From what he had learned so far, Phyphe had been founded either by an astute group of businessmen looking for a way to consolidate their shops along one of the area's primary caravan and travel routes, or by a bunch of drunks who stopped here because they couldn't walk any farther.
Either way, it made for an interesting setup.
Phyphe was shaped like a wheel.
All the streets were spokes out of the center, the main street being twice as wide as the others, leading to the road that made its way through the surrounding hills and valleys.
Just outside town, in a field west of the road, was Phyphe's somewhat petite version of a big-city coliseum: two crescents of six rows each, facing a small paving-stone floor where the community's major events were celebrated. Virgil estimated a hundred people could fill this coliseum; two or three, if they didn't take deep breaths. Between the crescents, gaps barely the width of two men walking abreast provided entrance and exit.
The outer stone wall was the biggest problem. Despite its height, a quick survey of the surrounding area made him suspect a lot of folks just climbed to the roofs of the nearest buildings to watch whatever was going on. For free. Something would have to be done about that. Perhaps—
"Ah, Virgil, there you are," a husky voice said.
He prayed for strength, resolution, and, in a pinch, invisibility.
This was the most difficult part of all his assignments—negotiating with town leaders for percentages of the profits. Unfortunately Phyphe had a leader of the leaders, and last night it was clear she had more in mind than just a simple handshake to close the deal.
"Olivia," he said warmly, fixing a welcoming smile in place as he turned. He made a show of checking the sun. "Right on time. Wonderful. Wonderful."
Olivia Stellas was of indeterminate age. Her face was smooth and taut. Very taut. So taut that Virgil wondered when he first saw her why her ears were still on the sides of her head. Her hair was incredibly, unnaturally black and long, and elaborately braided into a high cone-like pile, with two coy curls dangling at her temples; there wasn't a doorway in town she could walk through without ducking. Her lips were thick and red, her eyes dark and unreadable, her nose the only feature that had sharp angles.
Virgil had a feeling that whenever she walked on the beach, sharks for hundreds of miles around ducked for cover.
She linked her arm with his and led him into the arena, gliding, eyes shifting constantly, head up as if testing the air.
"My sources tell me you've had troubles recently."
"Rumors," he assured her, patting her hand and suppressing a shudder. "Jealous rivals."
"The earth tremors?"
"Coincidence."
"The fire?"
"A drunk knocked a torch over at the entrance."
"The riot?"
He grinned. "Three men fighting over Miss Delilah, our contortionist."
"Hyanth?"
They stopped in the center.
"Really, Olivia," he said. "A man turned into a frog?" He laughed as a man of the world laughs with a woman of the world at the way rumors persist in the lives of the rubes of the world.
Olivia didn't laugh. She smiled. Tautly.
Virgil shuddered again, especially when she bumped her hip against his and suggested they repair to the nearest quiet place in order to complete the arrangements.
He agreed.
She winked.
He thought, I want a raise.
• • •
In the beginning, Dragar only wanted to be a competent trickster—a man who could pull rabbits and rats out of a cap, pull ribbons out of his ear, and make people laugh when he pulled a dinar from the nose of an unsuspecting audience member. As a young man he had been short and dumpy; a young man he had a terrible stutter; as a young man he had been tormented and beaten up and shunned and reviled.
As a young man he had been a lousy magician. He had little flair, little skill, and every time he lowered his arms, a chicken fell out of his sleeve.
Dragar Illarius didn't want to be a magician anymore.
He wanted more.
Much more.
He stood in the center of the room that mop-head, Virgil, had secured for him, and scanned the chests that held his props. He was no longer short, no longer dumpy; he no longer stuttered, and no longer cared whether people liked him or not.
"You want the big bed or the little one?"
He closed his eyes briefly. "The big one, of course," he said to the woman in the adjoining room.
"You always get the big one."
"I'm the star. I deserve it."
Aulma came to the connecting door and put her hands on her hips. Nice hips, Dragar thought as an unbidden smile touched his lips; nice everything else, too, but really nice hips.
She pouted. A practiced pout he had seen a hundred times, and ninety-nine times it had almost worked.
The one time it had worked she didn't have anything on but her long blond hair, so he didn't count it.
"I'm hungry," she said, still pouting while she fluffed her hair.
"I have work to do."
"You always have work to do."
He smiled, and smiled more widely when she took an involuntary step back. He had smiles and he had smiles, and this smile was the one that reminded her of her station, and what would happen if she tried to raise it. Or forget it.
She glanced at the far corner.
He didn't look; he didn't have to.
It was there. He could feel it. He could feel the energy that cloaked it like a veil. He could feel the promise it had made when he created it, six months ago.
He could feel the power.
"It's glowing," she whispered fearfully.
"It's all right," he assured her. "Nothing to fear." As long as I'm around was the unspoken warning.
She licked her lips nervously, her hands clasped to her chest. "I..." She swallowed. "When we got here last night?" She swallowed again. "I felt it, Dragar." A tentative smile. "I think I really felt it."
So had he.
As soon as he had stepped into the middle of this pathetic town's pitiful excuse for a crass coliseum, he had felt the tingle work its way up his spine, spread across his shoulders, and down to his fingers. So disgusted was he by the venue, he had been taken by surprise when the feeling struck him.
"Four," she said, daring a step into his room.
He nodded.
"The last?"
He nodded again, once, slowly.
Another step, close enough for her to take his hand. "And then what?"
He pulled her into an embrace, holding her head against his chest while he looked at the eyes that glowed and pulsed in the corner.
You have no idea, he thought grimly; my dear, you have no idea what I'm going to do now.
"I'm going to be a star!" Merta declared angrily. "Nothing you can do will stop me. I'm going to travel to every kingdom and make kings grovel at my feet. I'm going to make a fortune and have a kingdom of my own. I'm going to make Zeus so jealous, he'll make me a goddess in charge of all the gold and silver in the world! That's what I'm going to do and no one is going to stop me!"
She inhaled sharply, held the breath until her cheeks began to quiver, then exhaled in such a rush that she became light-headed and had to sit on the stool behind her.
Still, it was a good speech. A few more practices, and she'd actually give it to someone besides the jackass.
Which, in its stall, snorted, twitched its ears, and grabbed another mouthful of hay. It didn't seem terribly impressed.
"Really," she told it. "As soon as they get here, I'm going to audition, they'll make me a star, and I'm gone. Outta here. No more mucking about." She glared around the eight-stall stable. "Absolutely no more mucking about."
The jackass chewed.
In the last stall to her left a bony gray mare hung its head over the door and flubbered its lips.
"Yeah, yeah," she said. "Easy for you to say."
Th
e mare flubbered again.
Merta sighed, and began humming. She had a good voice. She knew she had a good voice. Everybody who heard her told her she had a good voice. The trouble was, the people who heard her were the same people who had heard her all her life, and they never paid for listening.
But ever since she had seen the notices announcing the imminent arrival of the Salmoneus Traveling Theater of Fun, she knew her destiny was on the way. This Theater thing had already garnered great attention, travelers passing word of marvels and wonders and thrills and laughs, and, most importantly, it was worth every dinar. Some had even seen it three and four times.
Destiny, she thought longingly; my destiny has arrived.
The mare flubbered.
The jackass kicked the wall.
Her mother yelled from the corral, something about the pig getting its head caught in the fence again.
Merta burst into song as she got to her feet.
Destiny.
And the jackass's ears stopped twitching.
Just to the east of Phyphe the forest had been cleared for farmland. A wide stream flowed through it, making its way from the hills to the west, across the fields and into the trees again, where it meandered until the land abruptly dropped. The resultant waterfall was nearly fifty feet high, the frothing pool at its base deep and long and rich with life. The downstream water was deeper still, and fishermen loved it. Lovers did, too, sitting on the grassy banks beneath the shade of ancient oak and myrtle, sipping wine, eating bread, fooling around. Children played here. Old men and old women reminisced here..
A young stag stepped cautiously out of the trees near the pool. It sniffed the air, checked the rocky bank across the way, and remained motionless for several long seconds before dipping its head to drink.
It never saw the flash of sharp green fire.
5
The road to Phyphe split just on the other side of a fast-running clear stream. Hercules watched the two wagons until they rumbled out of sight, slipping around a bend choked with high brush. They had taken the right fork; he took the left, where the road eventually narrowed and followed the stream northward.
He wanted time to think. To consider. Maybe to figure out a way he could deny Salmoneus' request for help without hurting the man's feelings. He certainly couldn't do any of that while Salmoneus prattled and Flovi sang and the horses threatened to revolt.
The sound of the water was soothing; the serenity of the woodland was calming.
He walked slowly, now and then watching the sunlight flare off the stream's surface, now and then looking for a stout branch he could use to whack himself on the skull for even thinking about getting involved.
Still, he had to admit that Salmoneus' problem was intriguing.
He just wasn't sure where exaggeration ended and the truth began.
During the past half year, the genial hustler had decided to expand his Vaudalville idea into something far more complex than a simple traveling sideshow. Permanent theaters or arenas in several towns were the goal, each spaced far enough apart so there would be little overlap in what he called the customer base.
Acts would rotate among the theaters regularly: continuous entertainment, never the same performers twice in one month, low prices, guaranteed fun, and not a single play about frogs among them.
Salmoneus had slapped a thigh for emphasis. "When it's settled, my friend, all I'll have to do is sit back and count the dinars, weigh the gold."
"You won't manage them yourself?"
"Of course not. I can't be in all those places at the same time. I'm not a god, you know, like some people I know."
"Ah." Hercules finally spotted the flaw. At least, the first flaw he could pick out among all the others clamoring for his attention. "So you'll—"
"Handpick my managers. Absolutely. Trusted men and women who will—"
"Rob you blind," Hercules finished with a grin. "But if anything goes wrong, you get the blame."
Salmoneus started to protest, considered, tucked his tongue into the corner of his mouth and considered a while longer, shook his head, reformulated the protest, and finally slumped back in exhaustion.
' Not that it will happen," Hercules said quickly to the dismay on his friend's face. "You'll just have to be careful, that's all. As," he added as sincerely as he could without breaking into hives, "you always are."
"It's a good idea," Salmoneus muttered petulantly.
"Of course it is."
"A bountiful idea."
"No question about it."
"An entertainment innovation never before seen by the human race."
"Not even by the gods."
"You're lying to protect my feelings."
Hercules grinned again. "Through my teeth."
Salmoneus came within a hair's breadth of losing his temper, sagged again, and laughed, this time rue-fully. "I do get enthusiastic, don't I."
Hercules nodded.
"But I know it'll work, Hercules. I know this will work. If only I could find out who didn't want it to."
Protection of the idea, however, was not why Hercules had agreed to think about endorsing Salmoneus'
scheme. If only half the tales of woe his friend had told him were accurate, this venture had turned into something quite a bit more than one rival trying to sabotage another.
Especially since, in this case at least, Salmoneus had no rivals.
In one village a small flood had wiped out half the crops; Salmoneus claimed there hadn't been a cloud in the sky all day. The villagers kept their rites on schedule, so a cranky god wasn't the answer either. It had just.. . happened.
Another village had nearly burned down when an alleged pillar of fire appeared briefly outside the building where the performances were being held. That the pillar lasted only a few seconds was the main reason only a shop was leveled, and a couple of eyebrows singed.
Fights had broken out in otherwise peaceful audiences; Miss Delilah the Contortionist's costumes had been slashed to ribbons; the jugglers, Clova and Aeton, claimed they had been poisoned; unknown thieves had robbed three taverns in three different towns.
"And in Hyanth," Salmoneus concluded, nearly wailing, "some kid was turned into a yellow frog!"
Hercules didn't bother to hide his disbelief.
"Really, Hercules, I'm not kidding. Poof! Man one minute, frog the next." Salmoneus shrugged. "Most amazing thing I ever saw."
"A... frog."
"Well," he said grudgingly, "I'm sure it was a trick of some kind. Dragar—he's one of my main attractions—says only a god can turn a man into a frog."
"Who's Dragar?"
"A magician."
"Magician?"
“Magician. You know—dinars out of noses, ribbons from your ears, that sort of thing." Salmoneus shrugged. "Actually, he's really quite good. You'll like him. Well, not him, personally. Personally, he's a little bit on the dim side, and very forgetful. He's also kind of a snob. Thinks he's ready for the big time and keeps asking for more money." He laughed a little. "What he doesn't know is, he is in the big time. Or as big as it gets around here."
And so it had gone, one minor disaster after another. Word spread. Engagements had been canceled.
Threats had been made. Money was lost. Salmoneus was being hurt where it hurt the most— right in the heart of his purse.
Hercules couldn't find the branch, but he did find a large pool that spread from the base of a beautiful, narrow waterfall. Since he couldn't decide what to do about Salmoneus, he decided to do something about the afternoon's heat. He stripped quickly, stretched, and dove in.
The water was clear, and he grinned at the small colorful fish who scooted away when he invaded their world. A push off the rocky bottom brought him back to the surface; a deep breath sent him under again, listening to the muted thunder of the waterfall, watching the seductive sway of underwater plants leaning in and out of the languid twisting current.
Only when his lungs began to burn did he head up,
fast, breaking into the air explosively, gasping for breath, laughing aloud, and grateful that the cool water had cleared his head.
And suddenly aware that he wasn't alone.
He turned, and blinked in astonishment at the woman treading water behind him.
He blinked again when she yelled, "How dare you!" and slapped him a good one right in the jaw.
He went under, came up sputtering, and went down a second time when she slapped him again.
This time he took no chances. He stayed under and swam for shore, using submerged rocks as a makeshift staircase to bring him to the grassy bank. Once out, he fumbling hastily into his pants and reached for his boots.
He spotted the woman on the other side, ducking behind a large bush.
Although the waterfall was a good hundred feet away, its constant thunder thwarted his attempts to call out an apology. Instead, he finished dressing, using his sleeveless shirt to dry his chest and arms. Then he spread it on the grass beside him for the sun to do its work.
Much to his disappointment the woman remained hidden.
Not that he would soon forget her.
From the glimpse he had gotten before she'd slugged him, he knew she was lovely, that she had long blond hair darkened by the water, and that she had been absolutely naked.
He touched his jaw gingerly.
Her slap had been pretty good, too. He had a feeling she'd had lots of practice with that swing.
He smiled and shook his head. It figured. Salmoneus and a beautiful woman come into his life on the same day—one wanted him to save a business, the other wanted to take off his head.
He didn't bother looking around; he didn't think he'd be able to find a cave.
Yet it would be nice if, once dressed, she showed herself so he could tell her he was sorry. And seeing her again wouldn't be all that terrible either.
He tensed then, waiting for an all-too-familiar pang of guilt, and was a little surprised, and saddened, when it didn't happen. A long time had passed since the murder of his wife and children, and it had taken all of that time for him to finally understand that nothing he did was going to bring them back.
Timothy Boggs - Hercules Legendary Joureneys 03 Page 3