Pyramid Scheme by Dave Freer and Eric Flint

“We’re so sorry our wager-slaves have trespassed on your hospitality, Ms. Circe. We’ll see to it that that doesn’t happen again. Outside, you lot! Fetch the fish and the bags. Now. Jump to it!”

She harried the laggards with her bag.

Bitar hissed supportively.

You get pretty good service that way, too.

* * *

“I don’t know if I like this being on ‘kitchen parade’ much,” said McKenna, looking at the scrubbed pots in the huge stone kitchen.

“Could be worse,” rumbled Cruz. “I don’t mind cooking. It’s the washing up I don’t like.”

Jerry smiled quietly. “Hopefully, the nymphs will wash up for you. And cooking your own food around here is a really, really good idea. Remember that this Circe is the woman who fed certain herbal potions to people to turn them into savage animals.”

“I get like that myself when I’m only given salad for supper,” said Liz with a wicked smile. “What’s for lunch, guys?”

Lamont seized a large wooden spoon. “Out of the kitchen, woman! Go and drink beer and watch the sport on the box.”

Jerry, not having seen Circe and Medea enter, backed up the joke. “Yes. A woman should know her place. And that’s not in the kitchen, Liz. Go on. You’ve got quite a lot of belching and lounging about to catch up on.”

Circe’s jaw dropped. Medea nodded with satisfaction. “I told you the men of this ‘America’ island are quite unlike other men, Aunt! They are strange beyond all belief. Come, Liz. They obviously get restive when women are in their kitchen. You can explain this ‘box’ we have to watch. Does it move if it is not watched? I’m already quite good at the belching part. We consider it unladylike, but customs differ.”

* * *

Jim McKenna looked glumly at the mounds of vegetables and fresh fish. “If this ever gets back to the 101st . . . ”

“First, we worry about getting us back,” said Cruz.

McKenna sighed. “Yeah.” Then he brightened slightly. “I bet I could make some kind of still with that pot.”

“After lunch for the ladies,” said Jerry. “What are we going to cook, guys?”

Lamont looked pensive. “A salad. Definitely.”

* * *

In the outer chamber, Liz suddenly realized it had been a fine joke but now she was alone with the two sorceresses, without Jerry and his knowledge to turn to. It suddenly seemed a lot less funny. Their future could depend on what she said. And she’d never been much good at watching her tongue. Her nose got in the way.

Circe seemed well disposed, if still a trifle distant. They had gotten rid of a house full of unwelcome guests for her, after all. “What hospitality can I offer you, Liz?” she asked, shaking back her long hair. “Wine? A warm bath?”

“Oh! A bath, please! I can’t wait to wash my hair.”

Circe inspected the hair in question. “Indeed. But it appears very clean, if an odd color for these parts. In Colchis we saw traders and tribesmen from the far north with hair this color, sometimes.”

Liz blushed. “It was a silly idea. I always wanted to be blond. It’s really a mousy brown. It goes blondish when I’m in the sun a lot.” She looked enviously at Circe’s long dark tresses. “Maybe I should go black.”

Medea giggled. “What about red?”

Both sorceresses found this almost irrepressibly funny.

Liz smiled. “Ah, I considered it. I’ve got a cousin who dyed hers green.”

They gaped. “No! Really?”

Conversation proved easy. She was a bit taken aback to discover that she was going be bathed, and that the others were planning to stay and yack. But . . . well, when in ancient Greece . . . do as the ancient Greeks do.

Their response to the shampooing of her hair was first trepidation, and then, when they saw the results—delight. The only thing that tempered this delight was the discovery that Liz only had one more sachet—cunningly artificed out of thin leather. With real self-sacrifice she gave it to Circe. As a gesture to get she who was known as “Circe of the lovely tresses” on your side, it was inspired.