The Series Boxed Set

by Piers Anthony

“Unless I stunned her first, with a kiss,” I retorted. “I just might get both key and body, saving us all much grief.”

  Medea paused, so that I almost collided with her. Too bad my automatic reflexes averted that. She turned to face me. “But it would be so much fun to try it out,” she said.

  “What?” I asked, unwilling to believe that she could have read my thoughts.

  “I will even give you the Key first,” she said, proffering it to me on its chain about her neck. “Kiss me, Aladdin.” Somehow her shirt had fallen open under my nose.

  Don’t do it! both Sylvie and Myrrh cried mentally.

  Stay out of this, Medea shot back at them, mentally.

  Oh, doom! Myrrh thought. I thought she was not completely telepathic. I was wrong.

  “You were wrong,” the sorceress agreed both audibly and mentally. “You are a supremely talented child, but a child nevertheless, lacking experience. I have been on to your plan throughout.” She smiled, projecting the image of the expression to Myrrh. “But we have no need to oppose each other. All I want is to recover my beloved Jason from Hades. None of you should object to that. You can become useful allies.”

  Duban spoke, surprising me. “That is a lie, sorceress. Or at least a mere cover story. You know Jason is not worth your time. He is and always was a shallow cad, deserving only of eternal torment. You want to loose the fiends of Hades on the world, wreaking vengeance on it for making you suffer so long.”

  Medea took visible stock, appraising the boy. “You are not the mere stripling I took you for. Some day, if you survive, you will be a man to be reckoned with. But as yet you are not. You are young and naive, like Myrrh. Your magic bolt will not stun me; I am shielded against it. You are not prepared for my return thrust. I suggest that you turn around and walk back to the river, where your mother will intercept you and take you home. That will at least save your life, for the time being.”

  “You can’t talk to him that way!” I said angrily. “I’ll—”

  She turned on me a nonchalant glance that nevertheless invoked my passion full blast. “You will what? Kiss me?”

  Don’t do it! Sylvie and Myrrh chorused again.

  “Why not?” Medea asked them. “I would be satisfied to be Aladdin’s mistress.”

  She would? Now I was really interested.

  Fool! Sylvie thought. She means mistress as in the one who rules, the master, not as in girlfriend. She would be your mistress indeed.

  “Yes, but he would enjoy it, in both senses,” Medea said. “At least, for a while.” Then she addressed me again. “Take the Key.”

  I actually started to reach for it, where it hovered on its chain between her superlatively contoured breasts, unable to reach her chest because of the magnitude of the slopes below. But something in her very readiness made me pause. I may be a fool about women, but I also have a certain sense of danger, and I felt it now. “What else does this action imply?”

  “Oh, nothing much. Merely that you are freely trading me your authority over the Flying Dutchman for the Key. We will celebrate the exchange with a phenomenal union. You will like that.”

  So that was it. She was trying to seduce the Dutchman from me, so she could use it to escape once the demons of Hades had been loosed.

  “But how can they be loosed if you have the Key?” Medea asked reasonably.

  Don’t trust her! Sylvie warned.

  “But if I have the Key—”

  “Don’t do it, father,” Duban said. “She is more cunning than all of us combined. She has something in mind.”

  I sighed. They were surely correct. “Some other time,” I said, exercising more sheer willpower than I ever could have mustered had my wife’s son not been watching me. Of course I loved my wife. Of course I wanted to set a good example for the boy. But had I been alone with this fascinating creature I might have temporarily forgotten these things. Men do.

  Men do, Sylvie agreed, relieved.

  Medea turned about with a flair of her skirt and resumed her walk down the tunnel. My eyes resumed their analysis of her flexing posterior; they couldn’t help it. The skirt seemed translucent. Such a work of erotic art has seldom been crafted in the mortal realm.

  “Never been crafted,” Medea said, annoyed by the slight. She had a case.

  The tunnel expanded, becoming a grand gallery. Soon we reached the Gates of Hades. They were impressive. They were set in the wall of the cave, huge ornate curling metallic bars backed by blue screening with the words ABANDON HOPE ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE. In the center was a small access with a keyhole.

  Medea turned again to face me. The very cave seemed to pulse for a moment with her beauty, and for a moment I almost lost my balance, as if I had moved without walking. “One more time, Aladdin,” she said. “Will you make the trade?”

  Give up the ship? I wished there could be some other way. “I don’t think so.”

  “Then it is time for the showdown.” Medea took the Key and stepped toward the keyhole.

  Then hell, if you will excuse the expression, broke loose. The huge dog Cerberus appeared bounding down the hall, three heads slavering, with a woman riding at the base of each stout neck, and a fourth on the back. They all dropped off and ran toward the sorceress separately, while the dog leaped high into the air, orienting directly on Medea, who paused to face them all.

  “Ah, I forgot about the cur,” she said, seeming annoyed rather than afraid. “His telepathy cleverly masked their approach. This may be more complicated.”

  Then Duban loosed his bolt. It was not directed at me, but it felt like an elephant crashing through a stand of bamboo as it passed. It hurtled toward Medea, seeming unstoppable in its horrendous power.

  And bounced. It struck Cerberus and hurled him back. It struck the four women and froze them in place. It shoved me like a rogue wave, but I managed to keep my footing. And a back-draft struck Medea and pushed her into the Gate. “Stronger than I thought,” she gasped, surprised.

  Then the Gate disappeared. It was illusion. Behind it was a gulf, a precipice leading to a drop-off of unfathomable depth. The sorceress had deceived us all. But why?

  “The real gate is over here,” Medea said, walking back along the gallery. Sure enough, there was a far more modest gate with its own keyhole. It had been covered over by the illusion of a blank wall. The sorceress extended the key toward it, and paused again. “Aladdin, are you sure you won’t make the trade? This is your last chance.”

  She was still willing to give up her mission in order to obtain the flying ship? This did not make complete sense to me. I could not answer immediately.

  “No it isn’t!” Duban said as he charged toward her. He tackled her around the waist. Both went down in a tangle, and the key flew wide. Toward the gulf.

  I leaped toward it. But Jewel was there ahead of me. Only her balance was uncertain, probably from the recent blast, and she was about to go over the edge into the chasm. I was in range to catch the Key or my wife. Not both.

  I went for Jewel. I caught her about the waist and hauled her back onto the firm cave floor. As I did so I saw, mostly peripherally, Cerberus going for the Key. One head caught it. And inadvertently swallowed it. Then the big dog’s inertia carried him on over the brink, and he dropped out of sight. Oh, no!

  I’m all right, Cerberus thought. I can handle drops. But it will take me a while to climb out of this pit, and longer to get the Key out.

  “You should have let me go,” Jewel said. “I could have handled the drop too.”

  “No!” I said, horrified by the thought.

  Then her features changed. “Because I’m not your wife. I’m Nylon. I assumed her likeness in case the sorceress tried to kill her so as to put pressure on you. Put me on your finger and go to Jewel.” She shrank as she spoke, and in a moment was back on my finger.

  “And of course you are too late,” Medea said, extricating herself from Duban’s grasp. “I made sure of that. I unlocked the real Gate before showing you the fake, so
I could have more time to tempt you with the Key. Now it’s show time.” She flung open the smaller Gate.

  I charged her and Duban grabbed for her. We met in a tangle of arms, legs, and torsos that crashed though the Gate. But I kept my focus on what counted: I reached out and slammed the Gate shut behind us. That would keep the demons confined.

  Good show, Sylvie thought. Now how do we get out, without the Key?

  Then I realized: I had shut the gate behind us, locking us in. “Good question,” I said as I unstuck my face from a remarkable bosom and Duban escaped the scissor grip of a marvelous pair of legs. “I will get back to you on that.”

  “We have a more immediate problem,” Medea said, putting herself back together. “The fiends of Hades have arrived. I think we have become accidental allies.”

  We looked up. What appeared to be a storm of sheer awfulness was about to engulf us. We did indeed have a problem.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Is there a way to fight back, Nylon? I asked, even as the dense cloud of awfulness coalesced into many hundreds of winged demons. No, many thousands. Each had flat faces, black eyes, clawed talons and wings like dragons.

  We are in their realm, Aladdin. Here, demons have free rein. Here, there is no hope. Perhaps for all eternity. We are beyond even mortal prayers to the gods.

  And yet, we had one such god in our presence. A demigod, granted, but a god nonetheless. Medea, of course, was picking up my thoughts. She said, “Hades delights in torturing my kind as surely as he does your kind. We are doomed. We were supposed to free the demons of hell, Aladdin, not get locked inside with them.”

  Don’t listen to her, my liege, came Myrrh’s faint but urgent voice in my head. She was shielding her thoughts, directing them only at me, in a way I never fully understood but seemed to be second nature to her. She’s hatching a nefarious plan.

  What kind of plan?

  Myrrh paused, even as the demons continued to gather above us. Now they were swirling slowly. As they did, I scanned our surroundings for the first time. Before us, black rock stretched as far as the eye could see, glowing intermittently. It turned out that all the childhood stories I’d heard of the place were true, and I had no doubt that the glowing rocks were, in fact, tunnels that led to the fires of hell.

  I’m doing my best to poke around without her knowledge. Luckily, she’s distracted by the demons and fears for her own immortal soul. But I think I have a handle on her plan.

  Which is?

  She plans to use Sinbad and the Thief in exchange for her husband, Jason.

  What about her two sons?

  Her sons are not in hell. They are in Purgatory. At least, that’s what she believes. Myrrh paused again, and I knew she was probing the demigod’s mind. She’s aware that her plan may not work. Apparently, Hades is unpredictable at best, and the supreme ruler of the Underworld. Obviously, he makes the rules. Not a lesser god.

  Does she have plans for me?

  For now, she desires to return to the mortal world with you.

  What about Jason?

  With both of you. She is, after all, the goddess of lust, Aladdin. She can more than accommodate the two of you.

  Her plans for me were not important. At least, not at the moment. Escaping with Duban, Sinbad, the Thief and the nymphs was my primary objective.

  I sensed Queen Nylon and Sylvie closely following my train of thoughts. I also sensed something else from the two bound nymphs: fear. I didn’t blame them.

  From above a demon screeched, and now they all screeched, their mouths stretching wide, showing long teeth. My bowels instantly turned to water.

  Allah be with me, I thought.

  Just then a winged creature dropped from the sky, landing directly in front of us with such force that the rocky earth shook. The creature straightened slowly and its black wings folded in on themselves smoothly.

  The demon was tall and thin and looked very different than the demon I had seen in Djinnland. Perhaps that demon had been native to that world. Or perhaps there were varying degrees of hideousness. I could imagine no creature looking more foul than the one moving towards us now.

  “Seven unexpected arrivals,” it said, and although the entity spoke in a whisper, its voice carried easily. “Master will be pleased.”

  Above, the demons continued to circle and swirl. Sometimes they dipped closer, hissing and flapping their wings. Mostly, they seemed to be waiting and watching.

  Medea stepped boldly forward. “Tell Lord Hades that Medea is here to see him and to offer him a trade.”

  The entity came closer, its clawed feet clicking over the smooth stone. Its black flesh undulated with the motion, the long strips of muscle flexing. I shivered. Duban hugged my leg tightly. He was, after all, still a boy. And I was still the worst father ever.

  “A trade?” whispered the demon. “The master does not trade. The master takes what he wants.”

  “I understand that,” said Medea, folding her arms under her ample bosom. “But he might be pleased to know that Medea, Goddess of Lust, is here.”

  The demon turned its flat face to the side, so much so that I thought its head would twist off. “Yes, I imagine master will be very pleased to have the...goddess of lust as his eternal slave.”

  Medea clearly didn’t like the sound of that. She had been about to speak, but paused instead. However, she quickly collected herself. “Obviously, Lord Hades takes what he wants, when he wants here in his realm. I am only asking for an audience.”

  “Master doesn’t take audience with the damned.”

  “Technically,” said Medea, clearly thinking fast, “we are not damned. We are of the living, and should, therefore, be given a special audience with Hades.”

  “Ah, yes. The living,” said the creature, and now he stepped closer still and dipped his flat face down toward me and studied me with his round, black eyes. My bladder threatened to spill. Never had I seen something so hideous at such close proximity. “Well, we have ways of taking care of the living here.”

  “I have no doubt,” said Medea. “But first an audience with Hades. Then do what you must.”

  The demon paused in his examination of me to look back at Medea. “You are a persistent wench. Very well, I shall inquire if master will see you. It’s not often we see the living in our realm. He might have some special, ah, plans for you. Plans for your deaths no doubt.”

  The demon then flicked his hand once and three more demons descended from the sky, each grabbing one of us under the arms and lifting us into the air.

  Aladdin! came Myrrh’s frantic voice. No doubt she had seen all of this through my eyes. What do we do?

  Her voice growing fainter as we climbed higher into the black sky. Duban hung from the demon’s claws next to me, as did Medea.

  Just get the key and be ready to unlock the gate.

  What about you? she asked, although her words were only mere whispers in my thoughts.

  I’m going to figure a way out of this mess, I thought, but wondered if my words had reached the girl. After all, we had finished climbing and were now speeding rapidly through the empty skies above Hell, and toward a palace that sat high upon a steep rocky hill.

  This should get interesting.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The scenery below changed.

  Now I saw a golden river coursing between snow-capped mountains, with people disporting themselves along its banks. How could such a nice scene be here in hell? I could see that Duban and Medea were similarly curious.

  “Show them,” the lead demon said.

  The minions descended until we were flying close enough to get a better view. It was horrible. The river was not golden so much as a coursing flow of fire, liquid lava from some volcano, burning everything it touched. The men were not enjoying themselves so much as trying to cross that flow, burning their toes. Why? Because on the other side were clusters of luscious nude damsels eagerly beckoning them.

  “They are wracked with thirst,”
the demon explained helpfully. “So they eat of the snow of the mountains, freezing their faces. But when it finally melts, it is not water but lust-inciting wine that makes them utterly desperate for the company of obliging maidens. But first they must cross the river of fire. They are already dead, so it can’t kill them, but it does make them hurt as much as it would mortal folk. That makes crossing difficult.”

  “What a sublime torture!” Medea said appreciatively. “Men deserve it.”

  “It works on women too, cute buns,” the demon said. “They become as charged as the men. But they too must cross the fire, and suffer similarly. And of course when they do navigate the river and reach the handsome beckoning men, the men change their minds and ignore them. They are of course mere demons emulating human folk.”

  Medea frowned. Evidently she did not find that as amusing.

  We flew on, seeing other torture settings of all kinds, ranging from standard torture chambers to innovative vivisection. It was like looking at a crowded city from above; each section had its own specialty, but the suffering was universal. Hell was not a nice place.

  We came to a giant castle girt with flying flags. But closer up we saw that the flags were not cloth, but impaled people struggling desperately to get free but only making their condition worse. Some were men, some were women, and some were children. The din of their screaming was uncomfortable.

  “Everybody suffers,” the demon said with satisfaction. “Including the spectators.”

  We swooped into the main access and through the long passages. There were murals depicting further tortures. Then I realized that these were not paintings, but condensed scenes of actual events; the victims were moaning and bleeding.

  Then we were in the main audience hall, standing, the minions gone. There was Lord Hades, seated on a throne carved from a giant skull. “Welcome to Hades,” he said. “King Aladdin, Magician Duban, Sorceress Medea, and four others on your fingers. We seldom are visited by mortals who remain alive. To what do I owe the dubious pleasure of this visit?”