If at Faust You Don`t Succeed

CHAPTER 15

Marguerite asked, "Where is this place?" She rearranged her gown and tried to do something with her hair, which had been considerably windswept from their recent trip.

They had just come plummeting down out of the blue, arriving near a large marble building with pillars situated on a hilltop. Nearby was an open-air market where small, dusky men sold rugs, cloaks, tapestries, and other goods. Behind the market were tents colored brown and dun and black, making the place look like a Bedouin encampment. "Where are we?" Marguerite asked.

"This is Athens," Faust told her. "That marble building over there is the Parthenon."

"And these guys here?" Marguerite asked, indicating the rug sellers.

"Merchants, I suppose," Faust said.

Marguerite sighed. "Is this the glory that was Greece? It's nothing like they taught us in Goose School."

"Ah, well, you're thinking of ancient times," Faust said. "This is the modern age. It's changed a bit. And yet, the Parthenon is still here, its tall Doric pillars standing against the blue sky like a sentinel of all that is good and worthy and beautiful in the world of men."

"It's very nice," Marguerite said. "But why did we come here? I thought we were going right to the Styx now." "The River Styx happens to run through Greece," Faust said.

"What? Here in Athens?"

"No. Somewhere in Greece. I thought I'd better come here first and ask directions."

Marguerite said, "One thing bothers me. We were taught the Styx didn't really exist. So how can you ask directions to it?"

Faust smiled in a superior way and asked her, "Does the Archangel Michael exist?"

"And what about the Holy Grail? Does that exist?"

"So they say," Marguerite said.

"Well then, believe me, the Styx exists, too. If one imaginary thing exists, then all imaginary things must exist."

Marguerite sniffed. "Well, if you say so."

"Of course I say so," Faust said. "Who's the autodidactic thaumaturge around here?"

"Oh, you are, of course," Marguerite said. "Don't mind me."

Faust knew from his old atlases that the River Styx comes to the surface somewhere in Greece, before it continues its downward and roundabout ways through the ages of time and space to the shores of Tartaros. The atlases said it came out of a cavern, issued along a dark' ling plain for a while, then plunged into a steep declivity which tended downward into a cavern measureless to man. This was the ancient classical road to the underworld that Theseus took when he went down to try to steal Helen away from Achilles. Faust mentioned this to Marguerite.

"Who is this Helen?" Marguerite asked.

"A famous lady," Faust said, "renowned for her beauty, over whom a famous war was waged and a great city destroyed."

"Oh, one of those," Marguerite said. "What do we need with her?'

"We probably won't get to meet her. But if we did, she might give us some important clues as to how to get to Constantinople in 1210 and displace Mack the Pretender and take our rightful place in whatever is going on."

"So who are you going to ask?" Marguerite said. "The people around here don't look like they know what city they're in, far less how to find a mythical place like the Styx."

"Don't let their look put you off," Faust said. "They just look like that to discourage strangers. I bet any of them could tell us."

He led Marguerite toward a group of people who were clustered around a man with a coffee pot. "What did I tell you?" Faust said to Marguerite. "Coffee! These people aren't so dumb. That stuff isn't even known yet in the rest of Europe."

Pressing forward, Faust said, in the mincing Corinthian accent he had picked up in Greek class, "Good citizens I Can you direct me to the famous River Styx, whose whereabouts is said to be somewhere in Hellas?"

The men in the coffee-drinking crowd looked at each other, and one said, in a broad Dorian dialect, "Alf, isn't there a Styx over near where your uncle's got his farm, in Thesprotia?"

"You're thinking of the Acheron," Alf said. "That runs into the Styx near Heraclea Pontica, but it takes its time about getting there. Meanders, as they say. But there's a more direct way. You go to Colonus, and pick up the Cocytus River. Just follow it downstream. It flows into the Styx after descending to the unplumbed caverns of Acherusia."

Faust thanked the rustics and moved away with Marguerite. Utilizing his spell, Faust soared north, following the coastline of Attica. Marguerite rode on his back, for there was no spell strong enough to empower his arms to hold her while the wind was buffeting so. Marguerite's hair was all in a tangle again, and she feared that her complexion was getting reddened by constant exposure to the elements. But she was content, because she was the only girl she knew who had ridden on the air with a wizard, and that was a considerable distinction for a girl with so little education.

Faust flew past the city of Corinth, with its high citadel, and dipped over the ruins of Thebes, still much as Alexander had left them over a thousand years ago. The land below became less steep as they continued toward Thrace. After a while two broad rivers appeared, and Faust was able to ascertain that one of them was the Acheron. He put down to the ground immediately.

"Why are we stopping?" Marguerite asked. "Is this the Styx?"

"No, this is the Acheron, which runs into the Styx."

"So why can't we fly the rest of the way?"

Faust shook his head. He had depleted most of the puissance of his Traveling Spell by so much use, and it would need time to recharge. A few hundred yards away, on the riverbank, there was a dilapidated old farm, and there was an open punt tied to its dock. The area seemed deserted, so Faust untied the little boat, and, putting Marguerite in the bow and himself taking the stern, proceeded downstream toward the Styx.