Pandora Gets Lazy (6 page)

“Alcie—”

“And I really can't cook, Iole. I know I bragged about how good I was once when I brought some fried chicken parts to school for lunch and you and Pandy wanted some and I said I made them, but it was our kitchen slave, and she only let me watch while she—”

“Alcie!” Iole said, sitting on one of the two pallets in the room. “Calm down. My conjecture is that we won't be slaves at all. He said that to liberate us from the pirates. Hermes only knows what
they
would have us do. He said it to keep us safe.”

“Safe?” Alcie cried. “Do you trust him? What's he doing being the captain of
this
ship?”

“Saving his own life, I'm certain,” Iole said. “Alcie, did you look around us? There were plenty of other people, stronger and better suited to serve him, if that's what he wanted. And he knows Homer's not a chart reader. But he remembers us and, thank Athena, he's taken pity. He separated us to keep us alive.”

“You think?”

“I think.”

An hour later, the captain returned and removed the manacles and chains on the girls' hands and ankles, mumbling something under his breath that both Alcie and Iole heard as “senseless and cruel to use adamant on children.”

“You are to stay here,” he ordered as he was leaving the cabin. “I'll have Homer bring you food and fresh linens. Don't venture on deck except when I accompany you and don't go exploring anywhere the way you all did on the
Peacock
. Especially on this end of the ship. It's too dangerous and I won't be responsible.” He paused on his way out.

“Iole,” he said, turning his head ever so slightly, “I remember you on the
Peacock
and the fuss you made with my cook—I'll try to see you don't get anything with meat.”

“Thank you—”

But he was gone.

For the next three days Alcie and Iole confined themselves to their tiny room, keeping as quiet as possible, which was difficult at times because one or the other would think about Pandy and begin sobbing wildly. Iole was almost paralyzed with one bout of crying that wracked her little body so much that Alcie, terrified, just held her close until Iole fell asleep. Iole woke to find Alcie sniffling, then crying, which built into abject weeping, so much that Iole threw her arms around Alcie until she stopped. And then they both started crying again.

They prayed daily, sometimes hourly, to Athena because she knew how hard Pandy was trying to be wise, and to Artemis because she was the protector of young things, and to Apollo to heal Pandy if she were hurt or sick. They even prayed to Hephaestus because they both remembered how he had blushed when Pandy had impulsively kissed him on the cheek after receiving the magical net. Lastly, they prayed to Hades not to let her enter the underworld. They asked him to have Cerberus, his terrible three-headed guard dog, chase Pandy away if her soul approached Hades' gates.

Their prayers went unanswered, for all they knew. There were no signs, no indication that anyone was listening.

“Maybe they only listen to Pandy,” Alcie said, staring straight ahead, her afternoon prayers long finished.

“I don't think they want to be obvious,” Iole said, standing up, then helping Alcie to her feet.

“Like letting us drive the Sun Chariot isn't obvi— Prunes, Iole, what's going on?”

“What?”

“You pulled me up off the floor? And, I—I can look at you!”

“You've been looking at me for almost thirteen years.”

“Yeah, but now I don't have to look down so far to see you. I think you've grown a full two centimeters. And you've gotten stronger.”

“Oh, that,” Iole said nonchalantly. “Well, it's to be expected, certainly. I mean, you know, changes. I'm not surprised at all.”

But she turned away from Alcie and, as secretly as she could, joyously pounded the air with her fist, mouthing, “Thank you, Aphrodite!”

The pirates were busy with more raids along the eastern coast of Hispania and bringing more prisoners aboard ship. No one took too much notice when Alcie and Iole went on deck each night, in the company of the captain as cabin slaves should be, for a daily dose of fresh air. Only once did a pirate approach them to offer a sip from a jug of wine.

“Yuck and no
thank
you,” Alcie said.

“Jupiter's armpits,” the pirate slurred, moving off. “Just trying to be friendly.”

On deck, Alcie and Iole were able to look about and thought the whole scene, each night, was almost a dream. The ship was cloaked in a white fog through which could be seen filmy orange balls of light as the pirates were burning small fires on the deck.

“Isn't that just slightly dangerous?” Iole asked the captain.

“Just slightly,” he replied.

The orange glow illuminated terrified prisoners chained to the railing, the number growing each night, but the fog had descended so low that the girls could really only make out the captives' legs.

They heard notes played on the old instruments, followed by someone striking up a song. If the singer was off-key, usually this was followed by a sharp yell, a short scream, and a splash. Then silence.

“They like singing, but they demand perfect pitch,” the captain mused.

But it was the tiny reddish creatures that were the most astonishing. They were asleep high overhead; hundreds clinging to the ship's ropes by a hand or a knee. Others were clustered in tight bunches on top of the guard towers.

“I've never seen anything like it,” the captain said, seeing Alcie and Iole staring up, “they want to be high. As high as they possibly can. It's like they've been trained. I don't know what happened to them.”

Three times a day, Homer was sent to the galley for meals for the captain and the girls. It was only when Homer was delivering the food that he and Alcie were able to exchange a few words:

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Here.”

“Thanks.”

“Gotta go.”

“Bye.” Which was often followed by Alcie sticking her head out into the corridor and whispering, “Homie.”

Alcie and Iole were restricted to their cabin during the day. When they weren't sleeping, crying, praying, trying to figure out how to get out of their predicament, deciding the worst way to be killed by pirates, or speaking of Pandy and all the things that might have happened to her, Alcie and Iole were having one long conversation of a very different sort.

“Who, might I query, is
Homie
?”

“Um—what's a query?”

“It's a question.”

“Can't you say ‘I have a question'?”

“Don't change the subject.”

“Okay. Prunes. What was the question, again?”

“You're being obdurate and obfuscatory!”

“I'm not! I don't think.”

“You're keeping something from me.”

“Dried dates! Now I'm mad!”

Then both would simply stop speaking—until one or the other started praying or crying about Pandy.

But on the afternoon of their fourth day aboard, Iole was being more persistent than usual.

“I'm one of your best friends, in case you weren't aware! Don't even think about denying it. And best friends are supposed to confide in each other.”

“You don't have to know everything. Can't I just have a little secret to myself?”

“Fine,” Iole said, then she paused. “I know what it is anyway.”

“What is it?”

“Never mind, I just know.”

Alcie was so disconcerted by this that she chased Iole all over the room, until the two girls began to laugh wildly. It was almost exhilarating to finally be able to release some of the anger and tension of the past few days, that Iole didn't even mind when Alcie ultimately tripped her, sending Iole sprawling onto one of the pallets, where Alcie sat on her back until she turned pink.

“Your hair is getting really long,” Alcie said.

“So is yours. And you're getting heavy. Really heavy.” Iole's words were muffled because she was facedown in the pallet linens.

Alcie began to absentmindedly braid Iole's dark brown hair while she sat on her, when suddenly the ship gave a tremendous lurch, followed by a long shudder and (they thought) a groan. Then silence. Then the old wood, all the beams, sidewalls, and floorboards at once, began to creak incessantly. Then silence.

Alcie leapt off of Iole's back. They both remained stock-still for a minute. Then they heard heavy footsteps in the corridor, which stopped just outside the door to Homer's cabin, directly across from theirs. Homer had been out all day, Alcie was sure of it, and was just now returning to his cabin. Waiting a full ten seconds, Alcie opened the door and collided with Homer, standing in the doorframe. She felt the most astounding and unusual electric shock run through her body.

“Uh—”

“Uh—”

“Okay,” Iole said from behind, “our cabin. Hurry before anyone sees!”

Alcie and Iole picked the cushions off the floor and sat on one of the two small pallets in the cabin while Homer sat on the other, after turning it right-side up.

“Do you know what just happened?” Alcie asked.

“Yes, do you know why the boat just lurched so violently?” Iole followed.

“Why is everything overturned?” Homer asked, unaware of their questions. “What were you guys doing?”

“Oh, that. Uh . . . exercising,” said Alcie. Iole just rubbed her sides.

“Well,” Homer whispered, “you know I've, like, basically been in only two places since we were kidnapped: my cabin and the captain's quarters.”

As Homer was talking, Alcie noticed that he wasn't really looking at them . . . his gaze was focused just past her and his voice, even in a whisper, seemed to catch in his throat.

“Now, I know Jealousy and Vanity are already in the box, that is if Pandy is still alive, and the box didn't get smashed or something.”

“May I just say that you have the most delicate, sophisticated, and urbane way of putting things,” Iole said.

“But you also said something,” Homer went on, completely oblivious, “about having to find some lesser evils. And you didn't know where to look for them?”

“Correct,” Iole said.

“Well, I was just looking at some scrolls in the captain's cabin, and there's—uh—something you might want to see.”

CHAPTER SEVEN
On Mount Olympus

“Ow!”

There was a crash of glass, followed by a bark, then a yelp . . . then soft whimpering. A pungent perfume filled the hallway.

Demeter, who normally hurried anyway when summoned to Hera's apartments, now broke into a run, shaking spring grasses and flowers loose from her hair.

“I will
teach
you!” Hera's voice ricocheted off the marble walls. “I will show you just what happens to mangy, flea-bitten—”

“Hera! What . . . ?!” Demeter cried, arriving at the large entryway just in time to see Hera send the shards of glass from the shattered perfume bottle flying upward, cementing them into the ceiling.

The Queen of Heaven was standing in the middle of her salon, a small tear in her blue robes about halfway up her rather sizable leg. She raised her left arm, her index finger twirling the air. In a corner of the room, Dido was pinned on his belly to the wall, spinning around in time with Hera's finger. As Demeter watched, Hera forced Dido up the wall and across the ceiling, toward the shards of glass.

“Stop!”

Hera was stunned. Demeter never raised her voice unless it was time for her daughter, Persephone, to descend back down to the underworld to join her husband, Hades. Then Demeter made her opinion known, Hera recalled. But now . . .

“Hera, put the dog down!” Demeter cried.

“He bit my leg!” Hera said, but she stopped moving Dido across the ceiling.

“Hera,
please
put the dog down. You know what will happen if any harm comes to him.”