A Rose-Red City

Sixteen

“Ariadne Gillis, will you marry me?”

“No.”

Oracle, mirror, table— all had gone now, and the two of them stood within the small circle of columns, decently dressed once more.

His shock was painful. “No?”

“Ask me in a year,” she said. “If I am to swear fidelity for ever, then I must be sure.”

“Oh!” he said, downcast.

And she must somehow settle with Killer. Perhaps, as Jerry had hinted, all Killer wanted was to carve another notch. But perhaps not, and she would not commit herself to Jerry if she was doomed to be Killer’s mistress, ever available upon demand. The thought made her shiver with physical revulsion, but she could also see that Killer was in some ways astonishingly reminiscent of Graham, certainly another man who knew what he wanted, another man who liked his women malleable. Even that hypnotic charm— Graham had possessed that in his youth, and she had found it as potent as gin. Until the Killer threat was exorcised, she would make no promises to Jerry.

When they reached the top of the steps, she stopped and stood for a minute, looking at the rose-red city below and North Gate and the stormy sky of outside glooming over the sunny hills. Forever— it would take a long time to adjust to that idea. Those storms could touch her no more; she was safe in Mera. By her side was a fine and honest man whose love for her had been authenticated by the Oracle— and if she was settling in for eternity, there could be no more trustworthy or truer man than this. She looked up at the worried expression on that gaunt face… a man strangely slow to find himself, the sort of man who comes late to love, then falls hopelessly and irrevocable for one woman, and never cares for another.

“You could stay with Helga,” he suggested tactfully.

She shook her head. “I would rather we went to your house and admired each other’s personalities,” she said.

He nodded. “I shall sleep in the bathtub, of course.”

She laughed. “Don’t you dare!” she said. “You may think you don’t have much to offer, but you looked very interesting this morning, and as often as you care to offer it, Jerry Howard, I shall be quite eager to accept.” He grinned and took her in his arms, and they kissed— tentatively, gently, then with growing joy and meaning. She had forgotten how long a kiss could last, how maddeningly sweet it could be, how intoxicating. Killer’s kiss had been deliberate technique; this was mutual discovery, and perhaps the rejuvenating magic of Mera was working through her already, for when they, finally separated she felt like a giddy adolescent on her first date. But Jerry looked every bit as delirious and scarlet and starry-eyed as she felt.

“My darling!” he said. “I have waited forty years for you.”

She knew her eyes were flooding. “And I could jump up on that balustrade and run all the way around it shouting ‘He wants me!’ No one has wanted me in years, Jerry.”

“Mera will be sweeter still with you,” he said.

“I would not have taken it without you.”

Then they joined hands again and walked down the steps, and she saw that probably they had not been gone very long, hardly longer, perhaps, than that kiss had taken.

And yet…

And yet there was something missing, something worrying. A dripping tap at the back of her mind. Something overlooked, or someone…

“Killer!” Jerry said firmly. “Let’s deal with him first!”

Killer, at least, was recovered, leaning against the stone balustrade, watching them with a little-boy grin. It was to him they went first.

“So the pretty lady is staying?” he said. “And my friend Jerry is in love at last! I am a very good best man, and the best good man, too.”

“Just make sure you leave it at that, then!” Jerry said.

Killer eyed Ariadne thoughtfully. “I love my friend Jerry, and this sweet lady of his shall have my love also.”

“Keep it Platonic!” Jerry snapped, flushing, but there was a curious twinkle in Killer’s eye.

“He doesn’t trust me!” Killer mourned, and he took her hand and kissed it tenderly. She thought that a true courtier would have removed the green cap from the cobalt curls before trying such a gesture.

“Now,” Jerry said, firmly changing the subject, “I was told to guide the Gillises to the harbor. Carlo is remaining.”

“The maggot?” Killer snarled and turned to look. “Then I have an excellent job for him.” He marched over towards Carlo, who was leaning against the rail by himself, watching them; Jerry and Ariadne went in pursuit.

“I hear you are staying in Mera?” Killer said.

Carlo waited a moment, looking him up and down, and then said, “So?”

“When I left here, with Jerry,” Killer said, “we were planning a game. It has had to wait a long time, but now it will go ahead. It is called mayhem. Would you care to join my team— or Sven’s, if you prefer? I am sure he would welcome you.”

“I don’t play games,” Carlo answered.

Killer tried to look disappointed. “Pity. I admit it is rowdy; the teams are as big as possible, and there are very few rules. Perhaps, it would be too rough for you?”

“Sounds very childish.” Carlo was not to be baited, obviously.

Killer started to turn away, then stopped as though he had just thought of something. “Wait! We shall need a referee, and you are a stranger. Would you consent to be referee?” Carlo’s eye flickered to Jerry and back to Killer like a snake’s tongue. “Possibly. I’ll think about it.”

“Great!” Killer said with enthusiasm and offered a hand.

It was ignored. “I have a question, Mr. Howard,” Carlo said, keeping his eyes on Killer. “This party swaggers around a lot. Is there any law against cutting him down to size?” Killer went very still.

“There are no laws in Mera,” Jerry said cautiously. “But Killer is not an easy man to cut down.”

“Watch me!” Carlo said, very softly. He eased himself off the rail and stepped forward. Killer’s shoulders drooped slightly as he edged into a crouch.

Carlo spat. Killer sprang.

Carlo rolled over on his back, one leg straight, lifting Killer, who struck the balustrade and vanished out into space. Ariadne screamed, rushed to the rail with Jerry, and looked down. Killer was sprawled on a rocky bank about fifteen feet below them, apparently unconscious.

Carlo was back on his feet, half-crouched, ready for Jerry… Jerry started to laugh. He roared, howled, and bellowed with laughter, leaned on Ariadne to recover himself, and had to wipe tears away before he could speak. She did not think it funny at all— more pain for Killer, who had suffered so much? She bit back an angry comment.

Jerry held out a hand to Carlo, who obviously suspected a trick.

Jerry said, “Straight up! I want to shake your hand. That was marvelous! It’s about time somebody did that to Killer.” He finally convinced the puzzled lad that he was serious and shook his hand.

“I thought you were his friend?” Carlo said.

Jerry almost broke down into laughter again. “Oh, I am! But he needed that. And don’t worry about him— he’ll be crawling around you on his knees, begging for lessons.”

“What’s this mayhem thing, then?” Carlo asked. “Why did he want me to referee?”

“It’s a game, so-called,” Jerry explained, avoiding Ariadne’s eye. “No holds barred. The winning team is the one that scores the last goal. That means that the whole of the other team has fled or been crippled.” Ariadne shuddered.

Jerry grinned. “One rule they don’t tell you until the game is about to start is that the first goal is scored with the referee, not with the ball.” Carlo stared unbelievingly, looked at Ariadne, and then said, “Bull!”

“True!” Jerry said. “A referee would be useless anyway in mayhem, and that’s more fun than tossing a coin for kick off. I was referee once— two broken legs, a dislocated shoulder, and a crushed kidney. I was lucky.”

“Craziest thing I ever heard of,” Carlo said.

Killer crawled to his feet without looking up and went limping off down the slope toward the hospital. He staggered a lot and was clutching a bleeding ear.

Jerry hesitated, smiled apologetically at Ariadne, and asked Carlo, “Do you need a bed for the night, until you find somewhere? I’ve got a couch in the library that would fit you.” Carlo shook his head, but he actually smiled. “The Oracle said someone would come and fetch me and put me up for a day or two. Some mouthful of a name beginning with ‘Itti.’ ” Jerry whistled and rolled his eyes. “She’s a little Hittite girl. Very nice!” He grinned at Ariadne. “One of Killer’s favorites. Could be very enjoyable hospitality, Citizen Carlo!” Carlo said, “No foolin’?” and looked impressed. Then he glanced around to see where the others were and turned to Ariadne.

“Ma’am?” He paused and looked at his feet.

“The Oracle told me,” she said quickly. “But it didn’t happen, and I’d rather not hear any more about it.” Startled, he studied her eyes for a moment and then nodded. “That Oracle sorted my cards for me.” He scowled. “I’ve been very dumb.”

“We all have, Carlo,” she said. “It sorted my cards, too.” Carlo had probably had little choice but to stay in Mera— where else could a penitent terrorist be safe?

“I suppose I need to find a trade now,” he said. “That’ll feel funny.” Jerry shook his head. “Not necessarily. Killer has none, but unofficially he’s commander-in-chief of the Meran army. He has no authority except his own personality, but you could join his group. He’s always on the lookout for good men.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Carlo said.

Jerry turned pink again, in that shy way of his. “You don’t have to… I mean, that isn’t necessary.” Carlo shrugged. “So I have something he wants— I can set a price, can’t I?”

“No. you can’t!” Jerry snapped. “That won’t work with Killer, any more than your fancy judo would work on demons.” He glanced uneasily at Ariadne and then said, “Listen! The last time I played mayhem, I was on the other team. I got to Killer, and he had a broken wrist, so that helped the odds, and there were about eight guys on top of us. I gouged one of his eyes out— just before he broke my neck.” She was horrified. “No! Jerry! Wanton brutality!” But Carlo nodded. “He was testing?”

“All the time!” Jerry said. “Can you take it, can you dish it out? The games, the hunting trips, the fights, the mayhem— they’re not just senseless rowdyism. He learns, trains, teaches, and tries things— and tests.

It’s how he has survived so long and rescued so many, many people! Hell, there are dozens of men in Mera that would give their large and small bowels to be invited out on a rescue by Killer, but he doesn’t think they have the guts to start with and he won’t trust his back to them.”

“Gotcha,” Carlo said thoughtfully “A challenge, Mr. Howard?” It was a new view of Killer, and Ariadne recalled the cheering welcome in the streets.

Jerry had embarrassed himself with his own vehemence, but was saved by an interruption. He smiled over Ariadne’s shoulder. “Here comes your landlady. You come and see us tomorrow.” He introduced Carlo to a very pretty girl, who blushed and stammered; but in a couple of minutes Carlo had her giggling, and his arm was around her as they walked away.

“See that?” Jerry demanded, astonished. “Give that kid ten years, and things will get very interesting! I wonder if Killer has finally met his match?” Or his successor— but Ariadne did not say so.

That left Graham and Maisie. They were sitting on one of the benches, gazing into each other’s eyes. Maisie looked ready to melt, quite sickening. Jerry scooped up the Cretan helmet from the bench where he had left it and led the way over.

“I hate to interrupt,” he said, “but I was instructed to lead you to the harbor.” Graham looked at him, then Ariadne, and then smiled.

“Congratulations,” he said.

Was it so obvious? Did it matter? “Thank you, Graham,” she said.

He blushed— he actually blushed! “Ariadne… I think I’m now what they call ‘born-again’. Jerry, we need that Oracle of yours in the States; we could dispense with a lot of psychiatrists and policemen and.., yes, and lawyers and priests, too. Ariadne, I owe you an apology, more than I can…” It should really have been very funny. Five days ago she would have probably gone into hysterics. Now she felt more sorry for him than anything else. It was embarrassing, for Graham penitent was as hard to shut up as Graham rampant, and suddenly damnable likeable again. As the four of them started off down the steps towards the Hospital, she managed to edge next to Maisie and leave Jerry to handle the enthusiastic breast-beating of the born-again Graham.

Maisie was not much better. Her session with the Oracle seemed to have been very short and quite sweet, although she was very insistent that she must see her confessor as soon as she got back. But in the next breath she said that the Oracle had told her she would remember nothing of Mera when she returned— that the whole affair would be wiped from her life. How one could confess what hadn’t happened was beyond Ariadne’s comprehension.

They strolled down Hillside Path. She would have to learn all these names. And then a long staircase…

How did one get back to Colorado on a ship, Ariadne asked. That sounded like quite a feat, even for the Oracle. Maisie turned pink and said that they would have a cabin and could sail on as long as they liked and she had always wanted a cruise in a sailing ship. And the third time they made love, the Oracle had told her, they would wake up in their own bed at the ranch, on the day before Ariadne had achieved the kidnapping— which now would not happen.

It sounded very sugary, especially designed for Maisie.

Musn’t be Catty! Maisie had been through a lot and had certainly earned a reward. Perhaps the Oracle had decided wisely, but the way Maisie and Graham had been clinging to each other, it might be a short voyage.

Woodworkers’ Wynd… Brewers’ Mews… she tried to take note of the quaint little stores, the delicious-smelling cafes and bake shops, the flower-encrusted open spaces for sitting, the jewellike miniature parks, but Jerry was continually introducing her to people as proudly as though he had invented her.

Maisie bubbled like a hot pool about the transformation in Graham, of the promises he had just made her, of how very fond they both were of Lacey, and how well they would raise her— until suddenly she realized that Ariadne would not be seeing Lacey again. Then she sobbed the rest of the way to Fishermen’s Walk.

“This is it,” Jerry said, stopping suddenly at a big ivory door and holding out the boars’ tooth helmet. He had noticed her weariness or her impatience with Maisie. “Why don’t you make yourself at home, and I’ll be right back?” Ariadne nodded. “I am very tired. You won’t mind if I say good-bye here?” Graham puffed himself up like a toasted marshmallow. “Then we should tell her our good news, shouldn’t we, darling?” he said, and Maisie turned from pink to scarlet.

“Wonderful!” Ariadne said in the most sincere tone she could manage. Maisie simpered. “I wasn’t sure— but the Oracle never lies, you say. It says a boy. It even told me the day.” Handshakes and hugs.

“So I shall have a son!” Graham said, with the faintest hint that his second wife was more competent than his first.

More hugs and kisses were exchanged, and Ariadne walked up the steps with the Cretan helmet under her arm, blew a last kiss to Maisie, and entered Jerry’s house.

The big room amused her; it was so exactly what she would have expected from Jerry, precise and restrained by good taste just on the right side of being ostentatious. Thousands of books, he had said, and certainly there were thousands. Still, she had lots of time… happily ever after? It would take forty years even to get used to that idea.

She felt drained— hardly surprising after a day which had started in a mythical Cretan prison and ended in Fairyland, with mortal combat and marriage proposals thrown in. A good little wife would perhaps fix supper for her man, but she was not going to play that role. Mostly he ate out anyway, he had said. She would just sit and wait for him.

Yet the quiet did not soothe her; she was too jangled. Her head was spinning. Imagine binding all those books, the work involved!

Poor Jerry… how did he sleep? In the dark of night did he listen to Smythe-Williams’ craven whimpers crackling over the intercom— was that the explanation for his endless round of play and work, the frantic seeking after happiness?

And what of Killer, who had somehow failed his own Standards at Thermopylae? Killer with his hyperactive brawling and lusting— was he seeking only distraction and exhaustion, burying by day the corpses that crawled from their graves by night?

And she, who had just abandoned her child to a crook and a dumb kid— she, who had given up piano for motherhood and then screwed that up and lost both— perhaps the ghosts of might-have-been would come to her also in the silent hours.

This Mera which she had so irrevocably chosen, was it eternal happiness, or eternal regret?

Maybe Maisie was right.

Oh, Lacey! And Graham, damn him! That last remark of his, “So I shall have a son.” That bothered her. That niggled.

Judgment of Solomon. What had the Oracle meant by that? Not, surely, that Ariadne would be divided between Jerry and Killer?

Restless, unable to settle in spite of her fatigue, she rose and started to explore. The big double doors led only to a cluttered and smelly workshop, and that would be for the other Jerry, the informal Jerry who hid behind the shyness. Another door led to a hallway with two doors and a spectacular staircase. This was a much bigger house inside than it looked from the outside— more faerie, perhaps. She found a kitchen and bathroom, both old-fashioned but acceptable, then she wandered up the staircase and discovered a breathtaking bedroom with a grand piano. The room was a designer’s masterpiece in blues and gold, the sort of room she had tried— and failed— to create with Graham’s ill-gotten wealth before it forced them out of city life and off to the greater grandeur of a ranch.

Whatever she was subconsciously seeking was not there.

She wandered over to the bed, tested the mattress, and was just about to explore through the other door— which probably led to a bathroom— when the main door closed with a click.

And there was Killer.

The last place she wanted to meet Killer was a bedroom. She moved quickly away from the bed and was grimly aware that she had started to tremble already.

He was flushed, excited, and panting. He wore a blood-soaked bandage over his ear, but he grinned as he limped hurriedly toward her.

“This is a very nice room,” he said, glancing around. “Much nicer than when Jerry had it.”

“You mean it has changed?” she asked, although obviously that was what he meant. Get a hold of yourself, woman!

“I knew it quite well,” he said impishly.

“You probably won’t be seeing so much of it in the future.”

He put on a hurt expression and now he had reached her and was standing too near, as usual. “That does not sound friendly, pretty lady. I am a close friend of Jerry’s and I hope to be a close friend of yours.”

“You’re a little too close already, Killer,” she said, backing away. “Jerry told me that you always take no for an answer. Is that right?” He put on his sleepy-eyed look for a moment and said, “You won’t refuse me.” He edged closer again, and again she stepped back.

Could she? She was tensely aware of his stupendous arrogance, the physical arrogance of a superstud, and also a spiritual arrogance springing from his complete lack of scruples or fear. Killer was single-minded, she decided; when he looked at anyone, he concentrated totally upon that person. He was hot and sweating already. She remembered their kiss after he killed the Minotaur… change the subject. “Did Carlo hurt you badly?”

“No. A few ribs and a cracked head. I am seeing double, but both of you are equally beautiful. You are hurting me more. You have something I want, pretty lady— something I want very much.”

“No!” Damn, that was shrill, but the harsh breathing and the flushed face were unnerving her. He looked terrifyingly aroused.

He frowned in mock disapproval, advancing again. “It will make you very happy! But tell me why did you take such a terrible risk for me today? You were safe in the wagon. You must care for me greatly.” He grinned hopefully.

“I’m damned if I know,” she said truthfully. “Why not ask the Oracle?” She tried to side-step, and he moved to block her.

An odd look came into his eye. “The Oracle told me many strange things today. It was not for love, then?” He looked heartbroken.

“No, not for love,” she said. “You’re a nice guy, Killer, but…”

“But you love Jeremy Howard?” He smiled. “I also love him, he is strong and yet gentle. I should like to be more like him.” And Jerry Howard, she now suspected, would in some ways like to be more like Killer. She smiled also. “Are you sure of that?” Killer nodded earnestly. “It is true. You corrected me about Clio today, and I am grateful for that, too. Would you help me more?” Well, that was a new line! He probably had more lines than a telephone company. She would never see a telephone again.

She had not answered, and Killer reached for her hands. She backed away again and bumped against the piano. No retreat— this would be Ariadne’s last stand. She wondered how long Jerry would be.

Killer took her hands in his and said, “Did you know I was an orphan?” His eyes were dancing.

Now what? He kept changing the subject. “Oh really!” She tried to pull away, and he held tight. “Your parents have been dead for twenty-five hundred years!” He shook his head seriously. “I always knew that Crion and Astiaspe were not my parents— they were too old. But they were good people, kind and loving parents to me. They taught me to honor the gods and serve my polis.”

For a moment he stared away over her shoulder, and his eyes misted. “They died in the year the Persians came, within two days. I saw that they had fitting rites and I spoke for them.”

“Killer,” she said. “I’m very tired. Please can we have this conversation another day?”

“I shall be as quick as I can!” he assured her ominously.

Then he staggered, and she grabbed his shoulders to steady him. One of his pupils was dilated… bleeding from the ear, flushed skin, loud breathing, double vision— all the symptoms!

“Heavens, boy!” she gasped. “You’re running around with a fractured skull!” She guided him over to the bed, and he flopped on it. She lifted his feet up and straightened the pillow and felt his forehead— a furnace. “You lie right there, Achilles!” she ordered. “I’m going to get help and move you up to the hospital.” She had turned away and had taken two steps when he snapped, “Stop!” She stopped.

“Come here!”

If he calls me to his bed…

Almost in spite of herself she went back, trembling violently, and looked down at his grinning face.

The same smile Graham had, the straight Greek nose, Graham’s bull shoulders, and the dark curls spread on the pillow… like… like Alan’s. Why had she not noticed sooner? But of course she had noticed— that was why she had jumped to his defense, why she could not hold back when he held out his arms to her, why her own reaction had repelled her, why she had presumed to nag him about Clio… why she had wanted to spank him.

“Alan?”

“Yes, Mother.”

Stunned, she sat down on the bed beside him. “How? What?”

“The Oracle told me,” he said, taking her hand. “It knew that you would choose to stay and that Father would not. It forbade me to talk to him, or tell you before he had gone. I tried, but my legs and mouth wouldn’t work…” They had all forgotten Alan. All the time she had been in the house of the Oracle— and when she had been talking with Graham and Maisie— none of them had remembered that there had been two children; only Lacey. More magic!

The Judgment of Solomon: Divide the children.

“I fell off in Arcady,” Killer said, still grinning. “That’s where my scar came from, the one that won’t disappear. It’s a faerie scar— I fell off, and one of the unicorn’s hooves clipped me.” Achilles— Al Gillis. He had been able to tell them his name.

“Oh, my poor baby!” she said.

Killer said, “Damn right!” and smothered a giggle. “Crion had been on an embassy to Sparta; he found me and took me home. I don’t remember, of course. I came here to ask a mother’s blessing, Ariadne. That was all. Did you want something else?”

“Oh, you…” You what? Obnoxious punk? Hero? Commander-in-chief?

“I… I am very proud of my son,” she said.

He was pleased. “I’m proud to have you as a mother. The Oracle told me how you saved Jerry and the others. I am a brave fighter— I think I got my courage from you.” Graham had stayed with the women when the Merans attacked the Cretans— probably Killer did not much care that he had not been allowed to speak to his father.

Not Killer, Alan! She leaned down and hugged him, and he put his arms around her, but gently.

“And you are going to marry Jerry Howard!” he said in her ear, and she could feel him chuckling inside. “And after that I shall always call him ‘Daddy’… and that will annoy the everlasting piss out of him!”

“Yes,” Ariadne said faintly to the pillow. “Yes, I’m sure it will.”

“I always was a little devil, wasn’t I?” said Killer.