Timothy Boggs - Hercules Legendary Joureneys 03 (12 page)

Finally, although they were pleased with the way they sounded, that missing "something" frustrated them into a silence that lasted until Flovi's stomach growled. That produced a round of giggles, some pleasant embarrassment, and a leisurely meal at the nearest tavern, during which they traded dreams and lives. And a few lies to make them sound better.

Eventually the dinner had to end.

Flovi, being the gentleman, offered to walk Merta home.

Merta, not being stupid, accepted.

The silence returned when they reached the door of her home, broken when Merta couldn't stand it any longer. She had no idea what to say, and so said it at length, thinking that sooner or later he would stop her. Preferably with a kiss. She had a feeling that his mustache would tickle, and she looked forward to it with an intensity that took her breath away.

And, not Coincidentally, shut her up.

"Uh," Flovi said.

Merta smiled. He was cute. A little mature for someone of her age, but definitely cute.

"You see," Flovi said, staring wildly at the door, the windows, the roof, the street.

Merta, who realized that this was almost exactly like getting the stupid jackass out of its stall when all it wanted to do was sleep and eat, took his hand.

Flovi swallowed.

"I know you're new in town," she said, suddenly unable to meet his gaze, "but it's customary in Phyphe for a young man to bestow a good evening kiss on a young woman, especially when the young man has spent all day with the young woman working hard to perfect the young woman's musical skills. For which assistance, it goes without saying, the young woman is very, very grateful." She looked and smiled. "it beats mucking out the stables any day."

To her relief he grinned.

To her astonishment, and delight, he leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips.

"Oh, my," she said breathlessly.

"You ... felt it?"

She nodded. "It almost moved, didn't it?"

At which point they realized that this wasn't exactly the stage of the game where the earth was, in fact, supposed to move. It wasn't, in fact, supposed to do much of anything. "What is it?" she whispered fearfully. He shook his head; he didn't know. Neither did she, but she was positive that if either of them moved, the earth, in fact, would, too. Not exactly, Merta thought, the way I'd planned it.

Aulma knew she was often foolish, but did not believe she was a fool. When Dragar picked her to be his assistant, she understood immediately that he had no intention of letting his emotions get in the way of what he kept calling his ultimate plan.

Whatever that was.

And nothing since had changed that.

Oh, sure, they embraced once in a while, and he had even allowed her to kiss him one night after a particularly brilliant performance in a small town not far from Sparta. But that had been it. Even popping into his room stark naked had no effect—except to make her feel like a complete idiot.

She ought not to complain. She had volunteered for the position because she wanted out of her village.

It was a nice place, but dull. Boring. Stultifying. She had traveled, she had seen excitement, she had eaten foods and had drinks she'd never known existed.

But she had never been truly afraid before.

Dragar had changed.

He had always been a little unnerving; now he was downright scary.

Tonight she walked the streets of Phyphe alone, unusually contemplative, wondering if maybe she ought to tell someone what she knew. The problem was, she really didn't know exactly what she knew.

She just knew that she knew it. And if she could only figure out what it was that she knew, exactly, then maybe she could figure out if she should tell someone what she knew. Whatever that was.

She stopped.

She fanned herself with one hand.

She took a deep breath and ordered herself to stop thinking like that or she'd knock herself out. At that moment two men raced past her, nearly knocking her over, and she opened her mouth to yell at them. She changed her mind when they vanished into the shadows. Instead she headed back toward the inn, thinking Dragar wouldn't like it if he found out she had left.

She nearly tripped over a pair of legs sticking out of a wall.

"Hey," a voice said weakly. "Watch it, okay?"

"Virgil?" She leaned forward, peering into the shadows. "Virgil, is that you? Are you drunk?"

"Yes, it's me, and no, I'm not drunk. I've been run over by a herd of cattle."

She crouched at his feet. "Those two guys?"

"Okay, two guys. Doesn't matter. I'm in pain."

Her smile surprised her. Usually she paid no attention to him except to order him around at Dragar's command. She had gotten used it, kind of liked it, and now, inexplicably, felt mildly ashamed.

"Come on," she said, holding out her hand. "Let's get back. It'll be dawn in a couple of hours."

"No."

"Why not?"

His voice changed. "Aulma, can't you feel it?" She frowned. "Feel what?" "Hush."

She did, tilting her head as though that would help her figure out what he meant. It did.

"Uh-oh," she said. And Virgil said, "You got it."

Back at his room, Hercules sat up suddenly. It was dark; no light came through the window. "Oh, boy,"

he said.

In another room bathed with green light, someone said, "Oops."

And the earth
moved.

It wasn't a quake or a tremor; the ground didn't roll or buck or twist or split apart.

Hercules felt as if he were standing on a table, and someone had decided to move it an inch or two
across
the room. The shift dumped him
out of
bed, and he braced himself for the collapse of the ceiling, the floor, the entire building.

Nothing happened.

He waited a few seconds more, reminded himself to start breathing again, and hurried to the window.

Behind him he could hear the startled cries of others who had fallen; outside, a few people milled around in the street, pointing in every direction except down and speculating at the tops of their voices that someone, somewhere, had screwed up a rite and one of the gods was ticked. As usual.

I don't think so, Hercules thought.

He watched for a while longer, but trouble seemed to be the last thing on those people's minds. They talked, they complained, they picked up a few fallen lanterns and pieces of roof, and one by one vanished into the night, leaving nothing but silence behind.

Still, he kept watch.

Five minutes later, two figures clad in black raced up the street and darted around a corner. He debated following, if only to confirm what he already suspected, then decided it wouldn't be worth it. Not yet.

What he needed was more proof, and for that he would have to speak to Salmoneus first. After tonight, though, he didn't think the man would be in any condition to do anything but babble.

He grunted and returned to his bed.

You know, he said wordlessly to the ceiling, if anyone else were involved, this would be pretty straightforward. No complications like Harpies, magic, yellow frogs, Red Power Beasts, earthquakes that don't quake, and a tankard of drugged mead that wasn't all that good in the first place.

Just a simple matter of getting the goods on a burglar who thinks he's uncatchable.

No big deal.

But no ... He had Salmoneus, and nothing, ever, was straightforward with Salmoneus.

On the other hand, life with Salmoneus wasn't ever dull, either. Or predictable.

Maybe, he thought, it would—

Something touched his shoulder. "Are you going to sleep all day?" Hercules opened his eyes, closed his eyes, opened his eyes again and grinned. “I was just thinking about you."

"You were snoring."

It was then that he realized the room was filled with sunlight, he was hungry, and Salmoneus was as pale as the moon. He sat up, stretched, and told his friend that nothing was so important that it couldn't wait until after he had had a healthy breakfast.

"There isn't that much food in town," Salmoneus grumbled as they went downstairs.

Hercules shrugged. He ate. He listened as the other diners talked about the previous night, how unnerved they were, and how uncertain their futures were in a world where the gods played games with the very earth itself. They also complained darkly about those who took advantage of such terrible things, breaking into homes and stealing from those who were already frozen with fear. He gathered that the feeling was the same all over town, and it occurred to him that perhaps what had happened might actually work in his favor.

Assuming he was right.

When he finished his meal, he suggested to an impatient Salmoneus that he had a good idea why the more ordinary disasters had attached themselves to the traveling show.

Salmoneus snorted.

Hercules explained.

Salmoneus leaned far back in his chair and stared at the rafters until the chair fell over. Then he set the chair right, sat, and folded his hands across his paunch and twiddled his thumbs. "You're out of your mind. No offense, Hercules, but that's—"

"Impossible?"

"Of course."

"Why?"

Salmoneus tugged at his beard. "I don't know. Because things like that don't happen to me, I guess."

Hercules laughed. "Salmoneus, things like that happen to you all the time."

"Okay, but still—"

"I'll prove it to you tonight, after the show."

Surprisingly, Salmoneus shook his head sadly. "I don't know if there will be a show, Hercules. Not after what happened last night." He jerked a thumb over one shoulder. "I don't think they'll be in the mood."

Not good, Hercules thought; not good.

"Listen—"

Salmoneus waved a hand. "No, don't even try. I know you're upset with what I made you do, and I'm sorry. I guess I should have known better."

"What you made me do?"

"The Red Power Beast."

"Oh. Well—"

"I think maybe I'll just cut my losses—as we say in the business—and move on." He sighed so heavily the table almost shook. "If, that is, there's anyplace to move on to."

Worse than not good, Hercules realized; it was a disaster.

"Salmoneus, don't be silly." He reached across the table and poked his finger in the man's chest. "You, my friend, are
exactly
what this town needs after last night."

"What?"

Hercules nodded excitedly. "A diversion, Salmoneus. Don't you get it? A way to make them feel good again. And only you can provide it."

"Oh." Salmoneus rubbed a temple thoughtfully. "1 hadn't thought of it that way."

"It's the only way to think about it."

It took a few seconds, but Salmoneus finally smiled.

"Good. Now, get on out there, friend, and put together the best darn show you can. The people of Phyphe need you."

Salmoneus leapt to his feet, saluted, laughed, and practically sprinted from the inn.

Hercules was horrified. By the gods, he thought with a shudder, I'm actually starting to sound like him.

He shuddered again, hoped he wasn't making a mistake, and asked the innkeeper where a man, or men, with little money might find places to stay.

The innkeeper, by the insulted look on his face, suggested that Phyphe had no places like that. It was a decent town. At least until those show business people came around.

Hercules, by a tilt of his head and a gesture, agreed that Phyphe was indeed a decent town, a great town, but even a great town, man to man, had places like that, even if no one liked to speak about it in public.

The innkeeper, reluctantly, admitted that yes, Phyphe, for all its greatness, might have a place like that.

He just didn't remember offhand where it might be.

Hercules saw the discreet, outstretched palm.

The innkeeper saw the look on Hercules' face, saw the loosely clenched fist at Hercules' side, and saw the way Hercules' muscles bulged a little, which made them approximately larger than most of his body.

The outstretched palm withdrew, and was replaced by a finger that sketched a quick map on the tabletop.

Hercules thanked him.

The innkeeper told him it was no problem, glad to help a fellow out, especially one who spent fortunes on the kind of meals one found in a place like this.

Hercules got out before he got confused.

Less than an hour later, he reached his destination.

It was an inn in only the loosest sense of the word—so disreputable and grungy it didn't bother with a name. Which was pretty much the best way to describe the neighborhood as well.

When Hercules stepped inside and paused, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dimness, he heard muttering and grumbling from a half dozen patrons at the tables scattered around the large room. He also heard a gasp off in the far corner to his right, followed quickly by another.