The Ribbajack

The Mystery of Huma D’Este

THEY SAY THAT BEAUTY IS ONLY SKIN DEEP,

it’s a fact that’s very well known.

So, answer me this question—

how deep is the beauty in stone?

And whilst we’re at this little game,

pray tell me please, what’s in a name?

Girls admired Jason Hunter, boys envied him, and not unusually, Jason loved himself. He was a tall, handsome boy with thick blond hair, golden tanned skin, teeth like pearls and heavy-lidded hazel eyes.

Jason was not overly intelligent at school subjects. However, he was adept at most sports, and excellent at running. He was the best sprinter in the school for many terms. As every student knows, this excused him a multitude of faults.

Jason possessed a languid manner and a sarcastic wit. Most folk went out of their way to please him. His group of peers laughed readily at his jokes, and were unanimous in their condemnation of any thing or person that displeased him. Even teachers were wary of offending him, since it was a sure way to make themselves unpopular with the students in school.

Have you got the picture now?

Right. Jason Hunter was the perfect teenage bully!

It was the Friday morning at the start of summer term heralding the Inter Schools Running Finals on the following Saturday morning. Jason was certain to win the one-hundred-metres sprint. The place in the school trophy cabinet was already reserved for the cup he would bring back. This would be added to the three cups he had gained in previous terms, all engraved with his name. The quick glory of the one-hundred metres was more suited to Jason’s temperament than the two- or four-hundred-metres. Nobody dared to mention that it was because he lacked the stamina, or determination, to try for the longer events.

Jason sat on the main school entrance steps, surrounded by his followers. He watched everybody coming to school, amusing his group by singling out certain unfortunates as the target for his caustic comments. “Hi, Tommy, who cut your hair? Tell us who did it, and we’ll go along to his shop and beat him up for you.”

The crimson-faced victim of Jason’s acerbic wit hurried into school, followed by howls of laughter. Jason picked on a fat girl next, she made an easy mark.

“I love the colour of that skirt, Betty.”

She smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”

Jason remarked aloud to his cronies, “I used to have a tent that colour, wonder where it went. Don’t suppose she’d lend me it to go camping, do you?”

They followed one after another, each having to run the gauntlet of Jason’s remarks.

“Morning, Ella, I see you got your new braces. That’s funny, has anyone noticed the old railings round the bus stop are missing? Come on, Ella, give us a smile. No, on second thought, keep your mouth shut. The cops might be looking for those railings. Don’t cry, we won’t tell them.”

That was the day the new girl arrived. She stood out from all the rest as she approached the steps. She was very tall and had long dark hair, which hung down almost to her waist. Her face was pale, her eyes a bleak grey. She wore a simple black outfit of sweater and jeans. Moving with a catlike grace, she came closer, oblivious as to what was in store for her.

Mal Blake, one of Jason’s close confidantes, rubbed his hands gleefully. “Look what’s coming this way, must be a new girl!”

Running a comb through his hair, Jason rose casually. “Leave this to me, I like them new and dumb.”

As she reached the bottom step, he stood blocking her way. Jason smiled lazily at the girl, who was standing on the step below him. He uttered a single greeting. “Morning.”

Their eyes met. She replied dismissively, “So clever of you to have noticed.”

She moved up to the next step, level with him. Jason had to raise his eyes—the girl stood a good three inches taller than him. Brushing carelessly past her would-be tormentor, the new girl went straight into school. Mal stood up, chuckling.

“Pretty smart, eh, Jason?”

Slipping a foot behind Mal, Jason gave him a shove, which sent him back down in a sitting position. The bully snarled at him, “Who asked you, big mouth?”

Jason’s angry glance roved around the others, who averted their eyes. Nobody wanted to cross Jason Hunter; besides being scathing, he could be violent. He stepped over Mal as the buzzer sounded for everybody to go indoors.

“She’s too smart for her own good. You just wait and see, I’ll soon cut her down to size!”

From the rear of the assembly hall, Jason could see the tall girl standing out on the front row. Mrs. Dysart, the assistant principal, addressed the students. It was all the usual stuff about hard work, good manners, friendship and a sense of purpose. Following the initial pep talk, Mrs. Dysart singled out the new arrival.

“We have with us this term a new student. I’m sure you will all try your utmost to make her feel welcome. Her name is Huma D’Este.”

Jason ducked his head, gave out a loud snort of derision and shouted, “Human who?”

In the hush which followed, Jason stared accusingly at a boy standing in front of him. It was Tommy, the one whose hairstyle he had mocked earlier on. Jason spoke out in a shocked tone.

“That wasn’t a very nice thing to say, Tom!”

Mrs. Dysart gave the unfortunate Tommy a piece of her mind in front of the whole assembly. However, the new girl was not looking at Tommy, she was staring directly at Jason. Something in the gaze of Huma D’Este’s strange grey eyes wilted the smug smile from Jason’s face. He looked down at the floor, dumbfounded and angry that he could not stare back at her. Who did she think she was, giving him that look? Still, he reckoned, it was early in the day yet. Plenty of time to reduce her to a figure of fun in front of his admirers. Everybody knew what was going on, they had all witnessed Jason destroying those he had taken a disliking to.

Recess found Jason on the steps, surrounded by his retinue. An air of expectancy hung over them as they awaited their leader’s next move. One of his informants, Mal’s friend Carlene, came hurrying out of the school. “Jason, the Human’s coming!”

They had taken to calling Huma “the Human” since Jason had invented the name at assembly. When she emerged, the new girl did not seem in the least put out at the thought of the bully awaiting her. Jason swaggered up to her, raising his eyes in mocking awe.

“Hi, big girl, what’s the weather like up there?”

Her reply hit him like a slap in the face. “Oh, it’s fine. Would you like me to lift you up so you can see, little man?”

Turning on her heel, Huma wandered back into the school, stopping in the doorway and fixing him with a slow stare from her hypnotic grey eyes. Jason was tongue-tied. He stood there with the laughter of the others ringing in his ears. Why was it that he lost his famous wit whenever she spoke or turned her gaze on him with those eyes?

One or two of the faithful deserted Jason, going inside before the break ended. He heard their smothered giggles. “ ‘Would you like me to lift you up so you can see, little man!’ Haha, she certainly shut him up with that one!”

“Yeah, and Jason just stood there and took it!”

“Huma’s well able for Jason, if you ask me. Hahaha!”

The buzzer sounded. Jason turned to the remainder of his cronies, a bright tinge rising to his cheeks. “Wait’ll lunch break, I’ll make her sorry she ever met me!”

Standing out of range of Jason’s kicks or shoves, Mal grinned. “I’d like to see that.”

Jason made his way back into class alone, wondering, Was that a scornful note he had sensed in Mal’s voice? A small group of girls, whispering about something, broke up as he entered the room. Jason did not pay attention to a single word of the lesson. Huma D’Este . . . his thoughts could focus on nothing else. He rehearsed the lunchtime scenario. This time things would be different, oh so different.

Jason spotted the new girl as he sidled into the school canteen. She was sitting amid a group of girls, chatting animatedly. Some girlish giggles came from the company. Were they laughing at him? He shot them a look of disgust, but Huma seemed to be ignoring him.

Jason strode swiftly and purposefully across. Placing a heavy hand on Huma’s shoulder, he pressed down. Feeling he had the advantage of looking down at his victim by keeping her in the chair, he enquired loudly, “Huma—what sort of a name’s that? Huh, it makes you sound almost human!”

Even though he was pressing down hard on the tall girl’s shoulder, she stood up straight with no apparent effort. Again, he found himself locked within the stare of her riveting grey eyes. They were cold and bleak as rainwashed stone. Huma spoke his name as if it were two separate words.

“Jay son! What’s in a name, Jay son? Is your father a bird? It certainly sounds like it. Jay son, son of a jay!”

Mr. Forshaw, who was on canteen lunchtime duty, had been watching the body language of the pair. Sensing trouble, he made straight for them. “Excuse me, could somebody tell me what’s going on here?”

The moment was lost. Jason muttered something about going to the counter for food, and slouched off.

Mal and Carlene had saved a place for Jason. They moved over as he sat down, placing a slice of pie and a can of cola on the table. Mal could hardly wait. “Well, what did she say?”

Jason shrugged. “Nothing.”

Carlene looked at him disbelievingly. “You must have said something to each other, we saw you talking just before old Forshaw arrived. What was it?”

Fighting for control of himself, Jason clenched his teeth. He gripped the can of cola so forcefully that it crushed, sending liquid squirting all over his slice of pie. “Nothing! Just keep your noses out of it! We said nothing!” He stormed off from the table, knocking his chair over.

Carlene turned to the retinue, who were sitting at the opposite table. “Well, what do you make of that?”

There was a chalk cartoon sketched on the math class blackboard when Jason arrived. It showed a bird with huge muscle-bound legs and a human face, which resembled Jason pretty closely. Just so there would be no mistake as to the identity of the bird, a balloon issued from its mouth, enclosing some words:

“Duuuuh, I’m a jay’s son!”

Jason could not face Huma’s eyes. He turned on the rest of the class, yelling, “Come on, who drew that, eh?”

Mr. Wentworth, the math teacher, entered at that moment. He brushed the offending image from the board, calling over his shoulder, “Keep the noise down, Hunter. Right, pay attention, class, decimal conversion . . .”

His voice faded into the distance as Jason locked his eyes on the back of Huma D’Este’s head, sending waves of hatred pouring at her. The plastic ballpoint he was gripping snapped in two halves; a vein in his forehead throbbed like a drum. That girl! One way or another she would have to go. There was no room in his school for Huma D’Este!

Jason wracked his brain for a solution throughout the afternoon. She was very smart, so he would have to be smarter. More careful, too. He must pretend to call a truce, make friends. Then, when she was off guard, he would destroy her. Nobody treated Jason Hunter like that and got away with it.

Fate is fickle, and the company of unwilling friends short lived. Jason Hunter had his first experience of this as he came out of school that day. His customary group of hangers-on, even Mal and Carlene, had gone over to the enemy. They were standing on the steps, gathered around Huma, chatting animatedly. Jason controlled his rage, telling himself that after he had humiliated the tall girl today, and captured the one-hundred-metres sprint cup on Saturday morning, everything would change. He would be the star once more, the sole, undisputed leader of the pack. As he approached them, he could hear the muted laughter, someone even made a birdlike squawk. But Jason shrugged it off. He had laid his plans.

He stood in front of Huma, pretending to shuffle his feet awkwardly, keeping his head down. It was a ploy which had always worked well with parents and teachers. Flicking his blond hair aside, Jason gave Huma a charmingly sorrowful smile, playing the little boy just right. “Er, Huma, can I have a word with you, please?”

She turned the remorseless grey eyes upon him. “It’s a free country, you can have as many words as you please.”

He felt his jaw tightening, and checked it. “Er, I just wanted to say I’m sorry I joked about your name. I hope I didn’t embarrass you too much.”

As her eyes bored into him, she smiled condescendingly. “Think nothing of it, Jason, you didn’t embarrass me, you only embarrassed yourself by your own bad manners and lack of wit.”

It was the ultimate insult to Jason, being put down like an ill-mannered child in front of everybody. Something inside him snapped. He swung his open hand at Huma’s face, roaring, “Shuttup, you smart-mouthed—”

The tall girl avoided the slap by knocking Jason’s hand up. As he stumbled forward, she pushed the back of his neck hard. Jason tumbled down the steps, falling facedown on the ground. He scrambled to get up, but was sent back down. Huma had the flat of her foot firmly between his shoulder blades.

Leaning down on him, her grey eyes hard as granite, she warned him, “Stay down, Jason, you’re on your own now, so leave it alone and stay clear of me, do you hear?”

He struggled, but big and strong as he was, the tall girl’s foot held him there. A man’s voice called from the doorway, “Stop that this instant, stand still, you people!”

Mr. Knipe, the athletics coach, and Mr. Wentworth, the math teacher, came bounding down the steps.

Jason felt himself released from the restraining foot. He struggled up, fists clenched, trying to get at his enemy. He was hauled back by the huge, hairy hand of Mr. Knipe. Mr. Wentworth stood between Jason and Huma.

“Fighting with girls now, are we, Hunter?”

Wiping dust and tears from his face, Jason pointed at his adversary. “She started it!”

A clamour arose from the onlookers. Mr. Knipe held up his free hand. “Anyone not wanting to do twenty circuits of the school field, go straight home. Now!”

The area cleared as if by magic—the coach was a man of his word. Mr. Wentworth looked at Huma, shaking his head. “Not a very good start for your first day at school, miss.”

The girl’s grey eyes were soft and disarming as she smiled ruefully at the teacher. “It wasn’t serious, sir, we were only messing about.”

Mr. Wentworth, captivated by her, smiled back. “Messing about, eh? Well, there’s no real harm done. Go on, get along home now, and no more messing about.”

Huma flashed both men an extra-warm smile. “Thank you.”

When she had gone, Mr. Knipe turned to Jason. “What’ve you got to say for yourself, Hunter?”

The culprit avoided his eyes. “Nothing, Coach.”

There was an awkward silence as Knipe looked him up and down. “Not hurt, are you? Fit for the race tomorrow?”

Jason assured him, “I’m alright, Coach, I’ll win the cup.”

Knipe nodded. “Make sure you do, and no more of this wrestling with young ladies. See you tomorrow.”

He released Jason, watching him jog off toward the gates. “Pity we don’t have martial arts for the girls. She looked as if she had the better of Hunter there.”

Mr. Wentworth turned back to the school. “Hmm, we could do with a few more like Huma D’Este. That Jason Hunter’s a born bully, but he got his comeuppance from her. I quite enjoyed seeing him getting a taste of his own medicine.”

Friday night was humid and still. It was already one-thirty in the morning, and Jason was still unable to sleep. He lay on top of his bed, his mind a jumble of seething emotions. Thoughts of the past day’s events nagged at his brain. Huma D’Este, the one fly in his ointment. A single tall girl with odd-looking eyes. She was responsible for making him look foolish, forcing him to lose face in front of the whole school. A sudden thought occurred to him. Huma D’Este was still tormenting him. Supposing he lay awake, unable to think of anything but her? He would lose sleep, and turn up at the Inter Schools Trophy tomorrow tired and listless, unable to run properly or concentrate on the race. Everybody would be there, all eyes would be on him.

Jason rose. He sat on the side of his bed, staring out the open window at the hot, still night. Something must be done if he were to regain his former glory. That was it! He would drive all thoughts of her from his mind and think only of the task ahead. Hurrying off to the bathroom, Jason set the shower until it gushed forth tepid water. A good, long shower, followed by a peaceful night’s sleep. He took a long, luxurious shower, then towelled himself slowly. Wrapping the towel about his waist, he stood in front of the mirror, running his hands through his thick blond locks, admiring his physique and good looks. Telling himself he was a natural winner, Jason went back to bed. Ignoring the duvet, he lay down and composed his mind until sleep overcame him. Deep, dark, comforting sleep.

Yet the eyes of Huma D’Este came to haunt Jason’s dreams. Distant at first, but advancing slowly through misty vales of slumber. Growing larger and more luminescent until his whole being was immersed in their spell.

“Come to me, Jason, come to me.”

The husky voice was insistent, a promise, a command, a plea and a challenge. “I know you, Jason, you must come to me.” It was unlike any dream he had ever experienced.

With the towel knotted about his waist, Jason was running barefoot across his own garden. Taking the low hedge in an easy leap, running, running. Along the nightdark avenues and crescents, pools of light coming and going as he passed beneath streetlamps. Grass verges felt soft beneath his feet, asphalt paths smooth and still warm from the day’s heat. Running, running.

“Come to me, Jason, hurry, I am waiting, Jason, waiting!” He increased his pace through the hushed neighbourhood, his muscular legs performing like a well-oiled machine. The eyes floated before him, unblinking, mysterious, twin beacons guiding him to his destination.

Now he was leaping a low fence, weaving through flower beds, skirting a miniature fountain. Jason’s dreamlike stride took him past a patch of white rhododendrons, across an area of ornamental ferns, beyond a final screen of high-trimmed privets, to a large, old-fashioned house, silent and gloomy in the moonless night. Without any conscious knowledge of whither his feet were taking him, he loped up the broad stone steps.

Jason passed through a black lacquered front door, which stood ajar. Making his way across a vestibule with windowpanes of lilac and pale blue glass, he padded heedlessly along a high-ceilinged entrance hall. On the weaving patterns of its terrazo floor stood several tables of skeletal delicacy, each one graced with urns containing verbena, aspidistra and miniature parlour palms. The huge grey eyes guided him onward to a rich curtain of Tyrrhenian velvet, then into a vast circular room.

She occupied a white stone throne, which stood on a dais in the centre of the chamber. Clad from neck to ankle in a gown of carmine silk, her feet encased in dainty golden sandals, and her brow circled by a slim coronet of burnished silver. The tall girl resembled some priestess out of ancient legend. Her eyes stared down at him, framed by alabaster skin and raven hair. Not knowing why he did it, Jason knelt down on one knee and spoke her name in hushed tones. “Huma D’Este!”

The regal gaze never wavered. “That is a name I permit those who do not know me to use. I will reveal my real name to you in a while, should you wish to hear it, but beware, Jason Hunter. Look around you, is my temple not beautiful?”

The chamber was ringed with alcoves. In each was a stone plinth, like a small Grecian column. A lifesize marble statue had been mounted on every one. They were of young men wearing little save loincloths. Every figure was superbly sculptured, looking either heroic or sporting in turn. Classical Greek titles were graven on the plinth of each statue. Huma D’Este named them.

“Here is the mighty Hercules, there, Orpheus, the poet. Next to him stands Paris, son of King Priam. See, Achilles the warrior, Odysseus the wanderer, Narcissus the beautiful and Arion the musician.”

She reeled off one name after another as Jason gazed, awestruck, at the beautiful lifelike details of the works. “Theseus, son of the god Poseidon, Ganymede, the handsome cupbearer, Bellerophon, rider of the winged Pegasus, and Leander, who swam the Hellespont to woo the maid Hero. These are my wonderful collection, the males of legend, whose names the ages have not dimmed!”

Jason scanned the statues, eleven of them in all. The only one he had ever heard of was Hercules, and that was via movies and television. However, being no student of classical mythology was not a bar to his admiration of the amazing sculptures.

“They look great, but I counted eleven. That’s an odd number . . . is there one missing?”

Huma closed her eyes, the ghost of a smile creasing her lips. “Ah, you’ve noticed. The empty plinth is right behind you. One of the curtain folds is obscuring it. Go and see.”

Jason turned to the curtain, then folded it aside, revealing the empty plinth. Peering at it, he tried to decipher the name carved there in Greek characters. “I can’t make out this funny writing . . . suppose you can, though.”

Huma sat back and sighed blissfully. “Ah, yes, I know who will stand there for eternity. He will be the son of Aeson, rightful king of Iolcus, the one who was reared by the centaur Chiron. Do you know of him?”

Jason shrugged. “I don’t know any of those foreign names.”

Huma spoke teasingly. “No, I didn’t suppose you would. Some of the most beautiful bodies are seldom endowed with the keenest of minds. Let me give you a clue. This young man was captain of a ship named the Argo, he stole the fabulous Golden Fleece of Colchis. Now do you know him?”

Jason was awake now, the dreamlike trance seeming to have left him. He felt silly, standing here in the dead of night, clad only in a towel and his briefs. And there was the girl whom he had known for only a day, sitting on a throne, all dressed up and surrounded by statues. Now she was starting to mock him again. The fact that her eyes were closed made him bold. He spoke insolently. “No, I don’t know him, and I couldn’t care less. I’m getting out of this stupid old place!”

He was about to run off when the eyes of Huma D’Este sprang open, riveting him with their piercing stare. Her voice was harsh and commanding. “Fool, you should know the one I speak of. His name is the same as yours. Jason! When I saw you yesterday, I knew that you were the final piece of my collection!”

The towel was wet and clammy about his waist. Jason felt frightened and helpless in her presence. He could not tear his gaze from the girl’s eyes. They were growing larger, more overpowering, ugly red veins threading out from their corners.

He could hear his own voice, a fearful whisper. “How would you know what this Jason looked like? He must have died hundreds of years ago.”

Huma’s face was changing, the skin taking on a purplish hue. Cracks began pitting it, things were moving beneath her eyebrows, down the sides of her nostrils and along her jawline. The luxurious black hair weaved itself together into a nest of writhing snakes. Jason watched in horrified fascination, as if his eyelids had been frozen—he could not shut them. Now her mouth opened, a thin forked tongue sliding out.

“We of the Immortals have seen many things in the centuries which are dead and gone. Nothing escapes us.”

Jason’s limbs began trembling uncontrollably. “Wh-Who . . . are y-you?”

Two black scorpions emerged, framing her eyebrows. She leaned forward, spitting viciously, “My name is the same as that of my mother, Huma D’Este. That is the name I use for ordinary mortals who have not the wit to unravel it. You are too stupid to realise, but if you changed the letters of Huma D’Este around, you would know that I am called The Medusa! Look upon me, my Jason. I am nightmare come to life, my gaze is sent from the dark regions of Hades to turn living men into stone. Gaze on me and attain eternity, my Jason!”

The eyes of The Medusa became twin pools of evil. Winds like the searing heat from a furnace blasted the chamber, scorching the entrance curtain to ashes, behind which the wall was sealed tight as a tomb. Screams of lost souls ripped through Jason’s eardrums. With the terrifying vision of The Medusa robbing him of his sanity, he turned and ran. Round, round and round the exitless room he sped, spurred on by her brain-splitting laughter. Trapped like a moth in a cage with a hawk.

Then he froze! There was no more Jason; the hunter had been well hunted. All that remained was a cold, beautiful statue of Jason, caught in the act of running, every detail captured in lifeless white marble.

It had been many years since Carlene and Mal Blake were teenage sweethearts at school. They had remained together, happily married now for fifty years. Their three children had children of their own, who called Carlene and Mal “Nanna” and “Grandad.” The family got together to present the old couple with a wonderful golden anniversary gift, the vacation of a lifetime. One month’s cruise of the Greek islands. Blue sky, warm sun and an even bluer sea, with every luxury that the SS Hellenica could provide for American tourists.

Two weeks into the cruise, it was a glorious afternoon on one of the old Mediterranean islands. Passengers clicked cameras and zoomed in through video lenses on lined peasant faces, olive trees, whitewashed houses and a small village square with sunlight bouncing off the hosed-down cobblestones. After a fine alfresco meal, complete with glasses of the local wine and a bouzouki music serenade, they boarded a bus, which took them up into the mountains to explore an ancient villa and its grounds. It was a walled edifice comprised of timelessly beautiful gardens and an imposing house, which had once been a fortress in the fifteenth century. The guidebook reliably informed tourists that the building contained an art collection.

Age had been kind to Carlene Blake; she was still a slim and lively little lady—unlike Mal, who was grey haired, overweight and had breathing trouble. Added to that, he also suffered from angina. Carlene helped her husband to keep up with the party as they walked around the estate, though she could see he was clearly in need of a rest when they entered the house. They found a bench in a shaded entrance porch and sat down, leaving the others to follow the guide inside. Mal immediately went into his noontide nap. Carlene brushed his wispy grey hair back, removed his sunglasses and tipped a straw trilby over his eyes. She left him, with his big stomach gently rising and falling, and went off after the party inside the house.

She could hear them off somewhere in a side room full of Greek Orthodox artworks and religious icons. They moved on upstairs, their chatter receding in the distance. The hushed atmosphere was pleasantly serene. Carlene lingered on in the cool stone-floored main hallway. On one wall, there were glass cases with tiny bronzes of Minoan bull dancers, which did not interest her greatly. However, farther down there was a magnificent collection of twelve marble statues representing the manhood of classical Greek mythology. Mal still had the guidebook in his pocket, so she wandered along, trying to identify each one with little success. The names carved on the base of the plinths were a complete mystery to her. However, she did identify Hercules, or Heracles, as he was known in this part of the world. Hercules was easy, they had small figurines of him on sale in the ship gift shop. It was the last statue that arrested her attention—a very handsome boy in a running pose. He had a wrapping about his waist, which Carlene was thankful for. These Greeks, some of their statues did not even have a fig leaf for cover!

Against all the house rules, she ducked under the ornate tasselled rope separating the public from the exhibits. The handsome running boy interested her. Standing precariously on the base plinth, she reached up and touched the intricately wrought face. It reminded her of somebody. Glancing up at the heavy-lidded eyes, Carlene experienced a sudden flash of recall. Mal would think her foolish when she told him, but the features were a perfect likeness of the boy from their school days, Jason Hunter.

They had seldom mentioned him over the years. Jason, the good-looking one. He had vanished one summer night, all those decades ago. Nothing was ever heard of, or found again, despite the statewide coverage, the police searches, publicity posters and rewards offered by his anguished parents. Jason Hunter had just disappeared from the face of the earth, leaving no trace behind.

On tiptoe, Carlene peered closely at the statue’s features, cudgelling her mind to remember how Jason had really looked. Oh, dear, it was all in another time, another place, all those years back. Sounds of the ship’s party returning to the main hall caused her to skip nimbly down and under the guard rope.

Carlene waited until the group passed before tailing on at the rear. As they left the hall, she took a last look back at the running boy. No, he had a more noble and classical form than Jason. All she really recalled was his face, fixed in that lopsided sarcastic smile of his. Jason had used it on herself, and Mal, many times when they were young. Jason Hunter had not been a very nice young man anyhow. She and Mal had never really liked him.

Before she woke Mal, Carlene tipped the Greek guide with a few drachmas. He had a nice smile.

“I see you look at the statue of Jason, he is pretty, yes?”

She nodded politely. “Oh, they’re all exquisite statues.”

The man pointed back at Jason, confiding to Carlene, “One time an Australian lady, she bend down and look up the cloth he wears around his waist, yes. Her friends ask her what she see. Hahaha, she say, ‘I see nothing, only a label that says ‘Fruit of the Loom.’ Haha, good, yes?”