The Python of Caspia

by Michael Green

  “What kind of work?” He glanced at Letty who trembled.

  Pythia glided over the floor in her bare feet and grabbed Andy by the chin. “You’re lucky I like your face—I’d have anyone else thrown into the sea for so many insulting questions. Now hurry, we’re going to the disc. We’ll have to teach you as we go.”

  Andy pretended to acquiesce and turned to obey, but in an instant reached out and swiped the marble from the air. The blade shot from his hand.

  Pythia rushed towards him, a look of fury, but also betrayal flared across her face. She nearly lunged, but froze, an instant away from impaling herself on the blade. She raised a hand in anger, but then lowered it with a look of frustration.

  I felt nothing. Does clasping the marble neutralize her power over me?

  “Don’t your powers work anymore?” Andy asked.

  He saw her eye twitch.

  Pythia exhaled heavily and composed herself. “Let’s make a deal.”

  Andy tried to keep his jaw from dropping at the unexpected change in circumstance.

  Pythia seemed close to tears. “You want my new child that badly—you want to return her, and yourself, to a life of slavery.” Pythia was silent for a moment. “I will offer her alleged freedom, in exchange for your service.”

  Andy nearly leaped to agree, but managed to choke the words back. He had a sudden vision of Dean in his mind. Dean complained, “Service? Ask for the complete definition of the term before you agree!”

  “How will I serve you?”

  Pythia rolled her eyes and laughed. “In many ways, you little fool. You will obey every command without question, and you will be grateful for the new purpose that obedience creates.”

  “That sounds like a bad deal, Andy. You’d better try to negotiate—it’s not like she has a gun to your head,” Dean’s imaginary voice chuckled nervously.

  Andy grimaced and raised the weapon.

  She huffed, her face full of consideration. Suddenly Letty fell over.

  “Letty! Are you all right?” Andy wanted to rush to her side, but kept his weapon leveled.

  “Of course I’m not all right!” She leaped to her feet and rushed to attack Pythia before hitting a wall of force.

  “Don’t push your luck, girl,” Pythia scoffed and Letty skidded backwards, eventually stopping at Andy’s side. “There she is—free and unharmed. Ready to be rescued.”

  Letty stared her usual harsh daggers: first at Pythia, and then at Andy. “I won’t let you sell yourself into slavery for me. I’d rather die.” She lunged towards Pythia. “Throw me into the sea—you said you would! You sad old cow!”

  There was a loud slap and Letty recoiled.

  “Enough, please!” Andy waved the blade for silence. “I need to think.”

  “Just agree!” Pythia demanded.

  In the same instant Letty cried, “No you don’t!”

  Andy stood there silently. I need to rearrange the deal.

  “Letty goes free, to do as she wishes, you offer us your protection against Ziesqe and his creatures. If you do this, I will agree to serve you for this one night only.”

  Pythia’s face contorted in rage.

  “Listen—before you explode. I see that you want me to wield this,” he waved the blade. “I do not own the marble—it’s borrowed—and I need to return it.”

  Pythia laughed. “It’s an Argument, not a marble, silly boy, and you own it now. You’d be an even bigger fool if you simply returned it—who else can even use the cursed thing?”

  Well, Letty for one.

  Andy scowled. “A community has built up around the protection it provides.” Andy said, recalling what Quill had told him. “Lives are in the balance. I will need to return it, or whatever happens to them will be on my hands.”

  Pythia tried to scowl, but ended up with a look of surprising softness on her face. “That isn’t satisfactory.”

  Letty grabbed Andy’s arm and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Kill her, Andy! We can free everyone in Caspia!”

  Pythia cast an angry glance, but Andy saw that her eyes were fixed on Letty’s hands, specifically where Letty had grabbed him.

  Andy whispered, “Some of her people want to live here; I’ve spoken to them.”

  “Well! What is it then?” Pythia snapped.

  What would Dean do?

  Andy bit his lip before finally speaking. “I will serve you one full day a year for the rest of my life, and I will find a way to secure this or another Argument, as you call it, for that service.”

  Pythia’s brows rose as he spoke.

  “In return, any person in Caspia is free to leave on the days of my service. I will escort them wherever they wish.”

  Pythia scoffed, “None of mine would follow you.”

  “Then you don’t mind that being part of the agreement?”

  She narrowed her eyes and stared expectantly. “That’s all?”

  Andy stuttered, “No—not all, you must give me a week’s notice before my day of service, so I can make arrangements. You also provide protection from the ryle.”

  Pythia shook her head. “A day’s notice, protection only available in Caspia, and you serve tonight for free.” She held out her hand.

  Dean’s voice screamed in his head. “She’s going along too easily; there’s a problem, Andy! Check the fine print!”

  Instead of heeding the advice, Andy raised a hand and took Pythia’s. “It’s agreed.”

  “Brilliant!” Pythia snapped a finger and paper and quills floated over from a desk. The floating quills drew up two copies of the contract. “Go ahead and sign, please,” Pythia said, handing Andy a quill.

  Letty snatched the paper away from him and scanned it. Andy read and was surprised to find no fine print. Everything was as they agreed. He wondered if this was a bad sign, and wished Dean was on hand to advise.

  Letty handed him the contract. “I can’t find anything wrong with it,” she said.

  Andy signed the first contract and then the second, hoping this was the right course.

  “Fantastic!” Pythia beamed. She reached out and grabbed Andy by the wrist. “We’re off! The Nicomedian Ossuary awaits! Ah! I’m not dressed for archaeology.” She released Andy, snapped her fingers and her flowing gown morphed into khaki pants and a loose white blouse. The pins in her hair grew and sewed themselves into a white meshed pith helmet.

  Pythia looked in the mirror. “This is more for safari, but it’ll do for tomb raiding.”

  Letty gave Andy a wide-eyed look and whispered. “Can you believe this woman? She’s like a little girl.”

  Pythia spun and flourished, a silver riding crop suddenly appearing in her hand. She tapped Letty on the brow with it. “You can stay here and polish that sad face with a few more tears.”

  Andy released his grip on the marble; the blade fluttered away. His thoughts still stuck on the contract. There wasn’t any fine print, it was all as we agreed—but I know I missed something. Looking back at Letty he could see it in her face. She thought the same.

  “Come now. You’re on my time tonight, Lysander.”

  Andy followed Pythia to the back of her huge, master bedroom, while staring sadly back at Letty. Letty held onto his copy of the contract.

  She called out to him, “I’ll wait for you in the room with all the spinning tables and chairs. Come find me when you get back!”

  “I’ll be there! But go out and make sure that nothing happened to the mice, please. If you find them, tell them I’ll be late—” Andy stuttered as Pythia smacked him with her riding crop.

  “I’m in too good a mood to be hearing about rats, now, please be silent.” She gestured and a fine mosaic portrait began to open.

  The mosaic featured a joyous Pythia impaling a sea serpent with a harpoon. The mosaic was splitting open at a seam between the waves.

  She would have personalized art in her own bedroom.

  After a moment, the mosaic was split, leaving Pythia on one side, and the bleeding sea se
rpent on the other. With a grin, she led the way up the stairs that appeared beyond.

  “Come, come, we have a magnificent voyage of self-discovery ahead of us.”

  Andy cringed, the comment reminding him of overly-enthusiastic teachers. He looked back one last time at Letty’s torn face before the wall sealed shut.

  He followed along in the dark, taking the stairs carefully as he went. There was a click and a hatch opened at the top. Pythia almost floated through the hatch. Andy tried to follow, but his shoe fell off and he tripped on the last step.

  “Oh, you are useless!” Pythia snapped, her demeanor reminiscent of a child whose fun had been ruined. “But you can’t go into danger dressed like that. Hmm, I’m glad I noticed before we left.”

  She leaned her chin on the riding crop and furrowed her brow.

  “Your crab did this to my clothes, and the shoelace—”

  “Shh!” She called for silence before gesturing with her crop.

  Andy looked down and saw his clothes morph into an elaborate blackened cuirass over a white tunic, topped by a billowing burgundy cloak. Bronze arm guards ran from his wrists to his elbows, and shining greaves protected his shins. His shoes were now heavy sandals that wrapped beneath the armor up to his knees.

  “Charming! Just like a young praetorian.”

  He sighed, ignoring Pythia’s grin. Better not say anything. She could make hell for me if she wanted. Ridiculous cloaks might be the least of my worries—she mentioned going into danger.

  “What did you mean by—” Pythia frowned, cutting him short.

  “Come now. We have to draw open the gate. Where is that Juncture again? Disputabat? Yes! That’s the one; I still have creatures sieging the place.” She turned, with a hop in her stride as she walked.

  Looking around, Andy realized that he was on top of the giant lobster, somewhere close to the head; she was leading towards the tail.

  He turned and couldn’t help a quick glance down into the garden between the claws. Some of the trees are growing back already. He looked out into the city and saw that Caspia glowed. Its buildings stretched out in every direction. The towers that Arke built cut streaks across the glowing ceiling. Andy felt a tap on his head. “Come now, no time to dawdle. You do cut a fine figure in those clothes. Don’t fret, I could have dressed you up like an Elizabethan, hose and all. Now don’t push your luck with me and keep up.”

  Andy followed along. There were bridges, grown of a familiar red grass, at junctions between the huge armored plates of the lobster palace.

  After a dozen segments, they came upon a field of chalk drawings surrounding a large bone doorframe, which stood out among the geometric patterns on the floor.

  Andy felt his skin crawl and his eyes began to hurt as the symbols on the floor blurred. He shielded his face.

  Pythia raised her crop and drew long sweeping arcs in the air before her. There appeared more unfamiliar markings, shimmering and fluttering. She drew five such symbols, and as she finished the last, they exploded in a flash of light. The five symbols burned in the air. Suddenly, the empty doorway burst like a bubble. An image of a mountain fortress that reached from the cavernous floor all the way up to the ceiling appeared beyond the door.

  A portal.

  “This is a rare treat for you. There aren’t many who can call a gate like this.”

  Wind poured out from the portal and pulled at Andy’s new cloak, while the view from beyond the portal flew across a side of the fortress. It felt like looking through an airplane window. He saw spurting gouts of blue flame licking across stones and dark inky shapes racing over turrets in droves. They dashed between the flames, sticking to the jagged walls, even at right angles. Slithers. The image finally panned to the ground. There was a shore near stairs leading up to the fortress gates.

  Andy saw short, lanky, green-skinned figures littering an encampment at the base of the stairs. “What are they?”

  Pythia huffed a sound of soft annoyance at the figures milling about. “Goblins. Unsavory, yes, but loyal. Don’t be alarmed, and don’t raise a weapon to them, they’re of a nervous disposition.”

  Andy nodded.

  Pythia stepped through the flashing portal. Andy followed close behind, his armor chafing and his cloak billowing as he went.

  Chapter 13

  The Broken Teeth

  Andy stepped through the portal and stared down at a few dozen creatures, all surprised at the sudden entrance of a pair of tall humans. Pythia wasn’t lying, and though he had never seen such a thing, he looked at these shabby wretches and saw goblins.

  Pointy ears and sharp faces poked out from tents, shacks, and from behind rocks. They dressed in an assortment of tattered rags with a scant few pieces of armor here and there, and what armor there was didn’t fit or was mangled to the point of absurdity.

  Pythia was instantly set upon by the tallest and best equipped goblins. The older of the two had a shiny badge stapled to his breastplate. The badge proclaimed: Senior Marshal Squeeg. A badge on the younger read: Junior Marshal Lojjy.

  “Mist-i-ress! I beg you—if you’d please?” Lojjy implored, falling to the ground and clutching the hem of Pythia’s dress. “The starvation—destitutions! We’re a pack of implorable, incorrigibles without your beneficence! Please—”

  “No begging tonight, it spoils my temperament.” Pythia kicked him away. The collected goblins took this as a bad sign and many fell to their knees and pulled at their ears or grasped at the ground in desperation.

  The Senior Marshal stepped forward, his hand shying the Junior away. “No begging, Lojjy, ‘s why you’re only the Junior Marshal. Any upright officer knows his lady can’t rightly stand a’sight of beggardom. Now, m’lady hhrm,” he doffed his helm awkwardly, cleared his throat, and continued, “the camp suffers.” He paused to gesture at the pile of groaning goblins all around, “Slithers, the inky kind, and even brutoxeys attack at all hours. We holds em, for now, but we’ve no gainings to speak of—”

  “Before you bore me to tears, Squeeg, be quiet and listen.” She paused to let the mass of groaning goblins perk their ears. “Listen well, gobbies—I’ve good news.”

  That got their attention. Dozens more spontaneously appeared from inside the rickety shacks and tents blanketing the shore. They were starving and scared but rushed to hear the good news.

  The ground all around, for as far as Andy could see, was full of rushing goblins passing the word and muttering between themselves.

  There must be hundreds, maybe a thousand. What are they doing here? He stared at the fortress. She wants them, to capture that?

  Pythia bent low and held a finger to her lips. She looked all around, from face to filthy face. Their ruckus quieted. All Andy could hear was the nearby shore. Thousands of green, pointy ears were tense.

  This is how she does it. They just love her.

  “Tonight, you conquer!” Pythia cried.

  An immediate wave of shrill cheers had Andy plugging his ears.

  He couldn’t hear her, but Andy watched Pythia laugh as she waved to the mob. After a moment, she held her hand out for silence. “And you will be led by one of my own.” She gestured to Andy. “I have rarely seen ferocity such as his!”

  Andy nearly collapsed.

  “My own Lysander, may the spirit of Caspian guide your arm tonight!” There were a few scattered cheers but, mostly, the goblins stared.

  “He’s not our lady!” “No one kills em like she does...” He heard their muttering go back and forth. “But, m’lady, we want you!”

  “Now, now, gobbies, let him prove himself.”

  They all, Pythia included, stared at Andy, as if in expectation.

  Andy heard Dean’s voice in his head, “Better give the people what they want.”

  Do I have to?

  Andy palmed the marble and focused, he raised his fist to the air, and the blade crackled. It flickered in and out of existence. Somehow, it wasn’t working.

  The goblins took this as a g
ood sign however and cheered a cautious huzzah for the show of mystical strength. Pythia, however, raised a doubtful brow. Andy recalled the Argument failing once before. Its inconsistency made him even more nervous.

  “Say something!” Andy heard Pythia’s voice. It sounded like she was yelling into his ear, but she stood at least two dozen goblins away.

  Though willing, Andy wasn’t sure what to say. “Uhm—Gobbies! We attack the—” he studied the high path that switched back and forth past gatehouse after gatehouse to the many fortified barricades and finally to the large portcullis of the mountain fortress. “We attack the fortress—shortly!” He raised his fist and the blade crackled again.

  That was met with a few forced cheers, feet shuffling, and eyes rolling to the ground. He heard one goblin mutter, “At least he’s a big target.”

  Andy flushed; even Pythia smirked.

  Well, what do you expect? I had no idea you wanted me to lead an army of sad—unequipped—half-starved goblins!

  Andy’s glowering was interrupted by a tug at his sleeve. Squeeg and Lojjy were there. The Junior Marshal put his helmet on so he could raise the visor in salute. Andy saluted back.

  “What is your plan of attack, Supersenior?” Squeeg asked.

  Before Andy could think of an answer, Lojjy spoke up. “A Supersenior trained by Herself, o’course, would know dat a plan to attack mustest be based on basic precepts of strategical excellence. And had he hours to accumulate such specisic knowledge o’ the situation, as such it stands, he’d conclude conclusively—”

  “Spit out that pigs-water you rotten fool!” Squeeg blustered.

  “I say! He’d conclude, conclusively, that my plan would mirrory match ‘is very own plan, all thingses being equal!” Lojjy gestured with a flourish that knocked the helmet visor back down over his eyes.

  Squeeg barged past Lojjy and implored, “A fool’s plan, sir! A wrong waste of time. My plan—”

  Andy saw a muscled, well-equipped goblin not far behind the proceedings. This goblin was leering cockeyed at the marshals. He had several stripes on his shoulder plates. The goblin waved Andy over.