Odysseus in the Serpent Maze (16 page)

“If only we still had the key,” Mentor said, turning away.

“You don’t have it?” Praxios cried, in a voice that sounded like a death rattle.

“Idomeneus took it from me,” said Odysseus unhappily. “For all the good it is to us now, it might as well be on the other side of the ocean.”

T
HERE WAS NO MORE
to be got out of the old man. He simply rolled into a ball in his own corner and fell asleep, loudly snoring.

“I doubt the Minotaur itself made that much noise,” Mentor complained.

The boys spent a miserable night on the cold stone floor. No matter how much straw they bunched under themselves, they couldn’t get comfortable. Finally sheer fatigue put them to sleep.

When they woke in the morning—which they identified by the shaft of weak light coming through the ceiling grille—they were stiff all over. They could hear the sounds of the palace stirring to life.

Mentor sniffed loudly, trying to sort out any smells of food.

“Do we get breakfast?” he asked hopefully.

Praxios was already up and pacing around the small cell. “One meal a day,” he said gloomily. “But at least it’s always on time.”

At midday a palace servant brought them a loaf of bread and a jug of brackish water. A burly guard stood in the open doorway watching them eat, his sword ready for any trouble. Once they were finished with the meagre offerings, the guard took away the water jug, and the door was slammed and locked shut behind him.

As soon as he was gone, Odysseus began to search the cell, checking the walls, floor, corners, trying to find any way out of the place. He went around a second time. And then a third.

“There’s not a loose brick or promising chink anywhere,” he muttered.

Meanwhile Mentor was talking with old Praxios.

“So you learned to heat metal. And to shape it. But so can any smith,” Mentor said.

Praxios shook his head. “Not like the master.”

Mentor got very quiet. “Did he teach you any of his magic?”

Praxios laughed his dry little barking laugh again. “There was no
magic
.”

As if the very word bid him, Odysseus stopped his search and came over to them. “No magic? But what about the bronze dog? What about the ship? What about the …?”

Praxios grinned. “No magic, boy. None. It was all craft. The master learned that motion can be stored just like grain or wine.”

Odysseus snorted. “Store motion in a jar? That would be like keeping the wind in a bag.”

“Not in a jar,” Praxios said. He leaned forward and whispered, as if imparting a great secret. The boys both leaned in to hear. “It’s contained in coiled lengths of metal.”

“Metal!” This time Mentor laughed out loud.

But Odysseus was suddenly silent, listening.

“You wind the metal around itself again and again and keep it that way until you need the motion that’s stored in it.”

“That makes no sense at all,” Mentor said. “Unless it’s magic motion that’s stored.”

Praxios shook his head. “I don’t understand any better than you do, but it works. You’ve seen it for yourselves.”

Remembering the coiled metal in the bowels of the ship, the metal intestines spilling out of the bronze hound, Odysseus nodded.

Praxios suddenly shook all over. “But what does it matter?” he cried. “What does it matter? They’re gone. All gone.”

“Suppose …” Odysseus said quietly. “Suppose you had Daedalus’ own plans. Could you build a new ship just like the one that’s gone?”

Praxios rubbed his chin thoughtfully, which caused his thin beard to waggle. “Perhaps. It would take a lot of work, though. But I’m a good worker.”

Putting a hand to his chest, feeling the crinkle of the parchment beneath his tunic, Odysseus was just about to confide his secret, when there was a sudden noise.

Hsst.

“A snake!” Praxios cried. “I hate snakes!” He scrambled into his corner.

“No, the sound came from up there,” Mentor said, pointing to the grille above their heads.

“By all the gods,” Odysseus whispered hoarsely, glancing up. “What are
you
doing here?”

“Helen!” Mentor cried. “Are you all right?”

Helen’s hair had been elaborately arranged on top of her head with two long curls twining down over her cheeks. A row of pearls was strung across her brow, and a pair of gold earrings dangled from her ears. She’d been doused with perfume.

“You look so beautiful,” Mentor whispered, transfixed by her.

For a moment she beamed at the compliment. Then she said, “I looked
beautiful
about an hour ago. But since then this new dress has got terribly soiled. I had to climb over a balcony and down a vine to get here. I shall have to take a bath when I get back to my apartment. You should see the bath. It’s made out of a solid—”

Odysseus interrupted. “Why
are
you here?”

“It certainly isn’t for the pleasure of
your
company,” Helen said.

“If the king finds out, you’re going to be in terrible trouble,” Mentor began.

“
He’s
the reason I’ve come,” Helen said. “He’s thrown Penelope into the Labyrinth. You’ve got to do something.”

“Penelope!” Odysseus felt a shudder that began in his feet and worked its way up to the top of his head. His heart suddenly thudded in his chest. “But … but …”

“But
we’re
supposed to be the ones punished,” said Mentor.

“I know,” Helen whispered. She looked around to make sure no one could see her. “It has to do with some silly prophecy. Something like ‘When the maiden and the horned beast at—’”

Praxios corrected her. “When maiden meets the horned beast at the heart of the Labyrinth, then will you find your heart’s desire.’”

“That’s it!” Helen cried, clapping her hands.

“It’s something Daedalus told King Minos when he built the Labyrinth,” Praxios said.

“I thought the Minotaur was dead,” Odysseus said.

Praxios shrugged his bony shoulders. “King Minos never forgot those words. He said it was a prophecy. After my master escaped, even after the Minotaur was dead, the king continued sending foreign young maidens—boys too—into the Labyrinth. He believed their sacrifice would give him his heart’s desire and that the rule of Crete would go on forever.”

“But Minos too, died,” Odysseus pointed out.

“His awful son rules,” said Praxios. “The sacrifices continue. There are other monsters in the maze now.”

“Me,” Helen said. “He was going to sacrifice me!” Her voice held a combination of horror and surprise. “But Idomeneus—may Aphrodite bless him—stood between me and the palace guards. He insisted they take Penelope instead.”

“And you let them?” Odysseus asked.

For once she had the grace and wit to be silent.

“What could Helen have done?” Mentor argued. “Better one than two. And she’s here now.”

“Too little and too late,” Odysseus said bitterly. “Penelope was worth twenty of you.” He realised that he meant it.

Helen began to snuffle. “I know she is. I know. And I tried. I begged Idomeneus. I was still crying when he left me.”

“Tears are not coins and buy little freedom,” Odysseus said.

“I know. I know,” Helen said. She wiped a hand across her nose, smearing the heavy Cretan make-up. “I ordered a servant to show me the way here. You should have seen him jump!” She gave a little hiccuping laugh. “I came so you can get out and rescue Penelope.”

“Did you bring us swords?” asked Odysseus.

“Don’t be silly! How could I carry swords?” Helen answered.

“A bow then?” Odysseus asked. “I’m really good with a bow.”

“Of course not.”

“Then how are we to get out?” Mentor asked.

“I thought clever Odysseus would have that figured out by now. I just came to be sure you went to rescue Penelope first,” Helen said. “I guess he’s not so clever after all.”

Odysseus groaned.

“The key,” old Praxios croaked.

“The key?” Mentor and Helen said together.

“The key!” Odysseus almost shouted, then remembered where they were. “Where is it? The golden key?”

“Why …” Helen looked puzzled. “In the treasury. Idomeneus took me there to pick out some jewellery and to put the key there.”

“Can you find your way back to the treasury?” Odysseus said, trying hard to be patient and not succeeding.

“Of course,” Helen said. “But it’s very well guarded. You’ll never get inside.”

“
You
,” he said, almost growling. “
You
will get inside, Helen.”

“But why me? Haven’t I already done enough?”

“You’ve been wonderful,” said Mentor.

Odysseus kicked him on the shin. “You have to get inside
to get the key
!”

“Why that key?”

Honestly
, Odysseus thought,
she is the dumbest girl in the entire world
. Then he remembered how she’d found her way to them. Maybe not
that
dumb. “Because the key is one of Daedalus’ inventions. It will open any lock in Crete.” He decided not to let her know it would open any lock in the entire world. Better not to give her too much information!

Helen tilted her head to one side, considering. “I’m not sure they’d let me in without Idomeneus.”

“Order them to. Tell them you don’t like the earrings you’ve got. Tell them you want to get a new pair,” Odysseus said.

“You don’t like the earrings?” Helen asked. “Are they too gaudy? I know they’re too gaudy.”

“It’s just an
excuse
,” Odysseus said, bristling with impatience. “I don’t care about your earrings, so long as you get the key.”

“Don’t you take that tone with me, Prince Clever.”

“Helen,” Mentor said, his tone suddenly cozening, “we’ve got to get started at once if we’re to save Penelope.”

Helen stood. “All right. I’ll try. You wait here till I get back.”

She disappeared from the grille.

“As if we had somewhere else to go,” Odysseus whispered.

O
DYSSEUS COULDN’T STOP IMAGINING
Penelope wandering along the twisted tunnels of the Labyrinth.

Is she frightened
? And then as quickly,
No, she’ll be brave.

But he knew that being brave, without weapon or friend to help, would not be enough.

Not against a beast in the dark.

He started pacing the cell restlessly. “Helen should have been back by now.”

“Maybe she was caught,” Mentor said.

“Maybe lost her nerve, you mean,” Odysseus countered.

Mentor bit his lip. “You haven’t given her enough time.”

“How much time do you think
Penelope
has?” Odysseus said.

“Hush!” Praxios suddenly stood, finger to lip.

They shut up at once. There was a rustle above them, then a loud clink.

They looked up, then down. A gold key glinted in the straw.

“Now get on with it,” Helen whispered, starting to move away.

“Wait,” Odysseus called. “We need one more thing.”

“I can’t do any more. Idomeneus is probably already looking for me.”

Mentor called, “
Please,
Helen. This and nothing more.” He looked over at Odysseus.

Odysseus nodded. “Distract the guard, Helen. Or he’ll cut us down as we try to leave.”

“I thought you were a hero,” she said.

“He
is
a hero,” Mentor replied angrily. “He saved me from drowning, got us away from the pirates, fought the bronze dog and …” His voice ground to a halt.

Odysseus bit his lip. “Helen, we’re two boys and”—he looked over at Praxios—“and a craftsman. The guard’s a grown man with a sword. You figure it out.”

“And how am
I
supposed to distract him? This grown man with a sword?”

“Just be yourself,” Odysseus said.

Mentor kicked him in the shin.

Helen knelt again and whispered through the grate. “If I do this, then everyone will know I helped you to escape.”

“Everyone will know anyway,” Mentor said. “And in Sparta you’ll be known for your bravery as well as your beauty.”

“Do you want Penelope rescued or not?” Odysseus went to the heart of the matter.

“You’d better succeed, after all the trouble I’ve gone through,” Helen said. Then she was gone.

They were silent until they heard the murmur of conversation in the outer hall where the guard stood watch. Trusting it was Helen—not just another guard—Odysseus slid the gold key into the cell door lock. He turned it gently until it gave a satisfying
snick
, and the door opened.

“Sandals off,” he whispered. Then, turning to Praxios, he took the old man’s cloak.

They found themselves at the far end of a long corridor. Clear on the other side the burly guard hunched over, talking intensely with someone hidden from their view.

Their bare feet made no sound on the stone floor, and they crept up behind the guard until they could hear Helen’s voice saying, “Should I turn left at the grain store?”

“No, mistress.
Right
at the store. Left at the
stables
.” The guard spoke with the same irritation Odysseus did when talking to her.

“You’ve been”—she sighed loudly—“so helpful. And I’ve been such a silly goose.” She put a delicate hand on his arm.

“No, mistress,” he said, only this time he sounded as if her beauty had suddenly fuddled him.

It was then that Odysseus pounced, pulling the cloak over the guard’s head and drawing it tightly around his thick neck while Mentor made a dive for the guard’s legs.

The guard let out a bellow, which was muffled by the cloak, and kicked out before Mentor could reach him. He spun around, groping blindly for his sword. Odysseus was shaken this way and that, just as he’d been by the bronze dog. Only this time he lost his grip and tumbled across the floor.

Staggering across the passage, the guard was like a blinded beast. Helen kicked a little footstool in his way, and he tripped over it before he could rid himself of the cloak. Stumbling forward, he cracked his head on the wall and dropped senseless to the floor.

“Oh!” Helen cried. “I think I’ve broken my toe.”

Odysseus scrambled over to the guard, drew the man’s sword from the scabbard, and set it aside. Mentor hastened over as well. Only Praxios stayed back, huddled against the wall.