Hercules: The Legendary Journeys Two Book Collection (Juvenile) (4 page)

Now I know who my enemy is, he thought. That guy who was laughing in the dark last night. He laughs at war all the time. He loves it.

“Ares,” he said aloud. “My own half-brother.”

“Shhh!” Salmoneus warned, laying an angry finger over Hercules' lips. “You're supposed to be a dopey clown.”

“Come this way,” Captain Vicius was saying.

His men marched them down a sweeping gravel path to a long building at the far end of the trees and towers. Resting on a soft lawn, it was a canopy of marble, thin as parchment. It curved up to a high point, like a circus tent. White marble tent pegs nailed the structure to the grass. Hercules and Salmoneus entered through a purple curtain-covered gap.

They gazed around the inside and marvelled. The tent covered a space so long and wide that gladiators could have fought lions there. Free-standing wooden partitions blocked off one area from another.

“Ah,” Salmoneus sighed, settling snugly on one of the many brightly coloured pillows that lay on the teakwood floor. “Thank you, boys,” he said, waving the soldiers away with his hand. “That'll do. Oh, but do send over some food and drink for us, hmm?”

The guards tramped out, grumbling. Salmoneus leaned back and stretched like a panther. “Now this is the life.”

Hercules lifted him to his feet. “In case you've forgotten,” he said quietly, “we're here to stop a war.”

Salmoneus carefully peeled Hercules' fingers from his shoulders. “Herc, relax. I know that. But no one says we can't enjoy ourselves as we go. Besides, these people aren't warlike.”

“I know,” Hercules said quietly. In even lower tones, he added, “That king of theirs couldn't fight a war even if you gave him Zeus' lightning bolts to wield.” He sat on the floor. “I think he and his people are going to get slaughtered. No pun intended. Ares has set the whole thing up to start a war.” He scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully. “He'll sit on Olympus and just laugh as people die.”

“How do you know he's behind this?” Salmoneus asked, pulling a green satin pillow under his head.

“I don't for certain,” Hercules admitted. “But the facts point to him. There's only one way to stop him. We've got to tell the Mercantilians not to attack.”

Salmoneus leaned forward. “How are we going to do that? In case you haven't noticed, the only places to get out of this town are the corners between the walls, which is where those guards sit.”

“I know,” Hercules whispered back. “Let's work out a plan.” He arranged four pillows in a square on the floor. “Say these are the walls . . .”

He glanced at the door-curtain and watched as a pair of sandalled feet marched back and forth. He continued planning in a voice so quiet that Salmoneus had to strain to hear.

There was no moon that night and clouds hid the stars. It was only an hour or so after sunset, but the city was already in pitch darkness.

Inside the tent, dressed in his proper clothes, Hercules stood near the doorway, listening hard. He heard only footsteps crunching back and forth. Hercules glanced at Salmoneus, waiting on the other side of the doorway, and nodded. It was time to go.

Hercules whipped the purple curtain aside—then let it go. The guard spun, drew his sword and watched the fabric swing quietly back and forth. Obviously, no one had left. Whoever had disturbed the curtain must have gone in.

Tiptoeing so as not to alert the intruder, the guard, Stolidus, approached the doorway. As he pulled the curtain aside, a large hand grabbed his fingers and dragged him in. The curtain, still in his other hand, ripped loudly.

In the darkness, the guard could not see who was grabbing him. He swung his club wildly. Salmoneus backed away and tripped over a pillow. He went tumbling backwards and cracked his head on the floor. He cursed.

Follow that sound, Stolidus told himself. With a surge of strength, he wrenched himself free of the fist gripping his hand. He leapt and with his club shredded a pillow lying just between Salmoneus' legs.

Salmoneus screamed, then clapped his mouth shut. That was enough for Stolidus. He aimed his club at Salmoneus' throat and lunged.

The huge hand grabbed Stolidus around the chest and yanked him back. Another hand gave two quick chops to his neck and the guard sagged like a sack of potatoes. Only Hercules' strong grip on his torso kept him from crashing to the floor.

“You all right, Salmoneus?” Hercules whispered as he pulled his friend to his feet.

“Me? Sure. Wasn't even scared,” Salmoneus lied. “Thanks.” He wiped hot sweat from his forehead.

“Come on,” Hercules whispered. “We don't have much time.”

They slipped silently from their lodgings and stepped across the path. Although they could not see anyone watching them, Salmoneus winced at every twitch and rattle of gravel under their sandals. The path was as wide as a horse is long, and crossing it seemed to take forever.

Hercules saw the terror in Salmoneus' eyes. Wrapping an arm around his companion's waist, he lifted him off the ground and raced lightly across the chequered lawn, alert for guards. There was one at the nearest gap between the city walls, but he was facing away from them.

Salmoneus' back twitched.

“Now what?” Hercules hissed and glanced down. The small man was gawping at something behind Hercules.

The grass was moving.

One of the squares was not lying flat on the ground but was angled like a trap door. The square, at least ten feet on each side, began to drop towards the ground, like some massive beast shutting its jaw. A thin groan escaped from the darkness below.

Dropping Salmoneus, Hercules dashed over to the square, but he was too late—it had shut. He knelt and examined it. As he ran his fingers along the edge, he felt a wafer-thin gap.

“What are you doing?” Salmoneus hissed from behind his head.

“Didn't you hear that moan? Someone's hurt.” Hercules probed with his fingers again. “I'm going to help.”

“Are you crazy? We were just about to get out of here!”

“You go if you want,” Hercules whispered. “I can't leave whoever it is down there.”

Salmoneus glanced at the massive walls, at the gap between them, at the back of the guard and weighed up the odds.

“Move over,” he grumbled and knelt down.

Hercules smiled to himself, but his smile died as he looked over his shoulder and noticed the guard stretching.

Don't turn around, Hercules willed. The guard seemed to catch something out of the corner of his eye. Hercules could see a horn dangling at his belt. One blast from that and everyone in the city would wake up. The guard began to turn.

“Salmoneus—”

“I've got some—”

“No time,” Hercules gasped and shoved his hand into the soft ground up to his wrist. With a rough yank, he ripped the green square out of the earth and dived into the darkness, pulling Salmoneus behind him. The grass square fell back into place.

The wall was smooth and wet, too slick to grab. It was sloping away from Hercules' fingers and it was growing wider. There was nothing below them but rushing darkness.

He hit the bottom so hard that the ground seemed to vibrate. A moment later, Salmoneus crashed down on top of him, crushing him against a rough, rocky surface.

A stone door clapped shut behind them. There was the clunk, slip and chop of a bar sliding into place, locking the door from the outside.

A trap!

Salmoneus seemed to have six knees and eleven elbows, and everyone was poking into a delicate part of Hercules' anatomy. “Get your foot out of my mouth,” he growled.

Salmoneus wriggled himself off.

Hercules stood warily in the pitch-black hole and brushed himself down. The guys who tricked us—how did they get here? he wondered. Falling like we did? Maybe a rope ladder they could pull up from outside the door . . .

He stepped over to where he had heard the door shut, but there was no handle on this side. The door was a flat, wet, vertical slab, covered with a slick oil that made his fingers slip like a pig trying to ice skate. Beneath the oil, his fingers felt only a cool sheet of metal.

Hercules pulled his hand away. A thin film of the greasy gunge stuck to his fingertips and stretched between his fingers like a spider's web. He closed his hand into a fist, reared back on one leg and hurled his whole body into a single punch. His arm screamed in protest but the door was undented. He groaned.

“Hercules?” Salmoneus asked.

Hercules reared back to throw his shoulder at the door.

“But it's important,” Salmoneus insisted.

Hercules sighed. “What is it?”

“Come here. I've found something,” Salmoneus' voice said in the darkness.

Hercules shuffled towards him. His foot thumped into something big and solid, like a side of beef.

“That's it,” Salmoneus said. “Just a second.”

Hercules heard something scrape along the ground and then a low hiss. The pit flared into view. Salmoneus was crouched on the ground, holding a small, wooden cone. Its wide top was burning.

“I got it from him,” he said, pointing at the object at Hercules' feet. “Strike it along the ground and it lights.”

“Never mind that,” Hercules said.

He knelt and looked at the lump. It was covered in a lion skin. The thing was big and shapeless, nearly seven feet long. It was narrow at one end, widening almost all the way to the other end, when it suddenly stopped, like a long, narrow pyramid. Something roughly round lolled at the far end.

Hercules pulled off the lion skin. It was a man, lying on his back, out cold. He was tall, broad-shouldered, tanned and handsome. His nose was straight, his chin was firm as mahogany and his skin was unblemished. His hair was shoulder-length and brown. His arms, chest and legs were thick with muscle. His eyes were closed.

“Hercules,” Salmoneus breathed. “It's you!” He looked closer. “Or maybe not. He does look like you, but not really.”

Hercules swept his gaze down from head to toe, picking out the most obvious differences. He could see how someone could mistake them for each other, but this man was not his double.

He's taller than me, Hercules decided. Thicker in the legs, slimmer in the waist, broader in the chest. More hair on his chest than me too. Bigger hands and feet. Not to mention those arms—they look like oak trunks with muscles. The giant's skin was rougher and a shade darker, as was his hair. His nose was larger and his eyes were set further apart. A large, red bruise sat on his forehead.

The stranger was breathing slowly. Hercules knelt down and turned him over. The giant's skin looked as bruised as Hercules' back felt. Someone must have hurled him into this pit.

Hercules took one of his hands. No rings or bracelets, nothing to identify him. He let the hand go.

“No one who's ever met you would mistake you for him,” Salmoneus said. “Well, not for long.”

Grunting with the effort, he turned the man over. Pulling back the man's eyelids, he looked up at Hercules. “His eyes are darker than yours, Her—urrgh!”

A hand grabbed his throat. The man on the ground struggled to his feet, clasping Salmoneus by the neck and lifting him off the ground. “What are you doing?” he roared.

Salmoneus dropped the torch. It clattered to the ground but stayed lit. He gurgled and kicked, but his legs were shorter than the giant's arms.

Hercules stepped forward and stared the giant in the eyes. The man really was enormous—but he wasn't a demi-god. “Put him down,” Hercules commanded. “You were out cold. You might have been dying. We were checking you were all right.” He glared at the other man.

The man stared back hard, not blinking. His empty hand formed a fist.

“Put him down,” Hercules repeated slowly.

“Or . . . at least . . .” Salmoneus gasped, “let him . . . breathe . . .” He clawed at the fingers around his neck but could not budge them. He was turning blue and his flailing was growing weaker. His eyes closed and his head flopped backwards. His legs and arms hung limp.

Forget being clever, Hercules thought. He punched the giant in the belly.

The giant's fist sprang open and Salmoneus fell to the ground like a rag doll. The impact popped his eyes open. He gulped air and began panting a few breaths.

His attacker bent double, gasping.

“Don't make me hit you again,” Hercules warned.

The giant straightened up slowly. “You're . . . you're not one of them.” His voice was deeper than Hercules' and he spoke slowly. He reminded Hercules of a black bear—strong, lumbering, but deadly if provoked.

“No,” Hercules said, sitting down cross-legged. Salmoneus did the same. “Sit,” Hercules said, patting the ground. “Let's talk.”

The giant stood, his eyes wary. After a long moment, he said, “Why not?” He landed heavily, with a low grunt.

“Takes the guy a while to make a decision, huh?” Salmoneus whispered. “Like an eight-horse chariot pulled by two horses. It gets there, but it's not very fast.”

“Quiet,” Hercules muttered. He stuck out his hand. “My name's Hercules,” he smiled. “What's yours?”

Another long silence followed.

“Cactus,” the man said at last. He looked at them, watching for their reaction.

“Interesting name,” Hercules said genially. “It's a plant, isn't it?”

The man seemed relieved that Hercules hadn't made fun of him.

“Yeah,” he answered. “My mother gave it to me.” He blushed and looked away.

Hercules found himself liking the big, sensitive hulk. “So how did you get down here?”

“I was being Hercules,” Cactus said.

“Eh?” Salmoneus blurted.

“I get it,” Hercules said. “You're a . . . well, a Hercules impersonator.”

Cactus nodded. “Don't make fun. I'm not proud of it.” He looked Hercules up and down. “But you know what it's like. Not many jobs out there for a guy who's . . . who's not real, well, smart . . . oh, you know what I mean.”

“Perhaps.”

“Well, when you're big like me, people think you're Hercules. Even if you say no!” The giant stopped. In a guilty, reluctant tone, he said, “So one day, just for fun, and to get them off your back, you say, ‘Yes, I am Hercules.' And you know what they do?”

“Sorry, I don't,” Hercules said. “Tell me.”

Cactus peered at Hercules, a queer expression on his face. “You said your name was Hercules. You're like me, I thought.”

He'll never believe I'm not an impersonator, Hercules thought.

“Well, I don't know,” Salmoneus said. “Tell me.”

“All right,” Cactus said. “Well, when people think you're Hercules, they're so glad to see a famous hero that they give you things. Food and ale and . . . girls.” He looked down again, blushed and took a deep breath. “Anyway, so I went around from town to town and I always got things. But after a while, I got sick of lying. And some of those towns were so poor! They were starving to give me steaks and fancy desserts, and I tried to tell 'em not to give me things, but they wouldn't take any notice. I guess they thought I could get Zeus to help 'em or something.”

Hercules and Salmoneus listened in silence.

Cactus sat down. “I always promised myself: Next town, I'm not Hercules. But the road between towns was always so long.” He paused, remembering. “I'd get tired and hungry and thirsty.” His gaze returned to Hercules. “So at the next town, they start asking if I'm Hercules and putting meat and wine before me. Then the children all gather round and I give them rides.” He smiled happily. “They run away so happy. They're yelling all over town, “I got to ride on Hercules!” The huge man closed his eyes. “How could I tell them the truth?”

Another long silence descended, blanketing the room like a fog. Hercules filled the gap. “So you kept doing it. But how did you get here?”

Cactus sighed. “It started a couple of weeks ago. I was on the mainland. I . . . I freeloaded all the way down to Athens.” He paused. “So, I tried to get away from people, presents . . . everything. I found a boat going from Athens to this island. The captain said if I wanted to be alone, I could hide in the forest. He let me ride for free.” Cactus looked pained at the memory. “He said, “With the son of Zeus on board, we're sure to get a smooth crossing and a safe landing.””

Another pause. Salmoneus couldn't stand it. “So what happened?”

Cactus sighed again. “The boat hit a reef. I'm the only one who made it.” He took a deep breath. “So, I wandered from the shore into a forest. I heard someone giggling. A girl.

“She was hiding behind a tree.”

The girl was slim but curvy, and her skimpy clothes let her long, tanned arms and legs swing free in the flattering moonlight. The tree in front of her was too thin to hide her, but she didn't want it to. She batted her eyelashes at the muscular stranger, drawing attention to her pale green eyes. She ran slender fingers through her cascade of scarlet hair and giggled again.

He stared at her, amazed at finding such an enticing creature in the middle of the woods.

She probably thinks I'm Hercules, he was thinking. What should I do?

She wiggled her fingers at him in a charming little wave and spun like a dancer. Suddenly she was gone, dashing into the forest.

Last time I say it, Cactus promised. He raced after her, crashing through the bushes and trees, determined to catch her. “Come here!” he shouted. “Don't you know me? I'm Hercules!”

Her giggles trailed behind her darting form. She ducked behind a tall rock. The giant speeded up and followed her, but she seemed to have gone. She must have changed course and bolted behind a tree while out of his sight.

He heard someone tiptoeing behind him. “Oh, Her-culeeees,” a singsong voice trilled.

With a happy smile, he turned.

A different, older woman was there, with blonde hair, blazing blue eyes and flawless, snowy skin. Her arms were high above her head; she swung them down.

“So, that's all I remember. She hit me, I guess,” Cactus finished. “When I woke up, I was here. I had a headache and a whole lot of bruises.”

Makes sense, Hercules was thinking. Slaughterius must be using Dryope and her girls to patrol the nearby forest. Another thought came to him. “Cactus, have you ever been to Mercantilius?”

Cactus looked up, his expression blank. “To where?”

“Never mind.” Hercules got up and stretched. He's a likeable guy, he thought. He tells a great story. But is it true? I've never heard of Dryope clubbing anyone.

“Hercules!” Salmoneus pointed upwards. “We've got guests. I think they've been watching for a while.”

Hercules tilted his head back and looked up. The shaft framed a patch of night sky, with clouds drifting out of the square to uncover a filmy, white spray of bright stars.

Something dark blocked a corner of the square. It had an irregular shape, all round bumps. Hercules felt that he should recognize it.

“Hello, clown,” the black shape crooned, then slapped his cheek with a lazy hand. “Oh, I am so rude! That's the wrong way to greet an old friend.” The voice changed, growing deeper. “I meant, hello, Hercules.”