Carlo jerked around, looked at Graham and Maisie, then went sauntering over to the house of the Oracle, slouching as usual. And he, too, vanished as he passed within the columns.
It reminded her of school, of waiting to be called into the principal’s office. Yet there could be no more beautiful place in the world to wait, here on the hilltop in this crystal-pure air with this incredible view. She could wait here happily forever.
Forever!
“Why?” she asked suddenly. “Why should Killer be scolded? Surely he is the conquering hero and the Oracle should be giving him praise? Is it always disapproving, never pleased?” Jerry smiled wanly. “It would be interesting to listen to a conversation between those two… but one always goes alone to the Oracle.” Carlo came rushing down the steps. “Hello!” Jerry muttered in surprise.
Carlo raced across to the rail, bent over it and threw up, then hung there, limp as a wet sock. Ariadne was horribly reminded of the prisoners’ gallery in the Labyrinth. But why? Jerry’s eyebrows had shot up into his yellow thatch.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
“I’ve heard of that,” Jerry said, “but never seen it. Apparently the truth may sometimes be not merely unpalatable, but even intolerable. Our friend must have a remarkable past, for one so young.”
Carlo straightened and looked around to see who was watching, then turned away again. His face had healed.
Maisie had obviously been called next. She kissed Graham and strode across the court, holding her head up bravely.
Ariadne said, “When I am called, Jerry, I want you to come with me.” He shook his head and stammered.
“It would not be decent,” he protested. “I told you— you will have no clothes on.”
“I had none this morning in the Labyrinth, and neither had you,” she said, amused at his prudishness. “You want to marry me, you said. A little nudity usually helps a marriage.” He wiped his brow. “One always goes alone. When you have been there, you will understand.” So that was it. “Your past can be no worse than mine.”
“Yes it is.” He turned away, and there was a long silence.
Maisie came briskly down and smiled happily at Graham as he in turn headed for the steps.
“Ariadne,” Jerry said. “I am a coward and a murderer.”
“Jerry?” she said, but he did not look at her. “Jerry, we have been through hell together these last few days— literally. I know what sort of man you are. I won’t judge you on your past.”
“People don’t change in Mera,” he muttered.
More silence.
“Ariadne?” said a soft voice— her own voice, coming from the house of the Oracle. Her heart jumped, and she started to move… just as Jerry did, also.
“I was called,” she said. He blanched. “So was I.”
“Then we do go together,” she said firmly, and he nodded unhappily. They walked hand in hand toward the steps. Graham came slowly down, ignoring them, and headed for an empty stretch of rail, ignoring Maisie also. That would have been another interesting to conversation to listen to— Graham Gillis speaking the truth about himself? Most potent magic!
The columns were as polished as glass, pink and black crystals shining in the sun, and the space within was much, much larger than it had seemed from outside. They walked hand in hand across the floor, the granite slabs as shiny as the columns and warm beneath her bare feet. She had not even noticed her clothes vanish. Jerry’s palm was damp, and his grip uncomfortably tight.
As Jerry had said, their destination was a mirror— a very large, rectangular mirror, stark and free-standing in a gold frame. Before it stood a long, low table, like a coffee table. No black and white in Mera, but the table was shiny black and the wands lying across it— several dozen of them— were gleaming white. Here, then, was truth, untarnished gold, black and white. The glass of the mirror seemed very thick, and walking forward in it, alone, was her naked self. Two visitors and one reflection— an awesome demonstration of magic. As she and the reflection drew close, though, she saw that it was not accurate: no sag in the breasts, no stretch marks, a youthfully flat tummy. So that was how she would look if she stayed in Mera? She was being bribed— by whom or what? She felt suddenly angry and suspicious.
Then Jerry and she had reached the table and stopped.
Jerry, she noticed, was staring at a point above the reflection’s eyes, so he was seeing himself, not her. For a moment the two people and the one reflection stared without speaking; then her reflection suddenly folded its arms, and she jumped with surprise.
“Ariadne,” the reflection said, “I am Mera. Anything I ask, you will be compelled to answer. Anything spoken aloud here— by me or by you— is true. But if you are unable to speak a thought, that does not mean that it is necessarily false, for there are some truths which you are not allowed to know. Do you understand?” She nodded.
It looked at Jerry. “Gillis told you of her failures, but you will not tell her yours. Yet you just asked her to marry you. Is that fair?” Jerry’s lips moved in silence, and then he said, “No.” His hand was trembling.
She tried to say that it was not important— and she could not.
The reflection seemed to know; it glanced at her with amusement and then stared up at Jerry again, apparently quite unashamed by its nudity.
“So shall I tell her?” the reflection asked.
Jerry shuddered and nodded. Ariadne tried to say she did not want to hear. Again, the words would not come, so she did want to know.
Another shape whirled in the mirror beside the woman and then took form as a young man of middle height, dark-haired and sporting a very bushy moustache. He was wearing a World War II flying suit, goggles pushed up on his helmet. Jerry was staring down at the table of wands.
“Introduce me, old boy,” the newcomer said mockingly.
Jerry glanced up briefly, as though to confirm his fears, winced, and dropped his eyes again. “Lieutenant Smythe-Williams,” he muttered. “First name, Kevin.”
“Pleased to see you,” the airman said, running his gaze appraisingly up and down Ariadne. She felt herself blush, but her reflection did not. “And who was I, Jerry? Finish the story.”
“You were my tail gunner,” Jerry said, keeping his eyes on the floor.
“Oh come on, old chap!” Kevin said. “I know we have all the time in the world, but the lady is going to get frightfully tired standing there for years while you mess around. Out with it, laddie!”
“Don’t!” Ariadne said.
“He shall,” said her reflection.
“We were badly flakked,” Jerry said without looking up. “It didn’t look as though we’d get back across the Channel. I could barely hold her in the air… I told the others to bail out. K… Kevin had been hit, wounded. He was pinned in there, with a spar through his leg. He had to stay. I tried to fly the plane home; but it got so that I could barely hold trim, we were getting low and… I bailed out and left him.’ The airman laughed. “So I rode the barrel over the falls, stapled to my seat, while he floated down into Mera and decided it was really quite a nice spot for a gentleman to live. Nicer than fighting a beastly war, nicer than going back to face the others when they came out of POW camp.”
“Could he have landed that plane?” Ariadne demanded angrily.
“Answer the pretty lady, Jerry,” said Kevin Smythe-Williams.
“I was flying it,” Jerry said. “Perhaps I could have flown it all the way across. I don’t know. I don’t know!’
His hand had gone quite limp, and she squeezed it. “Then you made a judgement. You tried your best— ”
“It wasn’t my best,” he said. “I was still flying it.”