"You are aware, I suppose," said Michael, "that a new power has entered the cosmic stage?"
"The matter has not escaped our attention," said Zeus. "What about it?"
"You know of this immorality play that the demon Azzie is trying to stage?"
"I've heard about it," Zeus said. "Seems a cute idea to me."
"If it has the effect on mankind that I expect, it will serve you no better than it will us."
"How do you figure? We Greek deities don't have much truck with notions of Good and Evil."
"This scheme is beyond Good and Evil."
"Well… So?"
"This scheme is not only amoral, it undermines the idea that Character is Fate."
"What? What was that?" Zeus asked.
"I thought that would gain your attention," Michael said. "But that is not all. Not only is Azzie's play going to prove that Character is not even Fate, but also it will demonstrate that the Unexammed Life is Well Worth Living."
"That is too much!" Zeus said. "How can we put a stop to it?"
"We need to pursue the tactics of delay," Michael said. "There's nothing I can do personally. I have already been warned by Ananke. But if you — or, better, one of your children—would care to do a little favor for me…"
"It would involve the Cyclops," Michael said. "I would have something similar to what Phoebus set up for Odysseus. Only this time better. After that I'll have another little job for whoever among you does storms and rain and high wind."
Athena thought a while, then said, "We divided that function among many gods, including Poseidon and you yourself, great Zeus."
"That's true," Zeus said. "Well, we'll assign the weather job to someone. Ares, how would you like a really natural way of making war?"
"As long as it hurts people, it's okay with me," said Ares.
"Now listen up," Michael said. "There are a few points you need to know about weather making."
Chapter 3
A woman's voice cried, "Found it!" and there followed a click. Moments later came the sounds of a fence falling.
Oliver rose to his feet to explore the limits of his confines.
There were no limits. So he began walking.
He wasn't sure where he was going, but since he had a Moronia spell he figured it would all come out all right. The spell pulled and tugged at him, and there was no doubt as to what direction he was intended to walk. He became aware that he was covering great distances. The spell began tugging him to the left, and he followed it.
Soon he was on a beach. He continued walking, and after a while he saw a great cave. There was something forbidding about that cave, and he thought to give it a wide berth, but then he saw a rustic sign nailed up above its entrance: RINGHOLDERS WELCOME. So he went in.
A giant sat on a stool just inside the doorway. "Have you got the ring?" the giant asked.
"Sure do," Oliver said, and showed it.
The giant studied it carefully. "Good, you're the one."
The giant got up and rolled a boulder toward the entrance of the cave.
"What did you do that for?" Oliver asked.
"Orders," said the giant, sitting down again on his stool.
"So what happens now?" Oliver asked.
"Believe me, you don't want to know."
"But I do want to know. Tell me!"
"I eat you," the giant said.
"You're not serious!"
"I am perfectly serious. Did you ever know a giant to kid around?"
Oliver said, "I've never done you any harm."
"It's got nothing to do with that."
"What has it to do with, then?"
"Sorry, buddy, but I've got the work order right here. Eat the guy with the ring. That's what it says."
"What guy with what ring?" Oliver asked.
"It doesn't say. Just 'the guy with the ring.' "
"But that could be anyone."
"Look, buddy, maybe they didn't have time to spell it out any more than that."
"But what if you get the wrong guy?"
"Well, that would be somebody's tough luck, but it wouldn't be my fault if I did."
"Of course not," Oliver said. "But they'd blame you anyway."
"How do you figure?"
"Don't they blame you anyway when something goes wrong, whether it's your fault or not?"
"You got that right," the giant said. He moved back into the cave. He had an easy chair in back, and a bed and a lantern.
Oliver looked around for a weapon, but there wasn't anything he could use. He did see, though, that a piece of paper was pinned to the giant's shirt.
"What's that attached to your shoulder? " Oliver asked.
"It's the dispatch ticket they gave me."
"What does it say?"
"Just that I'm to stay here till the guy with the ring shows up."
"Does it say anything else?"
"Not that I can see."
"Let me look."
The giant didn't think this was such a good idea. He was protective of his dispatch ticket, and he wasn't about to show it to some stranger. Especially not one he was going to eat.
Oliver could understand all that, but now he was determined to get a look at the ticket. The only thing he could think of "was to offer the giant a back rub.
"Why should I want a back rub?" the giant asked suspiciously.
"Because it feels good, that's why."
"I feel okay," the giant said, though it was apparent he didn't.
"Sure," Oliver said, "I can see that you feel okay. But what's okay? Okay isn't much. It's almost nothing at all. How would you like to feel good?"
"I don't know if I need this," the giant said.
"How long is it since you felt good? I mean really good?"
"I guess it's been quite a while. Nobody cares how a giant feels. Nobody even thinks a giant has feelings.
No one inquires about his health or his general state of mind. People think giants are stupid, but we're smart enough to know that people don't give a damn about us."
"You got that right," Oliver said. "What about the back rub?"
"Okay," the giant said. "But do I gotta take off my shirt?"
"Not if you don't want to."
The giant lay down on the long slab of rock that he used for a bed. During the day, he made it up into a couch with boulders that resembled pillows.
Oliver pushed up the giant's shirt. He began to pound and knead the giant's back, gently at first, but then with more force as the giant complained he couldn't feel a thing. Oliver pounded and slapped and hammered, all the time trying to get a look at the ticket attached with a bronze staple to the left shoulder of the shirt.
At last he was able to make out what was written on the ticket: "This giant is vulnerable only under the left armpit, which is unarmored due to the need for ventilation. The giant should be careful not to let anything near this area." There was a manufacturer's mark under the writing, but it was blurred.
So that was something, but not really enough, because Oliver had no idea how he was going to get at the giant's left armpit. Even the right one was inaccessible.
A shadow crossed the cave door, and Oliver looked up. Standing there was a tall, well-dressed Italian-looking fellow.
"Hi, there, I'm Aretino," the man said. "Azzie sent me. If you're quite finished with your massage, do you think we could get back to work?"
"Who's that?" the giant asked sleepily.
"Don't be alarmed," Oliver said. "It's someone for me."
"Tell him to go away. After the massage I'm supposed to eat you."
Oliver rolled his eyes and took his hand from the giant's back long enough to make an imploring gesture.
Aretino now became aware of the giant. He walked slowly into the cave, keeping alert in case there were any more giants around. He whispered to Oliver, "Is he armored?"
"Yes," said Oliver. "Everywhere but his left armpit."
"You're going to have to catch him stretching."
"Sure. But how?"
Aretino whispered, "Are there any grapes around?"
"I'll ask," Oliver said, catching on at once.
"Grapes? What do you want with grapes?"
"Last meal before I die. It's the custom."
"I never heard of it. But I guess we could find you some grapes. That was a pretty good massage."