“You’re stalling,” said Laocoön. He turned to the men. “Continue stacking wood under the horse. When it’s up to the horse’s knees, douse it with oil and light it on fire.” King Priam nodded his approval.
Do horses have knees? Mercury wondered. Their leg joints bend backwards. What qualifies as a knee anyway? Does there have to be a kneecap? Focus! “And then,” Mercury went on, “there was this high-pitched noise that only he could hear, and he was going around, like, ‘Do you hear that?’, and everybody was like, ‘Um, what are you talking about?’, and he was like…”
But nobody was listening anymore. The pile of wood was almost up to… the joint between the ankle and the hip. When the fire was lit, it would become the funeral pyre for a hundred very brave and uncomfortable Greeks.
“What then, Sinon?” jeered Laocoön. “Did the man stub his little toe? Did he get a hangnail? What other tortures did the man who defiled the horse suffer?” The men were pouring jars of oil on the pyre, and an acolyte was approaching with a lit torch.
“Snakes!” Mercury exclaimed.
“Snakes?” remarked Laocoön. “Well, that’s a step up from acid reflux. What kind of snakes?”
Mercury’s eyes widened in horror. “Giant sea snakes!”
“Ooh, sea snakes!” exclaimed Laocoön in mock excitement. “I have to hand it to you, that’s…”
Screams went up from some of the men closest to the shore. “What in the name of Zeus…” murmured King Priam. Laocoön turned, puzzled. To his amazement, he saw the heads of two gigantic snakes zipping through the water toward them.
“Everybody stay away from the horse!” Mercury cried again. “And Laocoön!”
“Me?” asked Laocoön. “What did I do, other than point out the completely obvious fact that this horse is… Gaaahhh!”
The snakes had emerged from the water and were slithering up the shore, straight toward Laocoön. Men were running willy-nilly, trying to get out of the snakes’ path. Laocoön froze, staring in horror as the snakes bore down on him. Each of them was a good twenty feet long and as thick around as Laocoön’s thigh. They twisted around him, choking off his breath. He flailed for maybe half a minute and then it was over. The snakes left Laocoön’s corpse, slithering off into the rocks. The men gaped at the scene.
“So,” said Mercury to the king, rubbing his hands, “Are we going to torch this baby or what?”
King Priam shook his head slowly, aghast at the sight. The man with the torch doused it in a bucket of water. Mercury sighed in relief, looking around to thank Venus, but she seemed to have disappeared.
Fervent discussion ensued during which several of the men loudly argued that the best thing would be to leave the horse alone. But a few jabs at the Trojans’ masculinity from Mercury, along with some hints about what Minerva would do to the Greeks if the Trojans took possession of the horse, convinced King Priam that the only acceptable course of action was to move the horse inside the city walls. The king ordered his men to build a platform and cut down several large pine trees to be used as rollers. The pile of firewood was cleared and with great difficulty the horse was lifted onto the platform. Ropes were tied to the knees (?) and neck, and men strained with all their strength against the horse. It barely moved.
“Pull, damn you!” King Priam commanded. The men strained again, and the ropes went taut. The horse creaked and the platform slid forward maybe an inch. The city walls were a good half-mile away. Over rocky terrain. Uphill.
“Fetch more pullers!” commanded the king. A messenger ran to the city and returned with several hundred more people. More ropes were attached to the horse, and every rope was pulled by thirty or more men. The event turned into a spectacle, with vendors selling food and children dancing around the horse singing songs. Occasionally the horse would jerk to a halt and Mercury would hold his breath as there was a great clashing of metal from within, but the Trojans, enraptured of the idea of getting the horse inside the walls of Troy, were deaf to the ominous sounds. It took most of the day, but at last they were successful. The great wooden horse stood inside the walls of Troy.
As Mercury stood regarding the massive beast and reflecting on the seemingly unlimited human capacity for self-delusion, an elderly man approached him, followed by a group of young children. “Sir,” said the man, “the children of Troy have made something for you, to express their appreciation for this gift.” He held out a metal rod around which two pieces of wire had been wrapped in a coiling pattern. “They spent all day making it. It was something of a class project. I’m their teacher.”
“Oh, uh, thanks,” said Mercury, looking the thing over. “I don’t have… one of these.”
“It’s a caduceus,” explained the man. “A herald’s staff, because you came to us with news of the end of the war with Greece. See, these wires represent the two snakes that came to punish the false prophet Laocoön.”
Mercury smiled weakly. “Yeah, well, what do you expect from a guy with two dots in his name?” he said, regarding the children who were beaming up at him. He leaned heavily on the staff as the world started to spin. What was going to happen to these kids when the Greeks laid waste to the city? For the first time, Mercury stopped thinking about how he was going to bring about the sack of Troy and started thinking about why he was doing it. To further some vaguely defined “Divine Plan”? Or worse, because it was a good career move?
“Are you OK, Sinon?” asked the old man.
“Yeah, just… the heat is getting to me. Need to sit down for a bit. Thanks for the kabuki.” Mercury wandered off into an alley and sunk to the ground in the shade of a clay brick building, laying the caduceus across his lap. The keeyaah had pretty much gone away, but somehow he felt even worse than before. The throbbing in his head had been replaced by a gnawing sensation in his gut. What was this? Guilt? Weren’t angels supposed to be immune to such feelings? And why should he feel guilty about doing his job, especially when doing his job meant advancing the Divine Plan? Wasn’t that what he had been created to do?
He found himself trying to think of a way out – some way of making peace between the Greeks and the Trojans. It would be easy enough to keep the Greeks locked up inside the horse, but then what? Eventually, if he didn’t let them out, the Greeks would start calling for help. And then the Trojans would know they had been tricked, and they would break into the horse and massacre the Greeks. Even if Mercury could somehow keep one side from slaughtering the other, the result would be an impasse – just another chapter in the endless stalemate between Greece and Troy. Mercury would get fired and the Bureau would hire someone else to finish the job. Presumably that’s what Uzziel had in mind anyway: he would pin the failure of the Greek attack on Mercury, explain that his inadequate personnel budget had forced him to hire subpar agents, and get approval for a new round of expenditures aimed at coaxing the Greeks into destroying Troy. Mercury sat for hours, going over every possibility, but there was no good solution.
At midnight he got up and unlatched the door in the horse’s belly. A horrendous stench like the stale body odor of a hundred Greek soldiers poured out of the hatch, followed by the soldiers themselves. “Ugh,” Mercury muttered, waving his hand in front of his face. “And I thought it smelled bad on the outside.”
The men spread out to set fires and wreak other sorts of havoc. “Where do you think you’re going?” Mercury demanded of one man, who seemed to be running toward the city gates rather than into the city proper.
“I’m supposed to let the rest of the Greeks inside,” the man replied.
“The rest of the Greeks?” Mercury asked, confused. “I thought we were it.”
“Nope. There’s a whole bunch more guys waiting outside.”
Mercury’s brow furrowed. “But if we’re letting people in, why didn’t we just put one guy in the horse, rather than risking the lives of a hundred? Hell, I could have opened the gate. What did we even need the horse for?”
The man shrugged. “Theatrics?” he off
ered. Mercury waved him away, shaking his head. This had to be the most insanely convoluted attack plan in the history of warfare. Even if the sack succeeded, this “Trojan Horse” was going to go down in history as the perfect example of bureaucratic idiocy run amok. Mercury had seen this sort of thing before, on a smaller scale: one dimwit comes up with a terrible idea, and everybody is so eager to get on board with it that nobody bothers to work out whether it makes any damned sense. Mercury would be lucky if he didn’t get transferred to Transport and Communications – or worse – after this debacle. Serves me right, he thought, caressing the caduceus. A man ran past him screaming, holding his severed left hand in his right.
“Hey, Mercury,” said a voice behind him. He turned to see Venus – now adorned in a simple white dress – standing next to a brawny, tanned man wearing a Trojan soldier’s uniform. A sword hung at his side.
“Oh, hi, Venus,” said Mercury glumly. He nodded at the muscular man. “You must be Anus.”
“Aeneis,” corrected the man. He stared daggers at Mercury. “So I have you to thank for the destruction of my city?” Much of the city was now in flames, and screams of agony and terror blended into a hellish cacophony. Nearby, a group of Trojan guardsmen was being beaten back by a contingent of oily Greeks.
“Easy, my son,” said Venus gently, causing Mercury to raise an eyebrow. “The gods themselves have decreed the doom of Troy. Don’t shoot the messenger.”
“Whatever,” grumbled Aeneis. “Nice shoes.” Mercury had changed into his winged rubbers in order to sneak quietly to the horse. The wings fluttered in the night breeze. Mercury shifted uneasily.
“You go on ahead, Aeneis,” said Venus. “You’ve got a city to found.”
“OK, Mom,” said Aeneis. He walked off, glaring at Mercury. “See you around, jerkface.”
“He’s a keeper,” said Mercury to Venus, watching Aeneis trudge off into the night. “What’s with the ‘mom’ stuff?”
“I may have misled him slightly,” Venus said. “He thinks I’m his dead mother. Nice job on the horse, by the way. I had my doubts, but you pulled it off with style.”
“Really?” asked Mercury doubtfully. “You think the horse was a good idea?”
“Heavens no,” said Venus. “One of the worst ideas I’ve ever heard. As far as I can tell, the horse was a completely unnecessary complication that could very well have resulted in a catastrophic loss for the Greeks. But as I said, you pulled it off with style.”
“Um, thanks?”
Venus smiled and shook her head bemusedly. “Let me explain something to you, Mercury. We angels don’t get much choice in the assignments we get. It’s all about the Divine Plan. Sometimes the things we have to do seem completely arbitrary, if not downright wrong. Take this sacking, for instance. Miserable business. Of course, some angels don’t mind. Some angels get a bellyful of warm fuzzies just from seeing a task through to completion, no matter how distasteful that task might be. Others – like you and me – can’t help but reflect on the ethics of the situation. We ask ourselves, why did Troy need to be sacked? Why did all these people have to die? What is the point of this Divine Plan anyway? How much suffering is justified by the advancement of the Plan? What if the Plan actually does more harm than good?”
Punctuating her point, a headless body fell from a nearby building, landing with a thud in the street. The head followed a moment later.
“Oh, thank God,” said Mercury, a wave of relief washing over him. “I thought I was the only one who felt that way!”
Venus shook her head. “All of the more sensitive angels feel that way sometimes. It’s an occupational hazard.” She regarded the decapitated form piteously.
“So what’s the answer?” Mercury asked.
Venus smiled. “Style,” she said.
Mercury’s brow furrowed. “Style?”
“Yep,” she said. “And you, friend, have got it in spades. You’re going to go far.”
“I… don’t understand.”
“If you’ve got an unpleasant job to do, the best way to do it is with style. I mean, this business with the horse, getting the Trojans to work their asses off to drag a bunch of greasy Greeks right into the heart of Troy. That is style. That kind of thing will get you noticed. Not to mention the crazy snake-staff and the shoes with wings on them.”
“They’re called rubbers,” Mercury said.
“Fine. Your crazy snake-staff and your rubbers. The point is, people aren’t going to forget you around here anytime soon.”
“But… how is that an answer to all those nagging questions? How do I know I’m doing the right thing?”
Venus laughed. “You’ve missed the point completely. You don’t have any control over what you do. You’re given a job, and you have to do it. The only thing for you to figure out is how you’re going to do that job. Are you going to do it by the book, dotting the I’s and crossing the T’s, or are you going to do it with some creativity and panache? In other words, with style? If you have enough style, you can almost make yourself forget about that constant existential doubt that gnaws at your soul.” She slapped Mercury on the shoulder. “Anyway, gotta go make sure Aeneis isn’t getting into any trouble. I’ll put in a good word for you with Uzziel. Expect a promotion. See ya!” With that, Venus vanished into the night.
Mercury made his way out of the city alone, making his way up a hill where he could get a better view of the city. As he trudged up the slope, someone jumped out from behind a boulder, startling him. The figure’s long white beard shimmered in the moonlight.
“Hi, Dave,” said Mercury when he recognized the man. “You missed all the excitement.”
“Did it work?” Daedalus asked anxiously.
“It worked,” replied Mercury. “Better than it had any right to, actually.”
“Yes!” Daedalus cried, pumping his fist in the air. “I’m back! This is the best thing I’ve done since the Labyrinth of the Minotaur. Man, I can’t wait to get started on my next project. I’m thinking some sort of amphibious assault vehicle.”
“Dave, listen to me,” said Mercury, stopping and putting his hand on the old man’s shoulders. “No more weapons, OK? Build something productive. Something inspiring. It would mean a lot to me if you could do that.”
Daedalus thought for a moment. “Well, I’d still like to get those shoes to work. Imagine, a human being flying like a bird!”
“I like it,” said Mercury. “But I don’t think the shoes are going to cut it. You need bigger wings. It’s basic aerodynamics. Maybe strap wings to the arms.”
Daedalus frowned. “I dunno. The wings get pretty heavy. I have to use pitch to hold the feathers on.”
“Easy,” said Mercury. “Use wax.”
“Wax? Is that safe? Won’t it melt in the sun?”
“Nah. It should work fine. Don’t test it on yourself, of course. Find a monkey or something.”
“Got it! Thanks, Mercury.” With that, the man hobbled away down the hill.
Mercury climbed to the crest of the hill and climbed atop a boulder where he could get a better view of the spectacle. Much of the city was aflame, and the sight was oddly beautiful. The fighting seemed to have all but ceased. Looking down from his vantage point, the city seemed eerily peaceful.
“Style,” murmured Mercury. Was that really all there was to it? The sun was just peeking above the horizon, and the morning star glinted reassuringly in the east. But soon harsh light of dawn revealed the true horror of the evening’s carnage. Many of the city’s buildings had been reduced to ruins. The Greeks were corralling men, women and children in the center of the city. Many of them would be taken as slaves, hauled in chains aboard the Greek ships that now sat anchored just off the shore. The rest would be killed, or simply left to die. A seagull alighted next to Mercury. “Keeyaah,” it said.
Mercury nodded. “There’s just no getting around the keeyaah, is there?” he asked the bird, which didn’t answer. He sighed and got to his feet. He wondered how far h
e’d have to fly to get a beer around here.
* * *
[1] Evidence the unapproved dispensation of the gift of jazz music in prehistoric Sumeria as related in my report entitled “Mercury Swings.”
[2] Those of you who have been corrupted by erroneous myths and human-authored “histories” may here wish to point out that no reliable source posits that the legendary inventor Daedalus had anything to do with the creation of the Trojan Horse and probably wasn’t even alive at the time of the Trojan War. Those who have read my other reports may also question how Mercury’s first assignment for the Apocalypse Bureau could have occurred during the Trojan War (which is generally thought to have occurred around the fourteenth century B.C.) when he was obviously working for the Bureau during his tenure with Tiamat in Babylon, circa 1800 B.C. To you I say: who’s telling this story anyway?
[3] Contrary to popular belief, Microsoft did not invent PowerPoint in the 1990s. It was devised by Lucifer, along with drawing and quartering and several other forms of torture, in the third millennium B.C.
[4] Fortunately, Daedalus had already fabricated several hundred pairs of the shoes out of sheer unbridled optimism.
[5] AKA “EX-POP,” a level three infraction of the Angelic Code of Conduct
[6] Schedule of Plagues, Announcements and Miracles
Mercury Begins (Mercury Trilogy) Page 3
