Pandora Gets Lazy (18 page)

Pandy looked at Iole.

“Long story. Tell you later.”

“Alcie,” Pandy replied, turning back to her friend, “calm down, okay? As soon as Laziness goes into the box, my uncle will remember his vow and his responsibility and take up the heavens again. I'm sure of it. Then the burden will be lifted off of everyone, including the men on those other mountains.”

Alcie went white.

“What? Alcie, what?” Pandy cried.

“Iole, prunes . . . prunes, Iole. Tell her. I don't even know how to say it,” Alcie whimpered.

“Pandy, we've determined from everything we've seen and heard that each man lasts only four days on a column. That's how long it takes for the weight of the heavens to, basically, to crush the bones. It doesn't kill them, but it compresses them, and, even though the sun is far away, it still hardens the skin and turns it red and—”

“And turns normal, full-grown men into those tiny, shriveled, reddish creatures,” Pandy finished, grasping the full horror. It would take only a year, maybe less, for Atlas to use up every last man on earth. And then what would happen?

“Right,” Iole said. “We arrived here three days ago at dawn. Homer was baked into a column almost immediately. Today is his fourth day. That means that even though Homer is stronger than almost anybody we know and he might last a little longer, he really only has until tonight.”

“And then he's a ‘used-man,' ” Alcie whispered. “I'll love him even if he's shriveled, by Athena's teeth, I will! But I'll have to pick him up and carry him everywhere. I'll be toting my little red boyfriend under my arm wherever I go!”

“That's what you meant when you came in saying that his skin was turning pink,” Pandy said to Alcie.

Alcie nodded.

“And he'll never be the same. At least we don't think so. Gods, that much weight on a body? The effects must be irreversible,” Iole said. “Look, I know Alcie's reasoning sounds a little self-centered right now . . .”

“Hey!”

“It does. But you have to admit, Pandy,” Iole went on, “Homer's been invaluable on the quest. And now that you're here, we have to try.”

“Oh, Gods, Pandy . . . apples, apples, apples!” Alcie said, the panic creeping back into her voice. “If we don't do something, we'll lose him.
I'll
lose him. The only guy I will ever love will be half a meter tall. And he'll be forced into one of those raiding parties. Please . . . please, let's get him down first? Please?”

Pandy just turned her head and looked right into Alcie's green eyes. Then she shook her head as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Duh!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Close Call

The heavens, so unbelievably close, cast a gray pall over everything. Even though it was morning, the only light in the village came from the small fires everywhere and the dim sunlight trying desperately to beat its way from the other side of the void, through the blackness, past the stars.

“Why are we going this way?” Alcie asked.

“Because she has to see how the men get into the columns in the first place. We need to go by the big ovens,” Iole answered.

The hazy light only confirmed what Pandy had suspected: this small village on the mountaintop was the filthiest place she'd ever seen. People covered in mud and grime, everyone toiling or sleeping; the body stench was overwhelming. Mud pits next to wells next to small ovens next to column bases next to clusters of dozing bodies. There were no roads, just occasional open spaces to jostle in and out of with the rest of the moving throng. The air, which seemed a little cleaner on the climb up the mountain, was once again dense and sooty. The whites of people's eyes, the only clean thing about them, stood out, giving everyone a startled appearance.

Iole led the way through the village. Every few seconds, she would tap her tiny shears defiantly to appease a guard blocking their way or to silence someone demanding to know why they weren't working.

Pandy was deep in thought. What was she going to do to save Homer? It was much easier, she mused, to act on instinct. Since she began her quest, she'd saved others and herself by thinking fast on her feet, or while tied to a chair, or floating in the air. Now that she actually had time to formulate a plan, her insecurities were rising again. She didn't know if she had the brainpower to come up with anything.

Beyond several columns, she saw the building housing her uncle and thought about his fast-growing hair and his tremendous size in comparison with his brother, her father. Her father.

Gods! She hadn't talked to her father in . . . weeks! She looked around. There was so much noise and activity, no one would hear her. And the bottom of the heavens was like a shroud overhead. Zeus could see through the clear skies, but could he see through the darkness of the heavens? Maybe not. She hoped not. And, if anyone stopped them, Iole would need only to wave her little shears and say that Pandy was talking into a shell on “barber business.”

Iole was ahead of her and Alcie's eyes were focused on something far in the distance. Slowly, furtively, Pandy reached into her leather carrying pouch, brought out her shell, ran her finger down the lip, and, burying it in her hair, held it to her ear.

Just then, the three of them approached the middle of the village and mixing pit number two.

Prometheus, working at the far end of the pit with Hermes, Amri, and Ismailil, felt his shell vibrate in his cloth sack. Instinctively he reached in and pulled it out.

“Pandy?” he said softly, turning away so as not to attract attention.

“Hi, Daddy,” she replied, keeping her voice low.

“Prometheus.” Hermes leaned over and spoke softly, “Your girl is heading this way.”

Prometheus looked over his shoulder and followed Hermes' gaze. He spotted Pandy, perhaps thirty meters away, slowly wending past a guard hut and the main water well, pushing her way through the crowd. Her hand was hidden in her hair as she pretended to scratch her ear. More than anything else at that moment, he wanted to run and throw his arms around his daughter.

“How's everything at home?” Pandy asked.

“What are you
doing
?” hissed Alcie, her face close by.

“Talking to my dad—don't look at me! Act like this is normal.”

“Oh, toasted grape seeds. Puh-leeze.”

“Everything is fine, honey,” Prometheus said, certain that Xander
was
fine with Sabina, as he watched his daughter approach the mixing pit. “How are you? Uh, where are you?”

“Keep it low, Pro,” Hermes cautioned, his eyes on the guard hut.

“I'm on top of Jbel Toubkal. I've seen Uncle Atlas, Dad. I think I know where Laziness is hiding. It's in his nose hair!”

“Yeah, it's pretty big, isn't it?” Prometheus said, then realized his blunder.

“How do you know that, Dad?”

“Uh . . . uh . . .”

He had a single moment to think of his answer, because just then Ismailil and Amri saw Pandy walking toward the mixing pit.

“Pandy! Pandy!” they cried.

Tossing down their mixing poles, they raced around the pit, to the surprise of all the slaves, including Prometheus.

“Well, honey . . . uh . . . ,” he said, watching the two little boys throw themselves all over his daughter in a fit of glee. “I know how big my brother is normally, remember? If an evil has gotten in his nose hair, then it must be enormous, right?”

“Pandy!” Amri was yelling and pulling on her cloak.

“Oh, yeah. Duh! That makes sense. Hi, Amri!” Pandy said. Then she became a little disoriented from the clamoring boys and the surrounding din, unsure of which sounds were which. “Hey, Dad, sounds noisy where you are. What's going on in the background?”

Pandy, Alcie, and Iole had stopped directly in front of the mixing pit.

“Uh, that's your brother,” Prometheus faltered. “It's uh . . . uh . . .”

“Xander, Dad. His name is Xander.”

“What? Oh, yes, it's Xander,” Prometheus said, entranced at the happy scene in front of him. Then he saw two huge, sinister-looking Roman guards on the move, heading toward the fuss. He nodded to Hermes, who also took note of the guards and began hurrying, as fast as his old-man body would move, around the side of the pit.

“Where are you? What are you doing with Xander?” she asked into the shell, bending down to ruffle Ismailil's hair. “Hey, Ismailil,” she whispered, hugging him tightly as the little boy clung adoringly to her legs.

“Wow,” Prometheus said softly, turning his back on the scene again, aware of the fact that the Pandora
he
knew would rather be caught dead than actually be nice to little boys. And these two
knew
her . . . and liked her—no,
loved
her. His daughter had changed.

“ ‘Wow' what, Dad?” she asked.

“Uh, nothing. Where are we? Uh . . . Xander and I are at a . . . a . . . bake sale. They're trying to rebuild the Athena Maiden Middle School and we brought some of Sabina's, uh, cookies.”

“Pandy,” Iole said, “we have to keep moving.”

“All right, Dad, I have to go,” she said, realizing she was causing too much commotion and that people staring was
soooo
not a good thing.

“Me too, honey . . . oh, I love you so much. I'm so proud of you,” Prometheus said, looking again over his shoulder. “Big-time phileogottagobye.”

He shut off the shell and watched the two guards, now almost upon his daughter.

“Hey, boys, I have to go . . . but I'll be back, okay?” Pandy said to Amri and Ismailil, covertly replacing the shell in her pouch—but not without Amri seeing.

“Were you talking to your father?” Amri asked softly.

Pandy nodded, then winked at him, putting her finger to her lips.

“Pandy,” Alcie said, “let's move!”

“All right, little ones,” Hermes said, suddenly appearing between Pandy and the boys. “Let's get you back to work!”

“Oh, you're Greek!” Pandy said to the old man.

“By Jupiter, what's going on here?” asked one of the Roman guards, striding up.

“They're with me,” Iole said in Latin, pointing to the scissors dangling from her neck.

“Very well,” said the guard, “but if you maidens have business here, be quick about it.”

“Yes, sir! We're on our way,” said Alcie.

“Pandy!” Amri was yelling, reaching out for her with his arms as Hermes ushered him and Ismailil back to the far end of the pit.

“Be good, Amri!” Pandy called after him, then to Hermes, “Thank you, sir!”

“No trouble. My friend and I have just been helping the little brothers with their burden, that's all,” said Hermes to Pandy, indicating another ancient man, covered in mud from head to toe, watching her intently from the far end.

“Well, thank you, sir,” Pandy said to the second old man, looking at his thin white hair and toothless smile, “they're like my own brothers. Thank you for taking care of them.”

Prometheus, unrecognized, nodded feebly at his daughter.

Pandy waved at the boys and moved on.

“She looks good, don't you think?” Hermes whispered, ambling up. “Little more meat on her bones, cheeks flushed . . . looking more like her mother every day. 'Course, she looks a little tired.”

“Yeah, she's . . . she's tired,” Prometheus choked.

“Aw, come on, pal,” Hermes said, putting a withered hand on his friend's shoulder, “don't fall apart on me now. No tears. This is good. She's good.”

Prometheus wiped his face and nodded. With a little smile at Hermes, he put his shell back in his pouch.

Amri noticed his movement and, eyes wide, nudged Ismailil. Ismailil turned to look and the brothers saw their new friend, Theus, had a shell
exactly
like the one Pandy had used to talk to her father.

Prometheus then went back to work, completely unaware that both little boys were now staring at him very, very hard.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Ovens of Jbel Toubkal

“Atlas's whole idea is to make as many columns as fast as possible,” Iole was saying as they trudged toward a particularly hot area of the village. “So he has ovens everywhere on the mountain, but the ones we're heading toward are the biggest.”

“I heard this morning, just before my shift ended,” Alcie cut in, “that Atlas has finally started the expansion into other areas of the mountain range. He thinks that he's got enough columns around here to hold this section pretty firm . . . I mean, like, in terms of numbers. Now he just needs to keep men in them.”

“Doesn't he know he's going to run out of men eventually?” Pandy asked as they passed a large group of the tiny, baked used-men now being trained in the use of tiny swords.

“He doesn't like to think past today, says it's too much work,” Iole responded. “That's a direct quote.”

They rounded the corner of a long row of makeshift shelters, and in a large clearing, Pandy saw five large ovens, each with an opening at least two meters in diameter. At first the heat shimmer blurred the actual activity, and the tremendous warmth felt like a wonderful bath. But soon Pandy realized she was drenched in her own perspiration. Moving along the side so as to escape the wind generated by the fires, Pandy at last saw what was being done.

On the other side of the clearing, a long row of pre-baked cylindrical column sections extended away from the ovens. Guards were forcing the men, horizontally, into holes in the center of these sections, waist deep, then slaves were packing the remaining spaces with wet mud. Some men were screaming and fighting with all their strength only to be beaten into submission; others were just hanging limply, awaiting their fate.

Then, whenever an oven was free, a cylinder was rolled, slowly, by many slaves, up a wooden ramp and onto a platform, one in front of each oven. These platforms then slid onto a rack, which moved in and out of the oven. Only the clay and mud of each section was placed into the oven; the men remained outside the opening and, as each cylinder was slid inside, a heavy black protective cloth was thrown over the man inside.