Monsters of Greek Mythology, Volume Two (37 page)

“I wouldn't expect any, sir.”

“Think you're ready for some responsibility?”

“I'd welcome it, sir.”

“I'm going to put you on doom service.”

“Doom service?”

“It gets cold here at night, what with the holes in the wall and so forth. When a guest calls for a hot drink, you'll bring him one. A terminal tiffin, you might say.”

“Poison?”

“Just a strong sleeping potion. After he's asleep I'll take care of the rest.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come on, I'll show you around.”

Procrustes took Theseus on a tour of the inn. The rooms were haphazardly floored; some with slabs of slate, others with splintered planks. The floor of the bedchamber was simply packed earth. The bed frame was a rectangular iron grid. The floor under it had been dug away so that the bed stood over a deep pit. Theseus gritted his teeth to suppress a shudder as he saw that the bed was hung with leather straps, chains, and shackles.

“No mattress?” he asked.

“It'd just get in the way,” said Procrustes.

“Don't the guests object?”

“They have worse things to worry about.”

“Why the hole in the floor?”

“Don't knock it, kiddo. That pit and the grid construction of the bed save a lot of labor. The blood drips right through the grid into the pit. Two wipes with a sponge, and we're all cleaned up—ready for the next guest.”

“Innovative …” murmured Theseus.

“What I am is a benefactor,” said Procrustes. “If you want to know why, just listen. The chief difference between the gods and mankind is that the gods are satisfied with the way they are. Satisfied? Ecstatic! While people keep wanting to improve themselves. And what people want to change about themselves most is their size. Hardly a man or woman alive doesn't want to be taller or shorter, fatter or thinner. Well, I can't do much about weight, but I can help with height. This hostel offers not only food and shelter but the ultimate in cosmetic surgery. That bed of mine is one of the noblest products of an inventive and compassionate mind. On that bed, lad, the bed of Procrustes, the too-short guest is stretched, and the one too long is lopped. The bed, the bed, the Procrustean bed! … made to an ideal length, fitted with wholesome restraints, and tended by the boss himself, mind, a pioneer in the corrective possibilities of chain and ax.”

“I can appreciate your contribution to the art of hostelry, and, of course, to humanity in general,” said Theseus. “It's just a pity the client can't stay on to enjoy his transformation.”

“We can only do our best, my boy; it's all one can ask of any man.… Now, go make a fire and set a kettle on the hob. We have two guests now in the front parlor, one short, one tall. So you'll be able to see both phases of our operation.

“I'll do the tall one first,” continued Procrustes, “because stretching takes too much time and gets really loud, what with the stretchee screaming and moaning. It's likely to scare the other guest off, even if we use the sleeping potion on him. He'll try to run and I'll have to take the time to catch him. That's why we'll do the tall one first. We'll do him quick, just a head job, you know, which makes very little noise. Any questions?”

Theseus shook his head mutely. He didn't dare open his mouth; he felt his stomach turning over.

“All you have to do is watch this time,” said Procrustes. “I want to see if you have the stomach for the work. Too many job candidates end up in the pigsty because they're squeamish. So you just watch for now—and clean up afterward, of course. Well, maybe you can sharpen the ax.”

8

Evander

On the next day, Theseus was sent to fetch firewood. He was past the boneyard and approaching a stand of trees, when he saw something move among the branches. He thought that it might be the bandit Bender coming to visit his father at the inn. A figure loomed before him, holding an enormous tree trunk as easily as if it were a log and sharpening its end with an ax.

Theseus watched, fascinated, as the big fellow raised the trunk high above his head and drove its sharpened end into the earth. Then Theseus saw that he was beardless and could not be Bender. His face was smooth and rosy; he was very young, hardly more than a boy, though a very tall, powerful one.

“What do you want?” the boy called.

“I work here,” said Theseus.

“Just start?”

“Yes.”

“Better quit while you have the chance.”

“Thanks, but I must stay. What are you doing?”

“Making a fence.”

“For wild horses?”

“For pigs. We're moving the sty.”

“Pretty big fence for pigs,” said Theseus.

“You haven't seen them, have you?”

“No.”

“Well … just hope you don't get a close look. They're not the kind other people keep; these are wild boars, strong as bulls and fierce as tigers. No ordinary fence'll hold them.”

“What do they eat?”

“You mean
who
. Checked-out guests are what they're fed, and staff members whose employment has been terminated.”

“Then, these bones …?”

“These bones are what's left of those who have passed through inn and sty.”

“Who are you?” asked Theseus.

“I'm the boss's grandson, little man, the son of Bender. You may have heard of him. He does a trick with trees and travelers.”

“I saw him at work. I came down that road.”

“Did you meet my uncles?”

“I saw a man with a club.”

“Yes, Basher.”

“And another man with different-size feet, both very clean.”

“Uncle Shady. So you've met my father, my two uncles, and, of course, my grandfather, the innkeeper—and now me.”

“An impressive family,” murmured Theseus.

“What brings you to this hellhole, little nitwit? Don't you realize how soon you'll be fed to the pigs? And you'll hardly make a mouthful. You'll be gone as quickly as an acorn. I don't even think they'll spit out your tiny little bones.”

“If that's the case,” replied Theseus, “it sounds very much as though I'll need a friend.”

“And what I
don't
need is a friend who won't last,” said the other. “It happened once before and made me very sad.”

“Maybe I'll last longer than you think. What's in that big basket?”

“You like to ask questions, don't you?”

“That's what friends do. What's in it?”

“Different things at different times,” said the boy.

“What's in it now?”

“It's empty. Shall I put you in?”

“Then what?”

“We'll go mushrooming.”

“Oh, I'd like that,” said Theseus. “But can't I just walk along with you?”

“My legs are too long. You couldn't keep up.”

“What's your name, by the way?”

“Evander. What's yours?”

“Theseus.”

“Jump in. I'll keep the lid off so we can talk as we go.”

The great meadow sloped down to a stand of pines. There, where the trees cast a dense, spicy shade, mushrooms grew.

“These were the first fruits grown in the garden of earth,” Evander said. “The Great Darkness left a layer of rich, black soil under the top loam, and that's what mushrooms need. They're watered from underneath by demons who hate the light. Everybody knows that.”

“I didn't,” said Theseus.

“You do now. There are hundreds of kinds of mushrooms, and they're not all meant as food, not by any means. Most of them are sheer poison. And in between are the kind that make you do weird things.”

“Like what?”

“This white one with the orange dots makes you spin on one leg, and you can't stop but go faster and faster when you try. This green one with the yellow ruffle makes you jump, and you can't stop but go higher and higher when you try. Now this one, with brown shading into black, makes you stamp. And you can't stop but stamp harder and harder as you try. And this little gray and black one makes you laugh. And you can't stop, no matter how hard you try—not until you're weak and gasping like a grounded fish.”

“How do you know all this?” asked Theseus. “Have you tried them?”

“I've watched cows and goats that've eaten them.”

“And they jump and whirl and stamp and so forth?”

“They do.”

“I'd love to see that. Let's find some cows or goats.”

“I can't. I've got to go back to the inn soon. Look here.” Evander stooped and parted the grass. “These are good, these ugly little ones. You can eat them.”

Theseus twisted his voice, making the mushroom say, “Don't pick me.”

In utter shock, Evander gasped, “Why not?”

“Because it hurts. How would you like to be torn out of the ground because someone wants to eat you?”

Evander was kneeling beside the mushroom. He swiveled to look back at Theseus with great glossy eyes, just like a startled cow. Theseus felt a great burble of laughter shuddering out of his chest. He laughed and laughed and couldn't stop. Evander sprang to his feet, crying, “It's you! It's you! It's you talking, not
it!
”

Theseus made his voice come from behind Evander. “It's not him, stupid! It's me, me, me!”

“Oh, please show me how you do that. Teach me to, please?”

Theseus tried to teach him the trick, but the huge lad couldn't manage to throw his voice. He had no guile in him. Nevertheless, he glowed with pleasure and filled the meadow with rich laughter. Theseus had always enjoyed playing with big animals—horses, bulls, and dolphins—seeming to draw health itself from their great bodies. It was the same frolicking with Evander, for he seemed very young despite his tremendous size, and totally innocent. Theseus knew they must be about the same age, but he felt much older.

Suddenly, in the midst of laughter, Evander's face grew sad. It was like a cloud passing over the sun.

“What's the matter?” said Theseus.

“Listen,” said Evander. “I have to go back now, but you mustn't.”

“Why not?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Then don't come with me.”

“Shall I wait for you here?” asked Theseus.

“I'd rather you ran away—as fast as you can.”

“I can't do that.”

“Then wait here. Tonight's the night my father and my uncles come to the inn, and I have to help with the meal.”

“I could help, too.”

“Stay here, I say. I'll come back as soon as I can, but it'll be a while.”

“I'll wait,” said Theseus.

“If anyone comes, hide!”

Theseus watched as his new friend strode away across the meadow, swinging the great wicker basket filled with mushrooms. Suddenly, he was gripped by loneliness. He had always liked to be alone; now suddenly it was painful. He tilted his head and whistled. Melissa had been taught to come to him when she heard this trilling, two-note signal. But Theseus knew she couldn't come to him now. He had turned her loose near the top of the mountain and had instructed her to keep away from the inn—to roam the high ground until he returned. Nevertheless, it comforted him to hear himself whistle and imagine her galloping across the meadow.

To dispel his sadness, Theseus began to race his shadow across the field. He ran and ran until he was breathless, but was still boiling with bitter energy. He walked to the edge of the wood and began to search for mushrooms.

After some time, he fell asleep on the grass. He slept with an animal's alertness and awoke with the sense that someone was approaching. Without rising, he slid through the grass like a snake and into the trees. When he saw that it was Evander running across the field, Theseus dashed out to greet him. Evander's face was blazing, his eyes glittering. He was carrying the basket.

“What's the matter?” said Theseus.

“Do you know what my grandfather told me?”

“I can guess.”

“Go ahead.”

“He said, ‘Be very nice to our new doom-service waiter. I foresee a brilliant career for him, and I don't want him to go to work for someone else.' Is that what he said?”

“Not quite,” replied Evander. “He said, ‘That new boy won't do. I tested him on a chop job, and he almost fainted when I used the ax. You'd think he'd never seen anyone cutting off a head before. Put him in your basket, take him to the sty, and feed him to the pigs.' That's what he said.”

“And what did you say?”

“What I always say. ‘Yes, grandpa.'”

“So, the next time you pop me in your basket, you'll take me to the sty, is that it?”

“Listen, he suspects something—that we're friends. He'll be watching, I know, to make sure I take you to the sty.”

Evander snatched off the lid of the basket, disclosing a heavy sack of barley resting on the bottom. He scooped Theseus up and perched him on the sack.

“I'm going to pretend to feed you to the pigs,” he said. “But I'll feed them the barley instead.”

“Suppose they prefer a meat dish?”

“I won't let them get you.”

“But if your grandfather is really watching, won't he see through your trick? He doesn't seem like a man who's easily fooled.”

“He'll see me carry a heavy basket into the sty and throw something to the pigs. You'll scream, making your voice seem to come from the sack of barley. He'll think you're being eaten, and go away. Then we'll have some time to figure out what to do next.”

9

The Great Sow

Evander entered the sty. From inside the basket, Theseus could hear the grunt and snuffle of the boars and, worse than that, could smell them. Evander opened the lid and pulled out the barley sack. Theseus peered out through the wicker weave and saw two huge boars ripping it apart with their tusks, making a horrid slurping sound as they buried their snouts in the spilled grain.