Timothy Boggs - Hercules Legendary Joureneys 03

by The Eye Of The Ram

  The bandit, who may have been terrified but wasn't stupid, didn't. He didn't stop praying either.

  She grunted and swung. Missed. Spun. Grunted and swung. And began to wobble a little.

  Hercules realized she was making herself dizzy.

  He also realized that Peyra had drawn up her legs and cupped her hands around her knees. Bemused, she watched the Harpy, then watched Sid, then watched the Harpy again. Hercules had a feeling this whole affair somehow didn't quite live up to the battle stories she had listened to around the village campfire.

  It was about this time that Agatra's bandit finally understood that luck was on his side for a change.

  When Agatra swung, and missed, and hung upside down cursing, he took off into the woods. Not long after that, Hercules decided it was time to do something about Sid; he looked down, and grunted when he saw that his legs were unencumbered—the bandit leader was gone, and so was Chicus.

  The evening was silent.

  Not even the sound of running footsteps.

  "You know," Peyra said with a shake of her head, "I simply had no idea."

  Nightfall was complete.

  After making sure Peyra would be able to handle a woozy Agatra and get her back to the cave, Hercules strode angrily toward Phyphe, a switch in one hand whipping every shrub and bole he passed.

  The switch didn't last very long.

  Neither did the anger; it soon passed into disgust.

  He had been a fool, and he was not only disgusted at himself, he felt like a complete idiot for being so blind. The attack on Peyra had obviously been a trap set to lure him in. Not to kill him, but to stall him.

  Had Sid and his three cronies really wanted him to die, they would have used swords, or worse. They may have been hard men, but they weren't the kind who would bludgeon a man to death.

  Something was up in town, he knew it, and he suspected he was far too late to stop it.

  It was, he figured, another robbery.

  Viciously he kicked a rock in his way, sending it whistling through the night until it buried itself in the bole of a black-bark oak.

  "Jerk," he muttered. "Fool."

  When he reached the road and headed for town, he calmed down enough to understand that it wasn't just tonight that bothered him. It was everything.

  From the very beginning he hadn't taken Salmoneus' problems all that seriously. Salmoneus was part of the problem, of course, simply by being Salmoneus, but that was no excuse.

  He should have known there was something else going on, something besides the minor disasters that had beset the Traveling Theater of Fun. After all, hints and clues had been throwing themselves in his way ever since he'd first arrived, and all he had done was trample them without thinking.

  That wasn't like him.

  It wasn't like him to slough off being drugged; it wasn't like him not to pursue the odd tremors he'd felt in the middle of the night; it wasn't like him to ignore what had happened in the arena today.

  Nothing he had done was like him at all.

  It was almost as if Circe or one of the Sirens had cast one of their enchantments, blinding him to the truth without him realizing it.

  Making him complacent.

  It was ...

  He stopped, blinked, and whacked his forehead with the heel of one hand.

  It was like ... magic.

  A full minute passed before he began to smile.

  Well, he thought, I guess it's time I did something about it.

  And since strangling Salmoneus for getting him into this was out of the question, he would start with the reason he had been lured into tonight's trap.

  The reason, and the person behind it.

  12

  Phyphe had no actual protective wall. Because of its circular construction, the sides and backs of its outer buildings served the same purpose. As a result, there were four primary entrances to the town itself, each flanked by thick, ten-foot-high poles; atop the poles were torches that burned from dusk to dawn.

  Salmoneus stood just outside the north entrance, staring glumly at his flickering shadow. He knew that out there in the dark were a scattering of trees and the fields that supplied Phyphe with its crops and cattle. A simple life. A life that had no room for a man of real vision.

  He sighed.

  He scratched his beard.

  He took a few steps up the road and squinted, trying to force a vision out of the dim shapes the torchlight created. What he wanted was a sign that Vaudalville was really going to work. That he had really hit the Big Vision this time.

  What he got was a headache.

  He also got the distinct impression that the earth was about to move.

  He turned slowly, holding his breath as he licked his lips nervously.

  He could see farther down the street than he could up the road, because several businesses along the way had lanterns burning above their doorways. The street was empty, not even the shadow of a scroung-ing mongrel or prowling cat.

  A glance up at the torches; they burned steadily, without a breeze to twist them.

  He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He was tired, that's all. It took a lot of work to pull something like Vaudalville together time after time. A lot of work to keep his performers from tearing each other's throats out when they thought he was favoring one over another. A lot of work searching for the one act, the one person, the one performing genius that would make his fortune.

  At first he had believed that person was Dragar. Although the man acted like a bumbling fool most of the time, once he was in front of an audience he was transformed. But you could only pull so many ribbons from a kid's ear, so many fireballs from the palm of a hand, before people became bored and wanted to see more.

  Now that Merta woman, she had promise. If only he could figure out what she lacked. She wasn't gor-geous, not like Aulma, although she was attractive enough; she wasn't flashy, not like Delilah, but she seemed to have presence. It's just that she wasn't ... quite ... right.

  Hercules, of course, could easily be that Big Act, but it wouldn't happen. He didn't have show business in his blood, not like Salmoneus. That wasn't a bad thing; it just wasn't going to make his fortune.

  He sighed aloud and decided he might as well get on to bed. He had another busy day tomorrow, and needed all the rest he could get.

  But he didn't move.

  The feeling hadn't left.

  Again he looked around and saw nothing; again he checked the sky and saw nothing.

  Now he wished Hercules was with him. Demigods had a way of sensing things, and Hercules was better than most. Even if he didn't appreciate the genius behind the concept of the Red Power Beast.

  Demigods may be demigods, but they didn't always have vision.

  His own, latest vision was that if he took one step, then whatever was about to happen would happen.

  So all he had to do was stand here for a while, and it, whatever it was, would get tired of waiting and go away.

  Demigods didn't think that way.

  So, as slowly as he could without giving himself cramps, he settled cross-legged in the middle of the road, arranged the hem of his robe demurely around his shins, and waited.

  Virgil stumbled out of the darkened house, stumbled down the street toward the inn where he was staying, and nearly fell when his right leg decided it didn't really want to work anymore.

  He was exhausted.

  He had had no idea being Salmoneus' road manager entailed so much work besides managing. Every other muscle ached, and the muscles that didn't ache felt as if they had turned to water.

  He was young and reasonably healthy, but at this rate, keeping Olivia Stellas out of the arena was going to turn him into an old man before the end of the week.

  If it didn't kill him first.

  He turned a corner blindly, and collided with someone, who cursed and shoved him hard into a wall before hurrying away.

  "Hey," he said, "watch where you're going." He rubbed the ba
ck of his head gingerly. "Drunk."

  Before he could take another step, however, someone else ran into him. As he fell back he reached out to grab the man, caught only a piece of sleeve, and was slammed into the wall again.

  This time the "Hey" was rather feeble, since the back of his skull hit the stone harder. In fact, the force of the collision finished doing to his legs what Olivia had started—they stopped functioning completely, and he slid dazed to the ground.

  "Vaudalville," he said grumpily to the empty street, "sucks."

  But he didn't try to get up.

  On top of everything else, he had the clear impression that any movement on his part would cause something worse than a couple of collisions with a couple of drunks. So he sat there, humming quietly, waiting for the stars that danced in front of him to go away.

  Flovi didn't know what to say, and so he said nothing.

  Merta didn't know what to say, and so she blathered and babbled and felt a fierce blush set fire to her cheeks.

  They had worked most of the evening outside the stable, Flovi with his flute, she with her considerable knowledge of songs both local and from parts of the world Flovi had never even heard of. They knew from the first note that they complemented each other well; yet they also sensed there was something not quite right with what they did.

  Finally, although they were pleased with the way they sounded, that missing "something" frustrated them into a silence that lasted until Flovi's stomach growled. That produced a round of giggles, some pleasant embarrassment, and a leisurely meal at the nearest tavern, during which they traded dreams and lives. And a few lies to make them sound better.

  Eventually the dinner had to end.

  Flovi, being the gentleman, offered to walk Merta home.

  Merta, not being stupid, accepted.

  The silence returned when they reached the door of her home, broken when Merta couldn't stand it any longer. She had no idea what to say, and so said it at length, thinking that sooner or later he would stop her. Preferably with a kiss. She had a feeling that his mustache would tickle, and she looked forward to it with an intensity that took her breath away.

  And, not Coincidentally, shut her up.

  "Uh," Flovi said.

  Merta smiled. He was cute. A little mature for someone of her age, but definitely cute.

  "You see," Flovi said, staring wildly at the door, the windows, the roof, the street.

  Merta, who realized that this was almost exactly like getting the stupid jackass out of its stall when all it wanted to do was sleep and eat, took his hand.

  Flovi swallowed.

  "I know you're new in town," she said, suddenly unable to meet his gaze, "but it's customary in Phyphe for a young man to bestow a good evening kiss on a young woman, especially when the young man has spent all day with the young woman working hard to perfect the young woman's musical skills. For which assistance, it goes without saying, the young woman is very, very grateful." She looked and smiled. "it beats mucking out the stables any day."

  To her relief he grinned.

  To her astonishment, and delight, he leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips.

  "Oh, my," she said breathlessly.

  "You ... felt it?"

  She nodded. "It almost moved, didn't it?"

  At which point they realized that this wasn't exactly the stage of the game where the earth was, in fact, supposed to move. It wasn't, in fact, supposed to do much of anything. "What is it?" she whispered fearfully. He shook his head; he didn't know. Neither did she, but she was positive that if either of them moved, the earth, in fact, would, too. Not exactly, Merta thought, the way I'd planned it.

  Aulma knew she was often foolish, but did not believe she was a fool. When Dragar picked her to be his assistant, she understood immediately that he had no intention of letting his emotions get in the way of what he kept calling his ultimate plan.

  Whatever that was.

  And nothing since had changed that.

  Oh, sure, they embraced once in a while, and he had even allowed her to kiss him one night after a particularly brilliant performance in a small town not far from Sparta. But that had been it. Even popping into his room stark naked had no effect—except to make her feel like a complete idiot.

  She ought not to complain. She had volunteered for the position because she wanted out of her village.

  It was a nice place, but dull. Boring. Stultifying. She had traveled, she had seen excitement, she had eaten foods and had drinks she'd never known existed.

  But she had never been truly afraid before.

  Dragar had changed.

  He had always been a little unnerving; now he was downright scary.

  Tonight she walked the streets of Phyphe alone, unusually contemplative, wondering if maybe she ought to tell someone what she knew. The problem was, she really didn't know exactly what she knew.

  She just knew that she knew it. And if she could only figure out what it was that she knew, exactly, then maybe she could figure out if she should tell someone what she knew. Whatever that was.

  She stopped.

  She fanned herself with one hand.

  She took a deep breath and ordered herself to stop thinking like that or she'd knock herself out. At that moment two men raced past her, nearly knocking her over, and she opened her mouth to yell at them. She changed her mind when they vanished into the shadows. Instead she headed back toward the inn, thinking Dragar wouldn't like it if he found out she had left.

  She nearly tripped over a pair of legs sticking out of a wall.

  "Hey," a voice said weakly. "Watch it, okay?"

  "Virgil?" She leaned forward, peering into the shadows. "Virgil, is that you? Are you drunk?"

  "Yes, it's me, and no, I'm not drunk. I've been run over by a herd of cattle."

  She crouched at his feet. "Those two guys?"

  "Okay, two guys. Doesn't matter. I'm in pain."

  Her smile surprised her. Usually she paid no attention to him except to order him around at Dragar's command. She had gotten used it, kind of liked it, and now, inexplicably, felt mildly ashamed.

  "Come on," she said, holding out her hand. "Let's get back. It'll be dawn in a couple of hours."

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  His voice changed. "Aulma, can't you feel it?" She frowned. "Feel what?" "Hush."

  She did, tilting her head as though that would help her figure out what he meant. It did.

  "Uh-oh," she said. And Virgil said, "You got it."

  Back at his room, Hercules sat up suddenly. It was dark; no light came through the window. "Oh, boy,"

  he said.

  In another room bathed with green light, someone said, "Oops."

  And the earth moved.

  13

  It wasn't a quake or a tremor; the ground didn't roll or buck or twist or split apart.

  Hercules felt as if he were standing on a table, and someone had decided to move it an inch or two across the room. The shift dumped him out of bed, and he braced himself for the collapse of the ceiling, the floor, the entire building.

  Nothing happened.

  He waited a few seconds more, reminded himself to start breathing again, and hurried to the window.

  Behind him he could hear the startled cries of others who had fallen; outside, a few people milled around in the street, pointing in every direction except down and speculating at the tops of their voices that someone, somewhere, had screwed up a rite and one of the gods was ticked. As usual.

  I don't think so, Hercules thought.

  He watched for a while longer, but trouble seemed to be the last thing on those people's minds. They talked, they complained, they picked up a few fallen lanterns and pieces of roof, and one by one vanished into the night, leaving nothing but silence behind.

  Still, he kept watch.

  Five minutes later, two figures clad in black raced up the street and darted around a corner. He debated following, if only to confirm what he already s
uspected, then decided it wouldn't be worth it. Not yet.

  What he needed was more proof, and for that he would have to speak to Salmoneus first. After tonight, though, he didn't think the man would be in any condition to do anything but babble.

  He grunted and returned to his bed.

  You know, he said wordlessly to the ceiling, if anyone else were involved, this would be pretty straightforward. No complications like Harpies, magic, yellow frogs, Red Power Beasts, earthquakes that don't quake, and a tankard of drugged mead that wasn't all that good in the first place.

  Just a simple matter of getting the goods on a burglar who thinks he's uncatchable.

  No big deal.

  But no ... He had Salmoneus, and nothing, ever, was straightforward with Salmoneus.

  On the other hand, life with Salmoneus wasn't ever dull, either. Or predictable.

  Maybe, he thought, it would—

  Something touched his shoulder. "Are you going to sleep all day?" Hercules opened his eyes, closed his eyes, opened his eyes again and grinned. “I was just thinking about you."

  "You were snoring."

  It was then that he realized the room was filled with sunlight, he was hungry, and Salmoneus was as pale as the moon. He sat up, stretched, and told his friend that nothing was so important that it couldn't wait until after he had had a healthy breakfast.

  "There isn't that much food in town," Salmoneus grumbled as they went downstairs.

  Hercules shrugged. He ate. He listened as the other diners talked about the previous night, how unnerved they were, and how uncertain their futures were in a world where the gods played games with the very earth itself. They also complained darkly about those who took advantage of such terrible things, breaking into homes and stealing from those who were already frozen with fear. He gathered that the feeling was the same all over town, and it occurred to him that perhaps what had happened might actually work in his favor.

  Assuming he was right.

  When he finished his meal, he suggested to an impatient Salmoneus that he had a good idea why the more ordinary disasters had attached themselves to the traveling show.