He walked softly down the corridor, ever watchful not for the sharks of Seriphos's reef now, but for antagonists of fewer but longer teeth. There was noise from the guardroom, laughter and easy conversation. No one challenged him.
A single guard had been standing watch by the stairway while Perseus had hidden behind the urn, but now moved toward the guardroom, called by his companions. The soldier hesitated, certain he had heard footsteps. But a careful inspection of the corridor showed no one. He shrugged, turned, and entered the guardroom.
Behind him the invisible Perseus resumed his walk toward the stairs.
The doors there were unlocked, the alcove beyond deserted. A second set of doors at the top of the stairs was likewise unbarred. He pushed inward and found himself staring into a chamber larger than he'd expected to find.
It was sparsely furnished, decorated only by an occasional vase or sculpture. There was a sumptuous dressing table, several mirrors, and an open chest containing clothing. Across the chamber was a raised marble platform and on it, a huge bed.
The room was cool since the tower's height enabled it to catch the sea breezes which passed over the steaming city below. They blew in through a large open arch. A balcony extended outward from the opening.
The bed was enveloped by filmy curtains of near transparent silk brought all the way from distant Cathay on the backs of camels and mules. Men and animals had perished so that a princess might be spared the inconvenience of mosquito and fly bites while she slept.
The door swung farther inward, then closed as if by magic. There were quiet footsteps and the clink of metal on metal. Perseus decided the chamber was safe. There was no other hint of movement within.
He took off the helmet. If it were possible he wanted the princess to see him as clearly as he hoped to see her. Moving lithely toward the bed while still keeping a wary eye ready for unexpected chambermaids, he mounted the marble platform and parted the pastel gauze.
Andromeda lay clad in a gown of material only slightly darker, though no less soft, than the screening silks. She was smaller than Perseus had envisioned her after seeing her mother the queen, though clearly no child.
Her hair was draped loosely across her pillow, forming a golden aura more brilliant than any crown. An air of disturbed innocence seemed to emanate from her sleeping form. Aloof from the murderous ceremonies in the square she might be, but her expression hinted that she was not unaffected by them. Unable to alter those ceremonies, she had withdrawn from the world that countenanced them.
I will bring you back, he abruptly promised himself. You are too beautiful to hide here in a tower of cold stone. I will see you out in the world again, free to shine like Apollo's chariot, free of the fear I see in your sleeping face. Let me do this for you and I will myself then be forever happy.
He reached in and down toward her cheek, bent on assuring himself that she truly existed and was not merely some godly vision.
His hand never touched her.
A noise suddenly came to him from the exposed balcony, a vast rushing sound, the echo of disturbed air, the beating of immense wings.
Then something coughed and made a sound like two ships grinding hulls. Carefully he turned from the bed and the princess and looked uncertainly toward the arch. There was something enormous out there and it was moving closer.
Never taking his eyes from that now shadowed arch, he moved back to where, though hidden by a column, he could still see outside.
There was a nearly full moon that night: it showed him too much of the thing that had lighted on the balcony's carved balustrade . . .
V
In its beak it held a small golden cage. That vast maw could have swallowed the cage in a single gulp. The sharp beak glowed yellow brown in the moonlight, stained with the blood of untold numbers of corpses. Back of the beak were comparatively tiny eyes the color of previous meals, dark red and glowing with an unholy inner light.
It made a noise, a deep-throated parody of a caw. Like a grotesque backdrop lifted intact from some dark play, it shifted its awkward, massively taloned feet. Marble crumbled slightly beneath its vast bulk, but the balustrade held firm.
Though big enough to lift an elephant, the enormous vulture displayed a gentle touch as it set the cage down on the balcony. Glaring into the chamber whose entrance was too narrow for its body, it cawed again.
Perseus hugged the column and stared in fascination at the great bird. It crooned a third time, a definite rhythm to the call.
Another sound caught his attention, and he turned to the veiled bed. The princess had turned on her side. As he watched, she moaned softly, her eyes closed.
The vulture continued to call, insistent and demanding. Its head bobbed as it tried to peer deeper into the bedchamber. Perseus hurriedly slipped the helmet of invisibility over his head lest the bird espy him behind the column.
Then it happened.
A second Andromeda had materialized on the bed, rising like a ghost from the moaning body of the sleeping princess. At first no denser than the thin curtains veiling the bed, the outline gradually accumulated substance as it left the princess entirely and began walking slowly toward the archway. Even at its densest, though, it remained undeniably a shadow of the real form.
The vulture shifted uneasily on the balustrade as the surrogate Andromeda came into view. The figure's eyes were as tightly shut as those of the girl on the bed, its expression one of resignation as it walked slowly toward the cage. The golden door, expecting her, opened by itself.
Her movements as mechanical as those of a clock, the second Andromeda entered the cage and seated herself on the golden chair within. Her hands gripped the arms of the chair and a faint look of nervousness crossed her somnolent face.
A rushing wind filled the chamber and fluttered the curtains encircling the bed as the vulture rose from the wall. It hovered carefully above the cage, its talons delicately grasping the perch attached to the top. Then it beat harder at the air, fighting to raise not the flimsy cage but its own mass.
It vanished northeastward, behind a cloud.
Perseus stepped out from behind the concealing column, the helmet once more cradled beneath his arm. He moved cautiously to the archway, in time to catch sight of the great bird's outline for a moment before it disappeared over the horizon.
But the cause of the dream he'd just witnessed remained behind, solid and real as his own being. He found himself standing again by the side of the bed.
There the princess still slept her unnatural sleep. A second time he reached out, and this time nothing interrupted him from gently touching the motionless face. The princess did not respond, did not move.
"Andromeda," he whispered hopefully. There was no reaction, and he really hadn't expected any. He smiled down at the delicate, troubled face.
"Once I was told that I should have to search and search, as do all men, to find my destiny. My search is at an end. I have found it now."
Impulsively, he bent as if to kiss her, but caught himself with his lips only inches from her own. Affected as she was by some evil spell, might not an unexpected kiss or touch awaken her at a possibly dangerous time?
His smile returned. Magician he was not, but he felt certain no kiss of love could harm another. He touched his mouth to hers, feeling a faint, warm exhalation that assured him she was still alive, no matter what portion of her had been carried off by the vulture. She did not react.
As he pulled away he wondered what had happened to her, what had thrown her into so divisive a sleep. What role did the great bird play in this? Was it doing the bidding of Calibos, or Thetis, or even perhaps someone else involved in the tangled affairs of Joppa?
Too complex for a mere fisherman to puzzle out, he decided. More experienced minds than my own are needed if sense is to be made of this puzzle, and if the princess is to be restored to health and happiness. I can give her the last, but only if she regains the other first.
More than knowledge would be required
, too. The unraveling of the mystery would require someone with imagination as well as learning.
Fortunately, he knew just such an individual. Persuading him to help might be another matter, however . . .
Ammon looked up from the scroll he'd been studying. It was midday but the candles still burned to light the subterranean study.
"If you'd remembered to take your sword, perhaps you might have been able to do something positive, instead of standing there gawking like one of the palace statues!"
Perseus paced the cluttered room like a caged antelope. "That's not the kind of reaction I expected from an educated man like you, old friend."
"Education is always better applied in such matters with the point of a sword, my boy. Especially when one has the use of the sword you've been given."
"It wouldn't have made any difference, Ammon. Even if I'd had a weapon, there was no sense in attacking the monster. The real princess still slept in her bed. I saw her, left her there—asleep as before and as real as my own hand. Yet I saw her double go in the cage." He made an angry gesture, sweeping his hand toward the playwright.
"What if I had killed the bird? What might have happened to the second Andromeda and thence to the real one left behind in the bed? I might have done more damage than help. I thought it better to wait and ask advice than to act rashly."
Ammon nodded his approval. "Young you are, but you've a cooler head than this old one. Yes, you're quite right, Perseus. We need to know more before killing can be done.
"Most importantly we must find out who is controlling the bird and drawing forth the substance of the poor princess. There lies the danger. Wars are lost when kings fall, not a few of their soldiers. The vulture is obviously servant and not instigator."
"Who do you think is responsible? I thought Calibos, or possibly Thetis or another immortal who carries a vendetta against Joppa or its queen."
"Tell me more of this other Andromeda, the one carried off in a golden cage."
Perseus thought back to the previous night. "It was her very shape and form, down to the last detail of mouth, the final curl of her hair."
"You remember well," Ammon said, smiling slyly. "You must have studied her most carefully."
The sarcasm was lost on the reminiscing Perseus. "Even her sleeping gown was the same; yet, she was like a dark shadow, a sleepwalker—a ghost and yet more than that."
"We know she was not the latter, for ghosts are memories of the dead and you tell me you left the girl on the bed still warm and breathing."
"That's right."
"Then I would venture to guess the second figure was what the astrologers and court magicians call an astral emanation. It is this image of her real self—her soul or spirit or astral shell or whatever you want to call it—that has been possessed and is being controlled by another." He looked thoughtful for a long moment. When he spoke again it was with conviction.
"Calibos must be the one behind this. No goddess or god would operate in so indecisive a manner, not when they could as easily command the real Andromeda. Everything you have described to me bespeaks the actions of a subtle, devious mind unwilling to let life continue naturally.
"Calibos was denied marriage to the real Andromeda. From what I have heard it would be characteristic of him to hold on to anything of the princess he can. Surely he is the one who is controlling this small portion of her." He looked sharply at Perseus.
"It is a small thing, but . . . which way did the vulture fly? Did you notice the direction?"
"It vanished into clouds, but from the time it left its perch on the castle wall it flew steadily northeastward."
"Ah!" Ammon's fist bounced off the rickety old table. "Then that settles it. That way lie the swamps and the lair of the Lord of the Marsh. Our friend Calibos."
"It seems clear enough, then," said Perseus determinedly. "We must find or make a way to follow the vulture so that I can be sure of freeing the princess without harm."
"If and when it appears to the princess again?"
"Yes . . . but how are we going to follow a creature that flies through the air? Perhaps on horseback? A good rider might track so enormous a bird from below."
Ammon shook his head. "Not once it entered the swamps. Even if the night were perfectly clear you'd still soon fall behind." A glint of excitement crept into Ammon's expression.
"But what you say puts me in mind of another possibility. One that just might offer us a chance, although remote, I grant you. But, by the gods, it would be a chance worth taking!" He eyed Perseus speculatively.
"You have the spirit, the youth and the strength, and from what I know of you already, I am certain you have the courage. Whether you also have the skill remains to be seen. What I have in mind will require the skill and tenacity of a god."
"I'm no god, Ammon—just a man. But if you think we should try this thing and that it will help me help the princess, I'll surely do my best."
Ammon was smiling. "Which just may be good enough, my young friend. Love is a powerful stimulant."
"When and where?"
"Tonight," the old playwright responded instantly. "To the northeast of the city. By the Wells of the Moon, the gods willing—or indifferent, which is preferable because it's safer."
The moon was a globular yellow white lamp suspended in the sky. It was bright enough to show Ammon and Perseus the way through the quiet, shallow pools and the occasional thick copse of brush. The low region they were traversing was not swampy but boasted dense growth without the unhealthy atmosphere farther north.
Ancient trees shaded the pools and thick creepers and vines gave them a solemn appearance in the moonlight, the epiphytes trailing like a maiden's hair in the still water. Most of the insects were asleep, though the isolated buzz of a mosquito or drone of a frog would sometimes echo through the night air. There was no wind. The scenery looked as if it had lain untouched for a thousand years.
One particularly large pool was the focus of the efforts of the two men. They crawled patiently to its edge, using the gnarled, twisted roots of the great trees to conceal themselves, though there seemed nothing around to warrant such caution. The insects were busy with mundane matters; the frogs did not care.
In the moonlight the surface of the pool turned to quicksilver, fragmenting whenever a rare breeze stirred, the placid surface. Stars shone bright as gold dust against the velvet sky, flanking the beaming moon.
Perseus regarded the glowing orb a moment and saw fit to offer a brief invocation to the moon goddess Artemis, that she might continue to provide them with a clear night through the bright reflection of her own beauty. He'd thought often of Artemis. She'd always seemed such a solitary goddess, transcribing her own distinct path through the universe. He wondered if, as the stories said, her skin was truly the color of fresh milk.
Ammon gestured toward the pool, drawing him out of his reverie. "When the full moon shines on this water, then they say that Pegasus, the last of the winged horses, will sometimes come to drink."
Perseus was carefully checking over the thick rope they'd brought with them, making sure one more time that no knots or kinks had developed in the line.
Hours passed and he had checked the rope until he was sick of the sight of it. Once a buck and his doe appeared like beige wraiths to sip delicately at the fresh water, and Perseus watched with silent pleasure. When they left, the Wells of the Moon seemed empty of all life. Would the great winged stallion never appear?
"Listen," he whispered at last.
Ammon had fallen asleep against the crook of a root and Perseus quickly shook him awake.
"Listen .. . no, look there!"
There was a rushing sound, but it might well have been the wind in the branches.
"I see nothing, boy." Damn these old eyes, Ammon cursed to himself.
"There!" Perseus crouched as low as possible against the shielding tree. "From beyond the dark edge of the moon. Pegasus!"
The stallion shone as white as the chalk Perse
us used to pinch from the cliffs of Seriphos. Like a fluttering white leaf, the magnificent animal spiraled lazily out of the stars. Halting in midair, it began to circle the Wells of the Moon.
Perhaps it was playing a game of tag with its own reflection in the waters below. More likely it was making a careful inspection of the terrain before descending. No doubt it was still mindful of the depredations Calibos had once wreaked on its cousins, and was still wary of touching the treacherous earth.
Eventually, satisfied with its inspection or game or both, it folded its pale wings and settled gracefully by the sloping shore on the far side of the pool. It looked once to left and right before trotting down to the water's edge.
Carefully Perseus unstrapped his helmet while cautioning Ammon to keep his head down.
At the distant whisper, the winged horse lifted its head, glancing around nervously. Both men froze. After a long moment of testing the air, the stallion dipped its head once again. This time it began to drink.
Perseus slipped the helmet over his head and promptly vanished. Ammon handed the coil of rope to empty air, felt it taken by an unseen hand. Only footprints revealed Perseus's path as he moved out from behind the tree.
Reeds and other tall water grasses swayed gently, in the light breeze. It blew toward Perseus, for which he was grateful. The stallion could not see him, but surely it could still smell, and might bolt at the scent of man.
It did not notice the reeds that parted as if at a gust of wind, and continued to drink. Settling to ground as infrequently as possible, it was quite thirsty when it did so and concentrated now on drinking its fill.
Perseus moved nearer, paused and readied the rope. Invisible or not, he knew he'd only have one throw before the stallion fled. His first toss would be his only one.
Again the horse lifted a curious head. Its ears pricked forward, straining to hear a repeat of the breaking reed it thought it had sensed nearby. But there was nothing in sight and no smell of another large creature in the night air. Yet the sound had been distinct. Confused, the horse turned away from the pool.
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