"That's it? Good-bye? That's it?"
"You want me to sing it?"
"One note," Salmoneus warned, "and I don't care who you are, I'll deck you."
Hercules mock-glared, and Salmoneus put up his fists, danced around a little, then dropped his hands and sighed. "What's the use?" he said as he walked hangdoggedly into the tunnel. "I'd only screw that up, too."
"Listen," Merta said before Hercules could go after him, "we want to thank you."
"You're welcome."
"No," Flovi said earnestly. "It's more than that, Hercules. Not only did you save my life, you also gave me a reason to live. My destiny, remember?"
Hercules nodded.
Flovi hugged Merta to him with one arm. "You heard us?"
Hercules smiled. "Beautiful. Magnificent. 1 take it you're going to travel on your own?"
Merta turned to Flovi, eyes shining. "We may not get rich, but we're going to have a wonderful time not doing it."
Flovi cupped her cheeks with his hands. "Ah," he said softly. "Sweet mystery of Phyphe, at last I've found you."
Merta blushed.
Hercules blushed and turned away, a wave over his shoulder when they bid him a farewell.
But they were right, he thought as he touched the caked blood on his arm and in his hair. They probably won't get rich, but they won't be poor either. They'll sing because they love it, and because they're good at it, and the purses they'll receive will only be a bonus.
It was, in many ways, a life much like his.
And that wasn't really a bad way to live after all.
He caught up with Salmoneus outside the arena. His friend stood with slumped shoulders amid the scattered wreckage of his caravans.
"They must have done it after they left," he said, indicating the shattered walls and smashed roof, the wheels crushed, the spokes ripped away. "I guess this really is the end of the Traveling Theater of Fun."
Hercules didn't know quite what to say. Other schemes had gone bust, but he'd never seen his friend quite so depressed. He took Salmoneus' arm and turned him toward town. "Tell you what—we'll go back to the inn, fix my head, get something to eat, something to drink, get a good night's sleep, and leave first thing in the morning."
"And go where?" Salmoneus said wearily.
Hercules shrugged. "What does it matter? We'll have a good time no matter what, don't you think?"
Salmoneus sighed loudly and lowered his head, sighed again. "I suppose."
"What's his problem?" a rasping voice demanded.
"Post-bad-guy-gets-his blues," he said as Agatra landed in front of them. Salmoneus didn't even jump.
Agatra tsked derisively.
"Speaking of which," Hercules said, looking around and not finding Dragar.
"Oh," the Harpy said. "Him." She lifted one claw and flexed the talons. "Not as young as I used to be, you know. I figured to take him where he wouldn't do anyone anymore harm, got over those bad rapids above the waterfall and ..." Her wings rose and fell in a shrug. "Oops."
"Oops?"
She shrugged again. "Life's a bitch and then you fall," she said. "An old Harpy saying."
"Well, look, I'm kind of glad you're back before I left. I, uh, wanted to thank you for..." He gestured vaguely toward the forest. "You know."
"Yeah, well..." She clawed the ground a little. "Thing is, you see, you're one of them demigod things, so you're not properly a man. So I guess I wanted to kind of. .. you know ... for the .. . you know ... back then in the .. . you know."
"I know."
She sniffed, and rubbed the side of her nose briskly. "Good. Just so you know."
Salmoneus put his hands on his hips. "Do you two have any idea what you're talking about?"
"Sure," they said.
Salmoneus sighed. "That figures."
Agatra cleared her throat, bobbed her head, and after a moment's awkward hesitation, said, "Well, look, if you're ever around Nevila, you can drop in if you want. I probably won't kill you."
"Thank you," Hercules answered solemnly. "I'll do that. It's a promise."
Agatra nodded.
He nodded.
Salmoneus sighed.
And in the dark behind the Harpy there came a soft and plaintive quacking.
Agatra took to the air immediately, circled once, and shot northward over the arena. Right behind, a large white blur followed, keeping pace without half trying.
Hercules laughed. "A duck, a Harpy, and unrequited love. Sounds like one of Flovi's songs, don't you think?"
Salmoneus didn't answer; he just stared open-mouthed.
Hercules shook his shoulder. "Salmoneus, are you all right?"
Salmoneus only blinked.
Hercules backed away. "No," he said, holding up his hands. "We haven't even had dinner yet."
Salmoneus raised a thoughtful finger as he headed toward the town. "It might work, you know?"
Hercules hurried after him. "Salmoneus," he warned.
Salmoneus drew a sketch in the air. "A leather bag, maybe, or a tube."
"Salmoneus!"
"You write a letter, you stick it in the tube, you put it in the duck's beak—"
"Dammit, Salmoneus!"
Salmoneus stopped and turned. "Of course, if he quacks, the tube will drop." He beamed. "But not to worry, I'll figure it out." He took Hercules' arm. "I tell you, friend, we're going to make a fortune."
Hercules couldn't help himself: "We?"
"Well, somebody has to pay for them. And the training, right? I sure don't have any spare dinars, and you know it was your fault that the Traveling Theater died tonight, all that fighting and stuff. Don't you feel the least bit guilty?"
Sure, Hercules thought—about keeping you alive all these years.
"Oh, don't be so gloomy, Hercules. After all," Salmoneus said slyly, "didn't you just tell me we'll have a good time no matter what we do?"
Hercules knew there was a phrase for that; he couldn't remember it, but it meant that he had just been hanged by his own words.
"The Salmoneus Messenger Service, what do you think?"
And the man was right—the battle was over, time to find a new challenge.
"The Hercules Carrier Ducks."
Or, Hercules thought as he laughed, it was high time he found that cave.
But never boring, thank the gods.
Never boring at all.
Timothy Boggs - Hercules Legendary Joureneys 03 Page 15