Pyramid Scheme by Dave Freer and Eric Flint

The Greeks were laughing uncontrollably. “Your mistress . . . ho ho ho . . . ” Odysseus slapped his thighs and guffawed some more.

With glowing ears Jerry realized that what he’d said was “the woman who is my master.” An absolutely hilarious howler in these parts. It didn’t help that she was suntanned as only peasant women were, and he was as pallid as their female aristocracy. Of course in a man that was not a desirable trait. Men in all the paintings are dark-haired and dark-skinned. The glow in his ears spread to his face as he realized that a pale-skinned man was truly the lowest form of life to these Greeks: a wimp.

Liz revived him with a long smoky exhalation.

The laughter had died away. Eurylochus backed off. . . .

Odysseus didn’t. He watched as Liz trickled smoke out of her nostrils.

“She is very angry. When the smoke begins to come out of her nose, it is a sure sign. She will turn you into a . . . a . . . ” What the hell was the Greek for “newt”?

Liz took a deep draw and blew smoke rings.

Odysseus smiled like a shark. “It’s a trick, Eurylochus. She’s no sorceress. She sucks the smoke from the smoldering stick, and then blows it out. I can do it too.” And he snatched the cigarette out of her hand.

He sucked at it.

Hard.

* * *

Liz had started smoking as a twelve-year-old, stealing her older brother’s cigarettes. He, like many a young soldier of that time, had smoked only the strongest unfiltered cigarettes. You had to, to prove how tough you were. Filter tips were for weenies.

Liz had broken the habit—once. But when things went wrong she’d gone back to the same old smoking habits. In the U.S. she hadn’t been able to find her brand. Bloody cheek. The adverts had had a cowboy! She still remembered her brother trying everything to get a match to strike against his boot.

Odysseus was a healthy Achaean with good strong lungs. He had sucked that smoke in hard and unprepared. . . .

It was a joy to watch.

He dissolved into paroxysms of violent coughing. Smoke erupted from virtually every orifice. Well, possibly not from under his sort of skirt thing. But she’d swear smoke came out of his ears.

Liz calmly reached down and took the fag from the limp hand of the doubled-up hero. Pah. He’d slimed it. She pinched off the damp bit and took another deep drag. She blew smoke into the goggle-eyed Odysseus’ red face.

“Cigarettes may be harmful to your health. Want another drag, weenie?” she said coolly. Fortunately she didn’t say it in ancient Greek.

* * *

“Well, all right. Maybe she is a sorceress after all,” coughed Odysseus, waving the smoke away weakly. “No mere mortal could breathe the smoke of Hades like that.”

“She says that if you touch the magic herbs of Persephone again she will turn you into a . . . frog,” said Jerry grimly. “I am so pale because she turned me into a . . . goat for not obeying her orders quickly enough.”

The Greeks regarded Liz with a bit of trepidation. Several of them edged away. But Odysseus looked suddenly very interested. “This turning people into goats . . . ask the sorceress if we could perhaps reach an agreement. I’ve a lot more serfs than I need, and a lot fewer goats. I asked Circe, but the nymph won’t leave Aeaea. She says her magic only works there anyway. And goats are more valuable than pigs. Circe does pigs best. Tell the sorceress we could do business.”

Jerry turned to Liz. “Look irritated and point at the island and draw your finger across your throat. Talk some gobbledygook.”

Liz complied. Actually, she overdid it, demonstrating on the hapless Eurylochus. Unlike Jerry, she had no self-confidence problems. “This guy is a silly prat. I feel like kicking his balls in.”

“The Sorceress Liz says, beware of your kinsman Eurylochus—he who suspected a trap of Circe, and would have you land on the Island of the Sun, Thrinicia. He will be the one to urge your comrades to slaughter the straight-horned cattle of the sun.”