The place was one of smokes and steams. The weeping waters of the River of Lamentation rushed and fumed into a thundering waterfall, backlit by the River of Flaming Fire. The two rivers mixed in a tumult of green flames, shrieking and steaming around a dark monolith before cascading into the dark Acheron.
"Phew," complained Lamont. "This place stinks!"
Liz nodded. "Sulphur. The area is plainly volcanic. And those green 'flames' are luminiferous bacteria in a turbulent warm river. Steaming where it meets an ice-cold one. Nothing that can't be explained scientifically if you look carefully at it. I'll bet there is a reason for the 'lamentation' too."
Jerry raised his eyebrows. "And I suppose that the smoking grotto isn't the entry to Hades' Kingdom of Decay either?"
Liz shrugged. "Around here? Who knows? Anything is possible, I suppose. All I do know is I don't much fancy this sacrifice business."
Cruz grunted. "Mac and I have had to carry these goddamned sheep Circe gave us for the last couple of hundred yards. I don't care if they're barbequed or 'sacrificed.' I'm not carrying them back."
Medea smiled pityingly. "I will do the sacrifice. I was the priestess of Hecate, she who is mistress of fertility and of the dead among my people. Come. Dig the trench. A cubit by a cubit."
"Carry the sheep. Dig the trench. Anything else?" muttered McKenna, swinging down a bleating, struggling sheep from his shoulder.
Medea smiled at him. "Yes. You can flay them and burn them when I have cut their throats."
"Gee thanks!" said Mac. "Here, Frenchy. Hold this goddamn sheep."
The plump Frenchman swallowed. "I am not entirely familiar with animal husbandry. Not in the least."
"Just hold it," said McKenna impatiently. Lamont had already taken a firm grip on the black ram Cruz had been carrying.
Lenoir took a tentative hold on the sheep, which bleated indignantly at him.
Watching, Jerry immediately learned Lesson One in the proper procedure of sacrificing sheep. Do not take a tentative hold. Hold tightly.
"Hell's teeth, Mac!" shouted Cruz. He left off digging the trench and grabbed the ram from Lamont. "Get after it, you guys. We'll never find another one. We need that sheep! Catch it!"
The rest of them set off in the chase. Even Henri took part, if in a somewhat involuntary fashion. As a result of a slight mishap the barrel-bellied Frenchman actually beat them to the sheep. He lost his footing and rolled down the steep slope, and then landed on the unfortunate animal.
In desperation he grabbed the stunned and winded creature. The others arrived, panting, to find him rolling about embracing a fallen sheep. The creature was bleating plaintively and struggling desperately to regain its freedom.
"Merde! She is kicking me in the private parts!" squalled Henri.
Liz took one look and started laughing. "This puts a whole new complexion on my understanding of 'Animal Husbandry'!"
Medea, the priestess of Hecate, had offered the libations of honeyed milk, sweet wine, and water. The white barley had been sprinkled. The black ram was ready, held by Cruz and Lamont.
Liz whispered to Jerry. "The ghosts drink the blood? Oh, sick!"
His reply was drowned in a chorus of quavering voices . . . "We seek a better sacrifice, mortals. We want the blood of a man. A black man."
"Well, you can forget it!" snapped Jerry. "Come on guys—let's go."
"Yeah. This crap makes me sick anyway," said McKenna, straightening up. "I don't mind killing something for my dinner, but this!" He let go of the ram and gave it a swat. "Get lost, Rambo. It's your lucky day."
With a bleat the ram took off into the mist.
"Wait. Wait!" quavered the voices of the dead. "Give us our blood . . . "
"You might as well let that sheep go," said Cruz. "Come on. That was a path that our Frenchy 'discovered.' Let's go back that way."
With Jim McKenna leading the way, they all began leaving. Behind them, the voices of the dead began wailing. "Wait . . . we must have a blood sacrifice. You'll never get back without us."
A little further on, Cruz came to a sudden halt. Jerry heard a pitiful bleat, and peered around the sergeant's shoulder.
There, lying in the path, was the ram. It should have been a lot more careful about where it ran in the mist.
"Oh jeeze," muttered McKenna. "We'll have to kill it. We can't leave it to suffer."
Medea handed him a small clay flask. "Here. Give the creature this. Force its mouth open and pour it down."
Liz stepped into the breach. "I'll pour, Mac. You hold the mouth open."
The animal stilled. Medea smiled. "Now. I think I have the answer to your problem. This animal is too injured to recover. The poison you have just administered causes sleep, ending in death."
"That's a mercy . . . "
"I am not finished. I am a mistress of illusions. And I have been known to deceive people about victims before. After all, I convinced the people of Corinth that a dead pig in a pretty robe was Glauce. Shall we try to deceive the spirits of the dead? Given a piece of the Ethiope's clothing I could indeed make that ram look like him. Thus we may get what you need. But in exchange you must promise to take me to this 'America' place."
Jerry took a deep breath. "We can't promise what we can't guarantee delivery of."
"Yeah. Getting into the States is difficult enough even without being here. Can't make that promise, Medea," said Cruz.
Liz covered her eyes. "I can imagine filling in that work-permit application could be interesting." She obviously spoke from frustrating experience.
"And without it," muttered Jerry, "she'll be an illegal alien." He shrugged ruefully. "Can you imagine putting down sorceress as your occupation?"
Cruz frowned. "What about refugee status? Of course, unless we can pass her off as a Cuban, the Immigration and Naturalization Service probably won't accept it." For a moment, his swarthy face was creased by a scowl. "You can always count on la migra to be assholes."
He turned back to Medea. "We'll try. But we can't make any guarantees."
Medea smiled at him. "I like your honesty, more than I like glib easily broken promises like Jason's. Swear that you will try your best to take my children and me to this place, and I will help you to the best of my skill and powers."
Cruz nodded. "Sounds fair, hey guys?"
Lenoir sniffed. "Mademoiselle can always come to France. It is a far better place than America. And you will not have to claim that Satan is Fidel Castro in disguise to get asylum."
"Enter then the halls of the dead, the realm of dread Hades and august Persephone," quavered the voice. Plainly, Medea's deception had worked.
"This is wrong," protested Jerry. "This isn't what happened. That was in later legends."
Lamont shrugged. "Well, maybe it's our break out of here. Come on. We can't just back off . . . "
So down they went. "At least there was none of that blood-drinking stuff," whispered Liz. "But I thought we were underground . . . "
It was a gloomy enough scene . . . but those were trees . . .
"We are. This is the vestibule of Persephone, with the black poplars and sterile willows again. The Gate and Cerberus should be next."
The three-headed guard dog of Hades was monstrous. On the elephant side of Great Dane. Black venom drooled from each slobbery mouth. It grinned at them, revealing huge yellowed teeth. Thumped its tail. Then it cried "Welcome!" with a voice of brass. Then it stopped paying them any attention at all, in order to scratch.
"So why do I feel that this is one of those dogs that will let you in but not out?" muttered McKenna.
"That's its reputation," said Jerry glumly.
The gates swung silently open. The land beyond was barren and flecked with small white flowers. "Asphodels. Complete in every detail except it's the wrong myth," said Jerry dryly. "Amazing."
"Hic." The tall, slender, dark-haired woman in the gateway swayed slightly. "Are you coming in, or are you going to stand out there all day?"
"Um. We weren't too sure about the dog," said Jerry.
She reached out a long, white, elegant hand to scratch Cerberus. She nearly fell over. "Come on in, do. He's a soppy old thing really, and I do feel like some company. Liven this place up a bit."
Bemused, they went in. The goddess looked them over, with a faintly silly smile on her face. Her eyes fixed on Lamont. "Ooh! Hello, handsome. I do so like Ethiopes."
She gave a little ladylike burp. "Hermes came with a message that the Ethiopian had to be sacrificed. It seemed such a pity. I'm so glad you've got another." She turned to Medea and whispered hoarsely. "They're so sexy, don't you think, priestess? I like dark colors. It's what I found so attractive about Hades. But Hades is so staid."
Lamont looked as if he hoped the earth would open up and swallow him . . . and take him to Hades, if he wasn't there already.
She swayed closer. Ran her fingers up Lamont's arm. "I'm Persephone. But you can call me Kore."
Cruz sidled up to Medea. Sotto voce he asked: "Which 'sweet wine' did you use for those libations to this Persephone?"
"The amphora with the white flowers, and the hunting scene," answered Medea, puzzled.
"Oh lord! That wasn't wine. That was Mac's 'brandy.' That stuff that he distilled. It's a helluva lot stronger than wine."
"I've still got quite a lot left."
Persephone beamed at them. "So why are you all standing around like statues? Let's have some music. Dancing . . . wine, laughter. This place is so dead. Hic. I'm so sick of being gloomy and reshpectable. Feel like kicking over the trashes for a bit. 'S been a long time s . . . shince I had a party, and Zeus shays we're all gonna be powerful again. Let's shelebrate!"
Jerry got a sudden look of rapt concentration—what Liz had come to think of as his "terrier-scents-a-rat" look.
"Would you like another drink, Persephone?" he asked.
"Thas goddess Persephone to you, dear, but I'd love another drink. Let's all have a drink . . . wooee, that last libation really went to my head. Great times are coming again!"
Jerry handed her the amphora with Mac's attempt at "brandy" in it. "Tell us all about it."
Persephone chugged straight from the amphora, spilling the liquor down her chin. "Not supposed to tell any mortals," she said, doing her best to look goddesslike.
She vaguely handed the amphora away and staggered towards Lamont. "I'm always doing doom and gloom and misery. That's Persephone: 'sposed to be 'xempt from the passions that make all the other gods mess 'round. I've got feelingsh too." She threw her arms around Lamont and kissed him with noisy enthusiasm. "I've got to keep you prisoner. Going to enjoy tha'!" And then she slithered down to flop onto the ground. "Damn 'gypitians. Don' like pyramids. S'Greek temples not good enough for them?" She began to cry gently.
"Egyptians?"
"Prisoners?"
"Er. I think it is visitors that we have." Henri gestured nervously at the gray host.
The dead clustered round in a great throng. Gray forms of warriors with gaping wounds, young men, women—but all in the garb of classical Greece. Except for the one who pushed his way forward—he looked as if he were a policeman from the early twenty-first century.
"Stavros is the name. Can you tell me what the hell I'm doing here?" asked the shade.
"We were kind of hoping you could tell us," said Jerry.
Stavros told his tale . . . and then faded back.
More and more came. The modern visitors got no wiser.
"Let's get the hell out of here," said McKenna. "Before she sobers up."
"The idea is one of remarkable sense," agreed Henri. "This place, how do you say, 'gives me the willy.' "
"Willies," corrected Jerry.
"Ah? You have it too?"
"HRRRRRR." The rumbling that came from Cerberus' throats made mere basso profundo seem like treble. "And where do you lot think you're going?" asked the middle head.
"We thought we would go and take a little of the night air," said Henri. "It is very close in here."
"And very close is where you stay," said the left head.
"And do try that little spear, dark one. Do," pleaded the right.
"We haven't had new souls for a long, long time," snarled the center head.
"Not for ages. Did you know that we are immortal?" said left head. "You can't kill us."
The right head missed his chance to speak because he was nibbling at fleas, the huge fangs champing at coarse fur.
"Lord Hades will return from Olympus soon. He sits in council with his brothers," said the center head.
"Great things are afoot." The left head eyed them hungrily. "Hades will be receiving many new souls."
"These gods-bedamned fleas are driving me demented," said the right hand head, obviously ordering a scratch of the ear.
"So how do we get out of here, Doc?" asked Cruz in an undervoice.
Jerry looked worried. "Honey cakes can distract him."
"Damn. I knew I'd forgotten something. What about half a transformed Hershey bar?" volunteered Liz, digging in her bag.
They broke the sticky honey-scented papyrus-wrapped thing in three.
"Right, guys." McKenna and Cruz and Lamont had been given the task of throwing. "On the count of three . . . "
Four seconds later it was painfully obvious that they'd need a whole crate of mythworld-type Hershey bars.
"Okay, Doc," grumbled McKenna. "Next?"
"Hermes' caduceus and Orpheus' sweet music on the lyre were supposed to soothe him," said Jerry doubtfully.
Liz looked at the big dog. "Well, Hermes seems to be involved with who or whatever is trying to capture or kill us. So I don't think that likely. What about music?"
"How do you feel about Tina Turner, dog?" asked Lamont, grinning.
The music played. The dog appeared no less vigilant. "Don't like singing," said the central head.
"Got anything instrumental?" asked the left head.
"Strings are good. Damn these fleas."
"You got anything else, Lamont?" asked McKenna.
Lamont was staring at the air where the shade of Tina Turner had appeared. "Tina doesn't do it, I don't imagine Donna Summers will either," he mused. Doubtfully: "I could try some Miles Davis . . . "
Cruz looked at the dog, weighing chances. "Doc?"
He shook his head. "I'm fresh out of ideas, Anibal."
Liz cleared her throat loudly. "What about something for those fleas? I happen to be an expert on fleas."
She had all three heads' focused attention. "If you can do something about these fleas, you can go," said the central head.
"You personally, that is," said the head on the right.
"More than our job is worth to let all of you go," added the left head, wrinkling its nose.
"Very well," Liz said, calmly. "Fleabane. Some advice and a good long scratch in all those hard to reach spots."
She turned to look in her bag. "You guys make like a banana, while I deal with this," she said in an undervoice.
"What?" asked a puzzled Jerry.
"Make like a banana," she said urgently. "Split. South African idiom. Our canine acquaintance is aurally sensitive but a trifle microcephalic."
"What are you talking about, flea-girl?" demanded Cerberus.
"My friends want to know if I have your promise to let me go," said Liz, without a quaver.
"Promise."
"Swear to the gods."
"By the Styx."
"Oaths sworn on the Styx are binding," said Jerry.
Liz walked forward calmly. "Very well. This will drive the fleas off and kill them on contact. But it is important that you break the life cycle of the flea. Now, I wonder if you know . . . " She continued to speak softly while rubbing the fleabane, wormwood and rue mixture into the huge dog's rough fur.
Cerberus gradually subsided into a catatonic state of bliss, grunting occasionally. "A bit more to the left . . . ooh."
"We must get someone to sweep around here . . . "
"The fleas sound worse than humans, the way they breed."
Liz went right on scratching with both hands while gesturing furiously with her head for the rest of them to go.
Halfway back to the ship and they could still hear the angry baying of the tricked Cerberus.
"Mademoiselle. That was très magnifique." Henri made her an elegant Gallic bow, when the panting Liz joined them.
"Yes, Sir!" said McKenna. "That was slick."
She beamed. "It was nothing, really. It's just a pity that we didn't succeed in getting home."
"Well, at least we learned something," said Lamont.
"Yes," agreed Jerry forcefully. "We have learned that the gods, or at least Hermes, are out to kill or capture us. That something weird is happening here—wherever 'here' is—involving the myths themselves." He frowned. "As if something long moribund was being brought back to life, but all jumbled up."
"And," said Henri, cheerfully, "I have also some interesting botanical material which will make for a wonderful publication if I can get back to civilization, although I could probably manage in America."
"Jeez, you're an arrogant French prick," snapped McKenna, when this had sunk in.
Henri twitched his mustachios. "At least I have something to be arrogant about."
"I'll—"
"Will you two stop snapping at each other?" snapped Liz. "We want to get back to where we left Odysseus and see if he's abandoned us here."
"And then we can do some thinking about where we should go next," said Lamont in a depressed tone. "I really hoped we'd find some way out of here."
Medea pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Persephone mentioned the land of Egypt. And pyramids. I have been told that those are a feature of that land."
"We're chasing straws," said Jerry in a flat voice. "But we've got to try. Oh, well. If Ody's there we'll go for a quick trip to see the pyramids."
There was something to be said for landing on a full tide. By the time Odysseus and his crew had talked themselves into sneaking away . . . they'd had to wait for the tide to turn, in order to launch. Even if they'd done the long portage to the water, there was still the river bar of the Acheron. So the modern folk returned to find the ship nearly floating.
"We heard you coming, and wished to be ready," said Odysseus. He projected all the integrity at his command. Lamont muttered something about used car salesmen.
Jerry was just too keen to be away and to see the sun again to argue—or to even to tell the ass what he thought of his lies. They just climbed on board and slept in the bow, as the black ship made its way back across the river ocean to the Enchanted Isle.
Odysseus woke them when Aeaea was again in sight.
Jerry shook his head. Oh, for coffee! "Provisions, and then we're away."
"And I must say farewell to my children for a while," said Medea in a subdued tone.
"Where will we sail to next? Will my oath have fulfillment then?" Odysseus enquired.
"Egypt, Odysseus. And maybe."