“And then?” Liz asked sarcastically. “What’s going to happen to you?”
Jerry shrugged. “It’s my fault. I presume I’ll jump overboard.”
Cruz shook his head. “That Odysseus isn’t going to untie us, Dr. Lukacs, no matter who does the tying. We might as well stay loose.”
“And without you we haven’t anyone who can speak Greek,” pointed out Liz.
Lamont stared intently at Jerry. “Listen, didn’t somebody else get past the sirens? I’m trying to remember.”
“The Argonauts. Orpheus sang a song far sweeter than theirs. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket, Lamont. And I’ve heard you ‘singing.’ Can anyone else sing?”
Lamont dived for his bundle and unearthed his precious boombox. “I don’t think much of their voices so far. Let’s see how they shape up against some real competition.”
He pressed the play button and turned the volume up. Suddenly, Tina Turner’s voice boomed across the still water. “What’s love got to do with it?”
The mist seemed to waver. The melodious, but not top quality, club-standard singing was stilled, and replaced by a squawk.
“—but a second-hand emotion—”
It was a pretty good “I-am-a-bantam-and-have-just-laid-an-ostrich-egg” squawk. The sunlight suddenly cut through the mist, revealing a sandy marram meadow, flanked by three raised tumuli. The rank marram grew through the white bone piles that studded the meadow.
“What’s love got to do—”
In the midst of this sat two very large birds—rather like overgrown penguins. They sported human heads. Female, to judge by the pale complexions and lack of beard. Hideous-looking things, really.
“—got to do with it—”
Expressions of surprise—then shock—then total outrage—and then rabid envy flighted across their gargoyle-ugly countenances.
Jerry wasn’t looking at the legendary sirens that had lured sailors to their death with their sweet voices. He was looking at the boombox.
A golden nimbus clung about it. In the dancing shadows above the CD player you could see the singer. Tina Turner, her inimitable legs flashing and prancing, strutting her stuff. Big as life, and just as loud.
“That’s not a CD,” he said in a choked voice to Liz. “That’s the real thing. It’s . . . it’s a summoning or something.”
Liz laughed. “No wonder the sirens are outclassed! Real singing must be rare in these days. Nonexistent, I’d say. And will you look at those damn Achaeans!”
Not even the wax in their ears could keep Odysseus and his men from hearing Tina Turner. But judging from their bulging eyes, Jerry thought it was her legs which had them mesmerized.
Lamont, McKenna and Cruz didn’t notice. They were too busy leaning over the gunwale, laughing as the plump sirens tossed their double flutes aside and waddled in haste towards the sea. They were flapping their wings frantically, but they were far too big to do more than short hops into the air. They plunged into the sea, swimming ducklike after the departing ship.
Lamont reached a hand behind him and clicked the golden voice off. “Let’s give them a bit of rap, boys, whaddaya say?”
McKenna and Cruz grinned. A moment later, Lamont and the two soldiers were shuffling back and forth at the stern, doing an impromptu rap session.
“Yo—bitch! I’m talking to you!
“Swim all you want! Flop all you want!
“Ain’t getting none o’ my—”
Jerry found himself consumed by a deep longing for Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos. Or Tina Turner. Anything.
16
The Enchanted Isle:
no tradesmen or hawkers.
By order: the management.
Naturally enough, Odysseus had understated the distance to Aeaea. It was another cold, hard-decked night at sea before they saw Circe’s isle. Having to scrounge food made Jerry uncomfortable in the extreme. He was glad when a forested island loomed out of the distance. It was green and pleasant looking in the bright midmorning sunshine.
“Aeaea,” said Odysseus, with all the air of a kindly gentleman who is doing you an enormous favor. “It is a safe place with kindly and hospitable people.”
“We won’t mention beeswax in people’s ears, will we,” said Jerry, sarcastically. “We know about Circe, Odysseus.” That was true enough. What they weren’t sure about was how to persuade her to help them.
“What’s he saying?” demanded Salinas.
After Jerry explained—and passed on his own misgivings about Odysseus’ intentions—Salinas shook his head. “Meaning no disrespect, Dr. Lukacs, but I think you’re taking much too negative an attitude here. These men are soldiers and they respect rank. And likewise we must respect rank. I’ve been doing my best to get onto good terms with Prince Odysseus. He’s a powerful and influential man. We’d do well not to get on his bad side.”
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