Marie was now frowning. “I don’t know as how I could be of any real help to you. And I’m not taking charity money, Professor Tremelo.” Her return to formality emphasized the point. “That’s something Lamont and me both see eye to eye on. Can’t raise kids right if you don’t set an example yourself.”
Tremelo’s eyes fell on the paper at the center of his desk. He picked it up and handed it to Marie. “Read that and tell me what you think of it.”
Miggy waited patiently while Marie fought her way through the turgid officialese. By the time she was finished, her frown was positively awesome.
“What do you think?”
Marie snorted. “What I can tell, they got a problem on their hands and they figure to solve it by gettin’ a bigger hammer. Stupid, you ask me. Lamont always tries to figure out what the problem is in the first place.”
Tremelo burst into laughter. “You’re hired!”
He leaned forward and picked up the telephone. “You’ll be making consultant’s money, Marie. I can start you at $500 a day plus expenses. With a guaranteed contract for three months’ work, minimum.”
Marie Jackson had the quickness with arithmetic of every experienced waitress. Her eyes widened, and widened. “Forty-five thousand dollars? In three months?”She leaned back her head and barked a laugh. “Hell, Miggy, that’s more than I make in two years! You got a deal!”
As soon as Tremelo finished his call to the accounting office and set the phone down—click—Marie asked to use it herself. The physicist leaned back in his chair and enjoyed a moment’s relaxation and pleasure, just overhearing her side of the ensuing conversation.
Brief conversation.
“That you, fat-ass? I just called to give you the same notice you give everybody you fire. Two seconds. Go fuck yourself. Use the plunger in the women’s bathroom. You know—the busted one I been complainin’ about for six months.”
Click.
PART VI
All things are taken from us, and become
Portions and parcels of the dreadful Past.
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson,
“The Lotos-Eaters”
28
Lotus-eaters.
Jerry glared at the shore. Odysseus, plain to see, was up to his usual tricks.
The sun burned down. Heat reflected off the curving beaches like a whiplash. The wind that had carried the black pentekonter this far was still. Odysseus’ vessel lay like a painted ship in a sun-bleached painting. Its artistic merit was enhanced by the two dragons lolling in the water beside it.
All very nice, thought Jerry sourly. The only problem was . . .
Liz put it into words. “The Nile seems to have shrunk, Odysseus,” she said sarcastically, looking at the sliver of a stream that split the beach ahead.
Odysseus shrugged. “This is the coastline of Libya, Sorceress. Egypt lies a few days’ sailing along it. We have made landfall some distance to the west, that’s all. We need fresh water. And it would be good to cook a meal and get some rest on land. The local inhabitants are a peaceful and hospitable people. They will have food for us.
“fS’about time we ate,” said Smitar, lazily flapping his crest of tasseled crimson spines.
“Yefs. What’fs for lunch, Lamont?” demanded Bitar, flattening his vermilion and purple crest. The two dragons might be in the service of the sorceress, but their affection, by way of their stomachs, had been usurped by Lamont and Cruz. Besides, Cruz was the only human they’d ever met with enough strength to give a dragon a good scratch with an oar.
* * *
Any wariness Jerry had felt about the small aboriginals on the shore had long faded. They’d seen the ship land and come down to it with cheery smiles and broad-leaf trays of sticky yellow sweetmeats, obviously pulp of some plant and gods alone knew what else. Definitely flies. Now what was worrying Jerry was straight morality. There was no doubt that the aboriginals would end up as slaves. Probably after the Achaeans had swiped their sweetmeats. The little guys didn’t even seem to be selling the things. They were certainly eating occasional ones themselves. Odysseus made a great show of taking a whole sweetmeat in one bite.
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