“What use is all this?” Helen complained. “We need food, water, couches, servants.” She plucked unhappily at the folds of her dress. “And a change of clothes.”
“Surely we’ll find something useful here,” Penelope said soothingly. “There should be another room, where Daedalus could sleep and eat.” She started to look around for a door.
“What’s this—a guard dog?” Mentor stood by the side of a metal hound, its body formed of bronze plates riveted together. For eyes it had a pair of rubies that glittered in the flickering light.
Helen laughed. “Woof! That dog couldn’t scare anyone.”
Mentor smiled. “Certainly not me.” He spotted a nearby chest and started towards it. “What about this, Odysseus? Maybe there’s clothing in it we can borrow?”
Odysseus joined him.
A strange clanking began. Then a muted metal growl.
“Stop!” Odysseus whispered hoarsely, putting his hand on Mentor’s shoulder. “Don’t move.”
Mentor halted in midstride.
The bronze dog’s jointed legs moved forward awkwardly, and its head turned with the noise of two metal plates scraping together. The jaws opened, exposing twin rows of sharp metal teeth. Then the jaws clanged shut, sounding like a sword being slammed back into its scabbard.
“Back away slowly,” Odysseus whispered. “Hands out. Show the dog we’re leaving the chest alone.”
They edged backward, but the jewelled eyes followed them.
“Don’t move!” Penelope cried out. “It fixes on motion!”
At her voice, the dog’s head swivelled towards her.
The moment the dog looked away, Odysseus and Mentor each took another step backward.
The great head heard them and swivelled back.
“It fixes on sound too,” whispered Mentor.
Suddenly, with an awful grinding noise, the dog bounded forward, knocking Odysseus aside and ramming Mentor in the belly. Then it skidded to a halt and waited until Mentor—staggering—began to rise.
The bronze dog moved stiff-legged towards him, clashing its terrible teeth as it advanced.
Now behind the dog, Odysseus thought frantically. The knife would be useless against the metal dog. The satyr’s club would have to do. He pulled it from his belt.
“Here,” he cried, “over here, hound.” He banged the club twice on the workshop floor to get the creature’s attention.
The bronze dog turned towards him, then charged. Odysseus brought the club down on the dog’s skull with all of his might.
The metal rang like a gong, and the club broke cleanly in two.
“Oh, oh!” Odysseus cried, and without thinking, jumped aside.
The dog looked up, swivelled its head till it found Odysseus again, and grinned its metal grin.
Then it started after him.
CHAPTER 17: A BOX FULL OF MARVELS
“RUN, ODYSSEUS!” PENELOPE CRIED.
The dog turned its head towards the sound of her voice, and in that instant Odysseus vaulted over the nearest workbench.
Swivelling back, the dog found Odysseus at the height of his vault and leaped over the bench after him.
Odysseus ducked low, and one of the metal paws scraped his hair as it landed behind him.
A clay jar broke on its back, and this distracted the dog for a moment, long enough for Odysseus to roll under the table and get to the other side. He saw Penelope hoisting another jar to throw.
“No!” he yelled. “It will come after you!”
Penelope glanced behind her, where Helen stood trembling. She made no move to throw the second jar.
Meanwhile Odysseus was running again, the hound right behind him, knocking over tables and benches. As he ran, Odysseus looked for anything resembling a weapon, but there was nothing there but pincers and hammers and …
He grabbed up a hammer as he passed one table, turned briefly, and tossed it over his shoulder at the bronze monster as hard as he could. The hammer bounced off the dog’s snout and—for a second—it was confused. Then it went after Odysseus once more.
Odysseus had been watching over his shoulder and so did not see the stool in his way. He tripped and fell over it, executing a quick roll. But before he could get up, the hound had bounded forward, trapping him in a corner.
The bronze maw creaked open.
Odysseus could count many—too many—teeth. Is this it? He thought. To die without landing a serious blow? To die lying on the floor of a … a workshop?
“Odysseus!” called Mentor.
The dog looked towards the voice as Mentor snatched one of the wooden figurines from its shelf, then tossed it towards Odysseus. The figurine arced through the air, and the dog reared up to snatch it.
But Odysseus stood quickly and leaped higher, catching the figurine in both hands, and in a single fluid motion he thrust it lengthwise into the dog’s gaping mouth.
The beast pounced, pinning Odysseus to the floor, but this time when its jaws snapped shut, the sharpened teeth sank deep into the wooden figurine. It growled and rumbled and clanked. The hinges of its jaw strained and squeaked. But its teeth were jammed fast.
Odysseus didn’t let go of the wooden figure, and he was yanked helplessly from side to side as the dog jerked its head back and forth in an effort to free itself.
“Stop it!” Odysseus cried. “Stop it, you hairless, metal monstrosity.”
But the dog didn’t—or couldn’t—stop. It continued to shake its head, and as it did, a harsh metallic grinding inside the dog rose higher and higher in pitch till it reached an earsplitting whine.
Snatching up hammers, Penelope and Mentor ran over to help, and now they began banging the bronze dog on the head.
“The eyes,” Odysseus shouted. “Go for the eyes.”
The hound shook its head harder and harder as first Mentor, then Penelope, cracked its jewelled eyes. The metal plates buckled under the strain. Rivets popped from the metal frame. One of the bronze legs broke free and clattered to the floor.
Mentor gave one more hammer blow at the right eye, and it popped out of its metal socket.
The bronze dog fell over, its remaining legs twitching spasmodically as its metal chest plates burst apart. Notched wheels and thin metal rods spilled out over the floor. The dog gave one final shudder, and—with an awful clank—fell silent.
“What a terrible thing to do to rubies,” Helen commented.
Odysseus couldn’t help himself. He began to laugh and laugh.
Penelope joined him.
Even Mentor began to giggle.
“Well, it is,” Helen said.
With that, they all simply rolled on the floor, convulsed.
It took a while before they could stop laughing. But at last Odysseus sat up and poked the dog with his foot.
A few more wheels fell out of its chest.
“If I ever meet Master Daedalus …” he began.
“He’s long in his grave,” Mentor said. “If you’d listened to that bard…”
But Odysseus was already walking across the room to the chest that the dog had been guarding. “Let’s see what manner of treasure that beast was keeping safe.” He didn’t tell them that walking helped him control the shakes. His legs were twitching just as the bronze dog’s had. Odysseus refused to believe it was fear that made his legs tremble. After all, what was there to be afraid of now?
He lifted the lid of the chest. What he saw inside was the last thing he’d expected to see.
The chest was filled with thin sheets of pale leaflike material inscribed with drawings and symbols.
“Script,” he said disgustedly. “Nothing but script. Penelope—can you read this?”
She got up, came over, and took the papyrus from his hands. Spreading the sheets out over one of the long tables, she pored over them for many minutes. Finally she looked up.
“Well?” Odysseus asked.
“I can read some of it. I’ve watched my father’s scribes enough,” she said. “Here’s Daedalus’ name again.” She pointed to the bottom of one page.