"I must have said and felt those things back when we were living."
"I don't remember you ever admitting you were hungry, Achilles. Mere food was beneath you. Your entire being was dedicated to glory." "It still is," Achilles said, standing up, wincing. "I think I'm developing a low back pain. Never mind, come on, let's go."
"I'm quite ready," Odysseus said. "But the thing is, I don't know where we should go."
Achilles looked around. He saw they were in a sunny meadow. There was a forest ahead, dark and verdant. Small birds flew overhead, singing their songs. A light breeze was blowing, and it had a fine clean scent about it. It was just past midday. The sun, now high in the sky, was golden and fine, warm but not hot. It was one of the better days either man could remember in a long time, and very unlike the typical days in Hades, where it is always on the verge of raining and the skies are the color of a really nasty bruise.
"It's my old friends, the Eumenides," Odysseus said, walking up to the ladies, with Achilles following him.
"Hello, Tisiphone, Alecto, hi, Megaera. You girls are a long way from dear old Hellas."
"Hello, Odysseus," Alecto said. She was tall, with gray hair neatly marcelled. Her nose was a commanding beak, such as might have looked well on the prow of a man-of-war. "We expected you to come this way."
"How could you have foreseen that?" Odysseus asked. "None but the witches know we are here."
"We are sisters to the witches," Alecto said. "When we visited them in the Witches' Kitchen, they told us you'd be passing through here, which is the Meadow of the Interlude. In this place only good influences penetrate. That is why my sisters and I are not in our usual horrific form. That'll come later. Right now we can take a few minutes off and be nice."
"I've always thought you were nice," Odysseus said. "And so has Achilles here. Come up here, Achilles.
Do you know these ladies?"
Achilles came up somewhat bashfully. "I believe I made their acquaintance briefly, once when I visited Orestes. Tell me, ladies, why do you search for Odysseus?"
"It was our surest way of finding you!" Tisiphone cackled.
Achilles turned pale. "And why did you wish to find me?"
Alecto said, "It is our best way to find Faust and the stolen lady whom we seek. I refer, of course, to Helen, your wife."
"Why do you want Helen?" Achilles asked.
"We have nothing against her personally. She's booty, and she has to go back to Hades immediately. We are the enforcement arm of the Classical Construct Placement Division. Azzie Elbub, the demon who took her from Hades, had no right to do so. We do not approve of such things. We are going to return her to you. Are you not glad?"
"Very glad," Achilles said, though now he was beginning to have his doubts. "It's what I'm here for myself."
"Good," Alecto said. "We weren't entirely sure what you were up to. Too many heroes manage at last to get out of Hades and then spend all their time lollygagging around the Earth, forgetting their duty and just enjoying having a body again."
MARLOWE
CHAPTER 1
It was a big day in London on that overcast but mild September 30, 1588 when the Rose Theater in Southwark reopened with the play Doctor Faustus, starring Edward Alleyn. Not only was this an important play, in view of its advance notices, but it was also the first play since the recent bout of plague had abated. This gave it a special panache, and ensured a full house. The people came early, before dawn even, long lines of them crawling from places even beyond the city, from Graveslines and Swiss Cottage and Hampton Court, from Shepherd's Mill and Reindeer's Head, from Baxby and Weltenshire, moving steadily in the steady rain. By ferry and by foot they crossed the Thames and London Bridge to await the trumpet that announced the beginning of the play.
Early in the day before the performance, Mack and Mephistopheles met in London at the Tavern of the Drowned Man.
"Gentlemen!" the publican said. "I did not see you arrive!"
"That is because you were fooling with the serving wench," Mephistopheles said.
"Not so, sir! I was behind the bar all this time, polishing the brass and chatting with Mistress Henley, who provides our daily repast."
"Well, so what if you didn't see us arrive?" Mephistopheles demanded. "Do you believe that my friend and I conjured ourselves into your low abode?"
"Not at all, my lord!" the publican declared. "It takes no witchcraft to come into this place! The door is always open and I am always ready for business! What may I bring Your Worships?"
"A bottle of your best Malmsey should do nicely," Mephistopheles said. "What do you think, Doctor?"
Mack had been gathering his wits about him, for the transition from Florence to London had been swift enough, and his clothing, which Mephistopheles had changed for him in midflight, was still unsettled. But with Mephistopheles elbowing him into the booth and the publican looking at him openmouthed, he soon recovered his native alacrity.
"Malmsey will be fine," Mack said. "And was that orlotan pie I noticed on the shelf?"
"Indeed it is, sir," the publican said.
"Then bring us a couple of slices of that," Mack said, glancing to Mephistopheles, because he wasn't entirely sure that food was included in his traveling allowance.
"Yes, and half a loaf of your best wheaten bread," Mephistopheles said. He smiled ingratiatingly. "Has Dr. John Dee been in this morning, perchance?"
"Perhaps Dame Rumor will also tell you that my friend and I are quick to chastise if we do not receive our provender promptly."
"I will see to it that the provender is brought forthwith!" the publican declared. "Polly! Get the lead out of it and serve these gentlemen their fare!" And so saying, he hurried off, the bar rag flapping from the back pocket of his broad-backed pantaloons.
"What is this placer Mack asked, as soon as they were alone. "And what did you do with Marguerite?"
"I've left her in my waiting room in Limbo," Mephistopheles said. "You need no woman along for the task that lies before you this day. As for the where of it, this is London, my dear Faust, and the year is 1588, an eventful year for England, and for you."
"For me?" Mack said. "Wherefore sayest thou?"
"It is the year and day of the premiere of the first showing of that famous play based upon your life. I refer, of course, to the Tragical History of Doctor Faustus as enacted by the players of the Earl of Nottingham and with the nonpareil Edward Alleyn in the title role. But you must have known of this in Cracow through your necromantic musings."
"Oh, yes, of course," said Mack, ever eager to take upon his shoulders the mantle of learning. "The famous play about me! And you've brought me here to see it! It is good of you, my dear Mephistopheles."
Mephistopheles frowned. "I haven't brought you all this way to sit in an audience and suck an orange and applaud the lies a poet tells. There's work for you to do here."
"Well, of course," Mack said. "I thought not otherwise. What would you have me do?"
"Hearken," Mephistopheles said, and then desisted, for Polly, the serving girl, had arrived with the orlotan pies, which were actually made of sparrows, the wheaten bread, which turned out to be oaten, and the Malmsey, which was no more than vin ordinaire from Bordeaux. Still, it was as good as you could expect from a riverside pub in the momentous year of the Spanish Armada, with plague raging in the city and the duke of Guise with his thirty thousand Spanish veterans penned up in Scheveningen and snarling across the Channel. Mephistopheles and Mack fell to with good appetite. Presently Mephistopheles pushed his plate aside and said, "Now hearken to me, Faust, for you have work to do upon this day."
"I am all ears," Mack said, "and eager to do your bidding."
"Christopher Marlowe is the author of this play," Mephistopheles said, "and he will be in the audience tonight. After the performance—which will have notable success—he will meet with a certain man, and have a conversation with him."