It wasn't a very long walk from the _Boat House_ to the Tower of Zeus,
but it was long enough. By the time Forrester got to the Tower, he was
feeling a lot worse than he'd felt when he left the bar. Being perfectly
frank with himself, he admitted that he felt terrible.
The blow from the brass ashtray wasn't a sharp pain any longer. It had
developed into a nice, dependable ache that had spread all over the side
of his head. And his right eye was beginning to swell, probably from the
same cause. He'd skinned the knuckles of his right hand, too, probably
on Sam's face, and they set up their own smarting.
True, it wasn't a bad list of injuries to result from the odds he'd
faced. But that wasn't the point.
You just didn't go up to the Tower of Zeus looking like a back-street
brawler.
However, there was no help for it. He straightened his jacket and went
in through the Fifth Avenue entrance of the Tower, heading for the first
bank of elevators.
Zeus All-Father would know everything about his fight, and would know
that it hadn't been his fault. (Hadn't it, though? Forrester asked
himself. He remembered the joy he'd felt at the prospect of battle. How
far would it count against him?) Zeus All-Father, through his priests,
would make what allowances should be made.
Forrester hoped that the Godhead was feeling in a kind and merciful
mood.
He reached the bank of elevators, and the burly Myrmidon who stood
there, wearing the lightning-bolt shoulder patch of the All-Father.
Ahead of him was a chattering crowd of five: mother, father, two
daughters and a small son, all obviously out-of-towners. The Tower of
Zeus was always a big tourist attraction. The Myrmidon directed them to
the stairway that led to the second-floor Arcade, the main attraction
for most visitors to the Tower. The Temple of Sacrifice was located up
there, while the ground floor was filled with glass-fronted offices of
the secretaries of various dignitaries.
Chattering gaily, and looking around them in a kind of happy awe, the
family group moved off and Forrester stepped up to the Myrmidon, who
said: "Stairway's right over there to your--"
"No," Forrester said. He reached into his jacket pocket, feeling his
muscles ache as he did so. He drew out his wallet and managed to extract
the simple card he'd been given in the Temple of Pallas Athena, the card
which carried nothing but a lightning bolt.
He handed it to the Myrmidon, who looked down at it, frowned, and then
looked up.
"What's this for?" he said.
"Well--" Forrester began, and then caught himself. He'd been told not to
explain about the card to any mortal. And the Myrmidon was certainly
just as mortal as Forrester himself, or any other hireling of the Gods.
True, there was always the consideration that he might be Zeus
All-Father himself, in disguise.
But that was a consideration that bore no weight at present. Even if the
Myrmidon turned out to be a God in disguise, Forrester wouldn't be
excused if he said anything about the card. You had to go by
appearances; that was the principle on which everything rested, and a
very good principle too.
Not that there weren't a few unprincipled young men around who pretended
to be Gods in disguise in order to seduce various local and ingenuous
maidens. But Zeus always found out about them. And ...
Forrester recognized that his thoughts were beginning to veer once more.
Without changing his expression, he said evenly: "You're supposed to
know," and waited.
The Myrmidon studied him for what seemed about three days. At last he
nodded, looked down at the card intently, raised his head and nodded
again. "Okay," he said. "Take Car One."
Forrester moved off. Car One was not the first elevator car. As a matter
of fact, it was in the middle bank, identified only by a small placard.
It took him almost five minutes to find it, and by the time he stepped
toward it clocks were ticking urgently in his head.
It would do him absolutely no good to be late.
But another Myrmidon was standing beside the closed doors of the
elevator car. Forrester hissed in his breath with impatience--none of
which showed on his face--and then caught himself. Certainly Zeus
All-Father knew what he was doing, and if Zeus had thrown these delays
in his path, it was not for him to complain.
The thought was soothing. Nevertheless, Forrester showed his card to the
Myrmidon with an abrupt action very like impatience. This Myrmidon
merely glanced at it in a bored fashion and pushed a button on the wall
behind him. The elevator doors opened, Forrester stepped inside, and the
doors closed.
Forrester was alone in a small bronzed cubicle which began at once to
rise rapidly. Just how rapidly, he was unable to tell. There were no
indicators at all on the elevator, and the opaque doors made it
impossible to see floors flit by. But his ears rang with the speed, and
when the car finally stopped, it did so with a slight jerk that threw
Forrester, stiff and worried, off balance. He almost fell out of the car
as the door opened, and clutched at something for support.
The something was the arm of a Myrmidon. Forrester gaped and looked
around. He was in a plain hallway of polished marble. There was no way
to tell how many stories above the street he was.
The Myrmidon seemed a more friendly sort than his compatriots
downstairs, and wore in addition to the usual lightning-bolt patch the
two silver ants of a Captain on the shoulders of his uniform. He nearly
smiled at Forrester--but not quite.
"You're William Forrester?" he said.
Forrester nodded. He produced the ID card and handed it with the special
card to the Myrmidon.
"Right," the Myrmidon said.
Forrester turned right.
The Myrmidon stared at him. "No," he said. "I mean it's all right.
You're all right."
"Thank you," Forrester said.
"Oh--" The Myrmidon looked at him, then shrugged his shoulders. "You're
expected," he said at last in a flat voice. "Come with me."
He started down the hallway. Forrester followed him around a corner to
an ornate bronzed door, covered with bas-reliefs depicting the actions
of the Gods among themselves, and among men. The Myrmidon seemed
unimpressed by the magnificence of the thing; he pushed it open and
bowed low to, as far as Forrester could see, nobody in particular.
Taking no chances, Forrester copied his bow. He was still bent when the
Myrmidon announced: "Forrester is here, Your Concupiscence," in a
reverent tone of voice, and backed off a step, narrowly missing
Forrester himself in the process.
He waved a hand and Forrester went in.
The door shut halfway behind him.
The room was perfectly unbelievable. Its rich hangings were purple
velvet, draping a large window that looked out on ...
Forrester gulped. It was impossible to be this high. New York was spread
out below like a toy city.
He jerked his eyes away from the window and back to the rest of the
room. It was furnished mainly with couches: big couches, little couches,
puffy ones, spare ones, in felt, velvet, fur, and every other material
Forrester could think of. The rooms were flocked in a pale pink, and on
the floor was a deep-purple rug of a richer pile than Forrester had ever
seen.
And on one of the couches, the largest and the softest, she reclined.
She was clad only in the diaphanous robes of her calling, and she was
stacked. Beside her, little Maya Wilson would have looked about eight
years old. Her hair was as red as the inside of a blast furnace, and had
about the same effect on Forrester's pulse rate. Her face was a slightly
rounded oval, her body a series of mathematically indescribable curves.
Forrester did the only thing he could do.
He bowed again, even lower than before.
"Come in, William Forrester," said the High Priestess of
Venus/Aphrodite, the veritable Primate of Venus for New York herself, in
a voice that managed to be all at once regal, pleasant and seductive.
Forrester, already in, could think of nothing to say. The gaze of Her
Concupiscence fell on the half-open door. "You may retire, Captain," she
said to the waiting Myrmidon. "And allow no one to enter here until I
give notice."
"Very well, Your Concupiscence," the Myrmidon said.
The door shut.
Forrester snapped erect from his bow, and then realized that he could do
nothing but stand there until he had more information. What was the
High Priestess of Aphrodite doing in the Tower of Zeus All-Father
anyway? And--always supposing she had the right to be there, as of
course she must have had--what did she want with William Forrester?
He heaved a great sigh. This was turning into an extremely puzzling day.
First there had been the message and the card admitting him to the
Tower. Then there had been (the sigh changed in character) Maya Wilson.
And then (the sigh changed again, into a faint echo of a groan) the
fight in the _Boat House_.
Now he was having an audience with the Primate of Venus for New York.
Why?
The High Priestess's smile gave him no hint. She raised herself to a
sitting position and patted the couch. "Sit over here," she said. "Next
to me." Then she changed her mind. "No," she added. "First just walk
over here, stand up and turn around. Slowly."
Forrester's brain was whirling like a top, but his face was, as usual,
expressionless. He did as she had bid him, wondering frantically what
was going on, and why?
After he had turned completely around and stood facing her again, the
High Priestess simply sat and studied him for almost a full minute,
looking him up and down with eyes that were totally unreadable.
Forrester waited.
Finally she nodded her head slowly. "You'll do," she said, in a
reflective tone, and nodded her head again. "Yes, you'll do."
Forrester couldn't restrain his questions any longer. "_Do?_" he burst
out. "I mean," he continued, more quietly, "what will I do for, Your
Concupiscence?"
"Oh, for whatever honor it is that our beloved Goddess has in mind for
you," the High Priestess said offhandedly. "I can certainly see that you
will do. A little pudgy around the middle, but that's a trifle and
hardly matters. The important things are there. You're obviously strong
and quick."
At that point Forrester caught up with the first sentence of her
explanation. "The--the Goddess?" he said faintly.
"Certainly," the High Priestess said. "Else why would I give you
audience? I am not promiscuous in my dealings with the lay world."
"I'm sure," Forrester said respectfully.
The High Priestess looked at him sardonically. "Of course you are," she
said. "However, the important thing is that our beloved Aphrodite has
selected you, William Forrester, for some high honor."
Forrester caught her word for the Goddess, and remembered, thanking his
lucky stars he hadn't had a chance to slip, that here in the Tower it
was protocol to refer to the Gods and Goddesses by their Greek names
alone.
"I don't suppose," he said tentatively, "that you have any idea just
what this--high honor is?"
"You, William Forrester," the High Priestess began, in some rage, "dare
to question--" Her tone changed. "Oh, well, I suppose I shouldn't become
angry with ... No." She shrugged, but her tone carried a little pique.
"Frankly, I don't know what the honor is."
"Well, then," Forrester said, his bearing perfectly calm, even though he
could feel his stomach sinking to ground level, "how do you know it's an
honor?" The thought that had crossed his mind was almost too horrible to
retain, but he had to say it. "Perhaps," he went on, "I've offended the
Gods in some unusual way--some way very offensive to them."
"Perhaps you have."
"And perhaps," Forrester said, "they've decided on some exquisite method
of punishing me. Something like the punishment they gave Tantalus when
he--"
"I know the ways of the Gods quite well, thank you," the High Priestess
said coolly. "And I can tell you that your fears have no justification."
"But--"
"Please," the High Priestess said, raising a hand. "If the Gods were to
punish you, they would simply have sent out a squad of Myrmidons to pick
you up, and that would have been the end of it."
"Perhaps not," Forrester said, in a voice that didn't sound at all like
his own to him. It sounded much too unconcerned. "Perhaps I have
offended only the Goddess herself." The idea sounded more plausible the
more he thought about it. "Certainly the All-Father would back up his
favorite Daughter in punishing a mortal."
"Certainly he would. There is no doubt of that. And still the Myrmidons
would have--"
"Not necessarily. You're well aware of the occasional arguments and
quarrels between the Gods."
"I am," the High Priestess said, not without irony. "And it does not
appear seemly that an ordinary mortal should mention--"
"I teach History," Forrester said. "I know of such quarrels. Especially
between Athena and Aphrodite."
"And?"
"It's obvious. Since I'm an acolyte of Athena, it may be that Aphrodite
wished to keep my arrest secret."
"I doubt it," the High Priestess said.
Forrester wished he could believe her. But his own theory looked
uncomfortably plausible. "It certainly looks as if I'm right."
"Well--" For a second the High Priestess paled visibly, the freckles
that went with her red hair standing out clearly on her face and giving
her the disturbing appearance of an eleven-year-old. No eleven-year-old,
however, Forrester reminded himself, had ever been built like the High
Priestess.
Then she regained her color and laughed, all in an instant. "For a
minute," she said in a light tone, "you almost convinced me of your
forebodings. But there's nothing in them. There couldn't be."
Forrester opened his mouth, and _Why not?_ was on his lips. But he never
got a chance to say the words. The High Priestess blinked and peered
more closely at his face, and before he had a chance to speak she asked
him: "What happened to you?"
"A small accident," Forrester said quickly. It was a lie, but he thought
a pardonable one. The truth was just too complicated to spin out; he had
no real intent to deceive.
But the High Priestess shook her head. "No," she said. "Not an accident.
A fight. Your hands are skinned and bruised."
"Very well," Forrester said. "It was a fight. But I was attacked, and
entitled to defend myself."
"I'm sure," the High Priestess said. "Yet I have a question for you. Who
won?"
"Won? I did. Naturally."
It sounded boastful, he reflected, but it wasn't. He had won, and it had
been natural to him to do so. His build and strength, as well as his
speed, had made any other outcome unlikely.
And the High Priestess didn't seem to take offense. She said only: "I
thought so. Just a moment." Then she walked over to a telephone. It was
a simple act but Forrester watched it fervently. First she stood up, and
then she took a step, and then another step ... and her whole body
moved. And moved.
It was marvelous. He watched her bend down to pick up the phone without
any clear idea of the meaning of the motions. The motions themselves
were enough. Every curve and jiggle and bounce was engraved forever on
his mind.
The High Priestess dialed a number, waited and said: "Aphrodite's
compliments to Hermes the Healer."
An indistinguishable voice answered her from the receiver.
"Aphrodite thanks you," the High Priestess said, "and asks if Hermes
might send one of his priests around for a few minor ministrations."
The receiver said something else.
"No," the High Priestess said. "Nothing like that. Don't you think we
have other interests--such as they are?"
Again the receiver.
"Just a black eye and some skin lacerations," the High Priestess said.
"Nothing serious."
And the receiver replied once more.
"Very well," the High Priestess said. "Aphrodite wishes you well." She
hung up.
She came back to the couch, Forrester's eyes following her every inch of
the way. She sat down, looked up and said: "What's the matter? Do I bore
you?"
"_Bore_ me?" Forrester all but cried.
"It's just--well, nothing, I suppose," the High Priestess said. "Your
expression."
"Training," Forrester explained. "An acolyte does well not to express
his emotions too clearly."
The High Priestess nodded casually and patted the couch at her side.
"Sit down here, next to me."
Forrester did so, gingerly.
A moment of silence ensued.
Then Forrester, gathering courage, said: "Thank you for getting a
Healer. But I'd like to ask you--"
"Yes?"
"How do you know I'm not under some sort of carefully concealed arrest?
After all, you said before that you were sure--"
"And I am sure," the High Priestess said. "Aphrodite herself has ordered
a sacrifice in her favor. A sacrifice from you. And Aphrodite does not
accept--much less _order_--a sacrifice from those standing in her
disfavor."
"You're--"
"I'm sure," the High Priestess said.
"Oh," Forrester said. "Good." The world was not quite as black as it
could have been. And still, it was not exactly shining white. A
sacrifice? And outside the door, Forrester could hear a disturbance.
What did that mean?
Her Concupiscence didn't seem to hear it at first. "We will perform the
rite together and--" The noise grew louder. "What's that?" she said.
It was the sound of argument. Forrester realized what had happened.
"It's the priest from Hermes," he said. "The Healer. You forgot to tell
the Captain of Myrmidons to let him in."
"My goodness!" the High Priestess said. "So I did! It slipped my mind
entirely." She touched Forrester's cheek affectionately. "Of course, I
imagine it's only natural to be a bit forgetful when--" She got up and
went to the door.
The Captain and a small, fat priest in a golden-edged tunic were tangled
confusedly outside. The High Priestess looked away from them in disdain
and said regally: "You may permit the Healer to enter, Captain." The
tangle came untied and the little priest scooted in. To him, as the door
closed again, the High Priestess whispered: "Sorry. I didn't expect you
quite so soon."
"No more did I!" The priest waved his caduceus furiously, so that it
seemed as if the twin snakes twined round it were moving, the two wings
above them beating, and the ball surmounting all, on top of the staff,
traced uneasy designs in the air. "Myrmidons!" he said.
"I certainly regret--"
"If you boiled down their brains for the fat content, one alone would
supply the Temple with candles for a year! Just beef and nothing more!
Beef! Beef!"
Then, with a start, he seemed to see the High Priestess for the first
time, and his tone changed. "Oh," he said. "Good evening, Your
Concupiscence."
"Good evening," the High Priestess said in an indulgent tone.
"Well, well, well," the priest said. "What seems to be the trouble? My
goodness. It must be important, sure enough--certainly important." His
little round red eager face seemed to shine as he went on. "Hermes
himself transported me here just as soon as you called!"
"Really?"
"Oh, my, yes," the priest said. "Just as soon as ever. Yes. Hm. And you
can believe me when I tell you--believe me, Your Concupiscence--take my
word when I tell you--"
"Yes?"
"Hermes," the priest said. "Hermes doesn't often take such an
interest--I may say such a _personal_ interest--in a mortal, I'll tell
you. And you can believe me when I do tell you that. I do."
"I'm sure," the High Priestess said.
"Yes," the priest said, waving his caduceus gently. He blinked. "Where's
the patient? The mortal?"
"He's over here," the High Priestess said, motioning to Forrester
sitting awestruck on the couch. Priests of Hermes were common enough
sights--but a priest like this was something new and strange in his
experience.
"Ah," the priest said, twinkling at him. "So there you are, eh? Over
there? You _are_ sitting over _there_, aren't you?"
"That's right," Forrester said blankly.
"Now listen to me carefully," the High Priestess said. "You're not
to ask his name, or mention anything about this visit to
anyone--understand?"
The priest blinked. "Oh, certainly. Absolutely. Without doubt. I've
already been told that, you might say. Already. Certainly. Wouldn't
think of such a thing." He moved over and stood near Forrester, peering
down at him. "My goodness," he said. "Let me see that eye, young man."
Forrester turned his head wordlessly.
"Oh, my, yes," the priest said. "Black indeed. Very black. A fight. My,
yes. An altercation, disagreement, discussion, battle--"
"Yes," Forrester cut in.
"Certainly you have," the priest said. "And what'd the other fellow look
like, eh? Beaten, I'll bet. You look a strong type."
Forrester relaxed. It was the only thing to do while the priest babbled
on, touching his wounds gently as he did so with various parts of his
caduceus. The pain vanished with a touch of the left wingtip, and the
lacerations healed instantly as they were caressed with first one and
then another of the various coils of the snakes.
But Forrester now was free to worry. Arrest was out of the question. As
the High Priestess had said, on the evidence it was clear that Aphrodite
intended to honor him in some way. And there was nothing at all, he
thought, wrong with an honor from the Goddess of Love.
But another sacrifice? After the sacrifice to Aphrodite he'd made
earlier, and the fight he'd gotten into, he just didn't quite feel up to
it. It wouldn't do to refuse, but ...
"Well," the priest said, stepping back. "Well, well. You ought to be all
right now, young fellow--right as rain."