Lost in the Labyrinth

by Patrice Kindl

  "It sounded like boasting," I said. "And that's all the more reason not to leave Kefti for Athens. Who knows what would happen to you there!"

  She smiled a secret smile, hugging herself. "Theseus will protect me," she said. "He will never let any harm come to me. Do you know what he did?" she demanded. "He is—everyone has guessed that he is illegitimate, but he is the son of a princess, not some milkmaid or woodcutter's daughter. His mother is the daughter of King Pittheus of Troezen."

  "Oh, really?" Troezen was a tiny coastal nation across the sea, of no importance to anyone but its inhabitants.

  "When he reached manhood he walked from Troezen to Athens to claim his patrimony, although his mother begged him to sail. The lands between Troezen and Athens were infested with all manner of monsters and thieves and murderers, but he would not take the easy way, because he wished to prove himself a hero."

  "And did he meet any monsters or murderers on his way to Athens?" I inquired.

  "He did. He killed them all," she said. "There were scores and scores of them! There was Sinis, for example. He used to tie people to two pine trees bent to the ground. Then he'd let the trees go and the people would fly through the air into the sea. It must have been a sight to see," she mused. "Theseus served Sinis in exactly the same manner.

  "And then—listen, Xenodice!—this is very strange. The robber Procrustes owned an iron bed, and when strangers passed through his lands he would force them to lie on it. If you were too tall to fit the frame you had your feet cut off, and if you were too short you'd be stretched so you were long enough!"

  "Ugh!" I said involuntarily. What queer savages these mainlanders were!

  "And then he met one Sciron, a bandit who—"

  "Why?" I asked.

  "Why what?" Ariadne demanded.

  "Why did Procrustes do that, stretching people and chopping them up? Why should he care?"

  "Oh, I don't know. He was just mean. Anyway, Theseus bound Procrustes to his own bed, killed him, and left him there for the crows and birds of prey," she concluded with satisfaction. "After that there were lots more he vanquished, like a fierce sow and a wrestler who broke people's necks and I don't know what all else. And then when he got to Athens, everybody was naturally shouting out his praises in the streets, since he had made that whole part of the world safe. He was so popular, in fact, that his father—who didn't know he was his father, you understand—got worried. Not having an heir, he didn't much like bold young men who might be tempted to take the country away from him. So he invited Theseus to dinner with the idea of poisoning him."

  I gasped. "Another violation of the sacred law of hospitality! Truly this Aegeus is a barbarian!"

  "Well, it wasn't actually his idea," Ariadne said. "There was at court a witch named Medea, who knew by her arts who Theseus was and who wanted no rivals for the love of the king. So she convinced Aegeus to give his son a cup of poisoned wine."

  "Still—"

  "But Medea's plot failed," Ariadne said rapidly, "because just as Theseus was about to drink, his father saw the sword he carried and the sandals he wore, by which he knew the boy was his son. He dashed the cup from Theseus's lips and pressed him to his bosom, whereupon the witch Medea stole away and fled from that court and was never seen there again."

  "Hmmmm," I said. "What, then, is he doing here in a consignment of slaves?"

  "That is the bravest thing he has done so far," she said eagerly. "He volunteered to come here. He thinks—they all think in Athens—that the Minotaur—"

  "Do not call him that!" I said. "His name is Asterius, and he is our brother."

  Rather than firing up at my peremptory tone, she did not meet my eyes. "Yes," she said, and then went on. "They believe that he eats Athenians. I cold Theseus that he did not—really, I did, Xenodice. But once Theseus gets an idea in his head, well, it's remarkably difficult to get it out."

  "A pleasant trait in a husband," I observed.

  "Oh, what do you know about the matter?" she said furiously. "No more than Molus, or that baby Phaedra! He is the only husband I shall ever have, so hold your tongue!"

  I was about to reply, when I thought better of it. I knew what it was to be bound to a man by fate. I would marry Icarus or I would marry no one. And then too, the mainland sounded like a terrible place, lawless and wild—it was no place for me. But Ariadne had a brave, bold heart, just as Theseus had. Perhaps she belonged there, as she would not belong on Kefti now that Acalle was coming home.

  Ariadne was watching me.

  "Help me, Xenodice."

  "No! How can I? He will hurt Asterius—I know he will! He frightens me, Ariadne. There is another matter—" I broke off. unwilling to betray my father. I didn't know how Ariadne would use such knowledge.

  "He won't! I promise you, he wont harm Asterius. I will make him swear!"

  If Theseus could be bound by a promise not to harm my brother, why then ... he could be sent away before my father found him, before my father managed somehow to release him. Before he pressed a knife into his hand and led him to my brother's quarters ... My mind worked furiously More than anything, I wanted him gone from the Labyrinth. And, though I did not much like Theseus, I was entirely willing to see him depart for Athens rather than for the Underworld.

  "But you will need a ship, provisioned, and oarsmen, too! What can I do in such a hopeless case?"

  "Get me the key, Xenodice," she said.

  Was it only a few weeks ago that she sent me into the orchard to steal figs? Now, with the same assurance of my obedience, I was being sent to commit a treasonous act against my mother, my queen, and my country.

  "But I may be caught!" I objected.

  "That," said Ariadne, "is why I want you to do it."

  "Oh, but Ariadne!"

  CHAPTER TEN

  IN THE WORKSHOP

  "I ONLY MEANT THAT DAEDALUS AND ICARUS ARE BOTH FOND of you, so if you are caught, they won't tell our mother. Nobody notices what you do anyway. You're always loitering around Daedalus's workshop, talking to Icarus."

  "I am not!" I protested.

  "Xenodice, listen. The servants still think of me as the heir, so they watch me day and night. If I tried to steal the key, I'd be caught. In fact," she said, looking apprehensively toward the door, "it won't be long before they come looking for me."

  "I thought you said that everybody already knew about Acalle," I said.

  "Oh, you know what I meant. The important people knew. Not the servants."

  She sounded impatient. Evidently believing that she had gained her point, she now wanted to move on to other matters. I, however, was not giving up so easily.

  "It seems to me," I argued, "that someone clever enough to get herself pregnant without the knowledge of vigilant watchers could certainly manage to steal a key."

  "That's the problem." she said. "They're getting suspicious." She got up, moved to the door, and peered out into the hallway. Satisfied, she came back and stood by the bed. "I nearly had to force wine down the throat of that stupid Salamis just now to keep her from following me."

  Salamis was the slave girl who waited on my sister.

  "You got her drunk? How could you—?" I stared, aghast, imagining my sister forcibly pouring enough wine into Salamis to render her incapable.

  "It was drugged, of course," Ariadne said impatiently. "How else do you think I've been getting away? Ever since she caught me coming back to bed at dawn she simply will not leave me alone. I've been putting poppy juice in her wine every evening for weeks. Only, after a while it doesn't seem to work as well."

  "No, I suppose not," I said.

  "You stay here for a bit after I leave," she directed. "If they guess that I have gone to the trouble to drug Salamis in order to talk to you in private, they'll start watching you, and that will ruin our plans."

  I followed her unhappily to the door. As she entered the hallway she paused and turned to look at me.

  "Not a word to anyone, do you hear? If you open your mouth it
will be your undoing, as well as mine and Theseus's."

  She had gripped my injured wrist again, but I did not protest this time. The hall was shadowy; the lamps were unlit at this time of day. Her face looked different—older and haggard. I was seized with a sudden terror, not for myself but for her.

  "Oh, Ariadne, are you entirely certain that you are doing the right thing? Reconsider, I beg of you!" I cried.

  Was there ever anyone in the history of the world who changed a cherished course of action upon hearing such a plea? No one with Ariadne's mind and spirit, at any rate.

  "Don't be such a goose." To my amazement, she put her arm around me and kissed my cheek. "Oh, Xenodice, we are going to be so happy I He has promised to teach me how to interpret the winds, and he's going to whittle me a reed pipe and show me how to play music on it. He knows everything; he can do everything! And he says"—her eyes softened—"he'll give me a bear cub for my own, when next he kills a nursing mother."

  What a descent was this! Ariadne, whose chariot had so lately been drawn by winged cheetahs! Ariadne, proud daughter of a nation so rich in wisdom, the land of magicians, healers, and seers! To be dazzled by the promised gift of a bear cub and the tricks of any sailor or shepherd! It broke my heart.

  Still, I could see that there was no persuading her, and I found myself much moved by her kiss and caress. I sighed and uttered promises of discretion.

  "Do it quickly, Xenodice!" she said, releasing me. "Every moment that passes brings Acalle closer, and the day my mother regains her heir, Aegeus will lose his. I know it," she said in response to my questioning glance, "because she told me so. That's why she hasn't had him put to death yet. It's symbolic or something—I don't know. But Acalle will be back soon, and then ... Oh, Xenodice, you must hurry! Remember: the day of Theseus's death will be the day of mine also."

  I frowned as she walked away. Did she love him so much that she would make an end to herself if she lost him?

  If Icarus were to sink into the Underworld, I asked myself, would I seek to follow him? Perhaps—I could not say. But that was quite a different matter. My life had been intertwined with Icarus's for so long that if I were suddenly torn from him it would be like losing a limb. Ariadne had known this man for only a few short weeks. Still, she had lain with him and believed herself to bear his child. That must make a difference.

  Musing on these matters, I slowly made my way downstairs. I was trying to avoid thinking about a more pressing concern—how I was to obtain possession of the key. For, somehow, it had been agreed on between us that I would do this thing for Ariadne.

  One thing I had determined without pausing for consideration was that if I obtained possession of the key and if Ariadne managed to arrange a means of escape from Kefti, I would insist on personally seeing Theseus conducted out of the Labyrinth. I did not know whether or not I could trust my sister with Asterius's life; I knew I could nor trust Theseus.

  I wished more than anything to be able to put the matter away from me, to forget it for a little while at least. But I knew that when Ariadne had determined something she was like a dog on a rat. I would not be released until either one of two things occurred: she held the key in her hand, or Theseus was dead.

  I considered the problem. Where might Daedalus have hidden the key? What if he kept it on his person? But no, I did not think he would go so far. He would not expect that anyone would wish to free Theseus other than the Athenian slaves, and they had not the freedom to wander about the maze searching for him.

  He would keep the key somewhere concealed but close by, where he might lay his hand upon it quickly when so directed by the queen. I did not think that the place of concealment would be in their bedroom, where he spent so little time. Rather, it would be in the big, untidy room where he and Icarus labored every day.

  I was glad to feel freed of the necessity of searching the bedroom. At the thought of being discovered there, handling his and Icarus's private possessions, a wave of humiliation dyed my cheeks red. It would be bad enough looking through the workshop.

  I hastened there, however, wishing to complete a task so distasteful as quickly as possible. To my relief no one was there. The fire was out, and no signs of ongoing activity warned of their imminent return. Daedalus and Icarus were perhaps looking over the site where a new fountain was to be erected in the western courtyard. I uttered a swift prayer of thanksgiving to the Goddess and began my search.

  As usual, the room looked as though it had been ransacked. Heaps of objects were scattered all over the floor, the long table, and one of the windowsills. Prepared paints, discarded brushes, knives, and carving tools. Lengths of wood, broken shards of pottery, odd scraps of cloth. Metal fasteners, three saws of varying sizes, a pair of tongs, a long-handled razor, and six tweezers laid out in order of length. A pile of animal hides, stiffened with age. The remains of three meals, furred over with mold. Several pottery mugs with the dregs of old wine lingering in the bottoms. Stacks of clay tablets with diagrams hastily sketched on their leathery surfaces. A bowl containing olive pits, a metal toothpick, and a large seal stone depicting a lion with his paw on a dove.

  After I had made one complete circuit of the room, carefully picking up and replacing each item I encountered, I sank down onto a mound of overstuffed sacks on the floor, discouraged. How anyone could find anything in this chaos I could not imagine. Nor did it seem possible that objects of great beauty rose out of this trash pit on a regular basis.

  Truth to tell, I did not even know precisely what I was searching for. Locks and keys are rare; secrecy is thought to give greater security than a mere mechanical device for protecting items of value. I had therefore only the haziest idea of what a key might look like. It ought to be small, I thought, smaller than my hand, and made of wood or metal.

  I began to pick through the pile of clay tablets for want of anything better to do. I did not believe that I would find the key under them, but if anyone came in this would seem a reasonable, though prying and officious, activity for me to be engaged in. Besides, it gave me a chance to think.

  Most of the tablets were boring—engineering calculations and architectural designs—but some were rather amusing, and I became distracted from the question of where the key might be hidden. I recognized several as being executed by Icarus, who had marked them with a tiny sketch of a falcon in the lower corner. I pored over these for some time, tracing with my finger the lines scratched in clay, which represented a hunting cat bent over a pool of fish—a design for a jewelry box, perhaps.

  Something inside the sack on which I sat was pricking my bottom—several somethings, in fact. Upon investigation I found that the sack, as well as the three sacks underneath that, contained large quantities of feathers. Feathers?

  I shifted the pile of tablets again, looking for a particular one. Yes, here it was, a man with wings. He was shown in front and back view, and to the side was drawn a framework partially covered with layers of overlapping feathers.

  I stared incredulously from the tablet to the sacks and sacks of pigeon feathers. My eye traveled farther and found leaning against the wall a wooden frame exactly like the one in the picture, except that it had no feathers on it. Had Daedalus gone mad?

  "I see you have discovered my hiding place, Princess," said a voice close to my ear.

  I shrieked.

  Daedalus stood before me, his head cocked to one side.

  "W-what?" I stammered. "Hiding place?"

  He said nothing, just stood looking at me. I looked down and found that my investigation of the feather sacks had uncovered a dark, wedge-shaped crack in the floor. One of the stones that made up the floor had been removed and then improperly replaced before being covered up with feather sacks. Stooping over, I pried the heavy block farther out of its usual position so that light fell on the cavity below.

  It was a safe, of course. There were jewelry and weapons safes all over the Labyrinth. As Daedalus had supervised the construction of his workshop, it was hardly
surprising that he had made sure to install one for himself. I ought to have thought of it before. On the other hand, it was lucky I had not, as this would have necessitated a tedious interlude, crawling around on my hands and knees feeling the edges of the floor stones.

  Then, inside the safe, I saw the key lying in a golden cup. I recognized it for what it was at once and picked it up.

  "The key to the manacles binding Prince Theseus, my lady," Daedalus informed me.

  "Yes, I know," I said. "Daedalus, are you planning to fly like a bird?"

  He raised his eyebrows at the change of subject. "I had thought of it, perhaps," he admitted.

  "There are sacks of feathers here," I observed, "and a frame for a set of wings all completed."

  "Since you press me, my lady, it has been a lifetime dream for me, and I believe I am close to achieving it."

  "But is there any chance that such a scheme could succeed?"

  Seeing my interest, he began to warm to the subject.

  "I believe so, my lady. I have made many attempts at flight before, all unsuccessful. But this time I think it will work."

  I picked up the wing structure and turned it over in my hands. "How do you attach the feathers?" I asked.

  "The larger pinions are tied on, and the smaller feathers attached with a glue I have made from pine pitch and beeswax," he said.

  "I would like to fly. But would it be safe?"

  "Nothing in life is safe. Princess. Certainly not flying."

  "I am not a brave person," I said, and sighed. "At any rate, I would like to see someone else fly up into the sky."

  "Then I hope that you shall. Princess." He smiled at me. "And now, tell me if you will, what you plan to do with that key."

  There seemed little point in concealment now. "Ariadne wishes to free Theseus and flee with him to Athens," I said.

  "I see. And how do you come into this plot?"

  "I want him to go far away and not come back. He frightens me," I said, sounding like a little girl.