Collected Short Fiction, page 372
Alone with Snish on the prize, for even the oar slaves had been herded aboard the pirate, Theseus cut the ropes that had bound the little wizard, and sent him to take the steering oars.
Theseus himself climbed the stays and loosed the huge yellow sail to the fitful wind. He had it spread by the time the south wind died and the first cold blast of the storm struck from the north.
“Which way, Captain Firebrand?” came the anxious piping of Snish. “Shall we steer to the east, and seek to escape the Cretans under the darkness of the storm?”
The head of Theseus lifted high, and his red hair whipped in the wind. He looked across the sea, at a long line of black sails advancing upon that amazing south wind. At last he turned, grave-eyed, back to the little wizard.
“No,” he said quietly. “Steer straight to meet them.”
The brown frog-face turned faintly green once more, and thin gnarled hands trembled on the steering oar. “Aye, Captain Firebrand,” wheezed Snish, “we steer straight to meet them.” His bald head shook ominously. “But my feeble arts tell me that I should have done better to remain with the Gamecock, even at the cost of my eyes!”
IV.
LOOKING AFT again, when he had the square yellow sail securely set, Theseus was not greatly surprised to see that Snish, at the steering oars, had resumed his feminine guise.
Tai Leng smiled at him, with a smoldering light in her long, almond eyes. A provocative twist of her tall, golden body moved Theseus briefly to inquire whether the spell might not be made proof against destruction by contact.
The yellow princess shook her head. “The guise is merely a measure of safety,” commented her soft singsong. “Even a woman is exposed to certain dangers. But a sufficient beauty can usually evade them.”
Approaching her, Theseus fancied that he saw in her yellow features some faint mocking hint of the frog-face of Snish. And the limpid singsong, when she spoke again, had a slight nasal undertone.
“Shall I not disguise you, also, Captain Firebrand?” she asked. “My insignificant arts are at your command.”
Theseus shook his head. “I seek to destroy the arts of wizardry, not to employ them.” He shrugged wearily. “Anyhow, the overthrow of the throne of Minos is no task for women.”
“The guise need not be a woman’s,” the yellow girl assured him. “That is merely the one which best insures my own safety. I can give you the likeness of any man you choose.”
Theseus stared at the black sails march out of the south, before that mysterious wind. “There is the black priest I killed.” He rubbed reflectively at his lean chin. “No,” he said abruptly. “In time, such a guise might be useful. But now I am going to meet the Cretans as the pirate, Captain Firebrand, with the Falling Star to speak for me.”
The long, almond eyes of Tai Leng smoldered, inscrutable. “But Captain Firebrand is already wanted,” her silken voice protested. “Minos has offered ten talents of silver for your head—”
The singsong ceased abruptly; something glittered in her smoky eyes.
“Seek to collect it,” warned Theseus, grimly, “and no wizard’s guise will save your guts from being spilled by the Falling Star!”
To emphasize the warning, he seized the soft yellow curve of a shoulder exposed by the torn crimson silk and shook vigorously. The result was a strange transformation.
The yielding golden flesh changed under his fingers; became brown, bony. The exotic woman’s face melted halfway into the ugly frog-features of Snish, and the protesting voice had a nasal whine: “Captain Firebrand, can’t you trust me? For I owe you my eyes, and even my life. I am your smallest, most miserable, most devoted slave.”
“I trust no wizard—not even if he is small enough to be a louse on my belly,” muttered Theseus. “However, your arts may be useful to me—puny as they are against the wizardry of Knossos. I shall not destroy you—yet.”
The golden princess dropped on her knees and kissed his hand. He felt her lips change, as they pressed against his fingers. And for a moment the black lustrous pile of her perfumed hair was gone, and he saw the brown bald head of Snish.
“Go back to your steering oar,” Theseus told her. “The word of a wizard is nothing; but, so long as we are both enemies of Knossos, perhaps we can serve one another.”
HE THREW HAY to the three great black bulls, bellowing in their narrow pen. Eying the graceful danger of their tapered tossing horns, he thought of the games to be played for the throne of Minos, and could not help a little shudder. For many perils lay before the throne, and those horns were but the symbol of the Dark One’s monstrous power.
Driven before the storm, the trader plowed on southward. The fleet came before that strange south wind to meet her, and narrow black hulls lifted beneath the black square sails.
Black bulls’-head standards came into view, and at last Theseus could see the purple streamer that marked the flagship. He commanded the yellow woman to steer toward it. Tai Leng silently obeyed. Her yellow face was pale, and fear distended her long, oblique eyes.
The cold storm wind faltered and died as the fleet drew near. The galley wallowed, yellow sail slack, in a sudden calm. The south wind that brought the Cretans had ceased also, and glinting oars brought the flagship across the last arrow’s flight.
“Ahoy!” shouted a brass-lunged officer. “What ship spreads the yellow sail of Amur the Hittite?”
Theseus cupped bronze hands to his face. “This ship is a prize of war,” he returned. “Her captain is the free Achean, Captain Firebrand. He sails to Crete, with a gift of three black bulls for the Minoan games, and a yellow princess of Cathay to grace the megaron of Minos. But what ship spreads the black sail of Knossos?”
There was a startled pause before: “This ship,” the officer bellowed, “is the flagship of the north fleet of Minos, who is himself a god and companion of the Dark One, who is also ruler of Crete and the isles of the sea and the coasts beyond. And her commander is Phaistro, first noble of Knossos and admiral of all the fleets of Minos.”
The ships touched. A squad of Cretan marines, armed with nets and tridents, leaped to the trader’s deck and made a watchful circle about Theseus. When the ships were lashed, Phaistro himself followed.
The admiral was tall for a Cretan, but small-boned and wiry. His swarthy face was thinly aristocratic, almost handsome. Theseus looked at the feeble chin, the full red lips and the dark, sullen eyes. He saw the lines in the face, the nervous tension of the body. For all his passion and his pride, Theseus thought, this man was yet a weakling.
With a walk that had a certain womanish grace, Phaistro crossed the deck. Theseus caught the perfume of his dark hair, which was dressed in the elaborate Cretan fashion, with three coils on the head and three long curls behind.
The admiral’s attire was rich and almost femininely dainty. His loose ceremonial robe was the purple of his rank. Parted in the front, it showed his tight-drawn golden belt and white linen loincloth. He wore tall, embroidered buskins, and his bare, brown arms were laden with gold and silver bracelets.
SURROUNDED with a little group of officers, who held ready hands on their swords, the admiral paused before Theseus. His narrow face seemed to reflect a certain unwilling admiration. “So you are the famous Captain Firebrand?”
“Men call me that,” said Theseus.
“Then where is your swift galley, that has taken so many prizes?” Suddenly piercing, the dark eyes of the admiral studied Theseus. “And where are your reckless men?”
“Ask your wizards,” Theseus said.
Phaistro caught his breath, and anger glittered in his eyes. “Where is this ship’s crew?” His voice crackled. “And all the treasure from the north coasts that was aboard?
And where are the two royal convoys?”
Theseus grinned. “The Hittite and his men are safe on the headland behind us,” he said. “As for the treasure and the convoys, ask your wizards again. Or go fishing on the bottom of the sea!”
The admiral made a sputtering sound, and trembled in the purple robe. “Captain Firebrand”—his voice came tense and sharp—“we have heard of you at Knossos—”
“—And you’ll hear more,” Theseus promised quietly. “Because I am sailing for Crete, with gifts for Minos.” He nodded at the wild black bulls in their pen on the deck, at the tall yellow girl by the steering oar. “And I am going to enter the cyclic games,” he said, “as a candidate for the throne of Minos.”
The admiral stiffened. For a moment he was breathless, his dark eyes wide with astonishment. Then he bent convulsively, and his thin face turned red, and he cackled with shrill laughter. He turned to the Cretan officers about him, small dark men with broad leather belts and black loincloths, gasping through his laughter: “The pirate says he is going to enter the games, to seek the throne of Minos. Isn’t that a capital joke?”
Evidently it was. The officers doubled themselves with merriment—without neglecting, however, to keep watchful eyes on Theseus and ready hands near their swords. At last the admiral sobered his thin face and turned back to Theseus.
“I’m sure, Captain Firebrand,” he said, weak-voiced from laughter, “that your battles with bulls and men and the gods will make a very interesting spectacle. But don’t you think you are somewhat rash to volunteer, when no man has won the games in the last hundred cycles?”
“It seems to me,” Theseus said, “that Minos is the rash one, to keep repeating the games. But what is your joke?”
Phaistro laughed again, until tears came into his eyes. “The joke . . . the joke is very simple,” he panted at last. “You tell us that you are sailing to Crete to enter the Minoan games. And the orders of the fleet, Captain Firebrand, were to bring you to Knossos—to be flung into the games!”
“If that is a joke,” said Theseus, “aren’t you perhaps laughing ahead of the point?”
Phaistro flushed red again with anger. His thin hands clenched and his dark eyes glittered. After a moment, however, he gulped and tried to smile at the tall Achean.
“I forgive your insolence, Captain Firebrand, because you are a brave man,” he said. “And I am going to offer you a piece of advice—again because your audacity moves me.”
PHAISTRO STEPPED quickly forward from his officers, and: “Don’t surrender your sword,” he urged quickly, in a lowered voice. “Don’t let us take you alive to Knossos! Better throw yourself upon your own blade, and die cleanly outside the shadow of the Dark One.”
Theseus touched his sword, smiling. “Thank you, admiral,” he said softly. “And I shall not surrender the Falling Star. But neither shall I kill myself.” He drew the long steel blade out of its scabbard. “I am going to carry the Falling Star to Crete.”
Phaistro’s thin face turned dark again. “Pirate, your impudence has gone too far,” he snapped angrily. “Give up your sword—or my men will take it.”
Theseus lifted the blade. “Let them try!” His blue eyes smiled warily. “There are wizards outside Knossos,” he said softly. “One of them, admiral, is my slave. And my sword was forged from a burning star. It is an enchanted blade, and it will cut any other. If you want it—take it!”
Phaistro’s dark eyes flickered uncertainly aside at the tall golden form of Tai Leng, standing lazily beside the steering oar. They roved the empty decks, and came uneasily back to Theseus and the brandished Falling Star.
Theseus watched the admiral’s narrow face. It still had the tensity of anger, but the pallor of fear was now upon it, too. Phaistro was obviously afraid of wizardry. And it must seem strange, Theseus knew, to meet a ship sailed by two alone: such a man as he was, and such a woman as Tai Leng.
The full red lips of the admiral quivered uncertainly. His thin hands clenched and opened, and tugged uncertainly at the edges of his purple robe. And his awe of magic at last prevailed.
“If your weapon is indeed protected by enchantment,” he yielded at last, “then you can carry it until we touch Crete. There Minos and his wizards can break the spell soon enough. And no doubt brazen Talos can take it from you, if he must. For no man carries any weapon into the Minoan games.”
“We shall see,” Theseus said, “when we come to Crete.”
Phaistro made a gesture toward the flagship. “Now, Captain Firebrand,” he said, “come aboard my vessel. You will be my guest of honor, until we land. I’ll leave a crew to sail this ship. The priests will be waiting for you at the docks.”
Theseus shook his head. “This ship is my prize,” he said quietly. “I am sailing her to Crete, carrying gifts to Minos, and I require no aid. I’ll deal with Minos and his priests when I meet them.”
Dark red of anger mounted once more into the admiral’s thin face. His quivering mouth opened for some command. But his eyes dwelt anxiously upon the bright ready sword of Theseus and the strange yellow beauty of Tai Leng. Abruptly he muttered something to his officers, led them back toward the flagship.
“Sail on, Captain Firebrand!” Phaistro shouted hoarsely from his own deck. “We shall follow you to Knossos.”
His marines cast the lashings loose. Theseus and the golden woman were left once more alone upon the prize.
“Beware, Captain Firebrand!” The melodious singsong of Tai Leng carried a faint whining undertone of Snish. “Those who claim enchantments which they don’t possess are indeed in danger from the warlocks of Knossos. I know!”
“We shall see,” Theseus repeated, “when we arrive in Crete.”
THE SOUTH WIND that brought the fleet had dropped into an utter calm. But the black mountain of the storm still loomed in the north, and now a fresh cold wind blew out of it again. The yellow sail filled. And the Cretan ships came about and sailed close to the prize, back toward Knossos.
That change of the wind, Theseus knew, was a perfectly natural thing. A thousand times he had seen the wind blow against a storm, and die, and rise again out of the cloud. And yet he could not help a shudder, at the way the winds seemed to serve the wizardry of Crete.
The sun had not yet set when another long galley came out of the southwest. It bore no sail, and the mast was unshipped, for it came against the wind. But swift-flashing oars brought it on at racing speed, and presently Theseus could see that its standard was the golden eagle of Amur the Hittite.
The galley hailed the black flagship. The admiral’s sail was briefly lowered, and oars brought the two vessels prow to prow. Two men leaped across to the flagship, and the black sail went up again.
Across two arrow-flights of water, Theseus watched the two strangers hurry aft. He could see that one of them wore the long black robe of a Minoan priest, that the other was garbed in the yellow of Amur.
The admiral, in his own purple, met them before his high cabin. The priest handed him something thin and white. He unrolled it, into a papyrus scroll. For a few moments he was motionless, as if reading. Then the three began waving their hands excitedly.
No word of their conversation reached Theseus. But he saw each of them, in turn, point in his direction. He was wondering, with growing apprehension, what they were talking about, when the liquid voice of Tai Leng softly called: “Captain Firebrand!”
Theseus turned to the tall yellow woman leaning on the steering oar. Her smooth exotic face was intent, her long slanted eyes fixed on the distant group. Again Theseus found space to regret that her allure was all illusion.
“Captain, you wish to know what they say of you?”
“Of course I do.” Theseus stepped quickly to her side—and saw that mocking hint of Snish come back into her golden beauty. “You can tell?”
“Eavesdropping is among the simplest bits of magic,” Tai Leng assured him—and her singsong had a nasal hint of Snish. “Even I have mastered that. Except, of course, that I cannot eavesdrop upon a more powerful magician.”
“Well,” demanded Theseus, “what are they saying?”
“The priest has brought a letter from Minos to the admiral. He read it aloud. It contains new orders with regard to your fate, Captain Firebrand.”
Theseus glanced apprehensively back at the three. “And what are the new orders?”
“Evidently Minos has consulted the screed of the future—and discovered that he was unwise in ordering you to be brought to Knossos for the games. Because the letter contains orders that you are to be slain at once.”
The hand of Theseus slipped automatically toward the Falling Star. “Your body,” Tai Leng went on, “is to be sealed in a lead-lined casket, and secured by certain powerful talismans that the priest has brought with him, and dropped into the sea where it is deep.
“Only your sword is to be carried back to Knossos, as proof that you are dead.” The golden princess shuddered. “That makes matters appear very grave,” said her nasal singsong. “For both of us.”
V.
“AND what,” inquired Theseus, “are they saying now?”
The slanted smoldering eyes of the golden girl—which showed, when Theseus looked closely, a curious yellow hint of the popping eyes of Snish—peered back at the three long-robed men on the other galley.
“The yellow-robe,” Tai Leng told him, “is Amur the Hittite, himself. He is the richest man in the world, and probably the most crafty. He is no wizard, but his wealth can bind warlocks to serve him.”
“I’ve heard of Amur,” said Theseus. “What does he want?”
“Amur,” said the yellow woman, “learned of the same prescience that caused Minos to dispatch the hew orders for your death. And the Hittite, being a crafty man, formed a scheme to turn the situation into silver and gold.”
“And what is the scheme?”
Tai Leng watched for a while, silently. “Amur is unwilling to reveal his plan, before the Minoan priest,” she said at last. “But soon you will know. Because he and the admiral are coming aboard, to speak with you.”
Theseus saw that the flagship was veering toward them.
