Maisie bubbled like a hot pool about the transformation in Graham, of the promises he had just made her, of how very fond they both were of Lacey, and how well they would raise her— until suddenly she realized that Ariadne would not be seeing Lacey again. Then she sobbed the rest of the way to Fishermen’s Walk.
“This is it,” Jerry said, stopping suddenly at a big ivory door and holding out the boars’ tooth helmet. He had noticed her weariness or her impatience with Maisie. “Why don’t you make yourself at home, and I’ll be right back?” Ariadne nodded. “I am very tired. You won’t mind if I say good-bye here?” Graham puffed himself up like a toasted marshmallow. “Then we should tell her our good news, shouldn’t we, darling?” he said, and Maisie turned from pink to scarlet.
“Wonderful!” Ariadne said in the most sincere tone she could manage. Maisie simpered. “I wasn’t sure— but the Oracle never lies, you say. It says a boy. It even told me the day.” Handshakes and hugs.
“So I shall have a son!” Graham said, with the faintest hint that his second wife was more competent than his first.
More hugs and kisses were exchanged, and Ariadne walked up the steps with the Cretan helmet under her arm, blew a last kiss to Maisie, and entered Jerry’s house.
The big room amused her; it was so exactly what she would have expected from Jerry, precise and restrained by good taste just on the right side of being ostentatious. Thousands of books, he had said, and certainly there were thousands. Still, she had lots of time… happily ever after? It would take forty years even to get used to that idea.
She felt drained— hardly surprising after a day which had started in a mythical Cretan prison and ended in Fairyland, with mortal combat and marriage proposals thrown in. A good little wife would perhaps fix supper for her man, but she was not going to play that role. Mostly he ate out anyway, he had said. She would just sit and wait for him.
Yet the quiet did not soothe her; she was too jangled. Her head was spinning. Imagine binding all those books, the work involved!
Poor Jerry… how did he sleep? In the dark of night did he listen to Smythe-Williams’ craven whimpers crackling over the intercom— was that the explanation for his endless round of play and work, the frantic seeking after happiness?
And what of Killer, who had somehow failed his own Standards at Thermopylae? Killer with his hyperactive brawling and lusting— was he seeking only distraction and exhaustion, burying by day the corpses that crawled from their graves by night?
And she, who had just abandoned her child to a crook and a dumb kid— she, who had given up piano for motherhood and then screwed that up and lost both— perhaps the ghosts of might-have-been would come to her also in the silent hours.
This Mera which she had so irrevocably chosen, was it eternal happiness, or eternal regret?
Maybe Maisie was right.
Oh, Lacey! And Graham, damn him! That last remark of his, “So I shall have a son.” That bothered her. That niggled.
Judgment of Solomon. What had the Oracle meant by that? Not, surely, that Ariadne would be divided between Jerry and Killer?
Restless, unable to settle in spite of her fatigue, she rose and started to explore. The big double doors led only to a cluttered and smelly workshop, and that would be for the other Jerry, the informal Jerry who hid behind the shyness. Another door led to a hallway with two doors and a spectacular staircase. This was a much bigger house inside than it looked from the outside— more faerie, perhaps. She found a kitchen and bathroom, both old-fashioned but acceptable, then she wandered up the staircase and discovered a breathtaking bedroom with a grand piano. The room was a designer’s masterpiece in blues and gold, the sort of room she had tried— and failed— to create with Graham’s ill-gotten wealth before it forced them out of city life and off to the greater grandeur of a ranch.
Whatever she was subconsciously seeking was not there.
She wandered over to the bed, tested the mattress, and was just about to explore through the other door— which probably led to a bathroom— when the main door closed with a click.
And there was Killer.
The last place she wanted to meet Killer was a bedroom. She moved quickly away from the bed and was grimly aware that she had started to tremble already.
He was flushed, excited, and panting. He wore a blood-soaked bandage over his ear, but he grinned as he limped hurriedly toward her.
“This is a very nice room,” he said, glancing around. “Much nicer than when Jerry had it.”
“You mean it has changed?” she asked, although obviously that was what he meant. Get a hold of yourself, woman!
“I knew it quite well,” he said impishly.
“You probably won’t be seeing so much of it in the future.”
He put on a hurt expression and now he had reached her and was standing too near, as usual. “That does not sound friendly, pretty lady. I am a close friend of Jerry’s and I hope to be a close friend of yours.”
“You’re a little too close already, Killer,” she said, backing away. “Jerry told me that you always take no for an answer. Is that right?” He put on his sleepy-eyed look for a moment and said, “You won’t refuse me.” He edged closer again, and again she stepped back.
Could she? She was tensely aware of his stupendous arrogance, the physical arrogance of a superstud, and also a spiritual arrogance springing from his complete lack of scruples or fear. Killer was single-minded, she decided; when he looked at anyone, he concentrated totally upon that person. He was hot and sweating already. She remembered their kiss after he killed the Minotaur… change the subject. “Did Carlo hurt you badly?”
“No. A few ribs and a cracked head. I am seeing double, but both of you are equally beautiful. You are hurting me more. You have something I want, pretty lady— something I want very much.”
“No!” Damn, that was shrill, but the harsh breathing and the flushed face were unnerving her. He looked terrifyingly aroused.
He frowned in mock disapproval, advancing again. “It will make you very happy! But tell me why did you take such a terrible risk for me today? You were safe in the wagon. You must care for me greatly.” He grinned hopefully.
“I’m damned if I know,” she said truthfully. “Why not ask the Oracle?” She tried to side-step, and he moved to block her.
An odd look came into his eye. “The Oracle told me many strange things today. It was not for love, then?” He looked heartbroken.
“No, not for love,” she said. “You’re a nice guy, Killer, but…”
“But you love Jeremy Howard?” He smiled. “I also love him, he is strong and yet gentle. I should like to be more like him.” And Jerry Howard, she now suspected, would in some ways like to be more like Killer. She smiled also. “Are you sure of that?” Killer nodded earnestly. “It is true. You corrected me about Clio today, and I am grateful for that, too. Would you help me more?” Well, that was a new line! He probably had more lines than a telephone company. She would never see a telephone again.
She had not answered, and Killer reached for her hands. She backed away again and bumped against the piano. No retreat— this would be Ariadne’s last stand. She wondered how long Jerry would be.
Killer took her hands in his and said, “Did you know I was an orphan?” His eyes were dancing.
Now what? He kept changing the subject. “Oh really!” She tried to pull away, and he held tight. “Your parents have been dead for twenty-five hundred years!” He shook his head seriously. “I always knew that Crion and Astiaspe were not my parents— they were too old. But they were good people, kind and loving parents to me. They taught me to honor the gods and serve my polis.”