Pyramid Scheme by Dave Freer and Eric Flint

Jerry had trouble breathing. “We’re not Hellenes,” he managed to squeeze out. There wasn’t even much spare breath for that.

Not speaking good classical Greek can sometimes be good for your health.

“Loosen up a little bit there, Smitar.” Medea frowned. “Then why were you waiting in ambush for us?”

The fierce-looking woman’s chuckle was as fierce as her visage. “Nice to hear someone speak Greek even worse than I do! But if you’re not Hellenes, then who are you?”

She still sounded suspicious, but no longer quite as homicidal. The difference was marginal, however. Jerry got the feeling that, with this beautiful but frightening woman, things could go downhill fast if he said something like “Colchian.”

“We are Americans. We were stranded here by Hellene treachery. And we weren’t waiting to ambush anyone. We were just on the way to fetch our dinner.”

“Dinner! Did fsomeone fsay ‘dinner’?” sprayed one of the dragons. “It’fs not maiden fstew by any off-chanfs?” asked the other.

Medea paid the dragons no mind. “A likely story! You just happened to be hiding in the bushes on the exact spot where we landed. Ha! Tell me another one.”

Exasperation took hold of Jerry. It was not wise, but on the other hand he had faced Scylla and Charybdis, the clashing rocks, sirens, a boar, centaurs and even a couple of Greek gods, not adequately spaced by sleep or even by his idea of decent meals. “Don’t be so stupid. How would we know where to hide and wait? You could have landed anywhere. Besides, did you think that I was going to attack dragons without even a weapon? We saw you coming and hid away because we thought you were going to attack us!”

The dragon who had Jerry in its coils was examining him with eager interest, apparently oblivious to the mythographer’s outrageous disrespect for Medea. “fSo what are you having for dinner?”

“fSure it’fs not maiden fstew?” enquired the other dragon, rather hopefully.

Suddenly, Medea emitted another chuckle. A much softer one than the first. “I like a man with a bit of fire,” she admitted.

Oh great, thought Jerry. As if I wasn’t in enough trouble. All I need now is this world’s most murderous sorceress taking a fancy to me.

“If he’fsgot a bit of fire can we cook them on it?” That seemed to be the dragon called Bitar, its voice plaintive.

“Oh, shut up!” snapped Medea. “Don’t you two ever think of anything but your stomachs?”

The dragons stared at each other, wide-eyed.

“Not refsently,” said Bitar.

“fShould we?” asked the other, wrinkling its scaly face.

Medea sighed. “I wish I hadn’t given you the power of speech. Now what am I going do with this lot?”

“Mommy, I need to wee—now,” whined the smallest boy, dancing from foot to foot.

Medea still seemed to be simmering a bit. She swiveled her head and glared at the child. “Be quiet! Or I’ll expose you on a rock!”

The young woman in the chariot shook her head reproachfully. “Medea! That’s not a nice thing to say, and you know it.” Then, gently: “Just go around the back of the chariot, Neoptolmeus.”

The dragons were more concerned with their captives’ fate. “Braifse them fslowly with onionfs,” mused the one.

“What about fsoup?” suggested the other.

“Yefs! fSoup!”

Medea paid no attention to the dragons. “Where is this America place? Is it a distant island? And why are you the only one who has spoken?”

“Because I’m the only one who speaks any Greek.” By her expression, that was a good thing to say.

“Ah! I can solve that.” She walked back to the chariot, took a small clay vessel out of it and walked up to Cruz.

“Jerry.” Cruz was plainly struggling just to breathe. “Huh . . . what’s huh . . . she going to do?”

“Don’t worry,” said Jerry in his best attempt at reassurance. With luck Cruz wouldn’t know that this was one of the most notorious poisoners in legend and myth . . . especially as she was smearing stuff onto his lips. Then she began smearing the same salve on his ears, chanting softly as she did so.