The Face of Apollo

by Fred Saberhagen

  A few hours later, just after sunrise on a tranquil morning, the girl emerged once more from the shelter she shared with her master. This time she was fully, neatly clothed, earrings and all, and her first move was to favor the new deckhand with an enigmatic look. Jeremy had been up for some minutes—though he had the feeling that the Intruder was sleeping late today—and the boy had made sure that the decks were clear of snakes and now had the fire in the cookbox going briskly, heating water for tea. The flat slab of metal that served as grill was greased and spitting hot, ready to do griddle cakes.

  Carlotta said nothing at first but only looked at her new em­ployee and shipmate as if challenging him to suggest in any way that a certain strange adventure, moments of wild abandon dur­ing the hours of darkness, had been anything but a dream or that the dream was not by now forgotten.

  That was quite all right with Jeremy—and with the Intruder, too. "Good morning, ma'am." His tone was properly, even a lit­tle excessively, respectful. His recently acquired stores of memory provided, if not wisdom in such matters, at least a sense of fa­miliarity that allowed him to feel quite at ease. All this had hap­pened many times before.

  "Good morning," responded the young woman, slowly, visibly relaxing. Her insecurity in this situation, her uncertainty, showed to the experienced eye. Her look said to Jeremy: There are mat­ters we must discuss, but later.

  Then she evidently decided that the general idea should be made clear at once. "You will do something for me, won't you, Jonathan? If I should ask?"

  Jeremy nodded, more in response to the look than to the words, and went on making griddle cakes. The lady—he could try to think of her as a lady, if that made her happy—gazed at him thoughtfully for a long moment, then went to the rail and stood looking out over it. Her look was hopeful, as if she was ex­pecting to make some new discovery.

  "Sleep well, Jonathan?" the Scholar asked, absently, when he emerged in his turn, a little later.

  "Yes, sir. Couple of dreams." Jeremy's voice was steady and ca­sual; he didn't look at the lady as he spoke.

  "Ah." Arnobius nodded slowly, gazing over the rail at some­thing that only he could see. "We all have those."

  What had happened on deck that first night did not happen again during the remainder of the voyage. All was proper and businesslike between the lady of ambiguous status and the new servant. In any case their conduct was constrained by the fact that Arnobius had snapped out of his withdrawal and at night Jeremy heard faint sounds from the deckhouse indicating that only one of the two beds was in use.

  Jeremy had other matters to concern him. He thought the time was ripe to ask the Scholar whether he knew either of the peo­ple to whom Jerry was supposed to convey the message.

  "Yes, though I don't know Margaret all that well—she's a vis­iting scholar, from Morelles I think—and Professor Alexander, of course, a sound man." Arnobius ceased his contemplation of whatever it was that he was thinking about and turned to look at the boy with interest. "How did you happen to hear of my col­leagues?"

  Jeremy was ready with what he hoped would be an acceptable answer. "Someone in our village ... told me that she had worked for him once."

  "Ah," said the Scholar vaguely, turning away again. If there was anything wildly improbable in the claim, he did not appear to notice it. And Jeremy had chosen a moment when Carlotta was not around.

  Emboldened, he pushed his luck. "I thought if I might talk to the professor, then he might offer me a job. When I've finished with the job you've given me, of course."

  Arnobius once more looked at him with his usual air of benign remoteness. "Well, who knows?" Then a new thought occurred. "I might possibly be able to retain you in my employ when we get home. Reliable people are hard to find, and you've shown yourself reliable—though of course if you wish to speak to Alexander it won't hurt for you to try." A pause. "Where is your family?"

  "They're all dead, Scholar."

  "I see. That is sad." Arnobius nodded, blinking. It seemed that in his remote, abstracted way he actually felt some sympathy. "Did they all die at the same time? Fever, perhaps? Or maybe you'd rather not talk about it—?"

  "I don't mind. Yes, sir, they all died at about the same time."

  As he spoke the words they seemed quite true. "There was an at­tack on my home village. I don't know why."

  "War," said the Scholar, nodding wisely again. "War is always ..." He made a gesture of futility and let it go at that.

  It was still difficult for three people to propel and steer the cata­maran, especially in narrow channels, but after all, their goal was downstream, and mere drifting would get them there sooner or later—if their enemies did not show up to interfere.

  Jeremy still looked back, from time to time, over his shoulder, for the boats full of armed men, or the furies, who could be pur­suing him from upstream. They were still comfortingly absent.

  And from time to time he noticed that Carlotta also kept look­ing back, along the way they had come, while Arnobius rarely glanced up from his table of what he preferred to call not magic but odylic computations.

  On the walls of the cabin there were posted maps, or charts, in­cluding one ancient-looking one.

  Arnobius was about convinced now that there wasn't any real reason to go back there, and so he treated that map as unimpor­tant.

  But Carlotta studied the map so intently that Jeremy got the idea she might be trying to memorize it.

  Twelve

  On a morning when everything for once seemed to be going smoothly, with the catamaran drifting more or less steadily downstream, Carlotta briskly discussed with the new employee the matter of wages. In return for a certain increase in the sum already contracted, payable on reaching port, he would be ex­pected to double as sailor and personal servant for the duration of the trip.

  It appeared that the Scholar was going to have little to say on this or any other practical matter and, though now fully recov­ered from his fainting fit, was perfectly willing to leave all such affairs to his young companion. When circumstances required the efforts of all three people to move the boat, he followed her orders, or even Jeremy's, willingly enough and with his usual ab­stracted air.

  Jeremy had no way of knowing whether the pay he was offered was generous or stingy, but for his purposes it hardly mattered— he would be provided with food and shelter and, above all, would be living within the walls of the Academy. There, presumably, he would be able to move around with some degree of freedom, enough to enable him to keep his pledge to Sal.

  Jeremy still tended to grant Carlotta the title of Lady in his thoughts, however false her claim to it must be. As she laid down the conditions of his employment—she couldn't seem to think of many—Jeremy stood nodding his head, scarcely listening, agree­ing to it all. Once he was inside the gates of the Academy, locat­ing the man he had to find ought not to be too hard.

  As the days passed, the girl's overt behavior gave little indication that she remembered the midnight encounter she had enjoyed with her new servant. And indeed, that event now seemed al­most unreal to Jeremy as well.

  The only clue that the girl had not entirely forgotten the in­terlude came when she actually blushed once or twice when Je­remy looked at her directly, as if she were reading more into his glances than he was aware of putting into them. Jeremy felt faintly amused to see her blush, but his main emotion was a re­mote but profound surprise at his own ability to maintain a cool and casual attitude in the presence of this young woman, who by all the rules ought to have been much more sophisticated than he was. The face and ears of young Jeremy Redthorn ought to have been turning red; his voice should have been stammering.

  The explanation arrived at by the boy himself was that the young woman's midnight lover had not been Jeremy Redthorn— or not entirely. That made an enormous difference, and there were moments when the realization that he was no longer ex­actly himself might have thrown him into a wild panic—but whenever that began to happen, fear,
like embarrassment, was gently damped away, managed before it could get a good foothold.

  It had gradually become obvious to him that the Intruder was really taking over parts of his behavior. The proof lay in the fact that he could calmly accept the fact that he wasn't totally, en­tirely, Jeremy Redthorn any longer. One hot afternoon, on a riverbank, the boy who had grown up with that name had dis­appeared, never to return.

  To the new Jeremy, the transformation didn't seem nearly as terrifying as it might have been. And he thought he knew why. Because the Intruder kept pushing suggestions in through the back of his mind. Kept telling him—wordlessly but very effec­tively—Relax. It's all right. Take it easy.

  What had happened to him was beginning to seem like some­thing natural. In recent days, no doubt prodded along by his new partner, he had come to realize that no one, child or adult, was ever the same person from one week to the next. The self that anyone remembered was a self no longer in existence.

  Taking the Argos downstream continued to be an awkward job for three inexperienced people. But, as Carlotta explained to her two shipmates, they really had no choice—Jeremy could see that she was right, and Arnobius, as usual, took her word on whatever she wanted to tell him regarding practical matters. Aban­doning the boat and trying to walk home was really not a viable alternative. Trying to travel any distance overland, starting in this swamp and with no clear idea of the best way out of it, would have guaranteed disaster.

  All three of them could have fit easily enough into Jeremy's canoe, which had been brought aboard—all six of the deserting crew had apparently crammed themselves into a boat not much bigger. But on a journey of many days that would have meant going ashore to sleep, among the giant snakes and other dan­gerous creatures whose presence filled the swamp; and leaving the catamaran behind would also have meant abandoning not only the bulk of their food supplies, but also almost all of the Scholar's books and magical paraphernalia, a sacrifice that was not open to discussion.

  Besides, the canoe's chronic leak had been growing worse when it was taken out of the water. None of the three (or four, counting the Intruder) knew of any quick, effective method of repair. And Jeremy on thinking it over decided it would be just as well if the canoe should disappear before one of the Acad­emy's real language experts had the chance to observe its deco­rations.

  When Arnobius was sufficiently recovered to take part, he put a man's strength into the job of steering, which with the widening of the river's channel became eminently doable. The Scholar had little experience in boating of any kind and Jeremy none at all in sailing, but Carlotta claimed some, which she soon managed to convey to her companions.

  The catamaran had made two or three days' slow progress to­ward the mouth of the river when a well-manned small flotilla came in view ahead, gliding swiftly upstream to meet it. The philosophic expedition was overdue, and evidently people were getting worried.

  Jeremy froze and stared, but his left eye saw no warning dots of red. The Scholar, shading his eyes with his hand, squinted into the sun dazzle. "Here comes my father," he said at last, with­out surprise. "My brother also."

  The boats coming upstream were each driven by the arms of a score of powerful rowers.

  These troops wore different uniforms and displayed a different flag than any Jeremy had seen before, showing green waves on a blue background.

  Lord Victor Lugard, a solid middle-aged figure standing in the prow of an approaching boat, was now close enough for Jeremy to study him closely. His lordship was not dressed much differ­ently than his soldiers who were rowing.

  His Lordship was obviously pleased to find his elder son alive and physically well, but Jeremy got the impression that he would not have been utterly devastated had matters turned out differ­ently. Lord Victor smiled benignly and briefly at Carlotta and at first did not appear to notice Jeremy at all.

  As soon as the fast boat that was carrying him, long and nar­row and raised at prow and stern, came bumping alongside the catamaran, Victor jumped briskly aboard. Lord Victor's coloring was lighter than that of his older son, and he didn't, at first glance, look quite old enough to be the father of grave Arnobius.

  Weeks had passed since the last message received from the Scholar, and his father as well as the authorities at the Academy had been growing alarmed.

  The younger man who followed Lord Victor aboard the cata­maran was Arnobius's brother, three or four years his junior. Ac­tually, Lord John's lined and weathered face made him look at least as old. A modest degree of scarring on his face and body, as well as his general bearing, indicated that John was already well experienced in combat, but the short sword at his belt looked showy as well as serviceable. John obviously preferred a more flamboyant appearance than his brother—he was the second person Jeremy Redthorn had ever seen wearing earrings.

  John also favored Carlotta with an admiring look, to which she returned a distant smile. And then he stared at Jeremy with mild surprise.

  Explanations were begun, in which the boy received full credit for his help in salvaging the expedition. Arnobius tried to put as good a face as possible on his results, reporting at least partial success. Though the effort to find a god had come to naught, they were bringing back with them at least some of the speci­mens and information that Arnobius had started out to seek.

  Neither Victor nor John was particularly interested. The leader asked: "You brought away nothing of value at all, hey?"

  "By your standards, sir, no, nothing."

  This reminded Jeremy that since leaving the temple in the swamp he had seen no sign of the small ebony and ivory box Carlotta had been at such pains to conceal within a few minutes of his arrival. He looked at her, but she was obviously not in­tending any surprise announcements.

  The Scholar's father and brother obviously did not care much whether his expedition had advanced the cause of odylic science or not. The present audience were vastly more interested in any crumbs of valuable military information that might have been picked up. John personally questioned all members of the party.

  Jeremy was quite willing to answer some questions about the attack on the Raisinmakers' village, thus briefly drawing upon himself the full attention of father and younger son. The boy said nothing about Sal but described the furies he'd encountered and the troops he'd seen. Though he hadn't caught more than a glimpse of the human attackers, he could name them as Lord Kalakh's—new memory whispered that Kalakh and the Har­bor Lord were anything but the best of friends. Jeremy gave an essentially accurate account of his long, lonely downstream flight—except that he made no mention at all of Sal's treasure or of his private goal.

  None of his hearers seemed curious as to why the village had been attacked—perhaps because that was the normal fate of vil­lages and they all had some acquaintance with Lord Kalakh.

  The Harbor Lord and his people did not impress Jeremy as es­pecially villainous, and he mulled over the advisability of now Telling All, as regards Sal and her treasure. Arnobius did seem to be on good terms with Professor Alexander.

  Still, after a brief hesitation, the boy decided to retain his se­crets for the time being. He had no particular reason to distrust these people—but no reason to trust them, either, once momen­tous matters came to be at stake. It did not seem utterly impos­sible that they'd start carving his head open, once they learned what treasure was inside it. Under the circumstances, the decision was easy to make: he would say nothing to anyone as yet about Sal or the special mission he'd undertaken for her—certainly nothing about the weird result. That would have to wait until he'd managed to locate one of the people Sal had named.

  It seemed that Lord Victor and all the rest were now inclined to trust Jeremy—to the extent that they thought of him at all. The Harbor Lord tossed him a gold coin by way of reward for helping his son out of a tight spot.

  And the girl was now behaving as if she and Jeremy were prac­tically strangers. He felt half-disappointed and half-relieved. Had t
hey wanted to carry on the affair, it would have been impossible now to find a way to be alone together.

  Five or six skilled crewmen in green and blue had boarded the catamaran and taken over the job of handling her. The wind being generally favorable, the sail was put to work. The Argos seemed to come alive, and the miles began to fly by. The oar-powered escort boats had trouble keeping up. Jeremy, relieved of any need to demonstrate his clumsiness as a sailor, had little to do but sit on the roof of the deckhouse and observe.

  When Jeremy had the chance, he watched Arnobius and lis­tened to his efforts to perform magic. The man was not totally unskilled, but his present attempts were doomed to failure—for the simple reason that at the moment no gods were paying him any attention. None except the Intruder, who currently was not interested in being of any help.

  After another day's swift travel, the last and largest river brought the small flotilla to a saltwater bay, several miles in extent and ringed by low hills. One morning there were gulls and the smell of the sea, exotic to an inlander like Jeremy. For some reason, no doubt having to do with the local geography or the prevailing winds, the Academy had been built not quite in sight of the ocean.

  The whole scene closely matched certain old, vague memories that Jeremy had acquired from the Intruder. On the farther side of the bay sprawled the walled city of Pangur Ban, rising from the quays at bayside in tier upon tier of white and gray, crowned by a hilltop castle with its distant blue-green pennant. The city was far bigger than any settlement Jeremy Redthorn could remember seeing. Its walls, light-colored and formidable, rose bright in the sun, and in the ocean breeze the atmosphere above Pangur Ban looked almost free of smoke. Near at hand the buildings of the Academy were set amid green hills on a penin­sula.

  This close to the sea, the river was tidal in its ebb and flow. Je­remy had never before seen a river that changed directions, but this one did, every six hours or so—and his new memory, when consulted, was able to provide the explanation.