Alcie gasped. That was it … there was no escaping. A cut thread meant only one thing.
“Fortunately,” Lachesis continued, “when our dear Hades arrived and told us of your situation, we had not yet tossed your thread into our fire. Had we done that, we would not be standing here discussing it. After much debate—you must realize that this is new territory for us as well as you—and after a generous bargain made by the Dark Lord, we have come to a conclusion.”
Lachesis opened her tiny fist, revealing a long white thread. For a moment, Alcie thought Lachesis had pulled a hair out of her head. Then she realized it was much thicker.
“This, maiden, is your life.”
Alcie’s stomach flipped over hard.
“A mortal only gets one. Since yours was cut short before its time, the pathway I set for you is gone and you cannot return to it. However, since this was a mistake, even Atropos agrees with that, we have spun a clean thread and woven it onto the end of the original. This section is blank. It is wholly and only yours. You may do with it what you will. I cannot believe I am saying this, but you are in charge of your own life.”
She held the thread out to Alcie. Alcie didn’t move. There were so many questions filling her mind that they all blended into bright whiteness.
“Is she rather dense?” Alcie heard Lachesis ask out of the side of her mouth.
Alcie reached forward and, as if she were holding a butterfly by its wings, gently took the thread between her forefinger and thumb.
“Here!” Persephone said, rushing up. “Here, put it in this.”
Out of thin air, she plucked a small cobalt blue enamel and gold box and handed it to Alcie. The words “Alcie’s Life!” were engraved across the top, with the word “Wahoo!” in smaller script underneath.
Alcie opened her mouth to speak. How much time did she have left? What would she have been if not for Hera’s attempted murder? Was Pandy going to succeed in the quest? Was there any special care of the thread?
“My dear,” Lachesis said, reading Alcie’s thoughts as she turned away to leave, “if I won’t answer any of those kinds of questions for anyone else, why would I answer them for you?”
She stopped and turned back.
“Besides, and this I can safely say where you’re concerned, I really don’t know. It’s all up to you. Just live!”
And she was gone.
“Buster!” Persephone squealed. “A Fate … here! And me looking like five kilometers of chariot road! You might have at least warned me so that I could put a little berry juice on my lips!”
“You’re gorgeous, my wife.”
“Oh, stop. Don’t stop!” she cried, and kissed him again.
Slightly uncomfortable, Alcie started looking off into the corners of the room.
“Alcie!” Persephone turned to her. “You have to put that box someplace safe.”
“All I have is my pouch,” Alcie replied, thrusting the box deep inside.
“Well, guard it with your life!”
Suddenly Persephone started laughing so hard at her ridiculous joke, Alcie thought the goddess might throw up. Then Alcie started laughing, but stopped when she saw Hades just staring at her.
“Ahhh, I amuse, I amuse. So, what bargain did you make with the Fates?” Persephone asked when she had calmed down a bit.
“They never get to have any fun, so I invited them all down for a picnic, and they asked if, perhaps, we might do it on a regular basis. We decided the day after every third full moon, they’re showing up for a little sunbathing without the sun, and some lamb. Clotho wants to throw rocks at Tantalus in his pool. Lachesis wants to watch Achilles toss a javelin. Things like that.”
“You’re so good!” Persephone said.
“No, wife,” Hades said, attempting to loosen up and be casual. “You’re good!”
“I know! Oh, but Buster … we have another problem. Alcie’s going back now and she wants to let her friends know that she’s coming. Otherwise they may fall down dead at the sight of her and then we’d have to do this all over again. Do you think that she could use the Borrower’s Bile?”
“I think that might be arranged. Although your friends, Alcie, are in Persia. It will be quite a reach. I cannot vouch for the clarity.”
“S’okay,” Alcie replied.
“But she’s worried,” Persephone continued, “about the whole channeling thing and one of her friends losing their life.”
“Wife, do you not think that I take that into account every time I communicate with another immortal?”
Hades looked at Alcie.
“While I, perhaps more than any other immortal, understand that all life is precious, there is a hierarchy of living things. This device singles out that which is the closest but lowest form to the recipient. I’m always hoping for a fly or a snail or a slug.”
“Hera,” Alcie blurted out before she realized what she’d said.
She looked quickly at Hades, who was now staring hard at her. Persephone’s head was whipping back and forth as she looked between the two. Alcie was certain insulting the Queen of Heaven in front of another Olympian was, perhaps, the worst thing she could have done. She was about to ask Hades if he wanted her life-thread back when he started laughing.
Hard.
He threw his head back, his black hair falling out of his eyes, and opened his mouth wide, revealing perfect white teeth. He bellowed so loudly that Persephone was stunned into silence. He laughed so long that he doubled over, and Persephone finally had to pat him on the back several times.
“Oh, Alcestis,” he said at last, when he had caught his breath. “If only there was a way.”
He shook his head as he focused on the floor.
“If only.”
Then his face became even more somber than normal.
“Now,” he said approaching her, “you have a choice to make. If I send you back to the world of the living—your world—our world, then I can control exactly where I deliver you. Your own home perhaps? I can set you down right in front of your mother and father. You may contact Pandora now and tell her that you will be safe and sound in Athens and that you will be waiting for her when, or if, she ever comes home. Or, you may join her where she is, a place called Baghdad somewhere in the Persian Empire. If this is your decision, however, I cannot vouch for what will happen. My powers are limited as to what I may do, and while I believe I can get you there, you may materialize in a wall, or in the bed of a deep river, or you may be altered in some way, the specifics of which I have no way of knowing. The choice is yours.”
Alcie was dumbstruck. She had just been given something no other mortal had: her own life to do with as she pleased. Yet, within the next few moments, she might end up at the bottom of a river. Soo … why shouldn’t she play it safe and wait for Pandy back home; after all, Pandy was certain to get them all into more life-threatening situations, and she, herself, had just been so close, too close, to death. Pandy would be able to recapture the evils without her. Pandy was doing just fine. No one would ever blame her if she chose the easy way, and the hills above Athens were so pretty this time of year.
“I’ll go to Persia.”
“Yesssss!” said Persephone.
“Wait!” Alcie said, a thought popping into her head. “Apples! If I’m in a wall, how will Pandy know? How can I get to her or contact her once I’m in Baghdad? I mean, you know, if I’m ‘altered’? Or even if I’m not?”
“Alcestis,” Hades said, a scowl deepening his brow. “Much has been done for you! The Fates have been swayed for you! Must we continue to solve all of your dilemmas? Can you not figure this out on your own?”
“I’m sorry,” Alcie said. “I’ll find a way.”
Persephone, however, had recognized a tone in her husband’s voice. It was one of pure defeat and it was very rare that she or anyone heard it at all. She knew that her husband had absolutely no idea how Alcie could contact Pandora. He was a giant of a god, strong, powerful, and robust, but he was unuse
d to commotion in the underworld; it exhausted him and he just didn’t have any answer for Alcie. But Persephone did.
“Are you ready?” Hades asked Alcie.
She nodded, then Hades motioned her to the center of the room.
“Now, step up to the bowl and call to your friend.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Prince Camaralzaman
“Aside from everything else,” Iole said, looking at Pandy, “why are you frowning especially deeply this morning?”
“I’m a little worried about Dido,” she answered.
“But Mahfouza paid the guards very well to take him directly to her home. You know he could never have come with us,” Iole replied. “Not considering the prevailing populace perspective on canines.”
“That’s my point. I think,” Pandy said. “I just hope the guards take care of him and that Mahfouza’s family treats him well. Did you know she has, like, eight brothers and sisters?”
Then she jerked her head back on her neck as if surprised by a thought.
“Mahfouza!” Pandy said suddenly, whipping around quickly and walking backward to be able to talk softly to the dancer. “Why are you still here? Why haven’t you gone to your family? I got the little map to your parents’ house that you left on top of my pouch. Why aren’t you there?”
The walk from the caravan encampment, across the river and into the city of Baghdad, had been more of a march than anything else. Douban, his son, Pandy, and the rest, including Mahfouza, had been forced into a single-file line and “escorted” by many guards. Now the gates of royal palace were in sight.
Mahfouza stopped glaring at the guards to either side and stared at Pandy, her eyes hard and cold.
“The guards have heard me speaking out for days against this travesty—this injustice—that is about to take place. So, when I tried to leave early this morning, because I am desperate to know what is happening in my home, I was informed not-so-politely that I am now considered a threat. That I might actually rally common citizens to come to the aid of the Physician. I am not to be at liberty until he is dead.”
Mahfouza spit, hard, at one of the guards walking alongside. He deftly dodged the white wad and kept walking.
“I’m sorry,” Pandy replied, her fault weighing heavily upon her again. “We’ll get to your home as soon as we can. I’m sorry.”
For an instant, Pandy thought she saw a flicker of resentment in the older girl’s eyes. Then Mahfouza closed her lids for a moment, a tear rolling down her cheek and a sad little smile playing upon her lips. Without a word, she reached out and took Pandy’s hand, giving it a squeeze. Pandy turned and walked forward again but let her arm stretch out behind her, holding on to Mahfouza’s hand for a long time.
The main reception room in the palace of Prince Camaralzaman of Baghdad was not the largest room that Pandy had ever seen. That honor, she firmly believed, would always belong to the great hall in Zeus’s palace on Olympus, and not far behind was the hall of the palace of King Peleus on Mount Pelion where his very dramatic wedding was celebrated.
Although immense to be sure, the feature that set this room apart from any other Pandy had experienced was …
… the jewels.
There was not one square centimeter that was not covered with or carved out of jewels, including, Pandy realized with awe, the windows, which were huge, flat, finely faceted diamonds. Emeralds, amethysts, and pearls were opulent ornamentation around the windows and doorways. Floor rugs and wall murals were mosaics constructed of the teensiest semiprecious stones, and the “plaster” on other walls was a thin sheet of deep amber. The mortar holding together the sapphire bricks at the edges of the room and in between the “rugs” was crushed topaz. The curtains were of jade, sculpted to actually appear as if they were rippling in a breeze. The only decorative piece of fabric in the entire room was the brilliant red cushion atop the prince’s large throne, which was cut from a single mammoth ruby.
When Pandy, Iole, Homer, and Mahfouza entered, following closely on the heels of Douban and his son, it seemed that every citizen of Baghdad must have been present. The perimeter of the room was teeming with people, peering to get a good view of the execution. Even the center of the hall was crowded, but the Captain of the Guard brusquely shoved onlookers out of his way as he cleared a space for Douban the Physician.
Pandy couldn’t get a decent view of the prince and his attendants, in their official places at the far end of the room, until the captain and the rest of his guards fell to one knee. Douban did the same and then his son and Mahfouza, and suddenly Pandy found herself staring across a vast space into the dark eyes of Camaralzaman … who was staring back at her.
Slowly she, Homer, and Iole got onto one knee and bowed their heads.
Silence filled the chamber.
Long moments passed.
Someone, somewhere, coughed.
And still there was silence.
Just as Pandy’s curiosity was beginning to boil, Camaralzaman’s voice carried across the room. And Pandy, without thinking, grabbed Iole’s hand to keep from laughing.
While the prince was clothed in dark, elegant robes with a white and gold turban on his head, the very picture of masculine authority, the voice of the Prince of Baghdad, absolute ruler and arbiter of life and death, was high and squeaky. It sounded to Pandy as if he had a terrible cold and his nose was stuffed up. He also sounded as if he were about five years old.
“You brought … guests, Physician?”
“Prince,” replied Douban, “my son attends me as I said he would. When I realized that, after my death, my son would be alone and friendless in your city, I decided to bring a few … cousins to help him in his grief.”
A large man, dressed almost as royally as Camaralzaman, leaned forward and whispered something into the prince’s ear.
“You do not fool me,” said Camaralzaman, when the man finished. “You have brought a host of friends to speak in your favor, hoping that their voices combined will sway me. You are mistaken. You introduced yourself into this court on the pretense of curing me of leprosy and yet I know now it was merely a veiled attempt to assassinate me. You will die.”
“I ask you again for proof of my treason, Prince,” said Douban.
“Silence!” Camaralzaman whined. “Codadad, my grand vizier, has told me enough. You cured me, yes, but I now fear your cures will produce the most pernicious effects in the end. The drugs you gave me may be eating away at my entrails this very moment! Therefore, prepare yourself.”
Douban and the rest glanced at the man who had leaned forward. Codadad gave only the faintest hint of a smirk.
“Prince,” said Douban, “one moment more.”
From the folds of his robe, Douban produced a small book.
“In going through my books, I found one that is extremely rare and precious. Though I am to be punished for saving your life, I wish you to have it as a remembrance of me and of my gratitude at the kindness you did show me once.”
“What sort of book is it,” replied the prince, “that is so valuable as that?”
“It contains the answers to some of mankind’s most eternal, troubling, and profound questions. It is for you, Prince.”
“Don’t think that by giving me this I will grant you any mercy,” the prince said, rising to receive the book.
“I would not dream of it,” said Douban, handing the slim volume to a waiting guard, who in turn bowed and handed it to the prince.
But the book would not open. Try as hard as he might, Camaralzaman couldn’t pry apart the cover.
“What trickery is this?” he cried.
“If you will be patient,” answered Douban. “When my head is severed, my son will place it on a small rug.”
Douban’s son rose and placed a small rug on top of a large jeweled area “rug” that was a few steps back from the prince’s throne.
“The blood will cease to flow, my eyes will open, and I will instruct you on the wonderful mysteries of the tr
easure you now hold.”
There was a single gasp from all those assembled and people actually began stepping on each other to get a glimpse of the event. At a wave of the prince’s hand, Douban was forced to his knees as a ferocious-looking man with a huge scimitar stepped into place. Douban’s son slowly reached down and took Pandy’s hand. She squeezed back tightly.
The Physician’s head was severed in one stroke. There was no blood. Douban’s son paused only for a second before rushing forward, taking up his father’s head, and placing it gently on the small rug. Almost instantly, the eyelids fluttered open and the mouth began to move. Pandy flashed on her bust of Athena, with its green eyes and tiny tongue that got stuck every once in a while.
“Prince … ,” the head began.
In one corner of the room, a man fainted.
“… you will now be able to open the book.”
Camaralzaman did so easily.
“Please turn to the sixth page,” said the head.
As the prince began to turn the pages, he found that the first page was stuck to the second. He brought his finger to his mouth and wetted it in order to be able to turn it over. The second page was stuck to the third and so on, so the prince continued to wet his forefinger to loosen the pages. When he came to the sixth page, it was blank.
“There is nothing here,” said Camaralzaman.
“My apologies, Prince,” said the head. “It must be only a few pages further. Please continue.”
The prince turned page after page, always putting his finger to his mouth. Suddenly, Camaralzaman felt as if his body were on fire; the sight went from his eyes and he fell back against his ruby throne with a hard smack.
“Ahhh!” he cried, putting his hands out before him.
The head of Douban the Physician began to laugh.
“Tyrant! Now who is the fool?” it cried. “The pages of that book are coated with a deadly poison that you have ingested with every turn. And now you see what becomes of those who abuse their authority and murder the innocent. Brutality and injustice are always punished. And in case any of you are thinking of retribution against my son or my family, let me warn you that I will have power beyond my grave and I will be watching this court from now on!”
Pandora Gets Angry Page 8
