Pandora Gets Angry (15 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The House of Mahfouza

“Just give it to me once more,” Alcie said.

“From the beginning again?” asked Douban.

“No, not from the beginning!” She huffed. “I've got all that. Persia has mortals and immortals. Just like Greece, duh. Largest class of immortals are the genies and peris—got it. But still I don't understand the eggs. Wait, Pandy, wait!”

Alcie stopped walking and leaned back against a low stone wall.

“I just gotta catch my breath. Maybe I lost some, like, stamina or something when I was in the underworld. Just gimme a tick.”

It had only been a short time since they left the ruined courtyard and the crumbling fountain. The sun was still well below the horizon line, only the faintest glow beginning in the east.

“You okay?” asked Homer gently, looking down on Alcie as if he were seeing her for the very first time.

“Yes, Homie,” she said, and Iole could have sworn that Alcie actually batted her eyelashes. “Okay, Douban—go.”

“Think of it this way: your gods in Greece have someone or something more powerful than they are, correct? Someone or something that they call ‘master'?”

“Well,” Alcie said after a moment, “the only thing more powerful than the gods is the one god, Zeus. He is more powerful than all the Olympians put together. So I guess Zeus would be to the Greek gods the same as a roc would be to the genies. Except they don't call him ‘master.' Some call him ‘father' or ‘Sky-Lord' or ‘brother.' I think there was a rumor that Hera called him ‘dummy' once. We didn't hear much about Hera for a while after that. Iole, am I even close?”

Iole, who had moved ahead slightly to talk to Pandy, turned back over her shoulder.

“You're comprehending quite nicely, Alce. It's a tricky concept, but you've got it.”

She turned back to Pandy.

“More importantly, do you have any idea about Rage?”

“I don't,” Pandy sighed. “Nothing solid, that is. I would have thought we might have gotten it out of Douban the Physician after his head was cut off. That was so stupid, so unfair, and just plain wrong—it would have enraged me! But he was kinda calm about the whole thing. So, no, I got zilch. Mahfouza's mother and father are dead—at least Mahfouza thinks so—and apparently they were very well loved. I think it's a good place to start. And Mahfouza has a big family. Her brothers and sisters might know something. Besides, we have to get Dido. Alcie? You good?”

“I'm good,” Alcie called ahead.

Following the map Mahfouza had given her, Pandy led the way through the darkened, empty streets of the poorer side of Baghdad to one of the wealthier quarters of the city. Here, ornate lamps hung from bronze chains in front of every house, still lit in the predawn hours. Behind the immense walls, some with decorations of gold and silver, the domes and turrets of the homes rose high enough to be silhouetted in the faint morning light. Flowering plants and thick, leafy vines tumbled over the walls, indicating no shortage of water in this tiny section of the dry desert. Even the few servants that they encountered, those who rose early to prepare meals, seemed lavishly dressed and bejeweled. It was still too dark to see much of anything clearly, but squinting her eyes, Pandy could just make out the indicators that Mahfouza had written on the map.

“Winding street, okay we're on it,” she mumbled to herself. “Wall with vines with orange flowers. Uh-huh.” Then she tried to look over one large wall. “Guys, does this house look sorta greenish? The one over this wall?”

Homer lifted Alcie on his shoulders.

“Ooof! Watch the—watch the cherries!” she said as he swung her up. “Yeah, it's greeny, kinda.”

Pandy crossed to the other side of the road.

“Okay. Then Mahfouza's house should be this one, right … over … here. Yipes.”

They stood in front of a large iron gate bordered by a high white wall covered in grime. The abundant vines overflowing from the garden and entwined in the gate were blackened and dead. The tops of the trees were bare, the hinges on the gate were rusty, and the house was completely dark.

“Great Athena,” Pandy whispered. “This couldn't be right.”

Iole took the map, stared at it, then looked at Pandy.

“It is.”

“Maybe, but it looks one hundred percent wrong,” Pandy said as she pushed against the heavy gate, which swung open slowly.

As Douban passed her, he brushed her arm lightly. After an involuntary shudder, Pandy once again thought of her responsibility and that, ultimately, the quest was hers alone.

“Douban, if you don't want—I mean, you don't have to go in.”

Douban paused to look her right in the eyes.

“As you say, Pandora,” he smiled, “it looks wrong, and dangerous.”

He stepped into the garden.

Pandy didn't know whether to feel elated or guilty. He was obviously doing this just for her, but his death, if it came to that, would be a source of yet more guilt that she would shoulder for the rest of her life.

The garden surrounding the house was enormous. There were many date palms, pomegranates, and other trees Pandy couldn't identify. There were two fountains at either end, but the water wasn't flowing so much as spurting. There were also several piles of a whitish material that Pandy thought might be stones or leaves.

But what everyone noticed immediately, from the smell, was that everything in the garden was dead or dying.

“Figs. This garden looks like one of the rooms in Hades' palace,” Alcie said. “Only that was kinda beautiful. And it didn't stink. I think.”

“Ares' shield,” Pandy whispered. “Something's happened here, all right.”

Then she turned toward the house for her first good look; now Pandy saw it was truly massive. It rose out of the ground into an elaborate concoction of turrets, arched doorways, and balconies; yet everything was in wretched condition, as if the house had spent years simply decaying. Some of the tall windows still had tattered silk curtains billowing gently, while others were covered by thick dead vines. At one end, the main wall had fallen outward into the garden and lay in a heap of rubble. Ornate, decorative ironwork around the windows and doorways was mangled and twisted, sharp ends jutted out into space like some sort of makeshift barricade.

As Pandy began to follow the remnants of a formal walkway, everyone heard a low moan coming from the right side of the garden, far off in a corner amongst a clump of low trees. Hurrying toward the sound, Pandy nearly ran headlong into a large object hanging low in a pomegranate tree.

The object moaned again.

“Who's got a light?”

Homer had completely forgotten about the brass lamp hanging from his waist and innocently remained silent. Pandy felt around on the ground and picked up a dead branch.

“Allow me,” Douban said, producing two vials from the fold of his robe. He sprinkled the powders inside into his palm where they ignited into a red flame.

“Quickly, please!” he said.

At once, Pandy lit the end of the branch and held it close to the hanging object.

Everyone gasped.

A young man was suspended from a high limb, his body caught in a net like a catch of fish. He turned toward the light and all could see the thousands of bright red and white bumps covering his face, neck, and arms. He opened his mouth to speak and his tongue rolled slowly out, covered with the same horrible bumps.

Pandy was about to demand Homer and Douban cut the youth down when a wail erupted from the house that made everyone's blood turn to ice water. The youth moaned again and Pandy turned back to see that he was motioning with one free finger, flicking it in the direction of the main doorway.

“You want us to go in?” Pandy asked him.

The young man nodded weakly.

“Okay,” she said. “But we'll be back. We'll get you down.”

In that moment, saying something like that, Pandy felt heroic and important. It only occurred to her as she was racing toward the house that she had no idea if she would even be alive to get back to the youth. It just seemed like something a hero would say—and perhaps it gave the distressed man a little hope. It was the best she could do.

They got within two meters of the front entryway when the wailing began again, louder and sharper, and stopped them in their tracks. It was a wail of despair, certainly, but now there was something underneath; something vicious and brutal and angry—it was terrifying. Iole grabbed hold of both Pandy and Alcie.

“That's the most horrible thing I have ever heard,” she said.

Pandy looked at the others, Homer had thrown his arms around Alcie, and Douban was shaking slightly. Creeping up the last few steps to the open, arched entry, Pandy craned her neck inside to look deeper into the house. Holding her little torch high, she saw a large room, its far wall blown out into the garden. At the other end of the house, Pandy saw what had been a magnificent and richly appointed salon. Now cushions and couches had been shredded, chairs overturned and tables broken. Pandy motioned to the others to follow her across the marble floor toward the back of the house. The wailing rose again and, again, they froze midstep. Alcie clutched Pandy's arm.

“It sounds like it's coming from inside the walls!” she whispered.

“I know!” Pandy mouthed back.

She was about to move forward, but the moment the wailing died off, they heard a soft sobbing coming from the salon. Pandy, with a surprised glance to the others, immediately changed direction. Picking her way around a few couches oddly bunched together, she came upon a young girl, seated on a couch in a corner with a thin tapestry thrown across one shoulder, leaving the other arm exposed. The girl didn't move when she opened her eyes, wet with tears, and saw Pandy staring down at her.

“Uh, are you okay?” Pandy asked.

The girl only sobbed softly in reply.

“I'm Pandora and I'm looking for Mahfouza. Is this her house?” Pandy went on, feeling stupid for some reason, as if the questions she was asking were the wrong ones. The girl nodded almost imperceptibly.

“What's wrong? What's happened?” Pandy asked.

Instead of answering with words, the young girl drew aside the tapestry with her free hand. Alcie gasped and turned her head into Homer's cloak. Iole took such a huge breath of air that she almost started to choke until Douban steadied her. Pandy just gaped in horror.

The girl's head, neck, left arm, and shoulder were perfectly normal. But the rest of her body was coarse gray stone. Suddenly, the girl winced and in the light of the torch, Pandy and the rest saw the left side of her neck drain of color and harden. Pandy was afraid she would turn completely to stone before her eyes, but then the transformation stopped.

Before Pandy could open her mouth, the wail erupted again, so loud this time that the pain in her ears made her think she might go deaf. Suddenly, Iole's eyes went wide.

Without warning, one of the walls, bare of tapestries or decoration, had developed large wet spots in several places. As the wailing continued, the spots grew larger until the water pooled and overflowed—in the exact shape of large tears—and ran down the surface. Each wail brought more huge teardrops.

“Is the wall weeping?” Pandy asked Iole.

“I think so,” she replied.

“Only one way to find out,” Pandy said, extending her fingers to catch some of the liquid.

“Don't touch it!” came a cry off to her right.

Everyone turned to see a mammoth pale spider with flowing black hair scuttling backward into the center of the house.

“Come! This way!”

“That sounds like Mahfouza,” Pandy said.

“Well,
that
most certainly was not Mahfouza!” Iole said, eyeing the spider as Pandy took off.

Completely forgetting the poor girl turning to stone behind them, Pandy and the rest flew after the creature, rounding a corner just in time to see it disappear behind a privacy curtain far down a long corridor. Racing to it and pushing the heavy fabric aside, Pandy, Alcie, Iole, Homer, and Douban found themselves in a large room, one that had obviously been used for storage when the house had been functioning normally. Now, with the glow of one lamp burning somewhere, unseen, in the room, Pandy could tell that everything here, too, had been overturned, spilled, or ruined.

“Pandora?” came a voice out of the clutter.

Suddenly, there was a bark from the direction of the lamplight.

“Dido! Quiet!” said the voice in a soft but insistent tone.

“Mahfouza?”

“Here, but be careful—all of you. Do not cry out when you look upon me. It is almost daybreak. We must be silent.”

“Uh, okay,” Pandy said, then dropped her voice to barely a whisper. “I mean, okay.”

Picking her way around a jumbled pile of low brass tables, vases, screens, and overstuffed floor cushions, Pandy followed the glow until she spied movement on the other side of a multicolored glass panel. She froze, looking through the pane in shock. Perhaps the glass and the colors were distorting the image of the objects on the other side. She couldn't possibly be seeing correctly; she prayed to Athena that she wasn't. She jumped when, out of nowhere, she felt a soft tongue licking her hand. She looked down into Dido's face and knelt to wrap her arms around his neck.

“Hi, boy. You gotta be quiet for me, okay? Good boy. Let's go. Take me to Mahfouza.”

Pandy slowly walked around the edge of the pane and, staring at the sight in front of her, felt every muscle in her body seize up. Iole's hand flew to her mouth. Alcie opened her mouth to scream and, thinking quickly, Douban turned her to face him, his finger on his lips. Homer just gaped for a moment, then closed his eyes.

Mahfouza was … wrong.

Her long, lean dancer's body had been taken apart and reassembled with everything in the wrong place. Her legs were where her arms should have been, and her arms were functioning as her legs. Her head was in the middle of her stomach, her chin pointing to where her neck used to be. Her nose was in place of her right eye and her mouth was on the side of her face. She was forced to sit, lean, or bend backward for her eyes to be able to be able to focus on Pandy.