Jerry blinked. There was no point in arguing with this guy. “You should concentrate on learning some classical Greek. And I think you should watch Odysseus.”
“Oh yes,” said Salinas earnestly. “I’m planning to stick very close to him. Learn his ways, as it were.”
Toady up to him, you mean, thought Jerry sourly, but held his tongue. Instead, abruptly, he muttered a phrase in Greek. Then repeated it, more slowly and aloud.
“That’s the first classical Greek phrase you should learn, Lieutenant.” He uttered the phrase again, this time slowly enough so that Salinas could follow. “What it means is: you are my friend.”
Salinas repeated it carefully, several times, until he thought he had it down. Nodding sagely all the while. “Yes! That’s the very same phrase that Prince Odysseus has spoken to me. Several times, now. I was sure that’s what it meant!”
Jerry turned hastily to look at the sea. “We’ll be on the beach in a few minutes. I think we want to stick together. This could be a dangerous place.”
“But I thought you said Prince Odysseus spent several months here?” asked Salinas.
“He did indeed. I meant it could be dangerous for us,” said Jerry dryly.
Salinas scurried away. As soon as he left, Lamont approached.
“What did that son of a bitch want, Jerry?”
Jerry raised his eyes to heaven. “He’s just telling us—again—how we ought to buddy up to Odysseus.”
“Ha!”
“Exactly,” said the mythographer.
* * *
It was obvious, from the minute they’d hauled the ship up on the tiny beach next to an even tinier stream, that Odysseus and his crew had plans. A party of five set off, then and there, to show them the way to Circe. The rest of the crew was left on the beach. Pretending not to snigger.
And it was Jerry, to his own irritation, who gave them the opening they were looking for.
The path next to the small stream became steep quite rapidly. The island was heavily treed and the gorge was in deep shade. It was the kind of place that would have been heaven for a leisurely ramble. It was pure hell in hot pursuit of wiry and fit Achaeans, especially when you aren’t in particularly great shape. The sun had been searing outside the little gorge. Here the rocks were clad in velvety moss, and the trail was hung with ferns beaded with droplets from the tiny waterfalls. Beautiful. It was also as slippery as an expensive lawyer.
The place Jerry chose to lose his footing was about as bad a spot as possible. They’d climbed up a steep section, away from the stream, because the stream bed was choked with a couple of enormous boulders. They’d just got to the point where the path had leveled out slightly, and they were traversing in towards the stream above the boulders. Below the path the slope wasn’t actually a cliff—because it was so thickly vegetated. It was still at about an eighty-degree angle.
The leaf-mould edge beneath Jerry’s feet gave way. He had a brief moment of frantically grabbing handfuls of vegetation, and then the slope disappeared into a blur of snapping small trees and cascading plants. Then he felt a sharp pain in his leg and then . . . blessed oblivion.
* * *
He awoke against a soft and mammaceous cushion. It smelled slightly sweaty but somehow . . . feminine. He opened his eyes. Liz was peering down at him. It was her breast that he was cradled against. “Are you all right?” she asked.
Pain lanced up from the leg that rough hands were manipulating. “My leg.”
“I don’t think it’s broken,” said McKenna, squatting nearby. “Some nasty lacerations. I’m not so sure about your ankle.”
Jerry moved it, warily. It was sore but it moved. He tried to stand up. His head was definitely still whirly.
“Stay still,” said Liz gruffly. Jerry wondered if he’d cracked his skull. The tough cookie looked like she’d been crying.
Cruz and Lamont came up the slope. Lamont was severely out of breath. Cruz wasn’t. “Lost them, I’m afraid,” he said grimly.
“Not”—pant—”a sign of them.” Lamont looked at Jerry. “You okay, Dr. Lukacs?”