Timothy Boggs - Hercules Legendary Joureneys 03 (14 page)

"Sure it will."

Clova returned, juggling a number of clubs at such a speed that he couldn't count how many there were.

They also, he noted, had little spikes around their tips.

Suddenly one flew from the pack into Aeton's waiting hand, and he instantly spun it at Hercules' head.

Hercules ducked, jumped to avoid a second one, a third, tried to jump up to avoid the one aimed at his feet, hit the ceiling, saw stars, and slipped off the lid to the floor. He landed on his hands and knees and scuttled sideways, but not quickly enough to avoid being struck on the left shoulder.

The spikes weren't long, but they hurt like hell.

"Nice," Clova said, adding the dagger and a chair to the remaining clubs in the air.

"I try," Aeton replied modestly.

Hercules crouched against the wall, realizing that watching Clova was wrong—he needed to watch her husband, watch for the hand that twitched just before she sent him another weapon. "You won't get away,"

he said.

Aeton grinned. "He's trying to distract us, dear."

"Now, Aeton, you know that means he thinks he's smart."

Another club, which slammed into the wall over Hercules' head and stuck there.

He reached up for it, and snatched his hand down when another club tried to sever it at the wrist.

Next time, Hercules thought; it has to be the next time. If Aeton gets the dagger next...

It was the chair.

Hercules stood, caught it with both hands, turned, and used its momentum to fling it as hard as he could at Aeton.

Aeton deftly backflipped out of the way, but the move gave Hercules the chance to grab the empty chest and slide it across the floor after him. Aeton landed, the chest caught him across the shins, and he toppled over it, rolled, came up grinning, and gawked when Hercules grabbed him around the waist.

"I say," the man said.

"Aeton," Clova cried.

"My turn," Hercules told her, and tossed her her husband.

The amazing thing was, for a split second she actually seemed torn between catching him, dodging him, or shielding herself with him while she used the dagger, the only weapon left in her hand.

The hesitation cost her.

Aeton sailed over her right shoulder and met the wall with his skull. When her eyes flicked over to see if he was all right, Hercules threw himself at her legs, tackled her, and pinned her arms to the floor.

"I'll kill you," she spat.

Aeton moaned.

She wriggled, twisted, and said, "You can't kill a woman, Hercules. I know you too well."

Surprised that she knew him at all, he admitted that it would take an immensely dire situation before he would even begin to consider killing a woman-Clocking her a good one on the jaw, on the other hand, was not beyond the realm of possibility, especially when the husband was beginning to stir, and the wife was trying to toss him the dagger.

He clocked her.

Her eyes closed.

He clocked Aeton, just to be sure, and because the twerp deserved it, and rocked back onto his heels just as Flovi stepped into the room.

"By the gods!" he exclaimed. mustache all a-quiver. "What's going on here?"

Hercules wiped a sheen of sweat from his brow, and winced at the sharp pain in his upper arm. "You'd better tell Salmoneus he's going to need a new act tonight."

"Hercules, you're bleeding."

He was, but not badly. With Flovi's help, he bound the spike holes in his arm with a length of clean cloth; then, as he explained what had happened, he tore a cloak into strips which they used to bind the thieves.

"Amazing," Flovi said, shaking his head in wonder. "We owe you a lot, Hercules. It's over now, right?"

"Oh, no," he answered softly, glancing out the window. "No, Flovi, I'm afraid it's just beginning."

Dragar stood by his window, staring contemptuously down at the street, at the pedestrians scurrying by, at those still straightening up from the "shift" the night before.

He was angry, and he was excited—or as excited as he ever permitted himself to get.

Angry, because Aulma hadn't returned to the room since last night. Although she was completely extraneous to his plan, he had grown used to having her around. He had even considered blessing her with continued life so that she might remain with him when he introduced to these peasants the terrors and benefits of his new world.

That the gods might intervene didn't worry him.

He had long ago decided that they didn't much care what he did as long as he didn't bother them.

Or threaten them.

That was one mistake he definitely did not plan to make.

Aulma was another. He had allowed her beauty to distract him, and that wouldn't do.

She hadn't returned when she was supposed to, and so, quite simply, she would have to die.

That was part of his excitement—for tonight he would take the first major step in the creation of his world, the establishment of his rule. He hadn't believed it would happen so soon, and he certainly hadn't counted on having so little opposition. But these fools had accepted his tricks and stunts as nothing more than magic; diversions and sleights-of-hand to brighten their drab little lives.

The only thing standing in his way now, as far as he could reckon, was that strongman the idiot Salmoneus had brought into the troupe.

He didn't know why the man was a potential hurdle; he only sensed it. Certainly the man wouldn't be able to stop the forces Dragar could release; he most certainly wouldn't be able to avoid a swift journey to meet Hades.

Nevertheless, Dragar had learned the hard way to trust the growing power of that sense which, he had discovered, normal people didn't have. It told him the man was a possible threat, and that was all he needed to know.

The spell he had woven during their first meeting would keep the threat at a safe distance; the next spell would take care of it permanently.

He smiled to himself, reached out, and grabbed the staff.

His left hand stroked the ram's silver head as one would caress the head of a lover.

His fingers traced the curves of the golden horns, the planes of the jaw, the outline of the skull.

When the fingers stopped, all sound and motion ceased to be.

Then the ram's left eye opened.

And the room filled with green fire.

The arena was nearly empty.

Salmoneus stood in the center, practicing a new introduction, while a handful of musicians sat against the wall and listened in attitudes varying from bored to sleeping. Virgil and Aulma stood well off to one side, looking desperately as if they wanted to hold hands but didn't dare.

When Hercules and Flovi arrived, Flovi immediately joined his fellow band members, while Hercules, after a couple of false starts, told Salmoneus about Clova and Aeton, adding that the duo were already in the hands of the town's proper authorities.

The first thing Salmoneus did was embrace him with rib-straining gratitude, praising him for finally lifting the jinx that had plagued his troupe; the second thing he did was vow at the top of his voice to make a pilgrimage to all the towns the troupe had visited, so he could personally return all the stolen items to their owners; the third thing was, before he could be stopped, to hug Hercules a second time for the idea of giving a show to help the people of Phyphe regain their good spirits.

"Brilliant!" he cried as Hercules eased him back with a pained smile. "I should have thought of that myself."

For a second, then, he seemed to have lost his voice. His face paled, his hands began to tremble, and Hercules searched the arena for signs of impending disaster. There was none; at least none that he could see.

"Oh, no!" Salmoneus wailed. "What am 1 going to do about a new act at this late date?" He threw up his hands. "I'm ruined. I'm going to be poverty-stricken! I'm going to—"

"Use Flovi," Hercules suggested without thinking.

"What?"

Hercules nodded toward the musician. "He's been wanting to sing for an audience, right? Well, now's his chance."

Salmoneus moved closer and lowered his voice. “Hercules, this is no joke here."

"I'm not joking."

"You have to be joking, you've heard him sing, Or whatever that is."

Hercules had to concede the point. Still, he couldn't resist the urge not only to help Flovi, but also to watch Salmoneus squirm. "Don't worry. Once he gets in front of an audience, he'll be fine. All he needs is a chance to prove himself."

"Ruin me, you mean," Salmoneus grumbled.

"Ruin who?" Flovi wanted to know, ambling over with a flute in his hand.

"Ruin the surprise," Hercules answered quickly.

"What surprise?"

"That you're going to sing tonight."

"What?" Flovi tried to smile. "Me? Here? Tonight? Sing? A song? Me?"

"Maybe," Salmoneus said, "this is a little sudden."

"Sudden? This? Me?"

"Salmoneus," Hercules warned.

"Sing?" Flovi said, staring at his flute.

"I'm just trying to be sensitive to the needs of the artist," Salmoneus protested.

"In that case, be sensitive to me," Hercules said, cocking a
watch it
eyebrow.

"Tonight?" Flovi whispered. "Me? Sing?"

"Oh, boy." Salmoneus rubbed his hands over his eyes. "We're ruined."

"Ruined?" Flovi grinned. "Sing? Me?" The grin faded. "All by myself alone with no one else just me alone?"

"Swell," Salmoneus muttered. "He's going to faint."

Flovi wandered away, the flute forgotten in his hand.

"Ruined," Salmoneus moaned. "Ruined." Hercules didn't think it would be that bad. If Flovi was able to keep the melody well in sight, maybe the audience would forgive a clunker now and then. Still, he made it clear with a look that the showman owed him a favor; Salmoneus, with a look of his own, made it clear that he would do it, but only under extreme duress and, probably, as long as he and the proceeds had a head start to the next country.

"You worry too much," Hercules told him with a smile, and looked over the man's head when he saw Virgil and Aulma inching toward him.

"Sir?" Virgil said nervously. "Sir, may we have a word?"

Hercules had no idea what they wanted, and was about to join them when Salmoneus said, "Oh, gods .

..," and took a step back, lips quivering in a vain attempt to form new words.

Slowly Hercules turned to the south tunnel.

Oh, boy, he thought.

Peyra entered the arena, her eyes puffed and red, her stride uncertain.

Behind her was Agatra.

Aulma squealed softly and instantly threw her arms around Virgil's waist; Virgil gulped loudly and threw his arms around Aulma's shoulders; the band muttered but didn't move; Flovi didn't know what to do or say and so did and said nothing. The Harpy was angry. Her powerful talons clicked loudly on the arena's cobblestone floor, her wings were half-spread to add size to her bulk, and her arms were folded tightly across her feathered chest. No one made a sound.

When she reached Hercules, she glared and said, "What have you done?"

"Nothing, yet," he admitted.

"You felt it?" she demanded, her harsh voice echoing off the empty rows of seats.

He nodded. So, involuntarily, did the others.

"Then what are you waiting for?"

"One thing at a time, Agatra," he said calmly. "I had something else to do first."

The Harpy huffed, and snapped her fingers. Peyra moved to stand beside her. "Show him," Agatra commanded.

Peyra wasn't quite successful in swallowing a sob, and Hercules didn't like the cold feeling that settled in his stomach.

"What is it?" he asked her gently.

She reached into her pouch and pulled out the yellow frog. "He's ..." A tear slithered down her cheek.

Salmoneus snickered when he saw the amphibian, but whatever he was going to say was silenced by the look Hercules gave him.

Peyra took a deep shuddering breath. "He's dying."

The frog, unlike previous times, didn't automatically flip onto its back. It lay on her palm with closed eyes, and when Hercules leaned closer for a better look, he could see that it was barely breathing.

"He won't eat," Peyra said, wiping her eyes with the back of her free hand. "He can't eat people food, and 1 guess, because he's still partly human, he won't eat what he should because of the way he is." A tender finger stroked the frog's head; it didn't stir. "I think he's giving up."

By this time curiosity had overcome the others' fear of the Harpy, and they gathered close, to stare at the frog as much as at Agatra.

"Boy, that sucker is ugly," Salmoneus blurted. Then pointed quickly. "The frog, I mean."

"He may be ugly to you," Peyra sobbed, "but he's my husband, and I love him!"