A Rose-Red City

Eleven

And then there were five…

And then there was also a stupendous row. Ariadne blamed Graham, Graham blamed Jerry, Maisie blamed all of them. Carlo sat down on the grass and waited, thin brown arms on knees, until they settled it all. Jerry said almost nothing. He just stood there, his unshaven face weary and drawn, arms folded under his cape. Finally it began to penetrate to Ariadne that rage would accomplish nothing. She had been up and down too often— weeks of planning and scheming and then the escape with the children, and lately too many hours of hopes being raised and hopes being dashed— good brainwashing technique. She didn’t think she could take any more. So she fell silent, choked back a temptation to burst into tears, and waited until Graham and Maisie came to their senses also.

Then there were five— first Killer, and then Lacey and Alan. Who was next?

At last there was silence.

“Have you all finished?” Jerry asked in that strange English drawl he now had. He got no reply. “Good show! Right, then, I agree that winged horses are a pagan symbol, Maisie, I agree that the unicorns did not have wings and therefore we were tricked, I agree that the children are not qualified to fly horses at ten thousand feet— who is?— and I will even admit that I was not surprised when they were taken from us. I point out only that there is nothing we can do about it now, and also that it was the innocents who were removed, and therefore I still think it was a rescue and not a demonic plot.”

“So now what?” Carlo demanded.

Jerry studied him for a moment and then turned to look at Graham. “You two chaps don’t even need a shave, do you?” he said, and rubbed the gilt stubble on his own face. “Are you hungry?”

“Not especially,” Graham said. “I could eat if you put it in front of me, but no, not really.” Carlo shook his head.

“I thought as much,” Jerry said. He turned without a word and strode back up the slope into the trees.

The others followed, shouting questions, and he pushed ahead angrily, ignoring them for a while. Finally, without slowing down he said, “As to where I am going — I am going back to the road in the hope that I may find Killer waiting there— if I can find the spot. As far as the shaving and hunger thing is concerned— well, never mind, it’s only a guess, and my guesses aren’t working too well.” Nevertheless, they all knew now that he had a better grasp on what was likely to happen in this looking-glass world than any of them did, and they were going to stick to him like paint.

Maisie in particular was having trouble with her footwear, with the sweater, and the children’s discarded coats that she was clutching; they were constantly getting entangled in branches. Graham still had his suit coat over his arm and looked hot and angry, as did Carlo. Ariadne was discovering that her Meran outfit had astonishing versatility— it never snagged on thorns or attracted burrs, it showed no trace of the blood which had been splattered on it, and the soft felt boots seemed to be not only waterproof but also tough enough for any terrain.

In a small space among cypress trees, Jerry came to a stop and let the others catch up with him. He looked them over thoughtfully, and she decided he had just administered a small lesson— they were all out of breath and more docile.

“The road has gone,” he said. “You noticed?”

“Perhaps we’ve been going in circles?” Maisie said and he shook his head. “I’ve been keeping an eye on the sun. The vegetation is changing, too— drier and fewer trees. That frondy gray-green thing is an olive, I think.” He pointed. “Mountains? They’re new.” Sure enough, rocky peaks glimmered far away and blue in the heat haze.

“So where do we go now?” Graham asked.

“Downhill. You may be all right, but I need food and water. People tend to live in valleys, not on hilltops.”

He turned to go, and Ariadne put a hand on his arm. “Jerry,” she pleaded, “explain this hunger thing. I’m not hungry either and I know I should be.” He looked very weary— the way they all should, after so long without food or drink since their solitary cup of coffee for breakfast. “I think you four have been put on hold,” he said. “The men don’t need a shave, and their bruises still look fresh and new— they aren’t changing color.”

“I don’t understand,” she said. It was all true, and she had not noticed until he mentioned it.

He was obviously worried and not saying everything he was thinking. “Neither do I, but I suspect you four are in a different category from me. It’s as though judgment has been suspended: you could be put back in the real world at the time and place you left it and you wouldn’t have changed.” He pointed at Graham’s pants. “Those bags of yours— they’re frightfully filthy, but you haven’t torn them at all. That’s curious.” The others looked at one another, and there were no arguments except that Carlo said, “The hell I haven’t changed,” and put a hand to his face.

Jerry frowned and looked as guilty as Al caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Ariadne didn’t think he need feel guilty— Carlo had deserved it.

“You and Graham were in the front seat, weren’t you?” he asked. “Maisie, you were in the back?”

“What has that got to do with anything?” Graham demanded.

Jerry shrugged. “I told you, it’s only a theory. But somewhere back in reality you have a car, probably wrapped around a fir tree. Front seat passengers often get facial damage, don’t they?” Graham snorted with derision. “You mean we wake up with mild concussion, and this is all a dream, like a fairy tale?” Jerry flushed angrily. “I wouldn’t count on it if I were you, but it might be one alternative. Have you another explanation for that chin of yours?” He turned and set off down the hill without waiting for a reply.

Soon they were plodding down a rough little valley, its sides bearing a few oaks and what Ariadne thought might be chestnut trees. There was very little else except grass and a few animal droppings. There was no shade to shelter them from the cruel and scorching sun. The enchanted unicorn forest had been free of insects, but now hordes of flies had appeared, although they weren’t bothering her much. If Jerry had been hoping to find a stream, he was being unlucky. They stumbled along and sweated, with Graham periodically shouting to Jerry to slow down for Maisie’s sake, although the problem lay less with Maisie herself than with her impractical shoes; her legs were a good deal longer than Ariadne’s— probably one of her qualifications for matrimony, she decided cattily. Far overhead floated a solitary hawk, or possibly a kite or a vulture.

Tiring of the others’ grumpy silence, she moved forward beside Jerry and said, “Sorry.”

“For what?” he asked.

“For being such a quarrelsome and ungrateful idiot,” she replied. Then he had to apologize to her, and they had a conversation going. She learned how he had arrived in Mera, bailing out of a crippled bomber in a fog bank, low over the North Sea, drifting down through it and emerging in sunlight below… “not quite what I expected”… and settling gently on the grass outside the North Gate, where his now good friend Gervasse was waiting for him, asking what had happened to his balloon.

He pointed then to black dots on a patch of hillside visible over the valley wall. “Goats!” he said. “Notice how they’re overgrazing everywhere? They’re going to have a serious erosion problem here soon.” Then he edged her gently into her history, and she told him of music, scholarships, auditions, and then pregnancy and marriage; of motherhood and then another attempt at music; of her terminally ill marriage, of another pregnancy, of gin and divorce and gin and legal battles and gin… “And, yes,” she admitted, “everything Graham said last night was true. I got so I would do anything for the stuff. Fortunately I don’t remember the worst bits.” The valley, now almost a gorge, took a sudden bend. He laid a hand on her arm to stop her and they waited for the others to catch up. She had not noticed, but he had been watching.

“There’s a building ahead. I’ll go on and scout, if you like, while you wait here.” She felt very uneasy at the thought of being separated from him; he seemed so much more competent than any of the rest of them. The others were feeling the same, frowning, and shaking their heads.

“Let’s all stick together,” she suggested, and everyone agreed. Jerry shrugged and then smiled.

“Reconnaissance in force, then,” he said. “We’ll all hang together.” Nevertheless, he went much more slowly. She felt— and probably they all did— horribly conspicuous in that bare valley below the empty blue sky. Finally they reached the building and could see that it was apparently deserted.

It stood at the base of a very steep slope, a small, flat-topped structure with a modern-artish sort of sculpture set on top of it and a walled enclosure in front, all built of massive gray stone blocks, the lower portions green and wet and slimy. In the center of the front wall a trickle of water ran from an algae-draped overflow into a trough where the turf had all been trampled away. From there a dry stream bed of pebbles trailed off down the valley. Without hesitation, Jerry leaned across the stinking trough and took a long drink.

“Ah!” he said, wiping his face with satisfaction. “The very best champagne! Next?”

Graham pulled his face and shook his head. “It smells like the runoff from a feed lot… not for me, thank you!” The others all seemed to agree, and Ariadne was certain that she did not want to taste that foul brew.

“There you are,” Jerry said. “You’re different; I needed that.”

“Lord knows what you’re going to catch from it, though,” she said. He smiled. “If I get back to Mera it won’t matter— and I suspect that if I don’t, it won’t matter either.” Champagne? It seemed to have put new life in him— his worried expression had turned to a half grin. He nodded up at the walls. “Let’s explore,” he said.

Steps halfway along the downstream side led up to a bronze gate and into a courtyard, most of which was occupied by a rectangular pool, the walkways around it being narrow and surrounded by low walls. The water was coated with patches of green slime and stank horribly.

“I wonder if the Department of Health inspects this?” Graham said. “You going to swim, too, Jerry?” Graham’s attempts at humor were invariably forced and ponderous, but the truce was in effect.

Jerry grinned and said, “Not today, thank you. Any of you know what that is?” He pointed to the main structure, at the hillside end. A low doorway led into darkness, a flight of stone steps in one corner led up to the roof, and on top of that was the free-form sculpture, one massive block of stone carved into two horns.

Silence.

“It’s an altar,” he said. “To the god of the spring— no, it would be a goddess, I think. They’re called horns of consecration. Stay here, Ariadne.” He walked around the end of the court and paused momentarily to peer into the darkness of the doorway, pulled back and made a nose-pinching gesture to show that it stank, ran up the steps at the side to take a quick look at the altar, came down, and went around to stand on the opposite side of the pool from them. “Look at my reflection,” he called. “What am I wearing?” Magic again! There was Jerry in his wide green trousers and cape, with the silly cap on his head, standing on the side of the pool, while at his feet was his image— a darker-brown man with black hair hanging in ringlets and wearing only…

“A loin cloth and sandals,” she said, while the men muttered curses and Maisie a prayer.

Jerry nodded, as though he had expected as much. “Can you see yourself, Ariadne?” She peered over the edge and… Good God!

Jerry laughed, and she supposed she was blushing. “You want to come around here and show the others? Well, I’ll describe it. A long red skirt, sort of conical, with a tight waist— that looks uncomfortable— and hoops of yellow on it. And a red bodice… tastefully supporting, but not concealing, the bosom.” She backed away from the revealing mirror quickly.

He walked over to the downstream end, where the overflow ran out, and sat down on the wall to study the view. The others joined him. Alongside the dry stream an obvious path led on down the valley, the road to the shrine from… from where?

“You look charming in it,” he told her, smiling, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

He stared out at the winding, grassy valley and the path. “I’m starving!” he said. “There were some charred scraps of something nasty on that altar, but I’m not quite that hungry, yet. The building is to pen the livestock before sacrifice, I think— or else it’s the slaughterhouse. It certainly smells bad enough for anything.”

“Just a minute,” Graham said, giving him a suspicious look. “You recognize that costume?” Jerry nodded and said nothing until they pestered him further.

“All right, then,” he said. “You know by now that these clothes are a faerie disguise— Ariadne and I look like natives in them, no matter where we are. None of us here can see that, because we all believe in Mera, but our reflections show what others would see. And yes, I think I know who wore those bare-breasted dresses. It fits.”

“Then where are we?” she asked.

“Well, obviously we’re not in the real world,” he said. “Not with flying horses around. This whole adventure has had a Greek flavor to it. Perhaps that was Killer’s influence, because Killer dominates anything he touches, so it may have been he who brought the demon in that particular shape last night; or it may have been you, Ariadne.” Of course she should have thought of that. “My name, you mean?” she asked, and he nodded. Why was he so cheerful again?

“Whichever of you it was, we haven’t escaped from that myth influence, obviously.” Winged horses were a Greek legend, also.

“So this is Greece?” asked Graham.

Jerry shook his head. “It isn’t any real place— if we’d had dragons last night, instead of what we got, then we would be in the equivalent of King Arthur’s Britain, I think, or the Black Forest of dwarfs and elves, or the Sweden of Beowulf and Grendel. But on those terms… no, it isn’t Greece, it’s Crete.”

“Why Crete?”

“Because that’s where the Minotaur lived.” They sat on the wall in silence for a moment.

“What’s that?” Maisie asked nervously.

“What came last night,” Jerry said. “A bull’s head and a man’s body. Greek legend. It lived in the Labyrinth at Knossos, in Crete, and it ate human flesh.”

“But didn’t some Greek kill the Minotaur?” Graham demanded.

“Certainly,” Ariadne said. “Theseus. He had help from the daughter of King Minos; she gave him a ball of gold thread to find his way out of the Labyrinth. I know that story.” Maisie and Carlo looked bewildered.

“Her name was Ariadne,” Jerry said, chuckling. “So maybe it was Ariadne who brought the Minotaur shape, or Killer fancies himself as Theseus, or else the senior demon who handles Meran affairs is most comfortable as the Minotaur. He takes other forms. He probably has a million names, but Asterios is one of them and Asterios was the name of the Minotaur. We didn’t escape last night. Ariadne sent him away mad, but we’re still in his power. Just be very glad that Alan and Lacey were rescued, right?”

“But if the Minotaur was killed by Theseus…” Graham argued.

“And St. George slew the dragon. But it was the Minotaur who came last night.”

“Then what the hell do we do now?” Carlo demanded.

“You…” Ariadne said, staring at him, then at Jerry. “You two have lost your accents!” Jerry grinned. “You’ve noticed? And someone has sacrificed a ham sandwich on the altar.”

Men! Kids’ games! A range of a quarter of a mile, he has said— she glanced around the empty landscape and then looked hard at the oblong building. Jumping up from the wall, she marched along the side of the pool to the doorway.

“Come out of there, Killer!” she said.

He came stooping through the low door and then straightened, blinking in the sunlight and grinning at the same time. Strangely, he was not wearing a Meran outfit, only a short beige loin cloth with a white wand hanging swordlike at one side of his belt and a dagger at the other. The next thing she noticed was his deep tan, replacing the hideous marble pallor of his coma. Then his face— the crushed nose had healed and, as Jerry had said, it was not a bad nose at all, high-bridged and straight. Her father’s nose had looked somewhat like that, and Alan had it, a Greek nose.

“Well, are you a sight for sore eyes!” she said.

He beamed at her. “Old friends should greet with a kiss,” he replied, advancing with his hands out.

Damn! She had forgotten that side of Killer. Instinctively she backed away, but she had also forgotten the pool behind her. Air under her foot… her arms flailed… in a flash Killer’s hand shot out and clutched the front of her cape, and then held her, sloped helplessly backwards over that filthy water.

His eyes gleamed with delight. “Now certainly it is worth a kiss!” he said. He wouldn’t! Yes, he would… she could see it in that devilish grin. If she refused he would open those fingers, and down she would go; he would not hesitate at all.

She grabbed his wrist, and he tilted her further backwards; one push would do it.

“A small one, then,” she agreed.

Effortlessly he pulled her upright, gripped her with an arm like the clutch of a backhoe— then another arm like another backhoe— and deliberately crushed all the air out of her lungs before pushing his mouth down on hers. There was no such thing as a small kiss to Killer, obviously, or a short one.

“Cut that out, Killer!” Jerry roared somewhere nearby.

But Killer had his eyes shut and was too busy to listen; he was clearly not going to stop until she responded, so she responded. His teeth were all healed, she discovered.

Finally he released her, and she staggered, bewildered, half-suffocated, and aware that she had just been kissed by an expert. He guided her away from the pool edge, appraising her reaction with obvious satisfaction before turning to Jerry, who returned the hug, turning his face away. Then they thumped each other on the back enthusiastically and finally stepped back for a careful study.

“Very careless, friend, not to search more carefully,” Killer said, teasing. Jerry was smiling ear to ear. “I knew from the smell that you were in there,” he said. Killer was back, and all was right with the world again.

Killer swung round to the others. “The very beautiful Maisie— do you also greet old friends with a kiss?”

“No, She doesn’t!” Graham snapped.

“Citizen Gillis!” Killer said and stared him down without another word. “And Citizen Carlo? You have had an accident, I see. Could that perhaps have been my friend Jerry losing his temper?” He flashed a questioning grin at Jerry, which grew wider as he saw the shamed reaction. True, he was the much-desired rescue, but he was dominating them all by sheer impudence. He turned back to Carlo, who was standing, hands on hips, seeming relaxed, but also ready to leap if necessary, his swollen face guarded. He dangled his leather jacket by one finger and in his sleeveless shirt he was a sapling by Killer’s massive oak tree.

And why was Killer wearing local costume instead of a Meran outfit? Because he thought he looked good in a loin cloth?

“I have a score to settle with Citizen Carlo,” Killer murmured.

“Hold it, Killer!” Jerry said. “We have a truce just now— I promised you would settle no scores yet.”

“Oh, you did?” Killer found that amusing.

“Yes, I did.”

“Ah, well, perhaps this is not the time. When we get to Mera, then. It will be something for us both to look forward to, no?” Carlo made an offensive gesture.

Killer’s eyebrows went up. “Oh? You wish to be friends?”

“I don’t think that’s what he meant, Killer,” Jerry said.

Killer was studying Carlo thoughtfully, and Carlo was holding his stare. “Who knows what he meant? Well, we shall see.” He glanced around them all once more, and his amusement died away. He put his head on one side and looked up at Jerry. “You sent me back, friend. I am very grateful. But the Oracle is not pleased with you.” Jerry flushed under his stubble. “I didn’t think it would be. You have come to take us back, though?”

“No,” Killer said sadly. “You have made a terrible screw up, Jerry friend. I can not.” Ariadne’s heart fell through the ground, and she saw the shock ripple around the other faces.

“Come!” Killer said. “It is a long story. Let us sit down.” He walked past Carlo to the stairs and went up two steps before sitting down. That put him higher than anyone else could be, and she wondered how conscious that action was, if it was merely a reflex from centuries of manipulating people. But Graham could play those games, also, and he eased Maisie over to the wall and sat there— that was the second best spot. Carlo slouched a few steps and dropped cross-legged in front of the stairs; Jerry was about to join him, but Ariadne slipped a hand on his arm and said, “Here is fine.” So the two of them sat down where they were, well to the side of the steps.

Killer innocently leaned back on his elbows, parted his knees, and glanced around to see who was interested. She had half expected that— now she was getting to know Killer, and he was a shameless exhibitionist. Jerry noticed and gave her a glance that was half disgust and half thanks.

“Now,” Killer said, enjoying the attention. “We must exchange stories— the Oracle did not tell me everything. The first thing I knew was when I was being carried into the hospital by Sven and Ethelfird.” He looked meaningfully at Carlo. “There was much pain for a couple of days.” Carlo shrugged and said nothing.

“By the end of the second day,” Killer said, “my friend Jerry had not come to see me, so I went to see the Oracle. I was doubled over like Sisyphus, Jerry— you would have laughed to see me.” He did not look as though he found it funny.

“But the Oracle would not see me— there was no one there. So I went back the next day, and still there was no one.” Jerry nodded but did not speak.

Killer waved away flies— the place was thick with them. “The next morning I felt much better and when Clio came to see me I took her into bed and found that I was fit for duty again. So I went to see the Oracle once more. It said that you have loused up, Jerry.” He shook his head in exasperation. “You invited the demon in!”

“No!” Jerry barked. “Oh, damn! Yes, I did.” He looked in dismay at Ariadne. “I told you its name!” Killer shook his head. “You had two children with you.” Jerry looked indignant. “I didn’t know that made any difference!”

“Neither did I,” Killer said. “Your friend Gervasse did not either and he got very excited when I told him. All the philosophers are twittering like starlings over it.”

“Where are my children?” shouted Graham, before Ariadne could ask the same question.

Killer shrugged. “I do not know. The Oracle said that they made a difference— they could not go to Mera, but Asterios could not have them either. It seems they are sacrosanct, like Delphi.” Graham looked at Maisie, who smiled and nodded. Then he glanced over to Ariadne, and they smiled at each other. It was a long time since that had happened.

“But the Oracle would say no more about them,” Killer said. “I do not see them… Where are they?” Jerry explained, and Killer was impressed. “Then they must be safe,” he said. “I told little Lacey that dreams came true, and she got her flying pony!” He waved at the bugs again; they all were being pestered except Jerry and Ariadne, whose Meran clothes were apparently insect-repellent.

“So if I hadn’t been such a bloody idiot as to say Asterios’ name during a siege, then we should have been safe?” Jerry demanded.

Killer shrugged. “The Oracle did not exactly say that, but it implied it. And it did not tell me what else happened.”

“You tell us what is going to happen next, then we’ll bring you up to date,” Jerry said angrily.

“If you wish.” Killer gave Jerry a rueful smile. “I can’t take you back. The Oracle did not even wish me to come and see you. You know I like fights, friend, but not with the Oracle. But I argued! You see, you have issued an invitation. If you go back to Mera, then Asterios can come also.” Jerry hung his head and muttered curses. Ariadne put an arm around him.

“What about the rest of us?” Graham asked.

“Damn flies!” Killer said. “The rest of you don’t matter. I mean, you don’t count in this battle. It is between Asterios and Jerry, now— or between Asterios and Mera. I asked the Oracle about you; it said, ‘Their fate will be decided also.’ ” Jerry was staring at Killer with horror and, beneath his tan and his stubble, he was pale. She could feel him shiver. “You mean I have to fight the Minotaur?” Killer hesitated and then smiled, lording it over them from his perch, smiling a perfect set of teeth in a nearly handsome boyish face, spoiled only by that one red scar. “Well… you know where you are?” he asked.

“Near Knossos?”

Killer nodded, but that had surprised him. “I was told not to let you go any closer than this until you make your decision. You have a choice, friend Jerry— two ways to go. But both ways lead to the Labyrinth.” He seemed genuinely sympathetic.

Jerry gulped. “I am to be Theseus and kill the Minotaur? That doesn’t sound very likely, does it? It was still around for him to kill, and we can’t both kill it.” Ariadne hoped that if he had to be Theseus, she did not have to be the Ariadne of the legend.

“Perhaps you both can kill it,” Killer said. “This is not the real Crete, and probably Theseus was not either, right? It is a fake, like the cottage, a false Knossos made by Asterios-the-demon for another Asterios-the-Minotaur. Let me tell you what the Oracle said about the Labyrinth. It is an amphitheater. The people can watch. The Minotaur lives in a sort of shed in the middle, and there are walls around it.”

“A maze.”

“Right. So they put the sacrificial victims down in the maze, and the Minotaur comes out of its shed and hunts them around the maze until it catches them.”

“Good God!” Graham said, and they all exchanged horrified glances. “Public spectacle? And then it eats them?”

“It depends how hungry it is,” Killer said. Even he looked disgusted, and Ariadne thought it would take a lot to disgust Killer. “Sometimes it plays with them first, the Oracle says.” She thought of the horror in the cottage. “You mean it rapes the women, I suppose?”

“I don’t know,” Killer said. “Perhaps it rapes both women and men. Perhaps it likes to bite pieces off and then let them run some more. Maybe it tosses them on its horns. The Oracle just said that it likes to play with its victims. The people— the priests and Minos, the king— prefer to put in more than one sacrifice at a time; it is more fun, watching them all run around and laying bets on what the Minotaur will do. It takes three days to eat up a body.” She felt so nauseated that she thought she might be physically ill. The others looked no better.

Jerry licked his lips and made an obvious effort to stay calm. “Who are these victims?” he asked.

“Anyone they can get,” Killer said. “The Oracle said that if you were captured, as strangers, then you would be sent to the Labyrinth.” He smiled faintly. “You have two choices. One is to kill the monster, but there is another. You issued an invitation, but if you can get into the Minotaur’s house, then you cancel out the invitation.”

“Oh, bull!” Graham said angrily. “Silly games!”

“Faerie has its own logic,” Jerry said. “And that’s more logical than some things. You mean this shed in the middle of the Labyrinth?” Killer nodded. “Your door to Mera is in the Minotaur’s lair. All of you.”

“All of us?” echoed two or three voices, and he nodded once more.

“Either way, you all go to the Labyrinth. You are trapped in Asterios’ web and you will be drawn in, sooner or later. I am sorry, my friends!” He looked it, too. “I did not make these rules and I talked very hard to get the Oracle to agree even to this meeting.”

“If silver bullets from an automatic rifle won’t penetrate the Minotaur’s hide,” she asked, “then what will?” He shrugged. “That was the demon. This Minotaur may be only a monster.” Ariadne wished she knew Killer a little better— his eyes seemed restless; she thought he was beginning to lie, or at least was not telling everything. Jerry was so downcast, staring at the paving stones in front of his crossed legs, that he did not seem to be paying much attention.

“Technology doesn’t work,” Jerry growled. “So it would have to be a sword.”

“Not even steel,” Killer said. “This is Bronze Age; I brought a silver sword, which might do a little better. Old Venker made it specially, but it took him three weeks. Three weeks!” For a moment Jerry managed a smile. “You’re in better shape than I’ve seen you in years. No fighting for three whole weeks?”

“Nor wrestling, nor boxing…” Killer scowled. “The girls seem to like it.” Ariadne wondered what the boys thought— a Killer deprived of his usual brawling would likely have been the butt of much banter.

Jerry had gone back into his depression. “I wish I were a better man with a sword… So we go into the Labyrinth, and then I either fight the monster or try to get past it in the maze and into its den?”

“Not that simple,” Killer said. “This wand will send you there— all of you— if you wish. But the Minotaur will smell the faerie at once, and the demon part will come and it will know what you are trying to do. It will stay in its house until night. It can hunt by smell, you know, or the demon will sense where you are. It will not let you past.” Jerry muttered oaths and glanced despairingly at Ariadne. She hoped her smile of encouragement did not look too false.

“The other way,” Killer said, “is just to stay here. There is a procession on its way to the shrine for a ceremony and there are soldiers with the priests. They will be here in an hour or so. Then you will be put in the Labyrinth, and the Minotaur will not suspect— it will think you are an ordinary banquet, so you will be dealing only with the beast, not the demon, or so the Oracle says. But if I give you a sword, you will be disarmed, of course.” Jerry scrambled to his feet and walked away to the far side of the pool.

“Let ourselves be captured?” Graham said. “How do we know that we’ll all be put in the Labyrinth and not turned into galley slaves and concubines?” Killer waited for Jerry to come wandering back, then said, “The Oracle told me, ‘They will not be badly treated, because sacrifices are holy, and they will all go in together. It is rare sport to have five captives at once.’ If the Oracle says so, then it is so.” Jerry folded his arms under his cloak and stared bleakly at Killer. “Did it say whether we can succeed?” Again that faint shadow of deceit crossed Killer’s face “It said that you are probably not a good enough swordsman. And it said that the other way at least some of you should be able to get past and reach the center of the maze. Should, not will.” Then he twisted round to face Ariadne— and give her a chance to peer up his loin cloth if she wanted. She was so annoyed that she almost missed what he was saying. “The Oracle said that you could help.”

“Me?” she said blankly.

“Yes. Like the other Ariadne, Theseus’ Ariadne. It said that if Jerry wants to go by daylight, then Ariadne will help.” He shrugged.

“A ball of thread? Why would that help if all we want to do is get to the middle? Theseus used the thread to come back out.” He shook his head apologetically. “It wouldn’t say more. I brought a ball of twine for you, but I don’t understand either.” Jerry looked around the others. “What do the rest of you think? Do we go with fire, and sword, and faerie to fight the demon or do we try to sneak by the monster as innocent sacrifices?” No one wanted to speak first, but then Carlo looked up and said, “I like to see what I’m doing. I don’t like the dead-of-night scat.” A mean look came into his face, and he added, “Why fight when you can get what you want by other means?”

Graham put on the pompous expression that meant he was going to lecture someone on responsibilities. He said. “How can you hesitate? Obviously you take a sword and fight it like a man. The other way you will be surrendering to whatever the local authorities choose to do with you— that’s crazy.” Maisie nodded in loyal agreement.

Jerry looked at Ariadne. She was thinking of the monster in the doorway— the gloating, the triumph, the strength, and the grotesquely exaggerated maleness. Would it not be better to try to outwit a monster than fight a demon? And anything was preferable in daylight.

“I think I agree with Carlo,” she said.

He nodded and turned to Killer. “No silver swords, then. Christians to the lions.” At least lions did not rape their victims first— or was that during?

Killer looked pleased— why? “My friend,” he said. “I would come with you if I could, but the Oracle made me promise.” He might be worried that Jerry would doubt his courage. He hesitated as though about to say something more, and then did not.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Jerry said gruffly. “I have enough on my conscience.” Killer nodded sadly, then put a hand on the step and vaulted sideways, landing almost at the doorway. “I have local clothes for you,” he said and vanished inside.

Jerry slouched over the wall and leaned on it, gazing glumly at the green-brown hillside. Ariadne joined him.

“Jerry?” she asked quietly. “Are you quite sure that you can trust Killer?” He looked at her sideways, bleakly. “We must trust him.”

“It’s just that I thought he looked shifty, there at the end.” Jerry shook his head and turned away. Then he said, “No. Trust is a funny thing, Ariadne. He would steal his best friend’s wife or help himself to anything he fancies and he likes dangerous practical jokes, like bricks on top of doors, but those are Meran things— they don’t matter there. But he wouldn’t betray me. Not Outside. Never.” She was not satisfied. “He wasn’t lying at the end?”

“No,” Jerry said, and sighed. “He was lying all the way through. Almost nothing he said was the truth. That’s why we have to trust him.”