Timothy Boggs - Hercules Legendary Joureneys 02

by Serpent's Shadow

  He meant the scholars who insisted on trying to learn what made the sea do what it did, without taking Poseidon's sometimes whimsical nature into consideration. It was the god's delight to throw them a curve once in a while, just to confuse them.

  The night was cool, the sea breeze gentle. In the distance the sky glowed faintly with Themon's light.

  "I give up," Poseidon finally said.

  "Hera," Hercules told him.

  Poseidon stopped, looked down at him, and shook his head. "Considering my position, Nephew, I really shouldn't get involved." A ghost of a smile flitted across his lips. "What'd you do to piss her off this time?"

  "Nothing."

  "Of course not. Except for a couple of Nereids of my acquaintance, that woman holds a grudge longer than anyone I've ever known. Including humans, I might add." With a nod they began walking again. "So what does this have to do with me?"

  "Themon's summer festival."

  Poseidon stopped again. "You're involved with that?"

  Hercules cocked his head in a shrug. ' 'The council invited Iolaus to be a judge, and wanted me to come with him. As a judge, too."

  Poseidon sighed knowingly. "And you came to keep him out of trouble."

  "Well. .. mostly, yes."

  The sea god laughed, a deep-throated rumbling less heard than felt. "They teamed up against you, didn't they, your mother and your friend? Meet women. Get a home life. Right?"

  Grudgingly Hercules nodded. "Something like that."

  "Women." Said with both mild condemnation and much affection. "Amazing what they'll do."

  Amazing isn't the word for it, Hercules thought; scary is more like it.

  Poseidon stabbed the air with the trident. "So? What?"

  Hercules hesitated. This was the tricky part: explain without insulting.

  "I can't read minds," his uncle said goodnaturedly. "It's all this free-floating air up here. It makes me dizzy. It's a rush, actually, but I don't much care for it."

  Quickly, then, Hercules told him what he had learned from the stable hand about the disappearances among those chosen to be summer queen, explaining that although the official explanation—they had gone off to seek their fortunes in the larger cities—was reasonable enough, it didn't explain the recent discovery of the remains of one woman.

  Since he didn't think Demeter, being of the land and the seasons, had anything to do with it, he—

  "You thought I did," Poseidon finished. His face darkened. The tips of the trident began to glow.

  "I thought you might," Hercules corrected hastily. "M i g ht know what's going on is what I meant."

  They were a few hundred yards from the rocks Holix called dragon's teeth. From the distance the rocks appeared as vague shapes, despite the bright moon, and Hercules didn't much care for the shadows that lay between them. Or for the way his uncle stood, glaring at the water.

  He waited for several minutes, knowing not to speak, knowing not to move.

  "I am one of three," Poseidon said quietly, the glare fading to contemplation. "My brother Hades, my brother Zeus. We do not, and cannot, control each other, which is as it should be. We do not... we cannot control all that we oversee, which is, perhaps, not as it should be. Most, you understand, but not all."

  Hercules moved to stand beside him.

  The tide had turned.

  "Klothon," his uncle said.

  "What?"

  "There is a creature out there, Hercules, called the Klothon." His free hand pointed along the horizon east to west. "It travels in the deepest parts of my kingdom, and beyond, where even I do not travel. It moves in a great circle, and so I'm fortunate not to have to see it more than once in a few years. A vicious beast. Evil." His chest rose slowly. "We have fought, too."

  "You didn't win," Hercules ventured.

  "Didn't lose either," Poseidon said. "If I had, my dear son Triton would be in charge, and I'd be sitting on a rock somewhere, writing stupid songs for the Sirens." A grin, a quiet laugh. "Not a bad life, actually, but my wife would kill me before I finished the first verse."

  Hercules knew that to be true enough. But if he let his uncle start talking about his family, it would be dawn before he'd hear the end of it. "The Klothon?" he prodded.

  "It's here."

  That, Hercules thought glumly, is what I was afraid of.

  Poseidon pointed at the promontory above the rocks. "They'll put some poor child up there, thinking she's a real queen. By morning she'll be breakfast."

  "And you can't stop it?"

  "I wish I could. I really do, Nephew. A lot of ships are lost out there, and not a few of them litter my place because of that thing. ' He faced Hercules then, and put a heavy hand on his shoulder. "This is Hera's doing; you already know that. She wants you to be the hero you are and try to save the woman.

  She also knows that if I can't save her, it's not likely you'll be able to either. It's a death sentence, Hercules."

  That, Hercules thought, is also what I was afraid of.

  "Does this Klothon have a weakness?"

  Poseidon's hand dropped away. "Are you kidding? It's a monster. Of course it has a weakness."

  Hercules blinked slowly. "Then why haven't you used it against it?"

  The sea god made a long low noise, expressing the kind of for heaven's sake do I have to explain everything? patience an elder has to dredge up in order to deal with a young one who insists on acting dense.

  Hercules stared at him.

  Poseidon stared back.

  Hercules wondered if his uncle had gone to the same teaching school as his mother; they both used the same method of silent staring to make him think, and make his life miserable.

  Until, that is, Poseidon grinned. "This isn't the Klothon's element." He stamped a foot on the sand. "It's more at home in the water, right?"

  Poseidon smiled: patience rewarded, though in this case the younger not the elder had dredged it up.

  "Quicker in the water, slower on land," Hercules suggested.

  Poseidon nodded. ' 'Maybe slow enough for you to notice that there is quite a long but narrow area under its chin and running down toward its belly, an area that could definitely be pierced."

  Hercules brightened. ' 'And if I should pierce it?'

  "Enough meat to feed that city for a hundred years." Poseidon winked. "And really tick Hera off.

  Unfortunately," he added, "you'd have be to quick as Hermes to pull it off. Assuming you could get at it in the first place. Assuming it really is that much slower on land. Assuming—"

  "Enough, please," Hercules said. This was more than he had dared hope for, though less than he'd have liked—which was that Poseidon himself would do the honors and leave him, Hercules, out of it. Preferably a couple of miles inland.

  Still, this was more information than he had when he'd arrived.

  Now he just had to figure out what to do with it.

  That's when he realized that Poseidon was already wading into the ocean.

  "Thanks, Uncle," he called.

  The trident waved, and a wave suddenly rose over Hercules' head, broke, and slammed him to his knees, sputtering.

  Poseidon turned. "Oh. Sorry. Wasn't thinking."

  Hercules could only nod; there still seemed to be a lake of saltwater in his mouth. He spat it out, wiped his face, and rose shakily, warily.

  The sea was blank.

  Nothing left but the moon and the tide.

  And a large serpentine shadow that watched him from the moon's shimmering trail on the water.

  Iolaus had no complaints about the rooms at the Red Boar. To be sure, they were small, but they were also fastidiously clean. Each had a single wide bed with a low table beside it, a chair, a woven hanging on the wall for color—utilitarian and comfortable, made for sleeping and not much else. A small window overlooked the boulevard, perfect for watching the parades and the pedestrians.

  What he wasn't so sure about was Orena, the innkeeper's wife, who insisted on accompanying him pers
onally upstairs. Just to be sure, she explained, that he and his legendary companion would be satisfied with the accommodations. She was a pleasant-looking woman, although a shade too rotund for his taste, and loud, and he would have attributed her obsequious manner to a desire to prove to the council that the Red Boar knew how to handle visiting dignitaries had it not been for the way she kept bumping into him with her not inconsiderable hips.

  Constantly.

  And batting her blue-painted eyes.

  Not to mention the giggling and the waggling of her thick eyebrows and the way her hands almost but not quite touched him whenever she spoke, or giggled, or batted her eyes.

  It drove him crazy.

  Yet he couldn't bring himself to be rude, and so he endured the clumsy flirtations until, at last, he managed to convince her that everything was absolutely wonderful, that the council would be fully informed of the wonders of the Red Boar Inn, and that he really did need a few minutes alone.

  "To rest," he added with a courteous smile. "It's been a long day."

  Orena giggled, almost touched him, and batted her eyelids so rapidly the wind nearly put the bedside candle out. "Well, when you've done," she said breath-ily, "come downstairs. There'll be a meal and drink for you. And your friend, when he gets back." The eyelids batted again. "On the house, naturally. Your money's no good as long as you stay here."

  He thanked her profusely as he eased her into the hallway, then closed the door and sagged gratefully against it. Somehow the room now felt remarkably like a prison. It didn't take long to figure out that the chair wouldn't hold the door against a determined pusher, but the window was at least large enough for him to wriggle through if he had to.

  "Brother," he whispered, and dumped his travel sack onto the bed. He sat for a minute, scratching his head vigorously, wondering what Herc was up to. If he knew his friend at all, it had something to do with Holix's story, and the kid's red-faced admission that he was head over heels for a rich man's servant.

  Iolaus grinned—a twin, no less.

  Some guys had all the luck.

  Nevertheless, that was something he would worry about in the morning. Right now he was hungry, he was thirsty, and by checking out the other inns in the area, he just might learn a few things. About the festival. About the missing women. And even perhaps about those ridiculous rebels.

  Five minutes saw him changed into a plain leather vest and snug black pants with matching boots, a dagger in his belt, and his sword shoved under the bed. A minute after that he was downstairs in the inn's main room, taking in the tantalizing aromas of good food and wine. Every table was occupied, the conversation close to boisterous, but he didn't mind. He stood at the bar, accepted a full goblet from a giggling Orena, and leaned back to see whom he might join to hear a little gossip.

  That didn't take long, either.

  Luck had decided to bless him tonight.

  In the back corner was a table for four. Three women without escorts were seated around it, and as he watched he noticed how easily they fended off the occasional man who attempted to join them. Unlike the rest of the room, they were definitely not in a party mood.

  He sipped, waited, and finally made his way over.

  The women looked up, scowling and muttering.

  Iolaus simply smiled.

  "Well, well, well," he said pleasantly. "Mind if I sit down, Venitia?"

  She was gorgeous.

  Gone was the eye patch and tatty rebel clothes, replaced by a dress that was, he thought happily, just this side of being labeled illegal. Her blond hair was brushed back from her ears and fell in curly waves to the middle of her spine. Around her throat she wore a necklace of shells and false gems, and on her left wrist was a simple, thin gold bracelet.

  He didn't wait for her answer; by the stunned look on her face, it would have taken forever anyway. He dragged a chair over and sat to her left, toasted them all with his goblet, and watched them carefully as he drank. The woman on his left—short dark hair, tiny dark eyes, very thin, a dress the cousin of Venitia's—

  avoided his gaze by tracing the tabletop's grain with her thumb; the woman opposite him—long black hair braided around her skull, green eyes, a high-necked dress trimmed in white fur—only nodded to him stiffly, her thin lips drawn tight.

  "What do you want?" Venitia at last demanded hoarsely.

  He set the goblet down. "I don't know. A pleasant meal. Pleasant company. A few answers to some silly questions. Nothing much."

  "Silly questions?" She leaned close, eyes narrowed. "What silly questions?"

  "Gee, I don't know," he said again. "Like ... oh ... I don't know .. . like, what in the gods' names are you three doing in here when half the city guards are hunting for you to throw you into prison for the rest of your lives, if they don't draw and quarter you first and feed you to the fish? Are you out of your damn minds?" He shrugged. "Like that."

  Venitia blinked so rapidly, Iolaus was reminded of Orena. He shuddered, and drank quickly before he did something stupid.

  "Well?" he asked mildly.

  "We don't have to talk to you," said the short-haired woman.

  "Oh, hush, Bea," Venitia said without looking at her. "He probably knows already anyway."

  Bea closed her eyes in resignation. "Nuts."

  "We could kill him," the third woman suggested. "Who'd know? Who'd care?"

  "He's a judge, Zarel," Venitia snapped in disgust. "Use your head, okay?"

  Bea recommended leaving immediately.

  Zarel figured they could kill him and no one would notice because the city would be on fire from the rebel attack in the morning, so who'd care anyway.

  Iolaus picked up his goblet again, realized it was empty, and waved it over his head. In seconds a barmaid hovered at the table, ignoring the complaints of those patrons who'd been waiting forever for her attention.

  "Have you eaten?" he asked the three women. He could tell from their expressions that they had not, and so he ordered meals all around, wine all around, and would have gone so far as to suggest a private room had he not abruptly remembered Zarel's unnerving blood lust.

  This will do just as well, he decided. For one thing, there were plenty of witnesses.

  When the barmaid left, Venitia leaned close again. "Don't think this puts us in your debt, you scum."

  "Don't do that," he said, staring at her forehead.

  She frowned. "Do what?"

  "What you're doing."

  Her frown deepened. "What am I doing?"

  He tried to pantomime the disconcerting effect her leaning forward produced, smiled weakly, and finally made a point to stare hard and briefly at her cleavage.

  Bea giggled.

  Zarel said, "Pig," and rolled her eyes in revulsion.

  Once she understood, Venitia blushed so vividly her freckles vanished and he thought she would pass out. But she did sit up while her hands fluttered to her chest, flew away, fluttered back, dropped to the table, fluttered back, and finally dove into her lap, where they clenched each other until her knuckles turned white.

  For his part, Iolaus made a great show of waiting for the barmaid, practically leaping to his feet in relief when she returned with plates heaped with bread and steaming food. "Be my guest," he said expansively.

  When they didn't move, he sat and added, "The council's paying for it."

  The magic words.

  They ate, they drank, and they ignored him completely until at last he tapped Venitia on the shoulder.

  "What?" she said, practically yelling.

  Keeping his voice as friendly as possible, he said, "No offense, but you're all fakes, aren't you? This rebel stuff is a crock." When they rose as one to leave, he tightened his voice and said, "Sit. Down."

  They did.

  Then he folded his arms on the table and lowered his head slightly to indicate a conversation not meant to be overheard. To their credit, they didn't argue.

  "You can claim these clothes are disguises," he said, "but they
're not; you're too used to them. I'm guessing it's the other way around, right?"

  No answers; he didn't need them.

  "I'm also guessing that you're not really rebels, and there'll be no attack in the morning. I mean"— he raised his voice to cut off Zarel's heated protest— "not in the sense that you're out to overthrow the government, burn the city down, and make life better for all those poor, oppressed peasants I saw dancing in the streets today. What I don't know is why."

  "Guess," Zarel sneered.

  Bea sighed. "You're right," she confessed.

  "Oh, great." Zarel sat back angrily and folded her arms across her chest. "Just great."

  "But he knows," Bea protested.

  "He didn't know, you stupid cow. He was guessing!"

  "Well, he said he was guessing, but he wasn't. Not really. He was more thinking out loud, kind of.

  Wondering, you know?"

  Zarel closed her eyes.

  Venitia, who hadn't taken her gaze off Iolaus' face, squeaked, "Are you married?"

  "Gods and demons!" Zarel exploded. She jumped to her feet, her hands in fists. "Are you two crazy?

  Don't you see what he's doing? Don't... don't.. . oh, the hell with it." With a look that demanded they follow without question, she stomped out of the inn, although not before decking a drunk who tried to paw at her behind.

  Bea rose more slowly. "I'm sorry," she said. "She has a temper, you know? It's like a thing with her, you see. A flaw. I'd better go with her; otherwise she'll cut someone's throat and it'll take hours to get her out of jail again."

  Iolaus waited until they were alone before he looked at Venitia. "Again?"

  "You're not married?"

  "That woman has killed people before?" Iolaus asked.

  Venitia looked crestfallen. "Oh. You are married."

  I'm in one of Herc's dreams, he thought wildly; that's what this is—a Hercules dream.

  He forced himself to breathe deeply and slowly several times. Then he took Venitia's hands in his and squeezed them just enough to make her shake her head. And smile.

  "Sorry," she said. "I don't know what got into me.

  "It's my curse and my charm," he told her.