FORTY-ONE
Kardionisi
A MAZE. A monster. Again.
Only this time Theo was outdoors, not hemmed in all around by stone. And the monster was not a Minotaur but a man.
His cousin.
His friend.
His best and perhaps only friend in the world.
The cypress maze was not a patch on Daedalus’s labyrinth, but its pathways were still convoluted and confusing. It the size of a sports field, and its walls of neat, dense evergreen foliage rose four metres from the ground.
Somewhere in its depths Chase lurked. He was invisible, thanks to the Helm of Darkness, and armed with the sickle Hermes had once given him, a weapon he was more than adept at using. He was a proficient hunter, too, his expertise honed over centuries.
Theo, for his part, still had Hades’s bident and Dionysius’s club, plus the Glock in his waistband. He knew a thing or two himself about killing. Nevertheless he felt he was outclassed, in all respects except one: he was smarter than Chase.
He hoped that would be enough.
At every junction and corner he tensed in anticipation. An attack could come at any moment, almost literally out of nowhere. He trod stealthily, senses hyper-alert. He was sure Chase had a fix on where he was. Chase might even be right behind him, stalking him, close as a shadow, silent as a ghost.
Pink streaks had begun appearing in the sky. Dawn was stealing across the Aegean, borne on the breath of a new day. Theo heard shouts and screams echoing across the island, the sounds of continuing combat.
Hélène’s “new Trojan War”.
This time not a decade-long siege conducted by great armies, but a petty little tussle between small groups. A conflict devised and orchestrated by Hélène for what reason?
Theo resolved to find out, once he had dealt with –
He moved almost without thinking about it.
Something smacked through the cypress wall to his left and he recoiled, shrinking to the right.
He couldn’t see what had punched a hole in the foliage, but he was certain it had been Chase’s sickle.
“Chase, stop this, I beg you.”
Silence, but Theo knew his cousin was just the other side of the leafy green barrier. He could hear his breathing.
“I don’t want to fight you.”
“And I don’t want to kill you,” Chase said.
“A sickle nearly landing in my head says otherwise.”
“I knew you’d get out of the way.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Well, I hoped you would. I can’t expect you to forgive me, cuz. I’d like you to, but I know it’s going to be a stretch.”
“Forgive you for stringing me along? For lying to me from the start? Duping me and misdirecting me?”
“Yeah, that.”
“I’m only just putting the pieces together, but I’m beginning to realise I’ve been a great blind idiot. You were never my ally. You were there to make sure I never got too close to the truth.”
“But to keep you involved, too. Getting you involved in the first place. Helping you out when you needed it, like flying down to Argentina to fetch the pathologist’s report on Aeneas. Being a sounding board for all your theories and suppositions.”
“But why?” said Theo. “Why go to all that trouble?”
“For you, mostly.”
“Me? How do you figure that?”
“The aim was to bring you back to who you were,” Chase said. “To remind you that you used to be Theseus – motherfucking Theseus – and could be again.”
“That’s it? You dragged me into this whole mess because – because you felt I wasn’t living up to my full potential?”
“You write books. What a waste of your talents. You were a crimefighter, a hell of a good one. You used to save lives. You used to make a difference. You used to be a hero.”
“Maybe I’m happy not to have that burden of responsibility anymore.”
“You trying to convince me or you?”
“But this hasn’t only been about saving me, has it? It’s been about what’s in it for you too. I know you, Chase. You never fail to put your own interests first.”
“I... I just want things to be more like the way they were.” Chase had started to move, pacing steadily along on his side of the wall, and Theo kept in step with him. There was an intersection ahead, a break in the cypress hedgerow linking the parallel paths they were on. “That’s what she was offering. Hélène. She approached me with her plan – a way of making people like us matter again, she said.”
“Why you? You in particular? Out of all the demigods she could have chosen?”
“I don’t know. Didn’t ask. Guess she felt I was the right man for the job.”
“And you were flattered as well, to be singled out.”
“Kind of hard to say no to someone like that. Anyway, I liked her idea. I saw what I could do with it. Work it to my advantage, and yours.”
The intersection was just a couple of metres away. In a moment, Theo would have direct unimpeded access to Chase and vice versa. The bident seemed to sense this and was quietly eager.
“But I guess you wouldn’t understand,” Chase added sullenly.
“Then make me understand,” said Theo. “Talk to me.”
“That’s the trouble with you nowadays, cuz. It’s all words with you, not deeds. I’m sick of words.”
Theo dived through the gap in the cypress wall, bident to the fore. He hoped not to have to stab Chase with it. He was brandishing the weapon chiefly in self-defence.
“Chase? Chase?”
He listened. Faint footfalls, fading.
His cousin had scurried off back the way he had come.
“Chase!”
Theo had no alternative. He set off in pursuit. He had to make his cousin see reason, to bring him to his senses. Chase had become dangerously unpredictable. Someone needed to rein him in – and that someone could only be Theo.
HE PLUNGED DEEPER into the maze. The day was brightening fast, the sky baby-blue, innocent.
All at once he emerged into a kind of clearing, an open space of lawn the size of a university quadrangle. This was the centre of the maze – the solution to the puzzle, as it were. There were two ways in: the one Theo had used and another directly opposite.
In the middle of the lawn stood yet another of Kardionisi’s many statues. This one was a larger-than-lifesize representation of the Minotaur, no less. Cast in bronze, it perched on a squat stone plinth and rose perhaps three metres from base to apex. It must have weighed the best part of a metric tonne.
The man-bull was depicted hunched over, horns lowered, shoulders bunching, thigh muscles knotted, as though preparing to charge.
Minos’s hybrid stepson, conceived on his wife Pasiphaë by a white bull given to him by Poseidon. A hideous, unnatural beast whose savagery and bloodthirstiness meant it had to be confined to the labyrinth for the safety of everyone on Crete.
The sculptor had done a good job capturing its ugliness and ferocity. Theo was brought up short when he first laid eyes on it. His breath caught in his throat and he reflexively thrust the bident out in front of him, ready to meet the Minotaur’s attack.
“Yeah, handsome brute, ain’t he?”
Chase’s voice came from beside the statue.
“Took me a second or two, like you, to realise he’s not real,” he added. “Evander must’ve secretly been quite proud of the actual Minotaur, despite the fact it showed the world his missus fucked a bull behind his back. Had this statue made to remind him of the glory days, when kings could demand human sacrifices and no one objected.”
“I objected,” said Theo.
“You would.”
“Hélène wanted to recapture her glory days too. That’s the impression I’m getting. But she needed an accomplice, someone to help set up the murders.”
“No, the murders were nothing to do with me. That was all on her.”
“All? What about Her
acles?”
“She found where he was the way she found where the others were: by looking them up online. Remember the restaurant in Krasnoyarsk? The selfies those locals took with us? They posted them online almost straight away. Hélène’s been running searches using facial-recognition software. It’s not rocket science. The internet makes keeping a low profile difficult for anyone these days. Aeneas, Orion, Orpheus, Achilles – that’s how she tracked them all down. Then it was just a case of lining up the troops and sending them in. Same with Heracles.”
“But still... In Stolby. When he was making his stand against the Myrmidons. He just fell over, for no apparent cause, and I heard him say, ‘This is not fair. This is not how it should be at all.’”
“So?”
“Was that you?”
With a touch of remorse, Chase said, “Might have been.”
“You had your Helm on, tripped him up at the crucial moment. That’s what he was saying: it wasn’t fair because you interfered.”
“Heracles could have done a lot of damage. The Myrmidons can handle most demigod situations, but not him. Someone had to lend a hand. I was there, I was invisible. Seemed appropriate.”
“But Heracles?”
“Never liked the guy much.”
“I liked him. A lot. Does that not count for anything? I guess not, seeing how you were playing me all along.”
“I was never playing you, Theo. I was just... encouraging you. Nudging you in the right direction.”
“For my own good.”
“Yeah. And don’t you feel better? More yourself? Hasn’t all of this given you back some sense of purpose?”
“Who are you to decide whether I need purpose or not, and what it should be?”
“Someone who cares about you. Someone who hates to see you being less than you can be.”
“Take off the Helm,” Theo said firmly. “It’s just us, Chase. You and me. You don’t have to hide. Let’s look each other in the eye.”
There was a long pause. Then Chase, sliding the Helm of Darkness off his head, shimmered into sight.
They faced each other across the open space, with the Minotaur statue glowering down at them.
“What now?” said Chase. “You try to kill me?”
“I’m tempted.”
“You’ll see that I did this for you, cuz. In the long run, you’ll be grateful.”
“You keep trying to justify it to yourself. Maybe one day it’ll work.”
“Is it so bad, wishing the world hadn’t changed so much, wishing things were more like they used to be?”
“It is, if people get hurt and killed because of it.”
Chase looked stricken. “I really hoped you’d see the situation from my point of view.”
“Then you really hoped wrong.”
“You’re not going to let me off the hook, are you?”
“Chase.” Theo’s stomach was churning; his heart was breaking. “If I thought for one moment that you felt regret – sincere regret – over what’s happened...”
“I don’t.”
“Then there’s nothing more to be said. No more words. You want deeds? Here’s deeds.”
Theo broke into a run.
So did Chase.
They hurtled towards each other, cousin versus cousin, demigod versus demigod: Theseus and Perseus.
FORTY-TWO
Kardionisi
SASHA GRACE DID not find Hélène Arlington the pushover she had thought she would be.
Roy could tell that within a few seconds.
Sasha had anticipated an easy victory. Hélène was one of the idle rich, right? Refined, sophisticated. Unaccustomed to violence. Whereas she, Queen Hippolyta, was a born warrior. No contest, surely.
Not so.
Overconfidence cost Sasha the use of one arm and nearly her life. Hélène leapt over a low sweep of the scythe that would have lopped off her feet if it had connected. The battle-axe slammed down on Sasha’s shoulder, blade embedding several centimetres into the trapezius muscle. Sasha howled as blood gushed over her chest and back. Hélène cackled with delight and worked the axe free. Sasha staggered away, left arm dangling.
Hélène pressed home her advantage. The scythe was a two-handed weapon, but Sasha did her best using her remaining arm, slashing it to and fro, fending off her opponent. Shock and pain were taking their toll, however: Hélène’s axe was coming nearer and nearer to finding its mark, and bringing Sasha’s immortality to an end.
Even as the duel unfolded, Roy was conscious of the other Myrmidons closing in. Only three remained, aside from him and Jeanne: Gunnvor Blomgren, Sean Wilson and an Italian, Marco Valente. Wilson and Valente had the bows, Blomgren the spear, but they had stowed them in favour of pistols, which they now levelled at Roy and Jeanne.
Roy and Jeanne stood shoulder to shoulder, pistols levelled also. Jeanne had had time now to slap a fresh magazine into hers.
The other three halted a few metres short of them.
Impasse.
“Okay,” said Roy. “You have a choice. You can kill us, or we can call a truce and attempt to sort this shit out. Because, however it may look, Jeanne and I are not your enemy.”
“Who is, then?” said Wilson. “Them?” He indicated Sasha and Hélène with the barrel of his Beretta M9. His focus, like Blomgren’s and Valente’s, was as much on the fight between the two demigoddesses as it was on Roy and Jeanne. “What are we supposed to do here?”
“I’m still in charge of this mission. Laffoon – that was a blip. He and I have... something personal going on. But the fact is, there is no enemy. There isn’t even a job any more, as I see it. We’ve all been played for fools, and it ends here, today.”
“And how do you reckon that?”
“That woman...”
Hélène, teeth bared, hair flying wildly, spattered with blood, her own and Sasha’s.
“...I think she’s at the centre of all this. I think she’s our employer.”
“Her?” said Blomgren.
“Hard to believe, but I don’t think I’m wrong. We’re just tools she’s been using in some sort of elaborate scheme of revenge, or hate, or I don’t know what.”
“So shouldn’t we be trying to kill the woman who’s trying to kill her?” said Wilson. “If she’s the one signing our payslips...”
“No, because that other woman is on our side.”
“But she killed Laffoon,” said Blomgren. “I saw her. To save you.”
“I am so feckin’ confused right now,” said Wilson.
Roy said, “All I’m asking is for you to lower your guns and we’ll lower ours. Let things play out between those two. This isn’t about us. It’s something old and deep-rooted and... above us.”
“That makes no sense,” said Blomgren. “But then, things stopped making much sense when we set foot on this island. So for now...” She holstered her pistol. “Truce.”
Wilson and Valente followed suit, as did Roy and Jeanne.
A scream from Hélène brought the attention of all five Myrmidons back to the fight.
Sasha had managed, in spite of her useless arm, to turn the tables. Hélène was on the ground. The point of the scythe had pierced her hand. The battle-axe lay beside her, just out of her reach.
Hélène writhed, hissing in agony, struggling to free her impaled hand.
Sasha simply leaned on the scythe handle with her good arm, increasing the pressure, driving the blade further through Hélène’s hand and into the soil beneath.
Hélène lashed out with her feet, but Sasha seemed impervious to the kicks.
“How do you like that, you pampered whore?” Sasha jeered. “Rosalind and Melina were each worth a dozen of you. You preyed on their trust. You betrayed them.”
“And I’d do it again, in a heartbeat,” Hélène gasped. “Know why? Because they don’t matter. We’re the ones who matter. We’re the ones they should be fighting over, dying for. It’s what they’re there for.”
“They? Mortals
?”
“Of course, mortals! There was a time when they’d go to war because of us.”
“Because of you, you mean.”
“Thousands and thousands of men, slaughtering and suffering, all in my name. All for me.”
Sasha’s lip curled. “You can’t be serious. Is that it? You miss the Trojan War? After all this time, you haven’t moved on? This whole little stunt of yours was what – nostalgia? To bring back that feeling again?”
Hélène gave up struggling. A weird serenity settled over her.
“Why not? I could, so I did. I was bored. Life is boring. Sometimes you crave a bit of excitement. Something to liven up the endless days. When I came across those cylinders in the cellar at Evander’s Scottish castle...”
“The list,” said a man, emerging onto the path from the direction of the main house. He was rotund and double-chinned, and even though he seemed to have got dressed in a hurry – shirt misbuttoned, a pair of wrinkled, baggy slacks that were probably the first thing that came to hand – there was an air of authority about him.
Roy would have bet good money this was yet another demigod. He was beginning to recognise them; they had a certain look in common, an agelessness they exuded from every part of them – except the eyes.
“Help me, Evander,” said Hélène. “Look what they’ve done to me.”
Evander. Her husband. Who, if Roy remembered rightly, had once been King Minos.
“From what I’ve been hearing, my dear,” Evander Arlington said, “you’ve brought it on yourself.”
“But don’t you see how I’ve been injured? Damaged? You can’t let them get away with it.”
“Stop wheedling for a moment, Hélène, and give me an honest answer. You found the list by accident and you used it. Is that right?”
“I’m not ashamed.”
“No, you don’t know the meaning of the word, do you?”
“Evander...”
“You hired people – these people in uniforms – and sent them to murder our own kind. All for your entertainment.”
“Evander, don’t speak to me like that. You’re my husband. Haven’t I been good to you all these years? Haven’t I been the perfect wife? Given you everything that you could ever want from a woman?”
Age of Heroes Page 34
