Timothy Boggs - Hercules Legendary Joureneys 03

by The Eye Of The Ram

  He missed them, and he knew that would never leave him. Nor would he ever be free of the ache that sometimes came in the middle of the night, when their absence was felt more strongly. When he was alone.

  But they were gone.

  Forever.

  And he, whether he liked it or not, was still here.

  He sighed, and wiped his face with a palm.

  The woman remained out of sight.

  A few minutes later, he decided she had left, had slipped into the trees and away. Ah well, he thought, and put on his shirt; another time, maybe.

  He stood, massaged the back of his neck, and decided he might as well head for Phyphe and face Salmoneus. It was one thing to give assistance to those who needed it, those in danger or in need; it was something else again to see Salmoneus on his way to a fortune that, no matter how much the man protested, somehow didn't seem all that honest.

  Besides, he was hungry.

  One more glance at the opposite shore, and he headed for the road that would take him to the fork. He picked up a stone and tossed it at the stream, picked up another and skipped it across the surface.

  When he reached for the third, however, he froze.

  There on his right, by a large rock on the bank, was an uneven patch of black, as if the grass and the brush around it had been seared by fire-Frowning, he poked at it, brought the residue on his fingers to his nose and sniffed.

  Ash, and it was still warm.

  Something else. Something about the smell that refused to identify itself.

  Yet there was no sign a fire had been built here, nor was there any reason why one should have been.

  The ground sloped toward the stream; no one, experienced or not, would build a fire here. He hunkered down and balanced on his toes, searching for something that made sense.

  Nothing did.

  The brush and ground in the immediate area were untouched; there was no scent of smoke, no embers that he could see. But when he passed a palm over the center of the black patch, he could feel residual heat.

  For an unnerving moment he thought Hera had tried to nail him with a lightning bolt while he'd been in the pool, but she had better aim than that. Besides, she would have fried the pool in order to boil him; that was more her style.

  It was curious, but it didn't seem threatening.

  One more glance around, one more check of the opposite bank, and he braced himself on the ground with one hand, ready to stand and be on his way.

  That was when he saw the bone under the bush.

  Suddenly not wanting to touch the scorched area again, he found a long thin branch and used it to poke the bone into the open.

  As soon as he saw what it was, a chill skittered along his spine.

  It wasn't a bone at all; it was part of a stag's rack.

  And there, by his right heel, was part of a hoof.

  Now he recognized the smell—it was flesh.

  Burned flesh.

  6

  The first thing Hercules noticed when he reached Phyphe was the small arena constructed just west of town.

  The second thing he saw was the caravans pulled up alongside the arena, and the crowd of children milling around them excitedly.

  The third thing was a blur of billowing gold and white speeding toward him. Before he could get out of the way, the blur embraced him hard enough to take the breath from his lungs and nearly knock him off his feet.

  "Hercules! I knew you wouldn't fail me! I knew it, I knew it! You're a man of honor who deserves his own palace on Olympus!"

  Hercules looked down at the partially bald skull and sighed with a pained smile. "Salmoneus, I think—"

  But Salmoneus grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the wagons. "Come, come, you have to meet the others." He lowered his voice. "They don't know who you really are, though. And watch out for Dragar. I think he's practicing picking pockets or something."

  "Salmoneus, we have to talk."

  "Later, later, there's no time now. Don't you see what joy I've brought to this miserable little place?

  Can't you see the goodness of my work?"

  Actually, Phyphe didn't seem to be all that miserable. The buildings Hercules could see appeared well constructed and clean, and the people did not appear to be suffering from abject, or even remote, poverty.

  He stopped abruptly, nearly yanking Salmoneus off his feet. "We have to talk," he insisted.

  At which point a young blonde in an outfit guaranteed to make Aphrodite gnaw jealously on one of her golden apples walked up, said, "You again!" and slapped Hercules a good one before stomping away.

  Salmoneus gaped. "Wow," he said. "That usually doesn't happen to me until after the first night."

  Hercules only grinned. He might have taken offense had he not noticed that she had been blushing when she struck him. Which, he figured, meant she had seen him as well. Very well, in fact.

  "Aulma," Salmoneus said in quiet wonder. "She's usually such a gentle girl."

  "You know her?"

  "Sure. She's Dragar's assistant." He frowned. "That's him over there."

  He pointed to a man of medium height standing in the midst of a swarm of children. His hair was black and cropped close to his skull; his goatee was trimmed to a dagger's point; his face, although young, was more angles than flesh. He wore a purple robe, with a low stiff collar edged in silver and billowing sleeves, and gleaming black boots, and his waist was girdled by a thick silver rope. While his left hand held a shepherd's crook, his right busily burrowed in the hair of a little girl who couldn't stop giggling.

  Dragar smiled, widened his eyes in mock surprise, and pulled a long yellow scarf from behind the child's ear. The other children, all of whom had colorful scarves of their own, applauded and laughed, and raced away in gleeful hysterics when he shooed them with the crook.

  Then he spotted Salmoneus and hurried over, nearly tripping on the robe and clipping himself on the chin with the crook. "Salmoneus, I must speak with you, sir."

  A sonorous voice that did not quite match the man's stature.

  He was also much older than Hercules had first imagined. Fine lines sketched webs around his eyes and mouth, and a handful of silver-gray strands in his hair at the temples betrayed his true age.

  "Later, later, Dragar," Salmoneus told him. "Much to do, so little time. You know how it is. I'll see you at dinner." He fluttered his fingers at both of them and escaped into a crowd of curious onlookers.

  "Well," Dragar huffed. He gave Hercules what was either a smile or a vivid indication of a terrible attack of gas. "And you must be the new act. Wonderful, wonderful." He frowned. "I guess. What is it that you do?"

  Hercules had no idea, and no idea how to bluff his way out of it.

  "Ah, yes." The crook stamped the ground. "Ah!" Dragar hissed and stepped back, shaking the foot the crook had jabbed. "Clumsy of me, so sorry." He held out a hand, Hercules shook it, and the magician winced. "The strongman. I was right."

  "Yes," Hercules answered quickly. "Salmoneus thought it might be fun."

  "Of course he would. He's an idiot. No offense, of course.'

  "None taken." Hercules nodded toward the children, now gathered around the wagons. "That was nice, what you did for them."

  Dragar closed one eye before he nodded. "Oh, yes, the scarf thing. Easier than the chicken thing, let me tell you. 1 don't sneeze as much anymore, either." His laugh was a series of rapid snorts. ' 'Nice to meet you, sir. Practice. I must go off and practice. 1 suggest you do the same. Can't be too careful these days, you know. Talent comes and goes like the wind. Here today, gone tomorrow, you're stuck in an alley, begging for chickens." He coughed. "I mean, dinars."

  A grand sweep of his hand in what was meant to be a courtly bow ended up with a large white duck falling out of his sleeve.

  Hercules was too astonished to laugh.

  The duck began to waddle away, turned abruptly, and aimed some vicious pecks at Dragar's toes.

  "Oh," the magician said, poking
at the bird with the crook. "Oh. Dear me. My, don't do—" He poked again and danced out of the way. "Mercy, that hurts. I say, don't do that."

  The bird finally gave up and waddled off, quacking to itself, clearly in a foul mood and aiming its beak at anyone who came near.

  Dragar blinked rapidly, seemed ready to speak, then nodded a farewell and wandered away, oblivious to the commotion around him, his crook sweeping ahead of him to clear a path. By the time he was out of sight, Hercules had decided that simply whacking Salmoneus would be too easy. For getting him into this madness, a long vacation in the middle of a thorn bush would be much more satisfying.

  Still, as he headed for the arena, he knew he shouldn't be surprised at anything his friend did. Or didn't do. Or, more to the point, didn't say. What he had to do from now on was try to keep a step ahead of the man and hope he wasn't trod on the heels and tripped.

  A futile wish, perhaps, but one he made anyway. Just in case someone in charge of his destiny was paying attention.

  Getting to the arena apparently wasn't part of it, though. He was waylaid by Flovi and a young man named Virgil, and spent the rest of the afternoon carting crates and trunks to the various inns where the troupe had its rooms. He didn't mind. It gave him a chance to see the rest of Phyphe, and to note that his initial impressions were correct: it was a pleasant, fairly prosperous community that, because of its isolation, was close to giddy about the excitement Salmoneus had brought it.

  He didn't see Dragar again, or his lovely assistant.

  He did meet Clova and Aeton Junarus, however, the juggling and tumbling act. Salmoneus had told him they were brother and sister, twins from the mountains to the north. Which, he thought, might explain their attitude. What it didn't explain was their fine clothes and Clova's glittering jewelry. Whatever Salmoneus paid, Hercules knew it couldn't be much.

  "So," Clova said, eyeing him as if he were a cow to be judged for slaughtering, "you're the strong one."

  She wore her brown hair in a thick braid draped over her left shoulder. "You don't look it."

  "Now, Clova," Aeton said chidingly. He smiled apologetically as one hand swiped long bangs from his eyes. "You'll have to forgive my little sister. She's not used to working with amateurs, I'm sure you understand."

  They stood in front of the inn where Hercules' room had been booked. It was by far the smallest of those he had seen in town thus far; it was also the least elegant—by several long miles and a couple of obviously unused brooms.

  "Amateurs," Hercules repeated flatly.

  "Not to worry," the young man said cheerily. "You'll get the hang of it."

  "Just stay out of our way," his sister said.

  "Now, Clova."

  Wisdom kept Hercules' mouth shut.

  Clova eyed him again and shook her head slowly. "I don't see it, Brother. Salmoneus must have been feeling charitable, don't you think?"

  "Now, Clova."

  Wisdom, Hercules decided, wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

  She patted his cheek in such a condescending way that he almost grabbed her braceleted wrist and flung her into the nearest wall. Instead, he held onto his rigidly polite smile and listened while Aeton explained that there was, as in all things, a certain pecking order among the stars of the Vaudalville circuit. He, Hercules, being the newest member must perforce begin at the bottom and work his way up. He understood that, didn't he? Of course he did. Just be a good boy and nothing will go wrong.

  Perforce? Hercules thought; the twerp really said perforce?

  "Can we go now?" Clova whined. She glanced around and shuddered. "This place is so unsavory. It's making me sick to my stomach. Our God Leaf Inn is so much better, so much more ..." She wrinkled her nose in concentration. "Civilized."

  "Yes, Sister, right away." He slapped Hercules' arm in farewell and tilted his head in mild surprise.

  "My. You are a strong one, aren't you."

  "As strong as I need to be," Hercules replied before he could stop himself.

  Clova rolled her eyes. "Oh, really, how.. . how..."

  "Uncouth?" Aeton suggested.

  "Disgusting," Clova said.

  "Now, Clova."

  They walked away as quickly as they could without actually running, and Hercules had to force the tension from his neck and arms before he could go inside. Otherwise, he probably would have brought the roof down, and a couple of the walls as well.

  Once inside, he was able to relax. The inn may have been on the far side of luxurious, but it was reasonably clean, and the food the barmaid served him with a giggle and a wink was more than passable.

  When he finished, he sat back, stretched out his legs, and ordered a rare, for him, goblet of mead.

  Salmoneus joined him shortly afterward.

  "Well? What do you think?"

  "I think you're nuts," Hercules told him. "You're traveling with a bunch of loons."

  Salmoneus waved and shrugged. "Of course they're loons. They're in show business." He folded his arms on the table and lowered his voice. "Have you found out anything yet? Do you know who's trying to ruin me?"

  Hercules stared at him over the top of his goblet. "Salmoneus, I've just gotten here. I've spent most of the day helping Flovi unpack and take care of the wagons and horses. Besides, what am I supposed to be looking for?"

  Salmoneus glanced side to side. "Whatever it was, Hercules, that changed your mind about helping me."

  Hercules said nothing.

  "That is what you wanted to talk to me about, isn't it?"

  Hercules said nothing.

  Salmoneus reached out and stabbed a finger against Hercules' arm, grimaced, and shook it gingerly.

  "Well? What's the matter?"

  "You."

  "Me?"

  "You."

  "What about me?"

  "You."

  Salmoneus tried several times to say something, tried several times more to figure out exactly what it was he wanted to say, and gave up by ordering a tankard of wine, half of which he drank without coming up for air.

  "Okay. One more time—what about me?"

  Hercules decided it would be cruel not to answer. "You. Just when I think I've got you all figured out, you surprise me."

  Salmoneus wasn't sure that was a compliment, but he decided to take it as one by blushing a little, and drinking a lot more.

  "I sometimes think," Hercules continued, "that you pay attention only to those things that concern you.

  Nothing else matters. You ask me to help out, I tell you I'll think about it, you automatically assume that I'm going to say yes. At least, that's what I assumed."

  "Hercules, I'm hurt. I'm really hurt you would think that of me."

  Hercules gave him the gimme a break look.

  Salmoneus countered with the what do you expect, it's me look.

  Hercules would have reacted with the you could be straight with me for a change look, but it was too complicated, too late in the day, and he was too tired to figure it out.

  He was honest with his friend. He admitted his reluctance was born of a desire never again to get involved in one of his schemes. Then he told him about finding the remains of the stag.

  For a few seconds Salmoneus and his wine didn't get it. When they did, he paled. "The pillar of fire?"

  "I don't know."

  "Well, it wasn't the flood."

  "I don't know what it was, Salmoneus. Whatever happened, though, wasn't natural. And 1 can't help thinking that it's no coincidence you're here at the same time."

  Salmoneus lowered his head until he could thump his brow against the table. "I knew it. I'm cursed." He looked up without taking his head off the table. ' 'Is it the gods? Have I done something? This time, I mean. Have you heard anything? Do you know—''

  "No," Hercules assured him. "I don't know anything, I haven't heard anything, and I doubt you've offended any of the gods more than you usually do." He grinned to take away the sting.

  Salmoneus sat up and sighed. He stared s
tupidly at his wine, emptied the tankard, and hiccupped behind a hand. "I am going to bed," he announced carefully. "Alone. As always." He stood. "Good night, Hercules. I thank you for ruining my day."

  "My pleasure."

  Salmoneus laughed shortly and made his way to the door, stumbling into a pair of men just on their way in. They pushed and shoved a little before Salmoneus left, and the pair sneered at his back.

  Hercules didn't move.

  Sitting in a shadowy comer gave him an advantage he didn't want to lose. As long as they couldn't see him, he would take the time to wonder if this was yet another coincidence—that two of the men who had attacked Salmoneus' wagons that morning were now in Phyphe, these being the one with the curly hair and the one who was far more handsome than the others.

  He doubted it was a coincidence.

  Which meant he would have to stick around, and follow them when they left. Maybe they would lead him to the others.

  They whispered to the bartender, something passed between them, and they settled at a table near the door without looking in his direction.

  A few minutes later the bartender offered Hercules a free drink, seeing as how he was in show business and all, and probably famous. Although it was more than he usually drank, Hercules accepted graciously, sipping it once in a while so as not to cause offense.

  An hour later, just when he was about to give up, the curly-headed thief laughed and pulled the handsome one to his feet. They left with their arms around each other's shoulders, and he gave them a few seconds before he stood up to follow.

  That was as far as he got.

  The room began to sway, his legs refused to work, and when he tried to sit down, he couldn't find the chair. He sat anyway, on the floor; he decided that was too much work and lay down, on the floor; he decided his eyes needed a rest, and he closed them.

  The last thing he heard was a rough voice laughing softly.

  7

  Voices—he heard voices. Dimly. Distantly. As if he were eavesdropping from the darkest corner of the Underworld.

  "I think he's dead."

  "He's not dead, he's asleep."

  "Looks dead to me."

  "He's breathing. That means he's not dead."