Timothy Boggs - Hercules Legendary Joureneys 03 (7 page)

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."

"If he is who you say he is, how do you know that breathing means he's alive? Demigods aren't like you and me, you know. For one thing, they're demigods."

"Just hit him with the water, all right?"

"I don't know, Salmoneus. Hit a demigod with water, he might get ticked, and I don't want to tick off a demigod. He might take away my voice or something."

"Flovi, he's not going to take your voice. Believe me."

"Besides, he saved my life. I don't want him to get mad after he saved my life."

"Flovi, give me the jug."

"Not if you're going to hit him with the water I won't."

He felt a not so distant pounding somewhere in the recesses of his skull. It reminded him of a much earlier time, when he had been feeling so sorry for himself, so tired of living without his wife and children, that he had drunk what seemed like half a barrel of wine. The next morning he wasn't dead, but he certainly felt like it.

He knew he wasn't dead now, either.

But he certainly felt like it.

He also felt a gentle pat on his cheek.

"Hercules, wake up."

"Flovi, use your head for a change. That won't do it. Use the water."

"I am not using the water. Look at him. He's bigger than life, for crying out loud. Somebody bigger than life is not going to be happy if you hit him with water. Come on, Hercules, wake up, sir."

"Sir?"

"Well, what do you call him?"

"Hercules. That's his name."

"I can't believe you're a friend of his. You. Of all people."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Hercules. Sir. Wake up."

"By the gods, Flovi, if you don't hit him with the water, I'm going to hit him with you!"

Hercules opened his eyes just wide enough to make out two sightly blurred figures standing beside him.

Looking down. Concerned. As if he were on the brink of dying. Which he knew he wasn't, even though he definitely felt like it. The pounding increased, there was a foul taste in his mouth, and although he hadn't stirred, he suspected that his arms and legs weren't going to work all that well.

"He's not moving, Salmoneus."

"I can see that. Use the water."

"Why don't
you
use the water?"

"Are you nuts?"

"All right, all right. Just make sure you tell him it was your idea. I don't want to lose my voice."

Hercules heard a low growling, a faint whimper, and saw one of the figures lift something off the floor.

"I think," he said, "that's not a good idea,"

The two figures jumped, something crashed onto the floor, and for the next few moments there was a lot of jumping about, relatively mild cursing, and a lot of complaints about soaked sandals and shrinkage.

Hercules raised himself cautiously on his elbows, gasped, closed his eyes, and fell back to wait for the world to stop spinning.

He was in his room, that much he could tell, Why he was here, though, he didn't know. The last thing he remembered was sitting in the inn, watching the two caravan thieves and wondering why they had happened to show up in Phyphe, of all places. Surely they understood that their victims would be able to recognize them. Were they that stupid?

"He's dead again."

Hercules groaned. "I am not dead." His eyes opened slightly; the world was still. A good sign. Maybe.

"What happened?"

Salmoneus knelt beside the bed. "I don't know, Hercules. The innkeeper sent for me last night. He said you were dead, or passed out, and he wanted me to throw you into the street."

"Water," Hercules said weakly.

Salmoneus grinned at Flovi. "See? I told you."

"A drink," Hercules added quickly. "Lots of drinks. Of water."

"On my way," Flovi said eagerly. "Don't die before I get back."

For a moment there was silence.

Blessed silence.

Then: "Hercules, it's starting already."

Hercules rubbed a hard hand over his face, trying to force some life into it. "What is?"

"The disasters."

"I hardly think this counts as a disaster, Salmoneus."

"But the innkeeper's been talking to other innkeepers and tavern owners, and
they've
heard about the other places. They think your practically dying is part of... whatever. How did they know?''

"I'm not dying, Salmoneus."

"Well, I know that, but they don't. How did they find out?" Salmoneus frowned. "What happened?

You drink too much?" His frown deepened, and a hand waved away an answer. "Never mind. You don't drink hardly at all. What did you have?'

"Mead." He held out a hand. "Help me up.'

Between the two of them, they managed to get him upright and his legs over the edge of the bed. The world didn't spin, but his stomach did.

"One portion of mead?" Salmoneus moved back to the room's only chair, dropped into it, and shook his head. "I've heard of people having low tolerance for drink before, but..." He scratched at his temple.

He scratched at his stomach. He glanced at the door, snapped his fingers, and said, "Powders."

"Potions," Hercules said at the same time.

They grinned at each other until the implication struck them like one of Aulma's slaps.

Salmoneus could do nothing better than shrug ignorance.

Hercules, his head still not quite sure it was going to stay hitched to his shoulders, didn't even try to come up with a solution. Someone who knew who he was, or someone who felt threatened, had drugged him. No attempted murder here; just getting him out of the way for the night.

"Anything happen?" he asked as Flovi returned with a new jug and a goblet. Hercules ignored the goblet, upending the jug instead, drinking some of the cool water, letting the rest trickle over his head.

"No," Salmoneus said. "At least not that I know of."

Flovi lifted his shoulders when they looked at him. "Nothing. Everybody was fine. No robberies, nobody around the wagons. I walked around the arena once to get the size of it, and went to my room to practice."

A puzzle, Hercules thought, his already foul mood souring even further. He hated puzzles. Thieves, warriors, armies, Hera, bullies—no puzzles there. Puzzles always meant there was more to what he saw than what he was looking at. It was the kind of thing that made a decent man dizzy, just trying to keep track of it all.

"You need food," Salmoneus decided, getting to his feet.

Hercules' stomach disagreed.

"Food, and hard work. That'll clear your brain."

Flovi hummed a few bars of something or other.

"Forget it," Salmoneus told him as they headed for the door. "Try me again when you can get through a whole song."

"I can," Flovi insisted.

"Not in one piece, you can't."

Hercules followed, saying nothing until he was faced with the innkeeper, who gave him a surprisingly long list of available foods. Just as surprisingly, he discovered he was starving and essentially told the man to begin at the beginning and not stop until he was told to.

Within an hour Hercules finally felt alive, if not perfect, and he spent the rest of the day helping the troupe set up.

The program was simple: a performance early the following evening to whet the townspeople's appe-tite, no performance the next day, so that word could spread to the nearby villages and farms, then two straight evenings of entertainment before Salmoneus moved on.

It was more work than Hercules had imagined. Chests and trunks had to be brought to the right people; the wagons had to be stored and cleaned and, in one case, repaired; and he himself had become the object of much attention once it was learned he was not only a worker, he was part of the show.

The strongman.

Hercules hadn't been clear exactly what he was supposed to be until he heard Virgil Cribus making a street announcement—that any man who thought himself man enough could challenge the awesome Salmoneus Red Power Beast to a wrestling match. The prize: a purse of dinars.

Hercules followed him for nearly an hour, and in no instance was his true name revealed.

I knew it, he thought, not sure if he should be angry. Leave it to him to find a way to make a dinar off me, even when he's in trouble.

It was, almost, admirable.

On the other hand .. . Red Power Beast?

By sunset he was exhausted, and he still hadn't had an opportunity to get inside the arena. Every time he made an attempt, someone called him to help with a move or a construction or herding the kids out of the way.

It was also tiring trying to watch everyone he saw, looking for the malicious expression or the suspicious glance. Someone had drugged him. The reason why was still a mystery.

Flovi, evidently, had a mystery, too.

They sat on the lip of a large stone well just east of the arena, well away from the nearest building.

"This place," Flovi said, wiping his sweating face with an already damp cloth. "I don't know, but there's something about it."

The sun was below the treetops. Shadows had taken over the open space around the arena, and most of the children and adults gone to dinner.

Flovi cleared his throat and sang a few bars of "Moonlight on the Aegean."

Hercules only winced twice.

"Don't you feel it?" The man waved his left arm, his right held loosely against his wounded side. ' 'My destiny is here, Hercules. I really think so."

"If you say so."

"I say so." Flovi slipped off the well and held both arms up to the star-filled sky. "Ouch."

"Go to bed," Hercules told him amiably. "You'll heal faster."

"My destiny," Flovi sang as he wandered off into the shadows.

Nuts, Hercules decided with a quick silent laugh; these people are all nuts. But at least Aulma hadn't slugged him again, and he decided he would make an effort to talk to her the next day. Apologize, if she would let him. Otherwise, he'd probably end up losing half his teeth.

One last note out of the darkness, amazingly clear and smooth, and the moon took over the sky, the land below was cloaked in silver.

Hercules stretched, yawned, and admitted that he felt pretty good. The work hadn't been all that hard, the company—especially the children—had been fine, and other than the potion in the mead, he hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. The news of previous trouble was easy to explain: either a traveler had come through, or someone had spread the rumor from within the troupe. Finding that one wouldn't be all that difficult. Just ask a few questions.

End of trouble.

Right, he thought; and tomorrow you'll wake up with a ton of gold on your chest.

Another stretch, another yawn, and he turned to haul up the well's bucket for a last drink before heading off to his bed. As he turned the crank, however, he heard a curious sound.

He turned his head slowly.

Flickering lights there in town; moonlight awash across the grass and dirt; the low black hulk of the arena.

No one out there.

He heard it again.

He looked toward the seemingly solid wall of trees some thirty feet beyond the well, but he could not see or sense any movement there either.

A rustling, slow and steady.

Flexing his fingers to keep them loose, he sidestepped away from the well, braced himself as he cocked his head.

It was familiar, that sound.

He knew ... He grinned.

Wings.

He looked up expectantly. "Hermes?"

Something large and heavy slammed into his back, knocking the air from his lungs as he landed hard on his chest.

"Think again, big boy," a harsh voice snarled. "You ready to die?"

The obvious response to the immediate situation would be to buck the attacker off, leap to his feet, and find out what in the name of Poseidon's tides was going on.

The other obvious, and more prudent, response was to lie there, cheek to the ground, and figure out what, exactly, the attacker had that ever so carefully threatened to puncture a number of holes in his sides and spine.

"Don't move," the attacker whispered in his ear. "Move, and you'll be sorry."

He opened his mouth.

"Don't!" the attacker warned. "Call for help, you're a sieve."

"Believe me, I wasn't going to." He kept his voice quiet and even, to prevent whoever it was from panicking. Which, considering the circumstances, the attacker probably wasn't very likely to do. "What do you want?"