“Didn’t Daedalus build the ship for King Minos?” Mentor asked.
“Oh yes. That he did. But once he realised Minos wanted a fleet of such ships in order to conquer the world, my master refused to say where the ship lay hidden. He managed to escape from Crete, but I—alas—did not.”
Odysseus’ hand strayed to the front of his tunic. He could feel the folded sheets of papyrus there, with Daedalus’ plans for the construction of the ship. But he still was wary of the old man and said nothing.
“Well, now both ship and workshop are beyond this awful king,” said Mentor. “So, old man, you can rest easy.”
“Easy? How can I rest easy? I lie in a filthy dungeon, and every day I am taken out and beaten. One day they’ll put me in the Labyrinth, and that will be the end of me,” Praxios cried.
“The Labyrinth?” Odysseus whispered the word.
“And how can I rest when I don’t know the fate of the golden key? You must have had that if you entered the workshop.” Praxios’ face took on a crafty look.
“Yes, we had the key. What does that matter?” Odysseus asked.
“The golden key is the master key,” Praxios replied excitedly. “No one knows but I.” He looked around as if fearing to be overheard.
“Master of what?” asked Mentor and Odysseus simultaneously.
“Maybe you’re spies sent to catch me out,” Praxios suddenly whispered, crouching away from the boys.
“Let me tell you about the bronze hound,” Odysseus said, leaning towards him.
“And the statues of the man and woman so lifelike they almost drew breath,” added Mentor.
“Yes, yes—I see, you have been there. Give me the master key,” Praxios begged.
“First,” Odysseus said, leaning even closer, “tell us what else the key can master.”
“Any lock made by the gods or men,” the old man said, holding out a trembling hand. “That was one of the secrets foul Deucalion has never wrested from me.”
“If only we still had the key,” Mentor said, turning away.
“You don’t have it?” Praxios cried, in a voice that sounded like a death rattle.
“Idomeneus took it from me,” said Odysseus unhappily. “For all the good it is to us now, it might as well be on the other side of the ocean.”
CHAPTER 21: THE PROPHECY
THERE WAS NO MORE to be got out of the old man. He simply rolled into a ball in his own corner and fell asleep, loudly snoring.
“I doubt the Minotaur itself made that much noise,” Mentor complained.
The boys spent a miserable night on the cold stone floor. No matter how much straw they bunched under themselves, they couldn’t get comfortable. Finally sheer fatigue put them to sleep.
When they woke in the morning—which they identified by the shaft of weak light coming through the ceiling grille—they were stiff all over. They could hear the sounds of the palace stirring to life.
Mentor sniffed loudly, trying to sort out any smells of food.
“Do we get breakfast?” he asked hopefully.
Praxios was already up and pacing around the small cell. “One meal a day,” he said gloomily. “But at least it’s always on time.”
At midday a palace servant brought them a loaf of bread and a jug of brackish water. A burly guard stood in the open doorway watching them eat, his sword ready for any trouble. Once they were finished with the meagre offerings, the guard took away the water jug, and the door was slammed and locked shut behind him.
As soon as he was gone, Odysseus began to search the cell, checking the walls, floor, corners, trying to find any way out of the place. He went around a second time. And then a third.
“There’s not a loose brick or promising chink anywhere,” he muttered.
Meanwhile Mentor was talking with old Praxios.
“So you learned to heat metal. And to shape it. But so can any smith,” Mentor said.
Praxios shook his head. “Not like the master.”
Mentor got very quiet. “Did he teach you any of his magic?”
Praxios laughed his dry little barking laugh again. “There was no magic.”
As if the very word bid him, Odysseus stopped his search and came over to them. “No magic? But what about the bronze dog? What about the ship? What about the …?”
Praxios grinned. “No magic, boy. None. It was all craft. The master learned that motion can be stored just like grain or wine.”
Odysseus snorted. “Store motion in a jar? That would be like keeping the wind in a bag.”
“Not in a jar,” Praxios said. He leaned forward and whispered, as if imparting a great secret. The boys both leaned in to hear. “It’s contained in coiled lengths of metal.”
“Metal!” This time Mentor laughed out loud.
But Odysseus was suddenly silent, listening.
“You wind the metal around itself again and again and keep it that way until you need the motion that’s stored in it.”
“That makes no sense at all,” Mentor said. “Unless it’s magic motion that’s stored.”
Praxios shook his head. “I don’t understand any better than you do, but it works. You’ve seen it for yourselves.”
Remembering the coiled metal in the bowels of the ship, the metal intestines spilling out of the bronze hound, Odysseus nodded.
Praxios suddenly shook all over. “But what does it matter?” he cried. “What does it matter? They’re gone. All gone.”
“Suppose …” Odysseus said quietly. “Suppose you had Daedalus’ own plans. Could you build a new ship just like the one that’s gone?”
Praxios rubbed his chin thoughtfully, which caused his thin beard to waggle. “Perhaps. It would take a lot of work, though. But I’m a good worker.”
Putting a hand to his chest, feeling the crinkle of the parchment beneath his tunic, Odysseus was just about to confide his secret, when there was a sudden noise.
Hsst.
“A snake!” Praxios cried. “I hate snakes!” He scrambled into his corner.
“No, the sound came from up there,” Mentor said, pointing to the grille above their heads.
“By all the gods,” Odysseus whispered hoarsely, glancing up. “What are you doing here?”
“Helen!” Mentor cried. “Are you all right?”
Helen’s hair had been elaborately arranged on top of her head with two long curls twining down over her cheeks. A row of pearls was strung across her brow, and a pair of gold earrings dangled from her ears. She’d been doused with perfume.
“You look so beautiful,” Mentor whispered, transfixed by her.
For a moment she beamed at the compliment. Then she said, “I looked beautiful about an hour ago. But since then this new dress has got terribly soiled. I had to climb over a balcony and down a vine to get here. I shall have to take a bath when I get back to my apartment. You should see the bath. It’s made out of a solid—”
Odysseus interrupted. “Why are you here?”
“It certainly isn’t for the pleasure of your company,” Helen said.
“If the king finds out, you’re going to be in terrible trouble,” Mentor began.
“He’s the reason I’ve come,” Helen said. “He’s thrown Penelope into the Labyrinth. You’ve got to do something.”
“Penelope!” Odysseus felt a shudder that began in his feet and worked its way up to the top of his head. His heart suddenly thudded in his chest. “But … but …”
“But we’re supposed to be the ones punished,” said Mentor.