . . hi,” she said, turning her face away.
“Hi.”
“I’m sorry I walked into you. I thought you were a tree. Not to say that I walk into trees. I just . . . oh, apples,” she said, a quiver in her voice, “wasn’t paying much attention.”
Homer continued to hold her by her arms. Alcie, even though she was terribly embarrassed that he was seeing her crying and disheveled, let herself just . . . kinda . . . collapse. And still he held her. After a moment, he picked her up and carried her to the circle of animal cages in the center of the camp. He found two that were empty, placed her gently on top of one, and sat down himself on the other, which promptly exploded underneath him.
“I’ll stand.”
“Thanks. For . . . carrying me . . . for that,” said Alcie. Then she began crying again. “I just can’t walk anymore!”
Homer was silent for a long time. So long, in fact, that Alcie had time to stop sniffling. She began to think he was just tolerating her; that he really thought she was foolish, with her wisecracking mouth and bizarre feet. Her situation wasn’t really her fault in the first place! Okay, so she wasn’t Pandy, and she was certain that she’d seen the way he looked at Pandy. Why was he even being nice to her? And then she started to get angry.
“Lemons. I’m gonna go . . .”
“Can I read something to you?” he said abruptly.
“Um. Okay,” she answered hesitantly. “What I mean is, of course you can. May. You may. Yes. Please.”
“It’s a poem.”
“Oh! Huh? A what?” she cried, then, “When did you write a poem?”
“Just now. But I’ve been working on it in my head for a few hours.”
Homer unfolded a small piece of parchment.
“What’s it about?”
“Just some thoughts,” Homer replied, but his hands were shaking slightly.
He cleared his throat twice and began to read, never taking his eyes from the page.
The poem wasn’t very long; it contained a few words that Alcie didn’t understand exactly, she only knew that hearing them gave her an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach, like she had swallowed butterflies. Then she realized it was a love poem . . . actually more of a “deep, deep like” poem. It was about a boy and a girl who came from different worlds, but he had grown to care about her in the short time they’d known each other.
And then Alcie’s stomach dropped out of her body and onto the ground. It was about Pandy. He used words like funny, smart, loyal, lovely, and courageous. At least, Alcie determined, the bigger words he used meant exactly those same things. She felt herself getting ill. Suddenly, it occurred to Alcie that it was far too dark for him to be able to read anything: he’d memorized every word. And now he wanted her opinion; after all, she knew Pandy almost better than anyone in the world. How cruel this was. She hung her head, wanting to be anywhere else. The Chamber of Despair, the flames of Tartarus, anywhere. But something ugly inside made her stay until he finished, as if she wanted to see how bad it could actually get, this new feeling of her heart eating its way out of her chest.
And then it was over.
Neither of them moved.
“I guess you don’t like it,” Homer said finally, the hand with the parchment dropping slowly to his side.
“Prunes,” Alcie said to herself. Then she did the bravest thing, she was certain, she’d ever done. She raised her head and looked right at him.
And she smiled.
“It’s just wonderful,” she said. “It’s better than anything I’ve ever heard. And . . . and . . .”
She paused, fighting back tears.
“. . . I’m sure she’ll really, really like . . .”
Then Homer bent way down and kissed her. Very softly. And rather fast. Not quite on her mouth, but close to it; close enough so she understood.
“I’m sorry I did that,” he blurted out. “Okay . . . um . . . not really. But I just don’t know if I’ll get another chance . . . to tell you. You’re very cool. Uh . . . special. At least, I think so. Anyway, I hoped you’d like the poem.”
“Huh?”
Homer only smiled.
As her heart thumped wildly, perfectly at home in her chest, Alcie thought of all the great moments in her life. The first time she laced her sandals by herself. The instant when she knew she and Pandy had become best friends. The day she heard four other girls in the Athens marketplace say that she had the prettiest eyes of anyone they knew. The moment she decided to help Pandy on her quest.
This moment topped them all.
10:08 p.m.
“Alcie!”
Iole and Pandy came running up to Alcie and Homer as a few of the performers began to filter back through the camp.
“Oh good, Homer, you’re here too. Alcie, we’ve been looking all over—Gods!” Pandy interrupted herself. “Alcie . . . are you all right? You’ve been crying.”
“Are you hurt?” asked Iole.
Alcie smiled.
“Not a bit,” she said. Hopping down from the cage, she stumbled back slightly only to be caught again by Homer.
“Never been better,” she said with utmost sincerity. “What’s up?”
“We have to find Wang Chun Lo,” said Pandy.
“Pandy has an idea,” said Iole. “Although I still don’t think he’ll let us do it.”
“Do what?” asked Alcie.
“Come on,” said Pandy, heading off toward the other side of the camp.
“Wait,” said Alcie. “If you want to find him, why don’t we just go back to the big orange?”
“Tangerine,” said Iole.
“Tangerine, orange! Figs, let’s just go back there.”
“Because,” said Pandy, marching on, “that’s the show tent and the feast tent. It’s sort of the general, all-purpose tent, I think. He’s got to have private quarters and I’m going to find them.”
“Well . . . all right then,” said Alcie, struggling to hurry. Without warning, Homer was at her right side, his hand almost imperceptibly on her elbow, guiding her straight ahead.
They poked their heads into the pistachio, jar, and floor-pillow tents. All of them were still empty and there was no clue that any of these might be the private tent of Wang Chun Lo.
Pandy was about to look into the sky-colored staircase tent when she caught the shiny gray mass of the slow-moving slug tent out of the corner of her eye. She dashed off in its direction.
“Excuse me?” she said, calling up to the sentry at the head. “Excuse me, Shahriyar, is it? Hello?” Without even looking down, he pointed toward the rear of the slug, indicating that anyone who might speak to her would only be back there.
She walked swiftly to the rear as Iole, Alcie, and Homer caught up.
“What is this?” asked Alcie.
“We didn’t see this when we got our tour,” said Iole.
“It’s the sentry tent,” said Pandy. “Whatever you do, don’t walk in the slime trail.”
“And you needed to warn me
not
to do that . . . why?” asked Alcie.
“It’s the main protection for the camp,” said Pandy. “It will kill you instantly. Somehow, these men create it.”
“Who are they?” asked Iole, looking up at the sentries.
“We are the Caliphs! ‘Channels of Earthly Displeasure,’ ” cried Abdul-Rashid al Ahmed, glaring at Pandy. “Why have you returned, woman?”
“I need your help,” said Pandy. “Can you tell me which tent belongs to Wang Chun Lo?”
“I will tell you nothing,” snipped Abdul-Rashid. “Already because of you I must shave my head. And now you have brought other women with you? Wait.”
He brandished his curved sword at Homer.
“You there, are you a woman?”
“No,” said Homer.
“Then I shall speak only to you.”
“You have
got
to be kidding,” said Alcie loudly.
“Shh!” Pandy whispered. “We don’t have time to argue. Homer, will you ask him, please?”
“Uh, can you tell me . . .”
“I’m certain had he wanted you to know, he would have told you himself,” Abdul-Rashid interrupted, picking his teeth with the tip of his blade.
“Tell him it’s very important,” whispered Pandy. “A matter of life and death!”
Homer paused.
“Noble sir,” he said. “It’s really . . . uh . . . not important at all. I just wanted to ask his advice on which of these . . . um . . . women would make the best serving girl. But you’re probably right. And when I see him tomorrow, I’ll tell him that you . . . y’know . . . thought the question wasn’t worth his time. I’ll tell him you made the decision for him. So, which one do you think should . . . uh . . . serve me?”
“Brilliant,” mused Iole.
Abdul-Rashid was silent so long that they all had to take several steps sideways to keep up with the slug.
“The clearing,” he said finally.
“The clearing, oh honorable one?” asked Homer.
“Yes, of course. You see the tents arranged in a circle. Find the longest space between two tents. There you will find Wang Chun Lo.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Homer, bowing deeply before turning his back on the slug tent.
