Remembering the coiled metal in the bowels of the ship, the metal intestines spilling out of the bronze hound, Odysseus nodded.
Praxios suddenly shook all over. “But what does it matter?” he cried. “What does it matter? They’re gone. All gone.”
“Suppose …” Odysseus said quietly. “Suppose you had Daedalus’ own plans. Could you build a new ship just like the one that’s gone?”
Praxios rubbed his chin thoughtfully, which caused his thin beard to waggle. “Perhaps. It would take a lot of work, though. But I’m a good worker.”
Putting a hand to his chest, feeling the crinkle of the parchment beneath his tunic, Odysseus was just about to confide his secret, when there was a sudden noise.
Hsst.
“A snake!” Praxios cried. “I hate snakes!” He scrambled into his corner.
“No, the sound came from up there,” Mentor said, pointing to the grille above their heads.
“By all the gods,” Odysseus whispered hoarsely, glancing up. “What are you doing here?”
“Helen!” Mentor cried. “Are you all right?”
Helen’s hair had been elaborately arranged on top of her head with two long curls twining down over her cheeks. A row of pearls was strung across her brow, and a pair of gold earrings dangled from her ears. She’d been doused with perfume.
“You look so beautiful,” Mentor whispered, transfixed by her.
For a moment she beamed at the compliment. Then she said, “I looked beautiful about an hour ago. But since then this new dress has got terribly soiled. I had to climb over a balcony and down a vine to get here. I shall have to take a bath when I get back to my apartment. You should see the bath. It’s made out of a solid—”
Odysseus interrupted. “Why are you here?”
“It certainly isn’t for the pleasure of your company,” Helen said.
“If the king finds out, you’re going to be in terrible trouble,” Mentor began.
“He’s the reason I’ve come,” Helen said. “He’s thrown Penelope into the Labyrinth. You’ve got to do something.”
“Penelope!” Odysseus felt a shudder that began in his feet and worked its way up to the top of his head. His heart suddenly thudded in his chest. “But … but …”
“But we’re supposed to be the ones punished,” said Mentor.
“I know,” Helen whispered. She looked around to make sure no one could see her. “It has to do with some silly prophecy. Something like ‘When the maiden and the horned beast at—’”
Praxios corrected her. “When maiden meets the horned beast at the heart of the Labyrinth, then will you find your heart’s desire.’”
“That’s it!” Helen cried, clapping her hands.
“It’s something Daedalus told King Minos when he built the Labyrinth,” Praxios said.
“I thought the Minotaur was dead,” Odysseus said.
Praxios shrugged his bony shoulders. “King Minos never forgot those words. He said it was a prophecy. After my master escaped, even after the Minotaur was dead, the king continued sending foreign young maidens—boys too—into the Labyrinth. He believed their sacrifice would give him his heart’s desire and that the rule of Crete would go on forever.”
“But Minos too, died,” Odysseus pointed out.
“His awful son rules,” said Praxios. “The sacrifices continue. There are other monsters in the maze now.”
“Me,” Helen said. “He was going to sacrifice me!” Her voice held a combination of horror and surprise. “But Idomeneus—may Aphrodite bless him—stood between me and the palace guards. He insisted they take Penelope instead.”
“And you let them?” Odysseus asked.
For once she had the grace and wit to be silent.
“What could Helen have done?” Mentor argued. “Better one than two. And she’s here now.”
“Too little and too late,” Odysseus said bitterly. “Penelope was worth twenty of you.” He realised that he meant it.
Helen began to snuffle. “I know she is. I know. And I tried. I begged Idomeneus. I was still crying when he left me.”
“Tears are not coins and buy little freedom,” Odysseus said.
“I know. I know,” Helen said. She wiped a hand across her nose, smearing the heavy Cretan make-up. “I ordered a servant to show me the way here. You should have seen him jump!” She gave a little hiccuping laugh. “I came so you can get out and rescue Penelope.”
“Did you bring us swords?” asked Odysseus.
“Don’t be silly! How could I carry swords?” Helen answered.
“A bow then?” Odysseus asked. “I’m really good with a bow.”
“Of course not.”
“Then how are we to get out?” Mentor asked.
“I thought clever Odysseus would have that figured out by now. I just came to be sure you went to rescue Penelope first,” Helen said. “I guess he’s not so clever after all.”
Odysseus groaned.
“The key,” old Praxios croaked.
“The key?” Mentor and Helen said together.
“The key!” Odysseus almost shouted, then remembered where they were. “Where is it? The golden key?”
“Why …” Helen looked puzzled. “In the treasury. Idomeneus took me there to pick out some jewellery and to put the key there.”
“Can you find your way back to the treasury?” Odysseus said, trying hard to be patient and not succeeding.
“Of course,” Helen said. “But it’s very well guarded. You’ll never get inside.”
“You,” he said, almost growling. “You will get inside, Helen.”
“But why me? Haven’t I already done enough?”
“You’ve been wonderful,” said Mentor.
Odysseus kicked him on the shin. “You have to get inside to get the key!”
“Why that key?”
Honestly, Odysseus thought, she is the dumbest girl in the entire world. Then he remembered how she’d found her way to them. Maybe not that dumb. “Because the key is one of Daedalus’ inventions. It will open any lock in Crete.” He decided not to let her know it would open any lock in the entire world. Better not to give her too much information!
Helen tilted her head to one side, considering. “I’m not sure they’d let me in without Idomeneus.”
“Order them to. Tell them you don’t like the earrings you’ve got. Tell them you want to get a new pair,” Odysseus said.
“You don’t like the earrings?” Helen asked. “Are they too gaudy? I know they’re too gaudy.”
“It’s just an excuse,” Odysseus said, bristling with impatience. “I don’t care about your earrings, so long as you get the key.”
“Don’t you take that tone with me, Prince Clever.”
“Helen,” Mentor said, his tone suddenly cozening, “we’ve got to get started at once if we’re to save Penelope.”
Helen stood. “All right. I’ll try. You wait here till I get back.”
She disappeared from the grille.
“As if we had somewhere else to go,” Odysseus whispered.
CHAPTER 22: HORNED BEAST
ODYSSEUS COULDN’T STOP IMAGINING Penelope wandering along the twisted tunnels of the Labyrinth.
Is she frightened? And then as quickly, No, she’ll be brave.
But he knew that being brave, without weapon or friend to help, would not be enough.
Not against a beast in the dark.
He started pacing the cell restlessly. “Helen should have been back by now.”
“Maybe she was caught,” Mentor said.
“Maybe lost her nerve, you mean,” Odysseus countered.
Mentor bit his lip. “You haven’t given her enough time.”
“How much time do you think Penelope has?” Odysseus said.
“Hush!” Praxios suddenly stood, finger to lip.
They shut up at once. There was a rustle above them, then a loud clink.
They looked up, then down. A gold key glinted in the straw.
/> “Now get on with it,” Helen whispered, starting to move away.
“Wait,” Odysseus called. “We need one more thing.”
“I can’t do any more. Idomeneus is probably already looking for me.”
Mentor called, “Please, Helen. This and nothing more.” He looked over at Odysseus.
Odysseus nodded. “Distract the guard, Helen. Or he’ll cut us down as we try to leave.”
“I thought you were a hero,” she said.
“He is a hero,” Mentor replied angrily. “He saved me from drowning, got us away from the pirates, fought the bronze dog and …” His voice ground to a halt.
Odysseus bit his lip. “Helen, we’re two boys and”—he looked over at Praxios—“and a craftsman. The guard’s a grown man with a sword. You figure it out.”
“And how am I supposed to distract him? This grown man with a sword?”
“Just be yourself,” Odysseus said.
Mentor kicked him in the shin.
Helen knelt again and whispered through the grate. “If I do this, then everyone will know I helped you to escape.”
“Everyone will know anyway,” Mentor said. “And in Sparta you’ll be known for your bravery as well as your beauty.”
“Do you want Penelope rescued or not?” Odysseus went to the heart of the matter.
“You’d better succeed, after all the trouble I’ve gone through,” Helen said. Then she was gone.
They were silent until they heard the murmur of conversation in the outer hall where the guard stood watch. Trusting it was Helen—not just another guard—Odysseus slid the gold key into the cell door lock. He turned it gently until it gave a satisfying snick, and the door opened.
“Sandals off,” he whispered. Then, turning to Praxios, he took the old man’s cloak.
They found themselves at the far end of a long corridor. Clear on the other side the burly guard hunched over, talking intensely with someone hidden from their view.
Their bare feet made no sound on the stone floor, and they crept up behind the guard until they could hear Helen’s voice saying, “Should I turn left at the grain store?”
“No, mistress. Right at the store. Left at the stables.” The guard spoke with the same irritation Odysseus did when talking to her.
“You’ve been”—she sighed loudly—“so helpful. And I’ve been such a silly goose.” She put a delicate hand on his arm.
“No, mistress,” he said, only this time he sounded as if her beauty had suddenly fuddled him.
It was then that Odysseus pounced, pulling the cloak over the guard’s head and drawing it tightly around his thick neck while Mentor made a dive for the guard’s legs.
The guard let out a bellow, which was muffled by the cloak, and kicked out before Mentor could reach him. He spun around, groping blindly for his sword. Odysseus was shaken this way and that, just as he’d been by the bronze dog. Only this time he lost his grip and tumbled across the floor.
Staggering across the passage, the guard was like a blinded beast. Helen kicked a little footstool in his way, and he tripped over it before he could rid himself of the cloak. Stumbling forward, he cracked his head on the wall and dropped senseless to the floor.
“Oh!” Helen cried. “I think I’ve broken my toe.”
Odysseus scrambled over to the guard, drew the man’s sword from the scabbard, and set it aside. Mentor hastened over as well. Only Praxios stayed back, huddled against the wall.
“He’s still breathing,” said Mentor. “Use your belt to tie his hands behind his back,” Odysseus said. “Then we’ll lock him in the cell.”
“Isn’t anyone going to say thanks?” asked Helen.
The deed done, they hurried back up the stone corridor, only this time with their sandals on. Odysseus paused to pick up the heavy bronze sword. Mentor snatched a torch from the wall.
“Now, Helen, where’s that Labyrinth?” Odysseus asked. He wished the sword were lighter. He would need two hands to wield it.
Helen shrugged and spread her hands helplessly.
“I know where the Labyrinth is,” Praxios said. “Every Cretan knows. If only to avoid the place. It’s close to the dungeon so they don’t have far to transport prisoners.”
They followed the old man out through three more sets of doors, then down a grassy slope, and between a pair of broken pillars. There a flight of wide stone steps led down into the earth, disappearing into darkness. Surprisingly they passed no one—guards or otherwise—along the way.
When Odysseus commented on that, Praxios shook his head. “Why should they bother guarding it?” he said. “Who goes in doesn’t come out.”
“It shouldn’t be that hard to find the way back,” Odysseus said. “We can make marks on the walls and follow them out.”
“It’s not that simple,” Praxios told them. “Nothing the master ever did was simple. As soon as a person sets foot inside the Labyrinth, the whole thing changes.”
“Changes?” Helen asked. Her face went bone white under the Cretan powder.
“The very walls shift position,” Praxios said. He rubbed his hands together, as if in admiration of the craft.
“Then how did Theseus escape, with all the children of Athens?” Odysseus asked.
“Ah—Theseus. It’s always Theseus,” old Praxios said, his bird eyebrows fluttering. “The hero who escaped. I’ve never told the truth of it before, because we all need to believe in heroes, eh? Well, Theseus was not so much a hero, my children.”
Odysseus’ mouth turned down in a sour expression, but it was Mentor who asked, “If not a hero, then how did he escape?”
“Ah,” said Praxios brightly, “the master jammed the mechanism for him. Theseus was from Athens and so was Daedalus, who had been a prince there once. And pretty little Ariadne, Minos’ daughter, had fallen in love with Theseus. She was a particular pet of the Master’s. He did it for her.”
“I don’t suppose you know the secret for jamming it yourself?” Odysseus asked. He put down the heavy sword for a moment, letting it rest against his leg.
Praxios lifted his hands apologetically. “The Labyrinth is as much a mystery to me as you. I was only a boy when it was built.”
Odysseus looked down into the darkness and swallowed hard. He’d never told anyone, not even Mentor, but dark caves and tunnels made his stomach hurt. He preferred hunting monsters in the light.
Helen put a hand to her mouth. “We can’t leave Penelope …” Her voice trembled. Her eyes teared up. The black make-up around her eyes ran down her cheeks in streaks.
“We’re not leaving anyone down there,” said Mentor.
“Especially Penelope,” added Odysseus. He took a deep breath and lifted the sword again. His father once said that being brave was overcoming fear. No fear, he’d said, no courage. Odysseus admitted to himself that he was afraid.
No, he thought suddenly, not afraid. Terrified.
He put that thought aside. There was another problem that had to be dealt with as well.
“Praxios,” Odysseus said, “where are the slave pens?”
“Down by the harbour,” Praxios said. “So they can be loaded and unloaded quickly. We do quite a trade in slaves.”
“Then,” Odysseus said, “you three go on down to the harbour. See if you can find Tros and his men.”
It was Mentor who guessed first. “You can’t mean to go into the Labyrinth alone, Odysseus. That’s crazy.”
“No sense all of us going in,” Odysseus said. If he was going to get weak-kneed in the cave, he certainly didn’t want anyone else to see. Besides, this was a good plan. If he managed to free Penelope, they couldn’t waste time trying to find the sailors and the boat. And if he didn’t get her out … well, at least Mentor and Helen could get off the island. “You need to free Tros and find his ship to get us all away from here. Trust me—your job will be harder than mine.”
Helen laid a hand on his arm. “Be careful, Odysseus.”
There was something in her eyes h
e’d never seen before. A real concern for someone other than herself. It brought out her true beauty and, for the first time, he knew he was seeing her as Mentor did. As men would see her for years to come.
“Thank you,” he said, and meant it.
Mentor handed him the torch silently. There were tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Odysseus looked away before those tears called out his own.
Then he started down the steps, the heavy sword upraised in one hand, the flickering torch in the other. Halfway down he turned and looked back. Mentor was staring mournfully at him.
“Getting in is one thing,” Mentor said. “But you heard Praxios. No one who’s gone in has come—”
“I’ll worry about that when it’s time to leave. With Penelope,” Odysseus said. “Now—go!”
This time Odysseus didn’t look back. He continued down the stairs until reaching the bottom, where a long, black passage sloped underground. He rested the sword blade on his right shoulder and raised the torch.
“Athena, if you’re ever going to help me, help me now.”
Cautiously he advanced step by step, remembering the Cretan prophecy: when maiden meets the horned beast at the heart of the Labyrinth, then will you find your heart’s desire.
Just as he was pondering this, a huge block of stone crashed down behind him. The floor began to swivel. He realised that the entire passageway was revolving on some sort of axis.
Feeling seasick, his stomach lurching as the floor and walls moved on unseen rollers and wheels, Odysseus staggered a few feet forward, then steadied himself. Ahead were several long passages stretching away into darkness. Behind …
Behind, where there had been a passage, was a solid rock wall.
He held the torch up higher. There was nothing to indicate that any one way was better than any other, so he shrugged and set off at random, the sword against his shoulder even heavier than before.
The corridors bent to the left, then to the right, doubling back on themselves. Again and again Odysseus ran into dead ends, retraced his steps, only to feel the stone floor tip, roll and change.
I’m being herded, he thought. I’m being forced to choose a single path. But there was nothing he could do about it. He went forward, he went backward, he went forward again.
Odysseus in the Serpent Maze Page 13