Pyramid Scheme by Dave Freer and Eric Flint

The botanist turned to Liz. “Mademoiselle. You are conversant in the language of the lady, yes? Please tell her I am desperately hungry.” He looked woefully at his hands and clothes. “Indeed, the only thing I desire more than dinner is a bath.”

Jerry grinned. “You might get the bath. I could use one myself.”

The Frenchman blinked. “Forgive me. My manners are most remiss. I have not introduced myself. I had despaired of finding anyone with whom I could converse in a civilized tongue.” The slight hesitation which followed indicated some doubts as to the accuracy of that characterization of English. Then: “Permit me to introduce myself. I am Professeur Henri Lenoir, of the Sorbonne. Forgive me if I do not shake you by the hand, but until my hands are washed . . . ”

22

You can go to Hades.

” . . . so,” Jerry concluded, “we were hoping you could send us home.”

Circe shook her head. “I am a sorceress, and a minor goddess. But my powers are small. I don’t like to admit this, but Odysseus—a mere mortal!—overcame me on his first visit.”

She took a deep breath. “But the part I find exceeding strange is the fact that to you we are creatures of legend. That you, Doc Jerry,” she bowed respectfully, “have read of our deeds . . . even about things which we have not yet done. It is as peculiar as this feeling of . . . I feel I have done all this before.”

Jerry had been unable to convince the aristocracy-bound mythfolk that “Doc” was not his hereditary title. He had been able to convince them he knew the details of the myths and legends. Some of that knowledge had nearly been bad for his health. Medea, the original victim of bad press, was still nearly incandescent.

How dare those Hellene bitches put the blame onto her? They’d cut up their own father and boiled him! And then said that she—Medea—had tricked them into doing it. Ha! The barefaced cheek of it! What kind of idiot would believe—

Halfway through her tirade, Jerry began muttering to himself. “Somebody—or something—is playing games with us. Using us. There are small inconsistencies . . . Medea is achronous with Odysseus . . . We also encountered the Theban sphinx. Something is wrong.”

Circe overheard him and began nodding. “I was forewarned of your coming. Hermes came to tell me that barbarians who must die were coming.” She seemed troubled.

Medea snorted. “Typical Greek gods! Hermes told me a ‘safe place’ to land. That nearly resulted in Bitar and Smitar eating them.”

Lamont shook his head. “I don’t understand it. Something brought us here. And now that same something is trying to eliminate us. And it has, at the very least, Hermes playing its games.”

“Maybe it is sort of . . . destructive testing,” said Cruz, flexing a forearm.

“Maybe. But let’s be honest, it has picked some of the most appalling physical material, like me,” said Jerry.

“Maybe it is the mind that it is wanting,” said Lenoir, venturing his first comment.

“Salinas’ mind? The man who is happy to be a pig? Or,” said Liz, pointedly looking at Jim McKenna, who was winking at one of the attendant nymphs, “the mind of a randy paratrooper who can’t keep his thoughts above his belt?”

Circe shook her head. “Whatever it is that is happening, it is a dark and evil thing. Yet if Hermes is involved you can bet the father of gods is in on it too. I think you should venture into the lands of Persephone, to the grim Halls of Hades, and consult the lost spirit of blind Teiresias the seer.”

Jerry frowned. “Do you really think that’ll help?”

Circe laughed her musical laugh. “Perhaps not. But it got rid of my last lot of troublesome guests, and sooner or later the dead know everything.”

“So we sail a black ship into hell . . . ” said Jerry.

Circe pulled a wry face. “I’ll give you directions.”

“Don’t you mean: ‘Don’t think of lingering on shore for lack of a pilot’?”

“How did you know I was about to say that?”