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Orion-LIT

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New Eden 33

2d6

Robert Bevan

Nymph-O-Maniacs

"I was thinking," said Julian. "Well maybe you should stop," said Tim, stomping through the woods ahead of the group. Whatever was on Julian's mind, he was sure he didn't want to hear about it. "Maybe we could take up trades," said Julian. "You could be a tailor's apprentice or something. You've got nimble fingers. With Cooper's strength, he could train to be a blacksmith. Dave could probably find something to do in the clergy. And with my high Charisma score, I could… I don't know… tend bar or something." Tim slashed through the underbrush with his shortsword as he marched forward. "I've had it with honest work. Back in the real world, all it ever did was slow my descent into debt. Here in this stupid game, it only ever gets me into trouble." "How much trouble could you get into being a tailor's apprentice?" That was it. Tim stopped and turned around. "I –" He got a faceful of filthy half-orc loincloth and fell on his ass. "Oh shit," said Cooper. "Sorry. You shouldn't have stopped so suddenly." Tim sat on the ground and spat repeatedly, trying to get the taste of sweat, shit, and HOBO (half-orc body odor) out of his mouth. He scrambled through his backpack until he found his emergency hip flask full of stonepiss. The emergency it was normally reserved for was the necessity to get extremely fucked up in an extremely short amount of time. This emergency, however, had less to do with getting fucked up, and more to do with getting the taste of Cooper out of his mouth. He gargled the stonepiss and spat it out. It worked insofar as his tongue was now completely numb to taste. "Are you okay?" asked Julian. "I didn't start playing Caverns and Creatures to be a tailor's apprentice," said Tim. "And we'll never get back home if we don't start making some real money." "What if going back home isn't an option?" "So what if it isn't?" said Tim. "Do you think I want to spend the rest of my fake life sewing fucking pantaloons for rich assholes?" "I don't –" "And Cooper," Tim continued. "Do you want to be a blacksmith's apprentice, pounding the shit out of metal with a hammer in the blazing heat of a forge?" "I dunno," said Cooper. "It sounds kind of cool." "Dave," said Tim. "You're an atheist. How do you feel about getting a job in the clergy?" "If I can learn more powerful spells, it actually sounds kinda neat." Tim closed his eyes, trying to shake off the small buzz the stonepiss had given him. He looked up at Julian. "And I suppose you think tending bar is a nonstop party, right? What are you, seventeen?" "I'm twenty-two," said Julian. Tim got to his feet. "Well let me tell you something. I've tended bar. It's no party. Back home, what's the worst that could happen? You say 'I'm sorry, Mr. Ratcliffe. Some of the other customers are complaining. Please keep your voice down, or I'm going to have to cut you off.' Maybe you'll get a little attitude. If the shit gets too thick, you call the police in. What do you think will happen here when you say 'I'm sorry, Mr. Scarfang. Would you please stop raping the barmaid. She has a full shift ahead of her.' I'll tell you what will happen. You'll get a fucking axe to the face, that's what." "It's still less dangerous than this," said Dave. "I mean, what are we doing out here? We're just wandering through the woods looking for a fight." "That's right," said Tim. "If we're ever going to get home, we're either going to need a shitload of money to pay some wizard to teleport us back there, or we're going to need Julian to level up enough to do the job himself." Julian looked at Tim with sad eyes. "But –" "I know," said Tim. "But what if none of that works? Well fuck it. If I'm going to spend the rest of my life in a fantasy world, then I'm going to live a fantasy fucking life. I want levels, gold, whores, whatever passes for the good life here. And we all know the best way to get it." "Killing monsters," said Dave. "That's right," said Tim. "Julian. Call your bird and see if he's spotted anything." Julian inserted two fingers into his mouth and let out a long, loud whistle. "Ravenus!" "Here I am, sir," said Ravenus, flapping down from behind them. He landed on a low-hanging branch of a nearby oak tree. "Ask him if he's seen anything," said Tim. "Why don't you ask him yourself?" said Julian. "You speak Elven." "Because I'm in a lousy fucking mood. Forcing myself to speak in a British accent is only going to make it worse." Julian sighed and looked up at Ravenus. "Did you see anything?" "There's a lovely oak grove about half a mile northeast of here." "Monsters, you stupid bird!" said Tim. "Did you see any monsters?" Ravenus cocked his head sideways, looking at Tim. "I beg your pardon?" "Jesus Christ," said Tim. He repeated the question in Dick Van Dyke Cockney. "Oh, no. No monsters at all. The forest is calm and quiet." "The oak grove sounds nice," said Dave. "Maybe we could break for lunch." "I am getting hungry," agreed Julian. "I just shat out a log as big as Tim," said Cooper. "I could eat." "Fine," said Tim. He looked up at Ravenus. "Lead the way." "Come again?" said Ravenus. Tim gave him the finger. "Well that was uncalled for." "Could you lead us to the oak grove?" asked Julian. "Very good, sir! Follow me!" Ravenus flew from tree to tree, waiting for the others to catch up. Tim knew where they were headed from a hundred feet away. He spotted a clearing through the trees, bathed in golden sunlight, as if the sun itself favored this particular patch of land above all others. As they walked closer, Tim heard the playful twitter of birds. He'd been quite content to remain bitter and sullen all day, but the closer he got to the grove, the more his spirits lifted, even against his will. "This place is beautiful," said Julian, stepping onto the fluffy carpet of grass which separated the grove from the rest of the forest. When Tim stepped onto the grass, it was as if all of his worry, stress, and frustration were absorbed into the earth through his bare feet. The void left in their place was filled with the warmth of the sun and the freshness of the air. "I never want to leave." The air was alive with butterflies and dandelion tufts. Eight oak trees provided a roughly octagonal border around the grove, but the tree at the center was a truly impressive specimen. It was wide enough at the base that, if all four of them surrounded it, they might be able to join hands, but only just. Its huge bottom branches drooped gently down to the ground before curving back up again. Tim reckoned he could be twenty feet high in the tree without even using his hands. A dozen or more species of bird fluttered among the higher branches, each singing a distinct song, but all contributing to a greater chorus of good cheer. Ravenus disappeared into the treetop to join them. Squirrels chased one another up and down the mighty trunk without a care in the world. Julian spread a blanket on the ground, and began setting out the lunch boxes he had prepared. Dave unbuckled his breastplate and backpiece, and lay on his bare back in the soft grass. Cooper lifted the front of his loincloth to have a piss on the great oak. After he finished watering the tree, he pulled a dagger out from the sheath he had strapped to his leg and began scraping it against the trunk. "What are you doing?" Julian asked Cooer. Cooper giggled like an idiot as he carved into the tree trunk. "I'm drawing a picture. Hey, how do you spell Dave?" "What difference does it make?" asked Julian. "You don't know how to write." "You make a fair point." "How's that supposed to be Dave? It looks like a giant flaccid penis with a beard to me." "Who are you to question my art?" asked Cooper. "This is my interpretation of Dave." A chill breeze blew through the air, and the sunlight was temporarily obscured by shadow. Cooper's carving began to bleed dark orange sap. "Awesome," said Cooper. "It looks like he's puking up infected jizz." "Not awesome," said Julian. "Something's wrong." "Who are you?" said a female voice. Tim turned toward the voice. A woman sat in one of the lower branches of the great oak. She was tall and slender, with long, pointed ears, like Julian. Unlike Julian, however, she was stark raving naked. She had dark skin, somewhere between tanned white woman and Halle Berry. Her hair was green like the underside of a leaf. Tim assumed that was its natural color, as the carpet matched the drapes. Her breasts were like songs sung by angels. They defied gravity. They were like the effect of a Wonderbra without all the pesky fabric. So mesmerized was he that he could scarcely follow the rest of the conversation. Dave and Cooper stared unblinkingly at the woman, mouths hanging open. They were obviously under the same trance that Tim was caught in. The only one who seemed to be functioning normally was Julian. "I'm Julian," said Julian. "What business do you have in my grove?" said the naked green-haired woman in the tree. "What is it you want?" A long, thick line of drool spilled out of Cooper's open mouth. "I want to put my ding-dong in your hoo-ha." Julian looked up at Cooper's face. "What the fuck does that even –" Without taking his eyes off the woman, Cooper punched Julian lightly on the head. "Dude, mind your language. There's a lady present. Try to show a little class, huh?" His hand, as if acting on its own will, began to creep under his loincloth. "Enough!" said the woman. She smiled and batted her long, green eyelashes. Tim was suddenly out of his trance, but engulfed in darkness. "What's going on?" "I can't see anything!" Dave called out. "Oh my god!" cried Cooper. "Sister Mary Francis was right!" "What have you done to my friends?" asked Julian. "They were blinded by my beauty," said the woman. "And yet you were not. How interesting." "I have a bonus against enchantment spells and effects," said Julian. "It's because I'm an elf." "It's because you're a fag," said Cooper. "Ow! Hey man, it's not cool to hit a blind man." "Which one of you defiled my tree?" asked the woman. "Cooper," said Tim, Julian, and Dave simultaneously. "You guys are dicks," said Cooper. "We don't even know what she means by defiled. She might be referring to pissing on the tree or she might be referring to carving a picture of a dick onto the trunk." "You did both of those things," said Julian. "Fuck." Suddenly, Tim could see again. Light flowed into his eyes, warm and gentle. He looked around. Dave rubbed his own eyes, and then opened them wide. His smile shone through his bushy auburn beard. "Ha ha!" he cried. "I can see again!" "Me too!" said Tim. "Thank you ma'am," said Dave to the tree woman. "I'm really sorry we've offended you. It won't –" "I still can't see shit," said Cooper. Tim turned from Cooper to the… "I'm sorry, miss. What are you exactly? A dryad?" The woman let out a chirpy laugh, like the twitter of birds. "Heavens no, child. I'm a nymph." "Why is it that my friend still can't see?" "He must be punished, for he has shed the blood of the Life Tree." "Will I be like this forever?" asked Cooper. The nymph laughed her chipper laugh again. "Of course not, my child." "Thank fuck." "I expect that you will eventually grow old and die." Again with the laugh. "You think that's funny, you skanky tree bitch?" Cooper walked unsteadily toward the sound of her voice. "You just keep right on laughing." He reached for the greataxe strapped to his back. "Sorry, Coop," said Julian. He whacked him in the shins with his quarterstaff. "Son of a mother fucker!" cried Cooper, collapsing on the soft grass. "Miss Nymph," said Julian. "Surely there can be something we can do to make amends for our friend's transgressions." "Amends," said the nymph thoughtfully, nibbling on her lower lip. "Let me think… hmmm…." Her eyes flashed wide. "I've got just the thing." "Before you go on," said Dave, "I feel it's fair to warn you that there is a limit on how much we value Cooper's eyesight." "Fuck you, Dave." "Shut up, guys," said Julian. "Let her talk. Please, ma'am. State what you'd have us do." "Not far from here is a stream running north to south," said the nymph. "If you listen, you can hear it from here." "I can hear it," said Julian. "Would you like us to fetch water for your grove?" The nymph laughed. "No, child. The Life Tree's roots spread far and wide. We have all the water we need. The stream flows north and slightly to the east. About a mile upstream, there is a small cave. My little birdies tell me a group of seven hobgoblins have recently taken an interest in the cave." "What's a hobgoblin?" asked Julian. "They're related to goblins," said Tim. "Only they're bigger, stronger, and hairier." "They are an evil race," said the nymph. "They have no respect for the forest. I cannot risk them discovering this grove. I need you to destroy them." Julian frowned. "That seems like kind of a severe solution to your problem." "And if they're such a threat," said Tim, "why haven't you gone and taken care of them yourself? You're what? Like a Challenge Rating 7 Monster, aren't you?" "I beg your pardon?" said the nymph, her tone a mix of confusion and contempt. "Sorry," said Tim. "That came out wrong. What I meant to say is that you're very powerful. A few hobgoblins are nothing to you. You could deal with them as easily as if you were swatting flies." "Your words are true, little halfling," said the nymph. "They are no real threat to me. Not in such small numbers anyway. But you require a quest to make amends, do you not?" "I don't suppose we could get by with a sincere apology?" offered Julian. The nymph laughed her chirpy, high-pitched laugh. "You are a cute one, young elf. I'm afraid I will require something more amusing. As beautiful as this grove is, there is precious little in the way of entertainment." "You want us to commit murder for your amusement?" said Julian. "I won't do it. There has to be a line somewhere. If you have a problem with hobgoblins in the vicinity, there are other ways to handle it. Diplomatic ways." "Do you think you can talk them into leaving?" asked the nymph. She smiled slowly. Tim thought he could almost see the wheels turning behind those bright green eyes. "I'll tell you what. You may try it your way first. But you alone, young elf, must do the talking." "That's not a problem," said Julian. "I am accustomed to acting as the face of the party." "And an adorable face it is," said the nymph. "If, for whatever reason, you fail to persuade them to leave, I require you to return here with their heads." "Their heads?" said Dave. "If you return with seven hobgoblin heads, I shall restore your friend's sight." "Wait, what?" said Cooper. "You're sending me out there blind? How the fuck am I supposed to fight hobgoblins without my eyes?" "I recommend you use your axe," said the nymph. "Return with less than seven heads, and I'll blind the rest of you as well. Now be gone!" There was no mirthful laugh this time. Even the birds in the Life Tree fell silent as she raised her hands to the sky. The temperature dropped as a black cloud swirled into existence above the grove. It crackled with electricity. "What's going on?" asked Ravenus, flying down from the Life Tree. "What happened?" He let out a loud caw when a small bolt of lightning struck the ground next to him and Julian. "Okay," said Tim. "We're going!" He ran as fast as he could out of the grove. Julian, with his longer, more slender legs, beat him to the edge. From the relative safety of the forest outside the nymph's grove, Tim watched Dave waddle toward him. Cooper ran in an entirely different direction as the nymph called small bolts of lightning down, not quite on him, but near enough so that he could feel they were there. Every time he was nearly struck, he changed direction, zig-zagging his way out of the grove. He ran face-first into one of the smaller oaks marking the border and fell on his ass. The nymph laughed and the birds resumed their treetop chatter as Cooper crawled past the grassy border. "She really cranked up the bitch knob toward the end there," said Tim as he, Julian and Dave circled the perimeter of the grove to find Cooper. "She was getting bored with us," said Dave. "How do you know?" asked Julian. "My high Wisdom score sometimes allows me certain insights into people's behavior. Maybe it's an untrained Sense Motive check. I don't know. Anyway, you heard her yourself. She seeks to be entertained. She toyed with us, like a cat plays with a mouse, until it just wasn't fun for her anymore. Then, instead of eating us, or whatever –" "I think this is where your cat analogy breaks down," said Tim. "We get it." "Right," said Dave. "She sent us to go find new toys for her to play with." "Gobstopper heads?" said Julian. "Hobgoblin," said Tim. "Tim?" Cooper called out. He was sitting against a tree, his head facing in their general direction. "We're coming," said Tim. "Stay there." "Are you okay?" asked Julian as they got closer. "My head hurts," said Cooper. His right eyebrow was bleeding and dirty with tree bark. "You hit that tree pretty hard," said Tim. "Dave, patch him up, will you?" "We may have a fight coming up," said Dave. "Are you sure we should be using up my Heal spells already?" "Jesus, Dave," said Tim. "Just give him a Level Zero heal, huh? Something to take the edge off. He just slammed his face into a fucking tree." "Sorry," said Dave. "I'm just trying to think ahead." He touched Cooper's forehead. "I heal thee." The cut sealed itself up, and Julian wiped the spilled blood out of Cooper's useless eye. "What's the plan?" said Cooper. "It would make the most sense to have Ravenus scout the area first," said Tim. "If we can catch one or two of them alone, then we stand a better chance of taking them down at minimal risk to ourselves." "What happened to Diplomacy?" said Julian. Tim and Dave exchanged a quick glance. "Listen," said Dave. "I know you're new to all this, but we've been playing this game for a long time. You can't settle every problem that comes your way by talking. Most of the time, violence is the best answer. No loose ends. No future betrayals. Just nice and simple." "What loose ends or future betrayals?" asked Julian. "These Hip-hoppins –" "Hobgoblins," said Tim. "Whatever. They haven't done anything to us. We're going out to murder them for the amusement of some sadistic magical hippie. What harm could it do to talk to them first?" Dave scratched under his beard. "What if they only say they're going away, but then they come back with a bunch of reinforcements?" "What if they do?" said Julian. "We'll have returned successfully to the grove, gotten Cooper's vision sorted out, and be well on our way to getting shitfaced at the Whore's Head long before they come back." "He makes a good point," said Cooper. "You're using it right now, aren't you?" said Dave. Julian looked at him innocently. "What?" "Diplomacy." Julian looked at the ground. "Yes." "Fine," said Tim. "We'll try it your way. But I still want to try and find one or two of them alone. If Diplomacy doesn't work, then we don't need all of them alerted to our presence at once." "I'll agree to that," said Julian. "Let's go find the stream, and I'll have Ravenus scout north from there." Finding the stream was no big challenge. Julian followed his long ears, leading Cooper by the hand as he stumbled through the undergrowth. After about ten minutes of walking, Tim could hear the babble of the water. Twenty minutes after that, they arrived. If the stream flowed north and slightly to the east, as the nymph had told them, it didn't do so in a straight line. It was full of twists and bends, some of the larger trees in the forest diverting its route. It was impossible to guess an average width or depth. At some points, Tim guessed he could jump clear across it with a running start. At other points, it formed pools twenty feet wide. "Ravenus," said Julian. "Fly downriver until you spot the cave or the hoprobbins." "Hobgoblins," said Tim. "Right away, sir," said Ravenus. He flapped off down the river and disappeared above the treetops. "Cooper should walk in the stream," said Tim. "Why?" asked Cooper. "Because you're blind." "Of course," said Julian. "Everyone knows that blind people travel best in running water." "Seriously?" said Cooper. "No," said Julian. Tim threw an acorn at Julian's head. "It's for your safety," he said to Cooper. "You'll be quieter in the water than you would be crashing into every low-hanging branch you pass. And you won't need anyone to guide you. Just follow the direction of the current. And if it does come to a fight, well… maybe you can stay hidden." "Fuck that," said Cooper. "I'm not going to hide from a fight. Fighting is the only thing I'm any good at." Tim was getting ready to argue again when Ravenus flew down from the trees. "That was fast," said Julian. "Did you find the cave already?" "No, sir," said the bird. "But I spotted two hobgoblins just downstream from here. Looks like a patrol." "Perfect," said Tim. "That's just what we were looking for. Cooper, no arguments from you. Get in the river and keep your big head down. If you hear any fighting, you can come join in, but don't use your axe. You'd be just as likely to chop one of us in half." "Fine," grumbled Cooper. He trudged toward the stream, waving his hands out in front of him. It was his foot, however, that found an obstacle. He tripped over a log and belly-flopped into the water. "Dude," said Dave. "Keep it down!" "Fuck you," said Cooper, wiping water off his face. It came off slimy and sticky, stringing from his face to his hands. "Ew," said Julian. "What kind of water is that?" "It's not the water," said Tim. "That's just Cooper's filth getting wet." Tim, Julian, and Dave crept forward, moving from tree to tree as quietly as Dave's armor would allow. Before long, Tim spotted the two hobgoblins about sixty feet away, sitting on a freshly chopped tree trunk, facing away from him. Thick, reddish-brown fur poked through the joints of their plate armor. Their boots sat unattended next to them as they dangled their feet in the water. Battleaxes and longbows also lay on the ground nearby. "We should get moving," said the hobgoblin on the left. "If Snarlgore catches us sitting on our asses, he'll thrash us for sure." "How's he going to find out?" asked the hobgoblin on the right, the slightly larger of the two. "We're the only ones on patrol. You worry too much, Grimblart. It's important to clear your mind every once in a while. Just take in the world around you." He took a long, deep breath. "Smell the fresh air. Feel the cool water as it runs between your toes." "These guys seem perfectly reasonable," Julian whispered. The hobgoblin called Grimblart removed his skullcap and dipped it into the stream. He brought it to his mouth and drank. Then he spat out the water and started to choke violently. The other hobgoblin laughed at him. "You fool! You're supposed to drink the water, not breathe it." Grimblart's choking eventually subsided. "This water tastes like elf shit!" Tim facepalmed himself. "Fucking Cooper." "Why elf shit?" asked Julian. With such a wide diversity of life in this world, it was a fair question. Dave shrugged. "Just a figure of speech?" The other hobgoblin sniffed Grimblart's head. "Well no wonder. You've been wearing that helmet on your sweaty, flea-ridden head all day. You need to rinse it out first." He removed his own helmet and demonstrated, rinsing it in the stream a few times before taking a cautious sip. He immediately spat it out. "By the scars my father left me, you're right. This is bad water indeed. Perhaps a bear died upstream. Let's have a look." The two hobgoblins pulled their feet out of the water and re-donned their helmets. "It's now or never," said Tim. "If they spot Cooper, your Diplomacy isn't going to do shit." "Okay," said Julian. "Wait here." Julian stepped out from behind the cover of the oak as the two hobgoblins were fastening their bootstraps. "Excuse me, gentlemen." The hobgoblins instinctively reached for their bows. When they looked up and saw Julian, they threw the bows down and picked up their axes. "BRRAAAWWWWRRRRGGGHHHH!" they roared as they charged at him, axes held high in the air. "The fuck?" said Julian. He stumbled backward. "M-m-magic Missile!" A glowing bolt of magical energy burst out of Julian's outstretched palm, flew through the air, swerved around a tree, and struck the larger hobgoblin in the thigh, through a gap in his armor. Burnt bits of flesh exploded from his leg, but he didn't even slow down. Tim readied his crossbow and aimed it at the injured hobgoblin. He took care to remain concealed as best he could, but the precaution was probably unnecessary. The hobgoblin was rabidly focused on Julian. He waited for it to close in to within thirty feet of his position, so that he would get his Sneak Attack Bonus. THWACK! The bolt caught the hobgoblin in the throat. He dropped his battleaxe and clutched at the bolt, gurgling up blood from his mouth. He managed to pull the bolt out, and a fine, pink mist escaped from his neck. He collapsed on the ground and was no longer a problem. His friend, Grimblart, didn't even seem to notice his fallen comrade. He kept running after Julian, who was now running as fast as he could in the other direction. Dave jumped out from behind the tree to intercept Grimblart. "Yah!" he cried, swinging his heavy mace. He swung a little too high, allowing the hobgoblin to easily duck under the blow, punch him in the face, and continue stalking Julian. "Surprise, motherfuckers!" shouted Cooper as he jumped out of the stream. It was unclear as to what he thought he was running toward, but he didn't get more than two strides in before running straight into Dave. They both fell to the ground, and Cooper grabbed a handful of Dave's beard. "Wraaa!" cried Dave. His right arm was pinned down by Cooper's knee, so he gave a weak swing at Cooper's face with his left hand. Cooper caught him by his leopard-furred forearm. "You hairy son of a bitch!" said Cooper. He lifted Dave off the ground. "This is what happens when you fuck with one of my friends!" He threw Dave into the stream and jumped onto his back. Tim's eyes darted back and forth as he tried to determine who needed his help the most. He'd never be able to catch Julian and the hobgoblin, not with his tiny legs. And Ravenus had already flown off that way, for whatever help he could provide. He ran toward the stream. When he arrived at the bank, Dave was face-down in the water, and Cooper was sitting on his back, punching the shit out of him. "Cooper!" cried Tim. "Knock it off! That's Dave!" Cooper raised his head, looking around blindly. "Huh? Where?" "You're sitting on him, you stupid asshole!" "Oh shit," said Cooper. He stood up, grabbed Dave by his normal, non-furry arm, and pulled him up. "My bad, dude." Dave coughed up what looked like four gallons of mud and sand, and then sucked in about ten times that volume of air. He raised a shaky index finger to his bleeding temple. "I heal –" The rest of his incantation came out as another gush of mud-vomit, but it must have been good enough. The bleeding stopped, and the back of his skull cracked back into its proper form. Cooper reached out to feel Dave's face. "Are you okay?" Dave jerked away. "Don't touch me." "Hey man," said Cooper. "I said I was sorry." "No you fucking didn't, shithead." He kicked Cooper in the shin, right in the lump where Julian had hit him with his quarterstaff. "Ow!" cried Cooper, bending down to grab his shin. "Not cool, man! I'm fucking disabled!" "Wait," said Dave. "Where's Julian?" "How the fuck should I know?" said Cooper. "I'm fucking blind." "Shut up. I wasn't talking to you." "I don't know," said Tim. "I guess he's still running from the hobgoblin." "Well what are we waiting for?" said Dave. "Let's go help him!" "We'll never find them," said Tim. "We're too short and slow, and Cooper's blind. Julian's just going to have to fend for himself this time." "So we just sit here and do nothing?" "If we wander off, and he comes back, then we'll all be screwed," said Tim. "We need to stay put and wait for him. It's just one hobgoblin. He'll be fine." "You don't know that," said Dave. "That thing was three times the size of Julian, and it was pissed the fuck off. You stay here if you want to. I'm going to go find him." "Didn't you ever see any PSA's as a kid? What were you supposed to do when you get lost in the mall?" "Stay where you are and wait for your parents to find you." "That's right," said Tim. "But who's to say who the parents are in this analogy?" "Look," said Tim. "Julian knows where we are. We have no idea where he is. It makes more sense to let him come to us." He rummaged through his bag until he found his small leather tobacco pouch. It wasn't really tobacco. It was some kind of plant the locals smoked. They called it snotgrass, or something to that effect. That would probably change once large corporations became a thing in this world. Tim rolled up three fat cigarettes. "Julian will be back before these are finished." They smoked in silence. Tim hoped that his prediction would be accurate. They didn't have to wait long. Before their cigarettes had burned down halfway, Julian came trudging through the underbrush. Blood was smeared across his face, splattered all over his serape, and dripping from his limp left arm. In his right hand he carried his quarterstaff, the head of which was also coated in a thick layer of red. It ran down the shaft and pooled on his hand. Ravenus perched on his shoulder, his beak and neck sticky with some clear liquid. Somewhere, out in the woods, was a dead hobgoblin with no eyes. "Julian!" said Tim. "You're all right!" "No thanks to you dickholes," said Julian. "Have you guys seriously been sitting around getting stoned while I was out fighting for my life?" "I wanted to go out and look for you," said Dave. "But Tim said… Um, that is, we thought it would be best to let you come back to us. So we wouldn't get lost. You know?" He held out his half-smoked cigarette. "Want some?" "Just shut up and heal me." "Is that your blood?" asked Tim. Julian shook his quarterstaff. "This isn't." He waved it in front of his face and serape. "This isn't." He pointed at his left arm. "This is. He got me pretty good with his axe. I'm lucky I still have an arm at all." Dave touched Julian's limp arm. "I heal thee." Julian's eyes rolled up, and he sighed ecstatically. The fingers on his left hand started to wiggle. "Oh my god that feels good." When he was finally able to make a fist and move his arm properly, he reached out to Dave. "Okay, you're forgiven. Hand it over." Dave handed him what was left of his cigarette. "What happened to your quarterstaff?" Julian took a few puffs on the cigarette to keep it burning. "I wanted to make sure he was really dead. You know, below-negative-ten-Hit-Points dead. I didn't want him getting back up and chasing me again. So I beat his skull in until it was a pulpy mess." "That's kind of fucked up," said Cooper. "I'll admit, it was probably overkill, especially considering that Ravenus had already eaten his eyes by that point. But I was angry." "We've got to bring those heads back with us, you know," said Dave. "Oh shit," said Julian. "I forgot about that." "Is it still recognizable as a hobgoblin head?" asked Tim. Julian shrugged. "I guess." Tim started rolling another cigarette. "Dude, take it easy," said Dave. "You're not even finished with the one you're smoking." "I've got an idea," said Tim. "Remember that campaign we played last year when we stormed the bandit camp? I think Cooper was the Cavern Master." "Vaguely," said Dave. "Was that the game where we were supposed to rescue the gnome princess from the high tower?" "I remember," said Cooper. "I spent like four hours mapping out that goddamn tower, and you dickheads never went in there. You just took the prince's giant cigars and fucked off into the forest." "That's right," said Tim. "And you were so butt-hurt about it that you had some bandits show up and steal all our money and our giant cigars. Do you remember how we defeated the bandits?" "Not really," said Cooper. "I was pretty wasted at that point." "I remember," said Dave. "I think I like where you're going with this." "What did you do?" asked Julian. "We found their campsite," said Tim. "And we stayed hidden until nightfall. We waited for all the bandits to go to sleep, except for the two on watch duty." "Okay," said Julian. "What then?" "It was dark. Nobody could see shit. But then Cooper did exactly what I was counting on. He had the two poor fuckers light up the cigars they stole from us, just to rub it in our faces." "So what?" said Julian. "So we didn't need to see them in order to shoot them. We just aimed at the cigar embers. We took out the two guards on watch duty, and then went and slit everyone else's throats while they slept." "I may have been a bit generous with what I let you get away with," said Cooper. "I was probably just drunk and tired, and wanted to go home and go to bed." "So what about the princess?" asked Julian. "What princess?" said Tim. "The gnome princess you were supposed to rescue from the tower," said Julian. "Did you go back for her?" "No," said Dave. "The week after that Cooper got tired of running the game and had a dragon fly down and eat our characters." Tim finished rolling a particularly fat cigarette – closer to a cigar really – and set to work on another one. "It was a good plan then," said Dave. "But here and now it hinges on the contingency that any hobgoblins we run into are just going to steal our shit rather than flat-out try to murder us, which didn't work out so well for Julian." "Yeah," said Julian. "What was up with that? Those guys were perfectly chill, and then they went all apeshit as soon as I opened my mouth. Did I fail a Diplomacy Check?" "No," said Tim. "Even if you rolled a 1, you would have inadvertently said something offensive, or farted or something." "Maybe the words 'Excuse me, gentlemen' sound like 'Your mother's a whore' in the hob-knobbin' language." "It's hobgoblin, and no. I don't think so. That's not how language works here. It must have been something else." "I think it was your race," said Cooper. "They hate Jews?" "No, fucktard. They hate elves." "Why didn't you tell me this before you sent me out to talk to them?" "I thought it was bugbears who hated elves," said Cooper. "I always get the two confused." "What the fuck is a bugbear?" "Would you guys shut up?" said Dave. "I'd still like to know who's planning to walk around flaunting a couple of fat doobies in the hopes that a group of hobgoblins is just going to confiscate them and send us on our way." "Nobody's going to flaunt anything," said Tim, finishing up the second cigarette. "We're going to make it look like the hobgoblins caught us by surprise while we were camping, and we were forced to flee in a hurry, leaving some of our shit behind." Dave gathered some sticks, built a small campfire, and doused it with water once the wood was sufficiently blackened. Cooper chopped off one of the hobgoblin's arms. It took a few tries because he couldn't see what he was doing, but he managed to get in a good enough chop above the elbow so that he could just rip it the rest of the way off. He held it by the hand and swung it around over his head, spraying the whole area in blood. Julian spread a few non-essential items around the site. A spare dagger here. A tinderbox there. An empty waterskin. Whatever they would be able to do without for the upcoming battle. He even talked Tim into leaving his flask of stonepiss. "If they're wasted," he argued, "they'll be even easier to kill." "Fine," Tim said, handing over the flask. For Tim's part, he took off his clothes, soaked them in the stream, and laid them out to dry on the fallen tree trunk. "You're getting pretty comfortable with being naked around us these days," said Julian, looking slightly to the left of Tim. "I'm trying to make it look like we were caught off guard," said Tim. "I can't afford the luxuries of dignity and shame." "Oh, I wasn't suggesting you should be ashamed of your body. I just –" "This isn't my body," snapped Tim. "My body is more than three feet tall, and my dick is more than an inch long. Take off your serape." "What?" said Julian. "I've got to strip down too?" "You can keep your shirt and pants on, Mr. Modest. "But at least take off the serape. Details sell the story." Julian pulled his serape over his head. "What's the genre? Gay erotica?" Tim snatched the garment out of Julian's hand and turned toward the river. He was barely able to stop himself from running straight into Cooper's disgusting half-orc dick. "Jesus, Cooper! What the fuck?" Cooper held up his loincloth. "I was just trying to help." "Sorry," said Tim. "Would you please put that back on." "My clothes aren't good enough for your story?" "No," said Tim. "That doesn't even look like clothes. It looks like a giant sewer rat died of AIDS. Now put it back on." He dunked Julian's blood-spattered serape into the stream and then spread it out on the fallen tree. He surveyed the fake campsite. A CSI team might spend a day wondering what the fuck had happened here, but it looked good enough to fool a couple of hobgoblins. "That should just about do it. Cooper, toss that arm in the stream." "What for?" "With any luck, the other hobgoblins will spot it and come to investigate." "Good thinking," said Cooper. He tossed the arm. It hit Dave in the face. "Dammit, Cooper!" said Dave. He kicked the arm into the stream. "Sorry, dude. I can't see." Tim placed his two giant snotgrass cigars on his empty tobacco pouch and set it gently on the ground next to the dead hobgoblin, where it stood a better chance of being noticed. "Let's go get that other hobgoblin head." They followed Julian, who zigged and zagged through the forest, trying to remember where the fight had taken place, until he finally conceded that he had no idea where he was going. In flight, Ravenus was able to find the spot almost right away. It was a grizzly sight indeed. Julian had been nothing if not thorough. The hobgoblin lay dead in a pool of its own congealing blood. Of course, its eyes were missing. The top of its head was completely caved in, as was the left side of its face. Its bearded jaw was still intact, pointy lower-canines jutting up from its underbite. The poor bastard might not be recognizable as Grimblart, but he should at least be identifiable as a hobgoblin. "You really went to town on this guy," Tim said to Julian. He pointed to a scorched hole in the leather covering the dead hobgoblin's groin area. "Did you Magic Missile him in the nuts?" "Yeah." "How do you even do that?" "It was close combat at that point. He'd already broken my arm, so I grabbed his crotch while I said the incantation." Dave winced. "Lucky for us the nymph didn't ask us to bring back seven hobgoblin dicks." "This is disgusting," said Tim. "Cooper, chop its head off. And for fuck's sake be careful. We don't need it anymore damaged than it already is." Cooper knelt next to the body, feeling it with his hands. "Okay. I think I've got it." He stood up, raised his axe in the air, and brought it down hard on the hobgoblin's chest. "How close was I?" "Not very," said Dave. After seven more tries, Cooper had chopped the torso of the creature into hamburger, severed an arm at the shoulder, and finished off the work Julian had started on its dick. "Stand back," said Dave. "Let me try." He picked up the dead hobgoblin's battleaxe, and removed the creature's head with one blow. "We really need to start remembering to utilize all of the resources available to us," said Tim. "Julian, ask Ravenus to go find the cave, would you? If this cigar thing works, I'd like to scout out the terrain while there's still some daylight left." Julian sent Ravenus on his way, and Cooper stuffed the battered hobgoblin head into his bag. Ravenus returned a few minutes later. "Bury this body," said Tim. He let Ravenous lead him toward the hobgoblin cave. As an extra precaution, he used his Move Silently rogue ability, making him even slower than usual. But there were still a few hours of daylight left, and being alone in a forest with a bunch of angry hobgoblins with only a crossbow and a bird for protection was not a time for impatience. He snuck silently from tree to tree until, about thirty minutes later, he ran out of trees. Peeking out from behind the last one, he saw the cave. The site looked to be the result of a fault shift or something. One chunk of the ground jutted up sharply against the ground next to it, leaving a fifteen foot wall of sedimentary rock exposed. It was in the face of this rock that the entrance of the cave had been carved. Just a rough hole in the rock about eight feet tall at its highest point, just slightly above the head of the lone hobgoblin standing guard outside it. A grey and white wolf sat beside him, tethered to an iron stake in the ground. Shit. The wolf would be a problem. The purpose of the cave was not readily apparent. Maybe someone had been mining for gold or gems. Maybe it was a tunnel leading somewhere else. Maybe it had served a military purpose some time ago, or been a temporary home to a group of bandits on the run from the law. It was as defensible a location as one was likely to find in this forest. The rock wall would prevent any attacks from directly behind, and the stream cut sharply to the left, ballooning out in front of the cave, before turning northward again, like a giant Omega symbol. Anyone attempting a direct assault on the cave would have, at best, wet feet and twenty yards of open ground to cross. Tim would have to cross the stream in order to get close enough to use his Sneak Attack bonus, but that shouldn't be a problem. The water ran slowly, and it probably wasn't deep enough for him to drown in anyway. The Difficulty Class for an Untrained Swim Check should be pretty low. The wolf barked sharply and stood up. Another hobgoblin was approaching quickly from the right.. "Elfgina," said the hobgoblin on duty. "What's that in your hand?" "It's an arm," said the other hobgoblin. "And I wish you'd stop calling me that. My family name is Bloodfang." "You will earn your name once you've proved yourself in battle. Until then, you'll be known as Elfgina. Now give that here." Elfgina handed over the severed arm. "Hell's fury!" said the hobgoblin standing guard. "Where did you find this?" "I was having a piss in the stream, and it just floated by." "This belongs to Rothgar. It still bears his father's ring." Fuck. It was wearing a ring? Tim made a mental note to check the other body more thoroughly when he returned to the others. "What's going on out here?" said one of two hobgoblins emerging from the cave. That accounted for six of the total seven. "Bonecrusher," said the hobgoblin who had been standing guard. "You and Elfgina go upstream and see if you can find out what happened. Take Pepper with you." The hobgoblin called Bonecrusher untied the wolf from the stake. He crouched down, whispered something in its ear as he stroked its fur, and held the severed arm out for it to sniff. The wolf sprang forward toward the stream, dragging Bonecrusher behind with its leash. Elfgina followed after them. That left two hobgoblins alone in front of the cave. If he'd brought just one more person, it might have been worth risking a direct assault. Tim briefly toyed with trying to pick them off one by one from where he was, but quickly dismissed it. He wasn't sure how good a nose a wolf had, but if it had any sense of smell at all, it would be able to pick up Cooper's stench, not to mention the trail of destruction he left while stumbling blindly through the forest. "Ravenus," Tim whispered in a British accent. "We've got to get back to the others. Let's go." Tim Moved Silently for about the first fifty yards, and then broke into a run. They made it back to the group in what seemed like no time at all. Cooper's entire body was covered in sweat and freshly turned earth. He stood over what Tim assumed to be the grave of a headless hobgoblin. "Hey guys," he said. "Look. I soiled myself. Get it? 'Cause I'm covered in soil." "Fucking hilarious," said Dave. Cooper let out a fart that sounded too wet to just be a fart. "Jesus, Cooper!" said Julian. "Shit," said Cooper. "I soiled myself for real this time." He stumbled around, waving his arms until he found a tree. "You're so disgusting," said Dave. Cooper lifted the back of his loincloth and rubbed his ass against the tree trunk. "Screw you, man! It's not me. It's my Charisma score. You know I can't help it." "Ahem," said Tim. Julian and Dave quickly turned their heads toward him. Cooper raised his head toward somewhere to the left of him. "Did you find the cave?" asked Julian. "Yeah," said Tim. "And they found the arm." "That's great," said Dave. "Everything's going according to plan then." "Not quite," said Tim. "They've got a wolf with them, and it looks like one of them has at least a few ranks in the Tracking skill. They'll probably hunt us down." "Shit," said Julian. He thought for a moment. "Couldn't we just move?" "We're too slow as a party," said Dave. "We'd just put off the inevitable by a few minutes." "So what do we do?" "We get ready for a fight," said Tim. He'd been looking forward to seeing how his cigar trick would play out, but they'd just have to adapt. "We'll be up against two hobgoblins and a wolf, so we still outnumber them. Since they're coming toward us, we can have the home field advantage as well." "Is there really such a thing?" asked Julian. "As what?" asked Tim.. "A home field advantage. I mean, is it a game term? Do we get bonuses to our Attack Rolls or something?" "No," said Tim. "It's not a game term. It is what it is. We can prepare for them. Set a trap. That sort of thing." "Awesome!" said Julian. "We could dig a big pit, and put spikes on the bottom, and then cover it with branches. Then when they come, I'll stand on one side of it and say 'Hey fellas! Were you looking for some hot elf love?'" Tim shook his head. "That's –" "Hold on!" said Julian. "I've got a better one. I'll hold my hands up and say 'I'm unarmed… and so is your friend!'". "Yes," said Tim. "That's very funny, but –" "Ooh! Or how about this one. I'll point at my balls and say –" "Would you shut the fuck up?" said Cooper, returning from defiling yet another tree. "Do you know how long it would take to make a trap like that?" "A couple of hours?" "More like a week," said Tim. "And I reckon we've only got maybe thirty minutes to come up with something that's not incredibly stupid." "Ambush," said Dave. "Keep talking," said Tim. "They don't know how many we are, or in what condition we're in. You and Julian take positions up in the trees." He pointed up at two trees he thought would make good candidates. "I'll hide behind one of the trees, and Cooper will stand out in the open as bait." Cooper raised his head. "Wait, what?" "I like it," said Tim. "We should be able to take down at least one of them before they even know they've been ambushed." "You like it because you get to be up in a tree," said Cooper. "Let's use the blind guy as bait." "You've got a ton of Hit Points," said Tim. "You'll be all right. And let's face it. This is really the only opportunity you have to be useful in your present condition." "Thanks." Julian sent Ravenus to keep an eye on the hobgoblins. Then he took Grimblart's bow and quiver which, thankfully, they'd had the presence of mind not to bury him with, and climbed up one of the trees that Dave had pointed out. He nestled himself into the fork of a large branch and tested his line of sight. Tim did likewise in the tree Cooper was standing next to. With Dave's help on the ground, they mapped out an ideal area for Cooper to lure the hobgoblins into which both Julian and Tim could see from their positions. Dave hid behind the thick trunk of Tim's tree, and Cooper stood out in the open like a vulnerable jackass who was waiting to get murdered. "That's perfect," said Tim. "Just act natural and… I don't know. Try not to let on that you're blind." "How the fuck am I supposed to do that? You want me to juggle?" "Here," said Julian, tossing down a scroll tube. It hit Cooper in the head. "Ow." "Pretend you're reading." "But I'm illiterate." "You're blind, too, dumbass," said Julian. "That's why I said 'pretend'." "Oh, right." Cooper crouched down, feeling the ground until he found the tube. He opened it and pulled out a sheet of parchment. Standing back up, he unrolled the parchment and cleared his throat. He spat a fist-sized gob of rusty-brown phlegm on the ground. "Ew," said Dave. "Watch where you spit. I've got to hide over here." Cooper held the blank parchment out in front of him. "We the people, of the United States of America…" Ravenus flew in like a rocket, stumbling as he landed. "They're coming!" he said to Cooper. Unable to understand the bird's Elven language, Cooper ignored him and continued reading. "…and to the republic for which it stands, one nation…" "Hey!" said Ravenus. "Hang on. Where is everybody?" "…our four fathers hold these truths to be self elephants…" "Ravenus," whispered Julian. "Up here!" "…will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the contents of their character sheets…" Ravenus flew into Julian's tree. "One of those bastards fired an arrow at me!" "…anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…" "Cooper," Tim whispered. "Get ready. Here they come!" "…One small step for man. One giant leap for –" Snarls and barks announced the wolf's arrival. "You there!" shouted the hobgoblin called Bonecrusher, barely able to hold his wolf's leash. "Who are you?" Cooper threw down the parchment and roared, "ICH BIN EIN BERLINER!" Bonecrusher and Elfgina looked at one another uncertainly. Even Pepper stopped barking. "Sorry," said Cooper. "I got a little carried away." Julian looked at Tim. Tim shook his head. The hobgoblins were still about forty feet away. He wouldn't get his Sneak Attack bonus at this range. While he was guaging their position, Tim noticed his tobacco pouch slung around Elfgina's neck. The ends of two fat cigars poked out of the top of it. "I'll ask you one more time, half-orc," said Bonecrusher. "Who are you?" "My name is Cooper." Bonecrusher held up the severed hobgoblin arm. "Are you responsible for this?" "For what?" "Have the gods removed your eyes as well as your wits?" "My vision isn't what it used to be." That's it, Cooper. Draw him in a little closer. Bonecrusher lobbed the severed arm at Cooper. It bounced off his chest and fell to the ground. Shit. "Neither are my reflexes." Cooper bent over and felt for the arm. "I think he's blind," said Elfgina. Cooper found the arm and stood up. "Oh, this," he said. "Yes. I'm totally responsible for this." He tossed the arm back toward the hobgoblins. They watched as it arced high over their heads. Bonecrusher unstrapped his battleaxe. "That arm belonged to my cousin." Cooper took a step backward, and another. "Sorry about that," he said. "I used it to whack off." He performed the universally recognized 'whacking off' gesture in case the hobgoblins were not familiar with the term. "Pro tip: If you use someone else's hand, it feels less lonely." "Why you vile piece of…" Bonecrusher let go of the leash. "Pepper, get him!" Bonecrusher followed, holding his axe with both hands, as Pepper launched into Cooper. It all happened so suddenly that by the time Tim shouted "Now!", the hobgoblin was practically right under his tree. Tim's bolt caught Bonecrusher right where his neck met his chest. Julian's arrow pierced the hobgoblin's leg. Dave stepped out from behind the tree and smashed his mace into the creature's gut with a mighty, all-or-nothing two-handed swing. It was impossible to say which was the killing blow, but Bonecrusher didn't even have time to grunt before collapsing dead to the ground. Cooper continued stumbling backwards until Pepper leapt up and tackled him. "Dave? Is that you?" said Cooper, grasping at the animal on top of him. The wolf bit his hand and clawed his face. "Ow!" said Cooper. "Fuck you, Dave!" He grabbed the animal by the throat and punched it in the face. "Shit!" said Elfgina, who hadn't even readied a weapon. He bolted off in the other direction. Tim climbed down from his branch, and Julian hopped down from his. Julian had an arrow nocked and aimed by the time Tim got down. "Wait!" said Tim. "Let him go." "What? Why?" Julian lowered his bow. "He's got my tobacco pouch." "Fuck your tobacco pouch!" Julian raised his bow again, but Elfgina was gone. "Dammit!" "Come on," said Tim, running toward Cooper. Dave stood over Cooper and Pepper as they wrestled on the ground, looking for an opportunity to strike. Tim saved him the trouble. A single bolt to the chest was all it took. The wolf gave a last, whiny bark and fell to Cooper's side. Cooper stood up on his massive, but trembling, legs. His face and chest were scratched up pretty bad, and his hand was dripping with blood. "You okay, Coop?" said Tim. "I'll live." "I've got one more Heal spell," said Dave. "Save it," said Cooper. "Just give me a zero-level Heal to stop the bleeding." Dave touched Cooper's arm. "I heal thee." "Thanks." Cooper opened and closed his hand a couple of times. It still looked pretty bad, but no more blood was dripping out of it. "So, that's four down?" "Three," said Julian with more than a trace of annoyance in his voice. "Tim let the other one get away." "What the fuck for?" said Cooper. "He had my tobacco pouch," Tim explained. "There's still a chance for my cigar plan to work." "Fucking hell," said Cooper. "Tim," said Dave. "That plan was clever in a what-harm-could-it-do sort of way, but it's not something you'd want to count on. Not when we could have just tipped the odds in our favor. We could have probably taken out three hobgoblins in a straight-up fight. Having a fourth one there, who can give the others a full report on us, well… you may have just fucked us." "You make a fair point," said Tim. "But if my plan works, there won't even be a fight." "Okay," said Julian. "I'm going to jump in and be totally honest for a second. I think your plan is stupid. In fact, I think it's the stupidest fucking plan I've ever heard. What if none of those guys smoke? What if they like to smoke in the morning? What if they've got a big campfire going and we can't even get close enough without them spotting us? There's so much about this plan that has to go precisely the way you want it to for it to have any prayer of working. If your plan was a person, it would be riding the short bus to school." An awkward moment of silence followed while Tim waited for someone to speak up in his defense. Cooper farted. "I appreciate your honesty," said Tim. "I made a split-second decision. Had I had more time to think about it, I might have chosen differently. But that's neither here nor there. What's done is done, and my plan, stupid or not, is the only one we've got." As the sun set, the oak tree shadows grew larger and darker. Ravenus led the group to a safe distance from the hobgoblin cave. Just before evening turned completely into night, Tim led Julian to a not-quite-as-safe distance from the cave. "Do you really think it's wise to have me be your backup?" asked Julian. "Those guys really hate elves." "I think it's a safe bet that they hate all of us right about now," said Tim. "And if this works, they won't see you at all. I need you because you're the only one who can at least try to walk quietly, and you're decent with a bow." When they reached the last tree before the stream, Tim crouched down and gestured for Julian to do the same. Two hobgoblins stood outside the entrance of the cave. Tim spoke just above a whisper. "We'll cross the stream here. Do your best not to splash, but the babble of the water should cover us pretty well. Then we'll make straight for the cave entrance. If there's only one hobgoblin standing guard, we'll both fire at the same time. If there are two, we're going to have to split our attacks and hope we kill both of them on the first try." Julian shrugged and nodded. "Take one more look," said Tim. "Try to remember the layout of the land as best you can." Julian stared for a little while. "Okay. I've got it." Tim stood up. "Good. Now let's go back and –" "They came out of nowhere!" said Elfgina, running toward the two hobgoblins standing outside the cave. "What are you talking about?" asked the larger of the two. "Where is Bonecrusher? Where is Pepper?" "They're gone, Snarlgore," said Elfgina. "I'm sorry, but there was nothing that could be done. They jumped out of the trees, half a dozen or more." "You are lower than a dog," said Snarlgore. "Elfgina is too good a name for you. We'll have to think of something better." "Please, sir," pleaded Elfgina. "You don't understand." "I understand perfectly," said Snarlgore. "The dog stayed to fight. You did not. Therefore, you are lower than a dog. Hammerfist," he said to the hobgoblin standing next to him. "Is there some flaw in my reasoning?" "Your logic is sound, sir," said Hammerfist. "You must listen to me!" said Elfgina. "They may be coming this –" "Have I completely lost my senses," said Snarlgore, "or did the dog just presume to give its owner a command? Have you ever heard of something so preposterous?" "Never in my whole life, sir," said Hammerfist. "See if perhaps you can demonstrate to him his proper place, would you?" Hammerfist stepped up to Elfgina. "Come on, Hammer," said Elfgina. "Those guys are coming for us. We need to –" His words were interrupted by a gauntleted backhand slap to the face. Elfgina dropped to his hands and knees, out of breath and drooling blood. "That's better," said Snarlgore. "Now, what does a good doggie say?" "P-p-please." "If I have to unsheathe my short sword, I shall sheathe it through that soggy noodle you call a spine. Now what does the good doggie say?" "Woof?" "Very good." "I don't think I can watch anymore of this," said Julian. "Okay," said Tim. "I can barely see anything anyway. I was hoping we'd catch a glimpse of the seventh hobgoblin." He put a hand on Julian's elbow for guidance. "He may be inside the cave," said Julian. "Like maybe he's the big boss or something." "I hope not." About thirty yards further away, they met the rest of the group and explained the current situation. "So now what?" asked Dave. "Now we wait," said Tim. Give them an hour or two, hope that at least one of them goes to sleep. And then we make our move. Julian and I will go in alone. You and Cooper will stay on this side of the stream unless shit really goes south." He put his hand on Cooper's. "If that happens, I'll need you to go into your barbarian rage." "You want me to fight?" "No," said Tim. "I want you to look big and scary so that they'll all shoot at you while we pick them off." "Being blind sucks." About twenty minutes passed before Tim finally said, "Fuck it. I'm tired of waiting. Ready?" Julian shrugged. "As ready as I'll ever be." The whole group crept back up toward the stream so slowly that even Cooper was quiet. When they finally made it to the stream, Tim scanned the darkness beyond until he saw what he was looking for. A beautiful solitary glow, like the Star of Bethlehem. Someone was smoking one of his cigars. "Way to go!" whispered Dave, giving Tim a friendly punch on the arm. "I'll admit when I'm wrong," said Julian. "I honestly didn't think this plan had a chance of working, but it looks like it might actually work out pretty well." Tim took a moment to bask in some well-deserved I-told-you-so satisfaction, before calibrating some of the finer details of his plan. The glow of the cigar was red and irregular. It wobbled around, and didn't appear to be likely to guarantee a hit as well as he'd imagined it would. As he stared at the light, contemplating on how best to shoot at it, it suddenly grew brighter, and quickly dimmed again. That was it. The light would grow brighter when air was being sucked through it… when the hobgoblin was inhaling. That's when it was guaranteed to be right in their face. "Keep your aim on the light," he said to Julian. "Fire when it glows brightest." "Okay," said Julian. "We'll be back in a few," said Tim. "Good luck!" said Dave. "You don't need luck if you've got a solid plan," said Tim. "Come on, Julian. Let's go." Tim and Julian waded silently through the water, carefully holding their weapons over their heads. When they made it to the other side, they lowered their arms and relaxed. "Okay, perfect," whispered Tim. "Now let's just keep going like that for another ten yards. We've got to get within thirty feet of him for me to get my Sneak Attack bonus." Julian nodded and took a step forward. "Elf!" Cried a hobgoblin voice from the direction of the cigar. Thunk. The back end of an arrow suddenly appeared poking out of Julian's chest. "Yow!" said Julian. "The fuck?" said Tim. "I'm really angry!" Cooper's voice bellowed out from behind them. "Hang on, guys!" said Dave. "We're coming!" Tim shot at the cigar light. The light neither flickered nor flinched. Whoever had been smoking the cigar had obviously put it down. Shit. "How did they see us?" said Tim. Julian nocked an arrow. "They must have Darkvision. You know, like Dave and Cooper have." There was a giant splash behind them, followed by a "Fuck!" "Well," said Julian. "Like Dave has anyway." "Am I the only goddamn creature in this world who can't see in the dark?" asked Tim, his crossbow loaded but nothing to aim at. "I'm about to help you out with that," said Julian. He whispered at the fletching of his arrow, "Light." The feathers grew as bright as lamplight, revealing an approaching hobgoblin, battleaxe raised, charging silently toward Julian. Julian shot it in the throat. Tim, who had been looking and listening for something to shoot, wasted no time pulling the trigger. He caught the hobgoblin in the leg. Julian stepped nimbly out of the way when the axe came down. Tim dropped his crossbow, jumped on the shaft of the axe, and grabbed for the small dagger he kept hidden in his boot. Before he could get a stab in, however, the hobgoblin pulled him off and cocked his arm back to throw him. "Magic Missile," said Julian. Tim was not in an ideal position to see the magical glowing arrow, but he had a pretty good idea of what happened when his captor's arm went limp. Tim managed to land in a crouching position right beside his crossbow. He had it loaded just in time to fire at one of the two hobgoblins entering the sphere of light radiating from their fallen comrade's throat. The bolt glanced off the gauntlet of the hobgoblin Tim now recognized as Hammerfist, and bounced away into the darkness. The other hobgoblin was Elfgina, which meant that the one they'd already killed was Snarlgore, the apparent leader of the group, not counting the mystery hobgoblin. Hammerfist and Elfgina ignored Tim, their attention focused completely on Julian as he started jogging backwards. They didn't even seem to notice or care that a hulked-out Cooper was rapidly, if not directly, approaching. "H-h-horse!" Julian cried out, just as the two hobgoblins were about to reach him. A shabby brown horse popped into existence about four nanoseconds before it got tackled by two angry, axe-wielding hobgoblins. Unlike most of the magical horses that Julian habitually murdered, this one had some fight in it. It was the first one back up on its feet, and looked to be pretty pissed off by the events occurring during its first six seconds of life. Just as Elfgina was getting to his feet, presumably wondering where the fuck a horse had suddenly come from, the horse kicked him in the breastplate, sending him flying into Cooper, who would have otherwise missed the fight entirely, running past it in a close tangent. While Hammerfist was distracted by the horse, Tim fired a bolt into his back. "Ow!" Hammerfist yelled. "That hurt, you little shit!" He grabbed Tim and cocked his arm back to throw. No Magic Missiles would save him this time. "Here I am!" said Dave, finally waddling onto the scene. "Is everyone –" Tim sailed right into him. Plate mail armor is hard. A lot harder than Tim's face. When he was able to stand up and orientate himself again, Tim surveyed the battle scene, or at least the forty foot diameter dome of it that was visible to him. Cooper was on top of Elfgina, beating the shit out of him with his bare fists. Julian and his horse were missing. Hopefully they were together and both alive. Hammerfist grinned as he followed a target steadily with his bow. Just as he loosed the arrow, Ravenus swooped out of the darkness and rammed his beak into the hobgoblin's ear. Hammerfist's agonized roar was echoed by the shriek of a horse. The horse shriek cut off suddenly and was followed by a splash. Hammerfist swatted at Ravenus, but the bird was too fast. He gazed out into the darkness in the direction he had fired the arrow. "God dammit!" Hammerfist and Julian shouted at the same time. Hammerfist picked up his battleaxe and started running in the direction Julian's voice had come from. Tim grabbed his crossbow, plucked the glowing arrow out of Snarlgore's neck, and gave chase. There was another splash just ahead of him. He loaded a bolt as he ran, and his lack of attention to where he was running nearly put him in one of the wide pools of the meandering stream. He stopped himself just in time and planted the Light arrow into the bank. "Where are you, you long-eared freak?" Hammerfist shouted as he brought his axe down on what Tim guessed was a random bit of water. He got nothing for his effort but a splash. He sliced into a different spot of water. "You can't hide under there forever, coward!" Tim fired a bolt into Hammerfist's back. "Yeeeaaaoooorrrrrrgggghhh!" Hammerfist roared. This bolt had obviously relieved him of significantly more Hit Points than the last one had. "What? You again!" He turned around to face Tim. His height, along with the length of the shaft on the axe he wielded, gave him more reach than Tim had accounted for. He was in striking range. "Ray of Frost!" Julian shouted poking his head and finger up out of the water. A film of ice crystallized around the hobgoblin's head. Julian stood up, grabbed his quarterstaff with both hands, and smashed the brittle ice to a billion shining fragments. Hammerfist collapsed into the water. Tim and Julian each grabbed a foot and hauled the unconscious hobgoblin body out of the water. Tim wedged the Light arrow between two plates of his armor so that he could see where they were going. Halfway back to the original fight scene, Hammerfist started to cough and spit up mud. Tim dropped the leg he was dragging and shot the hobgoblin in the chin, up into his oral cavity. He stopped choking. When they reached the others, Cooper was still pounding the shit out of Elfgina, and Dave was just standing there watching him. Amazingly, the poor hobgoblin bastard's face was still intact. "Cooper!" said Tim. "It's over. You can stop now." "Huh?" said Cooper. He stopped beating Elfgina and stood up. "Everybody okay?" The Barbarian Rage left his body, and he shrank from massive to merely huge. "Yeah," said Tim. "How about you?" "My knuckles are a little tender," said Cooper. "But I'll live." Cooper dragged the three bodies back to the cave entrance. "Well," said Julian. "Just one more to go. Who wants to go in first?" All eyes, as they did in situations like this, gravitated toward Cooper. Cooper, however, sat on the ground, blissfully picking his nose, unaware that everyone was staring at him. "No," said Tim. "It can't be Cooper this time. He's blind." "Oh yeah," said Dave. "Why don't you go, Dave?" said Tim. "You've got more Hit Points than either of us, and you really didn't do shit during that last battle." "I'm sorry," Dave snapped. "I can't help it if I'm slow." "It makes sense," said Julian. "You're a dwarf. You've got Darkvision, and you've got knowledge of caves and shit, right?" "Fine," said Dave. "I'll go." He cautiously stepped into the cave. Tim was about to step in behind him, when Dave said, "What the hell?" Tim froze. "What is it? What's in there?" "Nothing," said Dave. He walked out of the cave. It goes back another twenty feet or so, and opens up into a little room. There's a couple of mats and a few shovels, but that's it." "What do you mean, that's it?" asked Tim. "Where's the seventh hobgoblin?" "Dunno," said Dave. "Maybe he just went home or something." "Shit!" said Tim. "We can't go back with six heads. That nymph bitch will turn us all blind." He started pacing back and forth. "What are we going to do? We should have left one of these guys alive to interrogate." "Elfgina should still be alive," said Cooper. Tim stopped pacing. "You punched him repeatedly in the face for like ten minutes straight. How could he possibly be alive?" "I was punching him with Subdual Damage," said Cooper. "You know, just in case it was Dave again." Dave's face went pale. His eyes grew big and round, like he'd just walked in on his grandparents fucking. "Um… thanks?" Tim put his ear to Elfgina's chest. "He still has a heartbeat! Cooper, sit on him. Dave give him a zero-level Heal spell, just to wake him up. Julian, back off a bit, would you?" Cooper sat on Elfgina's chest and Julian stepped back. "I heal thee," said Dave, touching the creature's head. Elfgina groaned as he slowly came into consciousness. His eyes opened just a sliver, and then suddenly as wide as golf balls. "What do you want? Let me go! I'll give you anything!" "Tell us where the seventh hobgoblin is!" Tim demanded. "What?" said Elfgina. "There's only the six of us!" Tim pulled the dagger out of his boot. "I'm not fucking around, dude. You better talk." "He's telling the truth," said Julian, stepping into the hobgoblin's view. "He's a coward. If the seventh hobgoblin was his own mother, he'd sell her out in a heartbeat." Elfgina's body writhed under Cooper's weight. "Who are you calling a coward? You filthy elf! You disgusting abomination!" "Fuck this," said Tim. "Just kill him." "But he's an unarmed prisoner," said Dave. "But we need his fucking head," said Tim. "We've got one too few as it is." "Give him a weapon," said Julian. "Let him go." "Here," said Tim, placing his dagger in the hobgoblin's hand. "Stand up, Cooper." Elfgina sprang to his feet and ran at Julian like a rabid dog. "Ray of Frost," said Julian, pointing at the hobgoblin. The thin blue ray hit the creature in the nose, freezing its eyeballs solid. It dropped to the ground. Ravenus quickly flew in to take advantage of a new spin on an old delicacy. "This is fantastic," he said. "Nice and crunchy, and the nerve just snaps right off." "I'm starting to think zero-level spells are severely underrated," said Dave. After chopping off the three heads they had available to them, they followed the stream to where their original fake campsite had been. They removed the head from the one-armed corpse, and then Ravenus guided them to the site of the battle where they'd killed Bonecrusher and Pepper. After removing Bonecrusher's head, Cooper chucked it unceremoniously into his bag. "Well, that's six heads. Now what?" They couldn't put the question off any longer. "There's only one thing to do," said Tim. "We take her what we've got and explain to her that she was misinformed." "Oh that'll go over great," said Dave. "Hi sadistic tree woman. Here's something less than what we promised you. By the way, you're stupid too." "We're not calling her stupid," said Tim. "We're just saying she's misinformed. Where's she getting her information from? Birds. Birds are stupid as shit." "Hey!" said Julian. "I'm not talking about Ravenus. I'm talking about normal birds." "Maybe she'll understand," said Dave. "But are we willing to gamble all of our eyes on it?" "I am," said Cooper. "What other choice have we got?" asked Tim. Dave looked at the ground. "We could let Cooper stay blind for a while." "Hey fuck you, Dave!" said Cooper. "I'm not talking about forever," said Dave. "I mean like maybe we'll go find a cleric in town who can sort him out or something." "There's another option," said Julian. Everyone with functional eyes looked at Julian. "It's not the most pleasant option, but it's something worth considering before we gamble on the nymph's mercy." "Spit it out," said Tim. "If we can't find another Hot Pockets head, --" "Hobgoblin," said Tim. "If we can't find another head, we'll make one." "And how do you propose we do that?" asked Dave. "See, that's the unpleasant part," said Julian. "I was thinking we take the wolf's skull, and shove it into some of their skin. I don't know. Maybe a foot or something." "How the fuck is that going to pass for a head?" asked Cooper. "It'll be covered in the right kind of hair. We'll cut open a mouth hole and expose some wolf teeth. Cut out some eye holes and say that Ravenus ate the eyes. I'll use my disguise skill to do as convincing a job as I can." "And how do you plan to explain the fucking toes growing on the guy's face?" asked Tim. "Give me some credit, dude," said Julian. "Naturally we'll cut off the toes. We'll make it look like a giant wound. We'll have to cover the whole thing with enough gore to make it look like it was beaten pretty badly. It doesn't have to pass a close inspection. It's psychological, you see. If someone hands you a mangled lump of bone and flesh with eye holes and teeth showing and tells you it's a head, you'll probably take their word at face value." Cooper snorted. "Ha! Good one." "Somebody please tell me they have a better idea than this," said Tim. "Dave?" Dave looked at the ground. A final plea of desperation. "Cooper?" "I like Julian's idea." "Fuck." When the butchery started, Tim climbed up a nearby tree. He couldn't stomach the sight of it. Eventually, he fell asleep. His sleep was fitful and uneasy. More than once he woke up just barely stopping himself from rolling off of his branch. When the sun began to dissolve the darkness, he finally couldn't force himself to sleep any more, though he desperately wanted to. "Good morning," said Julian. "What do you think?" Tim looked down. Staring back at him was the most horrifying thing he had ever seen, real or imagined. It was like the Devil had miscarried Werewolf-Hitler's baby. "Jesus Fucking Christ!" he shouted as he fell out of the tree. He landed on Cooper, which was tantamount to landing on a giant whoopee cushion, except that this one produced actual fart. "Dude," said Cooper. "There are people trying to sleep here. Tim stood up on shaky legs, taking care to keep his eyes away from the monstrosity in Julian's hands. "So," said Julian. "Do you think it will pass?" "I'll give credit where credit is due," said Tim. "It looks like a head well enough. And nobody is going to look at that thing long enough to give it a proper inspection. Just put it in the fucking bag already, would you?" Dave was sprawled out on the ground, still in his armor. Tim kicked him awake. "Huh? What?" said Dave. "It's time to go," said Tim. "Did Julian finish the head?" "Yeah." "How did it come out? Can I see it?" "Better not," said Tim. "You might change your mind about not wanting to be blind." With Ravenus leading the way, the group eventually made it back to the nymph's oak grove. The life tree was again alive with the twittering of birds, and Ravenus excitedly flew up to join in their frolicking. The nymph herself was nowhere to be seen. "What do we do?" asked Dave. "Um, hello?" said Julian. There was no response. Tim marched up to the tree and knocked on it so hard his knuckles hurt. "Hey! Come on out! We've got what you asked for!" "Good morning!" The chirpy voice came from behind them. Tim, Dave, and Julian turned to face it. Cooper turned and faced a random direction. "It's so good to see you again!" "I wish I could say the same," said Tim. He'd brought her a bag full of heads. He figured he'd earned the right to be a little testy with her. "So do I," said Cooper. "Well, well now, my big man," said the nymph. "Perhaps you shall. Let's see what you brought me." Cooper upturned his bag and let the contents spill out on the ground. "Oh my!" said the nymph. "You boys have been busy indeed!" As the nymph looked down at the heads, Julian and Tim exchanged a nervous glance. "Excuse me, ma'am," said Julian. "It has been a very long night, and we could really do with some rest. If it's at all possible, we'd like to get our friend's vision back and be on our way." The nymph smiled as she walked in a slow circle around the heads, never once looking up from them. Julian cleared his throat. "We've done as you asked, after all." "You have indeed," said the nymph. "You've brought me seven hobgoblin heads. A very impressive feat, considering there were only six hobgoblins out there." "Wait, what?" said Tim. "You knew there were only six hobgoblins? Then why –" "I wanted to see what you would do. I certainly wasn't expecting a seventh head." "You sadistic bitch!" said Tim. "You –" Julian bonked Tim on the head with his quarterstaff. "A thousand apologies, ma'am. We meant no offense. You put us in a difficult situation. The deception was my idea. I used a wolf's skull, and –" "I know what you did, child," said the nymph. "My birds have been watching you this whole time. Tim had a whole lot of vitriol to spit out, but Julian stopped him short with a quick glare. "We are at your mercy, oh mighty tree spirit," said Julian, bowing and taking a knee. "What will you do with us?" The nymph looked down at Julian with a smug, satisfied grin, as if she were finally getting the sort of respect she thought she deserved. "You have exceeded my expectations in fulfilling the primary task set before you." "We have?" said Dave. "But –" "You have amused me to no end." "Jesus Fucking Christ!" shouted Cooper. Tim, Dave, and Julian looked up at him. He was staring down at the makeshift hobgoblin head. "Cooper!" cried Julian. "You can see!" "That's pretty fucked up, dude," said Cooper. "Come on, guys," said Tim. "Let's get the hell out of here." As they left, the nymph called out after them. "Feel free to visit again any time!" They quickened their pace. "I think I need to wash my eyes out with fire," said Cooper. "How about a big bottle of stonepiss," suggested Julian. "I suppose that will do." ⁂ [ Buzzkill ] It's times like these, when your best friend is dangling from the edge of a cliff, and you're hanging onto his leg, and he shits on your head, that you really begin to reflect on the choices you've made in life… particularly those that involved choosing best friends and favorable topography to explore. "Julian!" cried a voice from above. It was either Tim or a random eight-year-old inexplicably lost in the desert Julian wiped the shit out of his eyes on Cooper's calf and looked up. Tim's little halfling head peeked out over the ledge. With one arm, he hugged the trunk of the same withered tree whose newly exposed roots Cooper was holding on to. In Tim's other hand was a coil of rope. The rope fell and the bulk of the coil hit Julian in the face. "Ow!" "Grab the rope!" said Tim. Julian looked down just in time to see the broken pieces of rock, which he and Cooper had been standing on only seconds ago, explode into tiny clouds of dust at the bottom of the canyon below them. He had no intention of letting go of Cooper's leg. "No!" said Julian. "Pull Cooper up." "We can't," said Tim. "Dave and I are too short to reach him." "Well dammit!" said Julian. "Cooper, don't you have a bunch of ranks in the Climb skill?" "I think I'm taking a penalty on account of there being an elf on my leg," said Cooper. "I can't find any footholds." "Grab the rope!" Tim repeated. "It's the only way." "Fine!" said Julian. He closed his eyes and willed himself to be able to let go with one arm. Finding the rope, he wrapped it around his wrist four times and gave it a tug. "I'm letting go of Cooper! Don't you guys drop me!" "We've got you!" said Dave. "The other end is tied around me. You're not going anywhere but up." Julian let go of Cooper's leg with his other hand and found himself swinging freely in the wide open air. "Pull!" Every part of Julian's body except for his stomach immediately started to rise. When he scrambled onto solid ground, he discovered that his stomach had made the trip with him after all. He threw up. "You okay?" said Tim. "I'll live," said Julian, standing up on shaky legs, using the tree to support himself. The tree tilted about five degrees toward the cliff's edge. Rocks and dirt spilled down. "Fuck!" said Cooper, below them. "Throw him the rope!" said Dave. Julian began to unwind the rope from around his wrist. The tree gave a little more, the roots on his side breaking up through the earth. "Hurry up!" said Tim. Just as Julian freed himself from the rope and tossed the end over the side, the ground beneath the tree disintegrated and the tree disappeared over the edge. "Cooper!" shouted Julian. "What?" shouted Cooper. Julian turned around. Dave and Tim were losing a battle of strength and mass, slipping inch by inch toward the edge of the cliff. "Grab the goddamn rope!" said Tim. "Oh right," said Julian. He grabbed the rope and planted his feet firmly into the ground. It slowed the rate at which they were all dragged toward certain death, but did not stop or reverse it. Cooper was just too heavy. Dave's face was beet-red as he huffed and puffed through his bushy dwarf beard. "Dammit, Cooper! You've put on weight, you fat bastard!" "We can exchange beauty critiques when I'm up there!" Cooper shouted back. "By the way, you assholes are moving the wrong direction." Julian let go of the rope. "I've got an idea!" "For fuck's sake!" said Tim, his hairy feet scrambling for purchase on the ground. "Could you think of an idea that doesn't involve letting go of the rope?" Julian ran back to Dave and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Bull's Strength." Dave stopped slipping. His leopard-furred forearm expanded like Popeye. His body grew inside his armor, challenging the integrity of his buckles. "Gaaarrrr!" Dave shouted as he started stepping backward. The rope went taut, lifting Tim's tiny body off the ground. Dave moved like a steam locomotive in reverse. Five steps later, Cooper came climbing over the edge. "Whew," said Cooper, wiping the sweat off of his giant sloped forehead. "That was a close one." "No thanks to you, fucktard!" said Tim. "How was I supposed to know how weak the ground was?" Julian pulled at his long elf-ears. "Well you didn't have to go jumping on it like Wile E. Coyote!" "Ah ha," said Cooper. He crossed his massive arms over his chest and looked smugly down at Julian. "You didn't let me finish. How was I supposed to know how weak the ground was until I tested it? Safety first." "That's it," said Julian. "I'm going to kill you." He threw the right side of his serape over his shoulder, made a fist, and stepped toward Cooper. Tim stepped in his way. "Cool it, man. Remember, it's not him. It's his Intelligence score." "I almost died!" "We've all almost died," said Tim. "Just take it easy and –" "Is everyone okay?" said Ravenus, flapping in from above. His head moved left and right as he settled on the ground. "I seem to recall there being a tree here earlier." "Where the hell have you been?" asked Julian. "I was hunting," said Ravenus. "Killed me a squirrel, I did. Not much of a meal, I'm afraid. They have tiny eyes, and the rest of him won't be good to eat for a couple of days yet. When I felt you panicking, I came right away." "If you're still hungry, Cooper said you could have his eyes." Ravenus stared open-beaked at Cooper. "I say, that's very generous of him, but –" "Just try it, Fucko," said Cooper. "And I'll be having roasted raven for dinner tonight." "Just everybody calm down," said Dave. "We've just been through a traumatic experience, and we're all a little testy." "Speak for your own little testes," said Cooper. "Shut up, Cooper," said Tim. "Julian, have you chilled the fuck out yet?" "Yeah, I'm okay," said Julian. "Sorry, Ravenus. You can't eat Cooper's eyes." "Thank the gods," said Ravenus. "I didn't want to be rude, but he's revolting." Tim and Dave giggled. Julian was impressed. He'd seen Ravenus tear into a week-old dead dog before, but even he was not immune to Cooper's low Charisma score. Cooper frowned at Tim and Dave. "What did he say?" "He said 'Aw, shucks'," said Julian. Cooper gave Ravenus a satisfied grin. "Tough luck, bird." "I'm sorry for losing my temper," Julian said to Cooper. "I'm still hungover from last night." "Don't sweat it, dude. I know what you mean. I think I'm still a little drunk." "I just can't drink like I could when I was human." "That makes sense," said Dave. "Elves take a penalty to their Constitution scores. It's the same reason I can drink like ten times the amount any of you guys can. I feel fantastic." "That's great," said Tim. "Maybe you can find us a better way off of this mountain than the one Cooper found." "There was a stream not too far back," said Dave. "If we follow that, it should eventually lead to the Bluerun river, which will take us back to Cardinia." Cooper frowned. "If we go back to the Whore's Head empty-handed again, Frank will put me back on werewolf duty. Where the hell are all the monsters at anyway? We've been wandering around all day." "Don't worry," said Julian. "With any luck, we'll get attacked by evil leprechauns on the way home." He didn't know what worried him more. That his statement was only mildly laced with sarcasm, or that he was really starting to consider the Whore's Head Inn home. The land here sloped so gently that they hadn't even realized they were at a dangerous elevation until he and Cooper nearly fell off a cliff. Dave had a knack for noticing slight variances in topography… something to do with him being a dwarf. He led the group to the stream he'd spoken of earlier. It wasn't much more than a trickle of water, but it flowed in a discernible direction, and that was the direction they followed. About thirty minutes downstream, through the leafy curtain of some massive willow trees, the stream opened up into a lovely pool. About as wide around as Papa Joe's Pizza, including the parking lot, the surface was covered in a green, slimy film, and dotted with enormous white flowers. It was the sort of place you'd take a hippie chick if you A.) wanted to make sure you got laid, and B.) wanted to see that she had some kind of a wash first. It was so perfectly hidden by the willows that, had they not been following the stream, they would have missed it entirely. "Oh my God," said Dave, his mouth an open cavern in his otherwise hairy face. The Bull Strength spell had worn off, and he was back to his normal size. "I never would have thought something so beautiful could exist," said Tim. Cooper blew a double-barrel yellowish-gray snot bubble from his upturned nostrils. "They should have sent a poet." A film of green algae covered the surface of the water, punctuated here and there by some rather large flowers. Tim stepped toward the water, but Julian put a hand on his shoulder. "What?" said Tim. "You don't know how deep that water is." "I can swim," said Tim. "You only need to make a skill check if you're fighting a current or being chased by monsters or something." "But there could be anything in there," Julian insisted. "Sharks, krakens, dire trout." "Where the fuck are sharks going to come from?" asked Cooper. "The pool is fed from a mountain stream." Julian put his hands on his hips. "As if that would be the most nonsensical thing we've encountered in this stupid game." "I don't know," said Dave. "Dire trout might actually take the cake." Cooper picked Julian up and lifted him over his head. "What the hell are you doing?" Julian cried. "Fishing for dire trout," said Cooper as he threw Julian into the pool. Julian only barely managed to throw his bag away before smacking into the water. It was only about knee-high. He sat up, exposing crystal clear water beneath the algae. He supposed that maybe his concern about sharks was a little silly after all. And he had to admit that it felt good to wash the shit off of his head. But that didn't make what Cooper did any less stupid or irresponsible. "I have scrolls in my bag, you big idiot! What if they'd gotten wet?" Cooper frowned. "Sorry." "How's the water?" asked Dave, already beginning to unbuckle his armor. "It's not bad," said Julian. "A little slimy on the surface, but clear and refreshing underneath." "Awesome," said Tim, stripping off his vest, shirt, and pants. Julian averted his eyes and made a mental note to buy Tim some underwear. He'd seen all the tiny halfling dick he wanted to see. Cooper waded in, tentatively at first, and then dove in with a huge belly flop. When he resurfaced, Julian threw a big glob of algae at his face. Cooper wiped it off. "Oh you asked for it, elf!" Julian's heart quickened as Cooper rushed at him. Ravenus flew down and started pecking on Cooper's head. "Ow!" Cooper shouted, trying to swat Ravenus away. "Call off your goddamn bird!" "Ravenus, stop!" cried Julian. "We're only playing." Ravenus disengaged from Cooper and perched on a willow branch. "Apologies, master. I felt genuine terror in your heart. "That's just my survival instinct kicking in," said Julian. "I know in my heart that Cooper is my friend and would never hurt me, but when my brain sees a giant half-orc rushing toward me… um… it's sort of like riding a roller coaster." "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that term, sir." "Of course not," said Julian. "Hmm… let's see. Back where we come from, we sometimes –" "You guys!" said Tim. "Look at the size of this flower!" He was standing waist deep next to the biggest lily Julian had ever seen. It was a blend of pink and lavender, about the size of a Volkswagen Beetle. The pad it rested on would probably support the four of them. "Is it a dire lily?" asked Julian. "Don't be stupid," said Tim. "It's just a big flower." "Not every oversized thing in this world is dire," said Dave, having finally shed all of his armor and wading into the pool. "Some things are just big. Oxygen levels or evolution or some shit like that." "Thanks, professor," said Julian. "Everyone shut up for a second," said Tim, pressing his ear against the giant flower. "It's humming." With his long elf ears, Julian didn't need to be that close to hear the noise Tim was referring to. It sounded like a refrigerator. "Tim. Maybe you should step back." "Why would a flower be humming?" Tim mused distractedly. Julian, though already a probably-safe distance from the flower, took a step back. "I don't know, Tim. That's why I think you ought to –" His words were lost in an explosion of pollen. The hum-level grew from refrigerator to Vespa-with-a-faulty-muffler as a five-foot long bee flew out of the flower. "Jesus!" cried Tim, falling back on his bare ass. His head barely poked out of the water. "Dire bee!" shouted Julian. "Giant bee," said Dave. "Oh shit!" said Julian as the bee lifted Tim out of the water. "Magic Missile!" A golden bolt of energy blasted from his outstretched palm and hit the bee in its striped abdomen, spraying a cloud of pollen dust. The insect's buzz grew sharper as it darted straight up in the air. "Dammit!" said Julian. He raised his arm toward the bee again. "Magic Miss—" Next thing he knew, he was underwater with Cooper on top of him. He struggled briefly, but ineffectively, until Cooper finally got off him. "Sorry, dude," said Cooper. "What the fuck?" said Julian. "They were too high," said Cooper. "If you killed the bee, Tim would have fallen to his –" "Wait," said Julian. Dave looked skyward. "Shouldn't we be going after –" "Shut up for a second!" Julian snapped at him. He hoped that he'd imagined the sound, but it was still there, and growing louder. "Guys. Get your weapons." "Huh?" said Cooper. Julian sloshed through the water until he was on dry land. He picked up his quarterstaff. "Ravenus! Go after Tim. Do not attack the bee. Just follow it and report." "Right away, sir!" said Ravenus. He spread his big black wings and took to the air. "You two idiots get out of the water!" Julian shouted at Dave and Cooper. Cooper scratched his armpit. "Why do you –" "BEES!" Five giant bees rose out of the surrounding lilies. "Oh fuck!" said Cooper, stomping and splashing through the water. Dave, even unencumbered by his armor, was a good deal slower than Cooper. Two of the bees caught up to him and planted their pointy asses into his wet and hairy one. "Yaaaaaaaooooo!" Dave howled. The bees' wings stopped buzzing, and they fell dead in the water, leaving their stingers behind like daggers in Dave's ass. "Nice going, Dave!" said Cooper. "You took down two all by yourself!" "Oh, my ass." Dave whimpered. He closed his eyes and plucked the two stingers from his cheeks simultaneously. Julian readied his quarterstaff home-run-derby-style for the bee which had homed in on him. His timing was perfect, and he smacked that bee right in its big stupid bee face. The bee spun out of control through the air, disappearing through the willow branches. It was only out of sight for a second before it burst through the branches again, minus an eye and headed straight for Julian. Julian threw his hand out toward it. "Buzz off!" he shouted as a Magic Missile flew from his open palm. The bee's head exploded and its body crashed to the ground at Julian's feet. "Lame," said Cooper, swatting his axe at the two bees which had chosen him as their target. "Let's see you do better," said Julian. "Hmm…" said Cooper, ducking under a bee attack. "Okay, I've got one." He gripped his axe with both hands by the very bottom of the handle. "Two bees?" As the bees closed in, Cooper swung his axe sideways in a large arc, slicing straight through the face of the first bee and into the thorax of the other, killing them both instantly. "Or not two bees?" He looked at Julian and cocked an eyebrow. "That is the question." Julian considered it. "Okay, that was good, but only applicable in a very specific –" "Holy shit!" said Cooper. "Check out the ghetto booty on Dave." Julian turned around. "Wha!" Dave's ass was purple and swollen, like he'd just come out of the OR after having two watermelons implanted in it. "Jesus, Dave. Are you okay?" "I don't feel so hot." "You look like shit," said Cooper. "Maybe you should sit down." Dave glared at him. "On second thought, that's probably not such a good idea." "Cooper, you help Dave get his armor back on," said Julian. "I'm going after Tim." He waved his arm in a circle. "Horse!" A black mare popped into existence before him, saddled and ready to ride. Julian secured his right foot in the right stirrup and hefted himself onto the horse. "Go, horse!" The horse bolted forward, coming to a full gallop in a matter of seconds. As experienced a rider as Julian's elf character may have been, the real person inside was still unaccustomed to riding so fast on the back of such a large animal. He held the saddle horn with two white-knuckled hands while he tried to focus his mind on Ravenus. Fortunately, his empathic link with his familiar functioned like a GPS, and he was able to intuit the direction the bird was flying in. A few minutes later, he had visual contact. Ravenus flew in wide circles around the struggling giant bee. The bee was flying slowly and erratically, but still very high. Julian guessed that while Tim was small enough for the bee to pick him up, he was still too heavy for it to make good time. The Magic Missile Julian had fired into its ass probably wasn't doing it any favors either. As Julian followed, the bee began to descend. The little bastard must have been all tuckered out. When it got low enough, Julian would finish it off with one more Magic Missile, grab Tim, and get back to the others. Hopefully that would all occur before it reached its hive. He followed the bee over one more hill and stopped his horse at the top. The bee was descending toward a deliberate destination, but it wasn't a hive. It was a cottage. Two things immediately stood out as being peculiar about this cottage. The first was that it appeared to be made entirely of stone, and the second was that it was huge. It was at least twice the size of what a normal cottage should be, complete with proportionally large windows and doors. The bee's descent was toward the side of the house, where a series of large stone boxes, about the size of shipping containers, lay in a row. The stone boxes were surrounded by dozens of giant bees, some coming, some going, most just hovering around. Julian was about to just roll the dice with another Magic Missile when something – or someone – stepped out from the side of the house. Whoever – or whatever – it was, it was easily twice as tall as Cooper, and maybe three times as tall as Julian. And it appeared to be wearing some kind of Hazmat suit. Julian snapped his fingers, and the horse disappeared beneath him. He landed on his feet, but let himself fall the rest of the way down. This was not a time to go rushing in with naught but a quarterstaff and a few Magic Missiles. He stayed close to the ground and observed. The huge man had a tiny metal bottle in his left hand. As he approached the stone boxes, he pulled the stopper out of the bottle, releasing a cloud of thick, white smoke. The bees coming in contact with the smoke stopped flying and settled down to sleep on the ground. Having calmed the bees in the immediate vicinity, the man slid the lid off of one of the boxes and pulled back his meshed visor. His skin was as grey and rough as the stone his house was made from. He was completely bald. His eyes and cheeks were sunken, giving him a most severe face, like a statue of a king who had not enjoyed his reign. He dipped a gloved finger into the box. When he pulled it out again, it was coated in a thick golden – "No fucking way," Julian whispered to himself, not believing what he was seeing. "A dire fucking beekeeper." "Mmmm," said the beekeeper, licking his finger. "That's the stuff. Good work, little bees. You've outdone your—what's this?" His attention was on the bee carrying Tim. He held out one hand under the bee, and with the other hand he waved the smoking bottle around. The bee dropped Tim into the big man's palm and flew sluggishly into the open box. Tim started choking violently in the smoke until the beekeeper stoppered the bottle and blew the lingering smoke away. "Great Ragnor!" said the beekeeper. Julian was too far away to be sure, but he thought the dude might be crying. "Greta! Come quickly!" "I'm not going anywhere with all of those blasted bees buzzing around!" shouted a female voice from inside the cottage. "Love of my life!" said the beekeeper. "The gods have heard our prayers, and they have answered!" "Speak not idly of the gods, Thorak!" the voice inside the house snapped back at him. "I'll not have it in my house." "My words are not idle, love," said Thorak, Holding Tim in his cupped hands and patting him gently on the head with his massive thumb. "Our dreams have come true! They have delivered us a child!" The front door swung open and an equally huge grey-skinned person shook the ground as she stomped out. She was as bald as her husband, but her breasts were like boulders under her apron. This must be Greta. "What blasphemy do you profane this house with? I tell you, I'll not tolerate –" She clapped her own hands over her mouth as she looked into her husband's. "Blessed be the gods! A little boy!" "Oh ho ho!" cried the beekeeper. He really was crying now. Tears streaked down either side of his stony grey face. "He's made a little pee-pee right here in my hands!" "So he has," said Greta. "Well bring him inside. We'll get him cleaned up and I'll wrap him in a fresh nappy. Then we'll see about feeding him." Thorak's smile faltered briefly as he looked at Tim in his hands, but he beamed down at his wife with a broad smile which Julian thought might not be one hundred percent sincere. When they brought Tim inside the massive cottage, Julian stood up and looked for Ravenus. He spotted the bird flying high in a tight circular holding pattern directly above the bee-boxes. Julian waved his arms and willed Ravenus to look his way. Shortly after, Ravenus flew down to him. "Tim's in trouble," said Julian. "Those dire beekeepers think he's a child delivered by the gods." "Those what, sir?" asked Ravenus. "Dire beekeepers?" "The stone giants, you mean?" Julian's face flushed. "Yes, of course. Do you have any ideas?" "As a matter of fact, I do," said Ravenus. "As I was flying around up there, I got to thinking. Fish tend to decompose much more rapidly than mammals. If you were to combine the two somehow – say, mash them up together into a paste – you might only have to wait a few hours before it's ready to eat. Maybe spread it on a crust of bread. Or just lap it up straight out of the –" "I was talking about ideas on how to rescue Tim." Ravenus lowered his head. "Oh, of course sir. A thousand pardons. No, I'm afraid I don't." "Dammit," said Julian, tugging on his long ears. "Even with Cooper and Dave here, I don't think we could take those stone giants in a fight. They're way too big. And if they really believe that Tim is their child, Diplomacy isn't going to be much help either." "If you don't mind me saying so sir," said Ravenus. "You're a very talented sorcerer. I don't think you always use your magic to its full potential. If you use your imagination, I bet you could –" "Magic!" said Julian. "Yes, sir," said Ravenus. "The point I was making is that sometimes we –" "Shut up for a second. I want to check something out." He closed his eyes and muttered to himself. "Detect Magic." When he opened his eyes again, his vision was in black-and-white. He immediately turned toward the bee-boxes and found what he was looking for. The bottle which the stone giant had subdued the bees with glowed bright pink. He'd left it on top of the bee box. Julian closed his eyes and shook the spell free from his head. "Ravenus, do you think you'd be able to pick up that bottle over there?" "I wouldn't think so, sir. "There's not really a spot for me to wrap my talons around." "It's too high for me to reach," said Julian. "We'll have to do this as a team." "Have you thought of a plan then, sir?" "Yes." "Brilliant!" Julian smiled. He really liked having Ravenus around. "Thank you. Now here's what we're going to do. I'm going to walk over there, slowly and quietly. The idea is to not let the stone giants hear me and not provoke the bees. When I'm in position, next to the big stone bee-box, you fly over and tip the bottle off the edge. I'll catch it, and we'll both meet back here. Got it?" "No problem, sir!" As Julian inched his way toward the massive stone bee box, the air smelled more and more strongly of hickory, which he assumed was from the lingering traces of bottled smoke. He paused whenever a bee flew too close. Proximity was a problem he was going to have to face anyway, though, as he was the one approaching their home. The bees ignored him for the most part until he stepped within about twenty feet of the box. Then a trio of bees started buzzing past him more aggressively. He stood as still as the stone the boxes were made of as the bees sated their curiosity. They passed so close that he could feel the air move from their wings. One of the three hovered directly in front of Julian. Its buzz seemed as loud as a riding lawn mower, and it made clicking, chittering sounds with its mouth. Julian didn't need to understand bee-speak to make a guess as to what this bee was trying to tell him. Back your elf-ass up. We would prefer not to leave vital parts of our anatomy inside you, but we will do just that if you step any closer to this box. Julian conceded defeat. He had been outsmarted by three insects. His plan had failed. He was about to take a step back when Ravenus flew in and tipped the bottle off the top of the box. It landed on the grass below, and the stopper fell out. Smoke poured out and a thick cloud began to form. Ravenus started rolling the bottle toward him. Julian held his breath and his eyes began to water as the cloud moved his way, but Ravenus's quick thinking had worked. The bee which had been interrogating Julian settled down on the grass for a nice little nap, and his two wingmen had flown away from the smoke. When it was within reach, Julian grabbed the bottle and sprinted back to his rendezvous spot on the hill. It wasn't as tiny up close as the giant had made it seem. It was a little bigger than a 3-Liter Coke bottle. Smoke continued to billow out of the top of the bottle, so Julian held it over his head as he ran so that he could breathe. He felt like a steam locomotive. When he stopped at the rendezvous spot, holding the bottle over his head no longer had any effect. The smoke continued to pour out, surrounding him. He held his breath again, trying to cover the top of the bottle with his hand. The smoke ran right through his fingers. He turned the bottle upside-down and pushed the open end into the grassy earth. Still no good. Smoke was all around him, and his eyes were burning like sons of bitches. They would need to go back for the stopper. Ravenus could get it. Julian called out, "Ra—haugh haugh blaugh haugh!" He choked, his oxygen-starved lungs sucking in enormous quantities of smoky air. As an alternative to passing out and suffocating to death, Julian forced his legs into motion. He ran in a wide circle until his choking calmed down. Then he continued running as he scanned the skies for Ravenus. Where the hell was that bird? He stopped running when a small metal sphere fell out of the sky, thudding into the ground next to him. "The hell?" Julian muttered before the ever-growing cloud of smoke forced him to hold his breath again. Picking it up, he discovered that the sphere was only the top of the object. It was connected to a cone, sort of like a child's drawing of an ice-cream cone. It took a few more seconds before his smoke-filled brain made the connection. He placed the stopper into the top of the bottle. It was a perfect fit. The air cleared and Julian let out a long sigh of relief. "Thought you might need that," said Ravenus, flapping to the ground next to Julian. "Well done, Ravenus." "Now what's this plan of yours?" Julian looked curiously at his familiar. "What are you talking about?" "Your plan to rescue Tim," said Ravenus. "You said you had a plan." "Oh no," said Julian. "I meant I had a plan to get this bottle. We just carried it out." "Um…" Ravenus scratched at the ground with a talon. "And a finely executed plan it was, sir," he lied. "But what do we need the bottle for?" "It's magical!" said Julian enthusiastically. "There must be a thousand and one uses for a continuously smoking bottle." His enthusiasm waned with each word of that sentence. "Outside of bee subdual," said Ravenus, "I'm hard-pressed to think of one." Julian frowned, looking at his newly acquired treasure. He'd find a use for it. They wouldn't bother including a magic item in the game if its only practical use was for beekeepers, would they? "I with Cooper and Dave would hurry up. We need to work out a strategy." "The stupid one will be along shortly," said Ravenus. "I saw him running this way while I was flying." "Alone?" Julian stood up and looked eastward just in time to see Cooper's head rise above the crest of the next hill over. "Where's Dave?" Ravenus shrugged his wings. "Oh no!" cried Tim from inside the cottage. "Please, anything but that! I'm telling you, you've got the wrong –" The rest was muffled grunts. Julian desperately wanted to run to Tim, but heading Cooper off was the safer option. If Cooper opened his big mouth and alerted the stone giants to their presence, it could mean death for all of them, Tim included. Also, Julian would need Cooper's help to be able to look in the window. Holding a finger over his lips, he ran as fast as he could toward Cooper. They met in the shallow valley between the two hills. "Where's Dave?" Julian asked. "He's coming," said Cooper. "He's slow. What the fuck is that?" "Huh?" Julian followed Cooper's gaze to the bottle in his hand. "Oh, it's a magic bottle. It makes smoke. I swiped it from a stone giant's house. I thought it might come in handy for rescuing Tim." "Shit," said Cooper. "Tim got captured by stone giants?" "More like adopted. They think he's their baby, delivered by the gods." "That's fucked up, dude. Wait, so they're like a married couple?" Julian shrugged. "I guess." "And they don't know where babies come from?" "I guess not." "That's fucked up, dude." "We should get to the cottage," said Julian. "I think they're torturing him or something." Cooper put his hands on his hips. "Now that's just bad parenting." They approached the side of the cottage as quietly as they could. Cooper wasn't particularly stealthy, but Julian felt confident that Tim's continuing grunts and protests would cover them well enough. "Oh god stop!" cried Tim as Cooper and Julian stood beneath the window. "It's like Pepto Bismol and sand. I can't –" He was stifled again. "Lift me up," whispered Julian. Cooper grabbed him by the waist and lifted him over his head. Julian took a tentative peek over the sill. Greta sat topless, facing away from the window, pressing Tim's face against her huge gray breast. Thorak rubbed her naked shoulders. Tim's eyes met Julian's, and he let out a long, muffled groan. Julian put his finger over his lips and nodded. "What's going on?" asked Cooper in what passed for a whisper for him. "Shh!" Julian said, looking down at him. He whispered back, "She's breastfeeding Tim." "No way!" said Cooper, letting go of Julian. "Ow!" said Julian, his face hitting the window sill on the way down. He landed on his ass. Cooper jumped up, grabbed the window sill, and pulled himself up to peek over. "Oh shit." "Hey!" Thorak shouted from inside. Cooper let go of the window sill. "Dude, I've got some bad news." "You think?" Julian whispered harshly at him. "What is it?" cried Greta. "What's happening?" "Nothing to worry about, love," said Thorak. "Just a pervert. I'll take care of him." His voice seemed extra loud, as if he was giving them a warning, maybe a chance to run. "Dude, come on," said Cooper. "We've got to go." "No," said Julian. The seed of an idea began to take root in his head. "You've got to go. He didn't see me. Throw me up onto the roof and start hauling ass." "But what about –" "Dude. Don't think. Throw." "Okay," said Cooper. He picked up Julian and tossed him underhandedly onto the roof. His ninety-five pound elf-body was nothing for Cooper's massive strength. He landed surprisingly gently on the roof. Even more surprising was seeing Ravenus there staring back at him. "Well isn't this nice, sir," said Ravenus. "I certainly wasn't expecting to see you up here." "Keep it down," said Julian. "I'm hiding." He scooted back away from the edge of the flat stone roof and watched Cooper run away. A few seconds later, Thorak was in view chasing after him and carrying a huge, bulging sack. He would have caught up with any of the rest of them with ease, but Cooper had a Movement Bonus as part of the barbarian package. Julian silently congratulated himself on remembering that. He was getting the hang of this game. "Sir?" said Ravenus. "Okay, here's the plan," said Julian. "I'll sneak in through the kitchen window, hide this bottle somewhere, pull the stopper, and sneak back out. When the lady stone giant smells the smoke, she'll leave Tim behind to go investigate. Tim sneaks out of this window, and we all run like hell." He crossed his arms and stuck his chin out, proud of himself for coming up with a plan, and for thinking of a practical use for the smoking bottle. "What do you think?" "If I may say so, sir," said Ravenus meekly. Mustering up his courage, he continued. "Your plan seems just a bit far-fetched." "What are you talking about?" said Julian. "It's foolproof!" "Let's, for the moment, take for granted that every part of your plan happens exactly the way you expect it will," said Ravenus. "Mind you, I'm not entirely convinced of that, but that's neither here nor there. How long do you think you'll have to run before she figures out that her baby is missing? She'll catch up to you in a matter of minutes. And what do you think she'll do to her son's kidnapper?" "I'll admit you raise some thought-provoking questions," said Julian. A moment later, he added, "Shit." As it turned out, Julian wouldn't have had the time to carry out his plan anyway. Thorak didn't chase Cooper very far. He reached into his sack and pulled out a boulder roughly the size of a beach ball. He hurled it at Cooper, who only just managed to duck out of the way before the huge, round rock exploded into a nearby outcropping. "The next one's for your head, you filthy pervert!" the angry giant called out after Cooper. "Dishonor my wife again, and I'll make you into a stew!" He hefted his sack of rocks over his shoulder and trudged back toward his house. Julian took cover behind the chimney. Just as Thorak was getting close enough to make Julian nervous, another figure crested the hill to the east. It was Dave, out of breath and naked from the waist down. He held his helmet over his junk, but his ass must have still been too swollen to don the lower half of his armor. Upon seeing one another, Dave and Thorak paused in mutual disbelief. "Jesus Christ!" said Dave. "Another one!" Thorak growled. "Perverts everywhere!" "Huh?" said Dave. He looked down at his helmet. "Oh, no. You don't understand. I was just –" A boulder smashed into Dave's breastplate, sending him tumbling backwards down the hill and out of sight. "What's become of this world?" Thorak grumbled to himself as he walked to the front door. The house shook when he slammed it behind him. "Go see if Dave is okay," Julian said to Ravenus. "Right-O!" said Ravenus as he flew off. "Did you get rid of the perverts?" asked Greta. "They won't be bothering you again anytime soon," said Thorak. After hearing the ferocity with which the giant had shouted at Cooper and Dave, Julian only now picked up on how very gently he spoke to his wife. "You didn't…" Greta started. "No, love," said Thorak. "Of course not. We are not savages. Oh, but I gave them a warning they'll not soon forget." "I'm worried about little Krum," said Greta. "He's not taking down much milk at all." "You named him Krum!" said Thorak. His voice was positively jolly. "After my own father. What a lovely gesture!" "Your father was always kind to me." "He keeps spitting up on me. Do you think he's sick?" There followed a sound like a plunger being pulled out of a clogged toilet, then a loud, liquid splat. "Mayhap the gods sent him to us with a full stomach, so not to overburden us on our first day of parenthood." "Oh!" said Greta. "They are wise and generous indeed!" "Now why don't you go in the kitchen and wash up? I'll look after little Krum here." A moment later, he spoke again. His voice was quieter, sterner, and more direct. "Sit down. We haven't much time." "Are you people crazy?" said Tim. His voice was raw and raspy. "I'm not what you think I am." "I know what you are, halfling. Do you know that I rescued you from being devoured by the queen of my bees? 'Tis true! You owe me a debt, and I intend to collect." After a short pause, he continued. "You've been through an ordeal. You must be hungry. Here, have some cheese." "Thank you," said Tim. His next words were a little muffled, which Julian guessed was due to a mouthful of cheese. "Look, I'm sorry for your recent loss, but I can't replace your child." "You do not understand," said Thorak. "We have suffered no loss. My wife suffers from a condition which makes her unable to bear a child. It has maddened her with grief. She prays to the gods every night. It breaks my heart to watch her suffer so." "Hold on," said Tim. "If the problem is a physical one, then why the fuck is she lactating?" "Mind your tongue, halfling," said Thorak. His voice carried a not-so-subtle warning. "It's just one more symptom of the same condition. The gods can be cruelly ironic. True, 'tis a continuously painful reminder of our plight, but it makes for a fine cheese." The sound that followed was either a paper bag full of marshmallows exploding or Tim spitting out a mouthful of cheese. Julian guessed the latter. "Fucking hell, man!" said Tim. "You might want to give a guy a heads up before you feed him your wife's tit cheese!" "Speak not such foul words under my roof! You are unfit to bear my blessed father's name!" "I didn't ask for your fucking father's name," said Tim. "Just like I didn't ask to be dressed in a diaper or suck spackling paste from your batshit crazy wife's tit." Tim was starting to lose his shit. Julian had seen this happen before. His little mouth was about to get him killed. "I'm warning you, halfling!" "Take your best shot, Kojak." "Another word and I'll feed you to the queen bee myse—" "What's all the commotion in here?" Greta had entered the room again. "Our little Krum is cranky," said Thorak. "Perhaps it's time for a nap." "Perhaps it's time for you to eat my ass, Daddy Warbucks," said Tim. "Did he just call you Daddy?" said Greta. "How is that the only word you heard, you crazy bitch!" "On second thought," said Thorak. "Perhaps he's finally hungry." That shut Tim up real quick. "Would you look at that!" said Greta. "You were right, dear. He's all tuckered out. You've taken to fatherhood quite well." There was some moving of furniture, and then Thorak spoke softly. Even with his improved hearing, Julian had to crawl closer to the window and strain his ears to hear. "Now there's a good lad. Get some sleep. Daddy has to go to town on business for a couple of days. When I come back, maybe I'll teach you how to tend the bees." "Oh, must you really leave today?" said Greta. "Our son has only just arrived." "All the more reason for me to handle my affairs responsibly," said Thorak. "I'm not the only beekeeper in the realm. If I displease my customers, they'll get their honey from one of my competitors." "But what if the perverts come back?" She didn't sound frightened exactly. If Julian had to guess, he'd say she almost sounded hopeful. "I have shown them mercy once. The gods are appeased. Should they choose to ignore my warning, you may chop them up and feed them to the queen with a clear conscience." The good news was that, if they waited a little while, there should be only one stone giant to deal with. The bad news was that, even after encountering the group's two strongest fighters, the giants saw absolutely nothing in the way of a threat. The only concern Greta had with being left without her husband was a question of the morality of using them as bee food. Julian sat back and sorted through his scrolls. He always kept a few extra Magic Missiles handy, but he'd already ruled those out. He had a Mage Armor, which he'd definitely use if it came to a fight, but it wasn't helpful in formulating a plan. Grease? No. Ventriloquism? No. Mount? Always good for the getaway, but not so useful for the rescue. Feather Fall? He'd be using that one shortly. Enlarge Person? Hmm…. He might be able to enlarge Cooper, and then he could keep her busy while the rest of them ran off with Tim. No, that plan sucked. Judging by the size of the rocks that dude was throwing, even an enlarged Cooper would be no match for a stone giant. He'd just be swapping out Cooper for Tim, and Cooper was the sort of baby that a mother would just feed to the bees. Now if he had a Reduce Person, they might all be able to grapple with her, tie her up or something, and then make a break for it. But he didn't have one, so there was no point in dwelling on that. Julian frowned as he rolled up the scrolls except for the Feather Fall and packed them back into his bag. Dave and Cooper were more experienced in this game. Maybe they would be able to come up with something. He listened carefully for movement within the house. When he judged it safe enough to do so, he whispered the incantation to the Feather Fall spell. As he spoke them, the words disappeared from the parchment. He jumped off the roof, and his stomach lurched as he dropped at a conventional falling speed. He thought he'd screwed up, but five feet into his descent, the spell took effect, and he glided gently to the ground. He ran as fast as he could away from the stone giant house. Julian scanned the uneven terrain for signs of his friends. As if reading his mind, Ravenus took to the air to serve as a beacon for Julian to locate Dave and Cooper. As Julian got closer to the position beneath Ravenus's holding pattern, he no longer required the bird's service. He could find their position by sound alone, because they were making a hell of a lot of it. Banging and clanging, as if they were trying to tunnel through stone with a frying pan. He was almost right on top of them when he finally made visual contact. They were crouched down, hiding behind a five-foot outcrop. He winced at the sight of Dave's huge, purple ass. He was completely naked now, banging on something with a rock. "What the hell are you guys doing?" asked Julian. "I could hear you a mile away." Dave stopped his task. "I'm pounding out the dent that big bastard put in my breastplate." "Are you okay?" "Yeah, but it was close. I think my sternum was touching my spine." "Ouch." "I had to use up all of my Heal spells." "All of them?" "I've still got a couple of zero-levels left, but yeah. And, wouldn't you know, they didn't do a goddamn thing to bring down the swelling in my ass." "Well I've got some good news," said Julian. "The husband is leaving tonight to go sell honey in town, so we only have the wife to deal with." "Great!" said Dave. "Now it'll take a full twelve seconds for us all to die instead of six." "Maybe try to be a little more constructive?" Julian suggested. "We can't take on a stone giant," said Dave. "We simply aren't high enough level for that." Julian opened his bag. "Then we'll have to think of something else." As the sun descended toward the western horizon, Julian, Dave, Cooper, and Ravenus discussed different options, taking into account Julian's repertoire of spells and the magic smoke bottle. It wasn't exactly a Mensa meeting, though, and they didn't come up with much more than Julian had thought of on his own. "Dave could stand in the doorway," said Cooper. "You cast Enlarge Person on him so that he gets stuck, blocking her exit. We grab Tim through the window and make a break for it." "You're such an ass," said Dave. "You're one to talk, J-Lo." "Cooper!" said Julian. "That's brilliant!" "The J-Lo thing? Thanks, but he kinda walked right into it." "No, the Enlarge Person thing." "You know what?" said Dave. "Fuck the both of you. Tim's in real trouble, and you guys have got nothing better to do than make fun of me?" Julian ignored him. "Ravenus, fly back to the house and stake it out. As soon as the big guy leaves, come back and report." "Roger that, sir!" said Ravenus, and he launched into the darkening sky. While they waited, Julian shared his new idea with Dave and Cooper and the three of them worked out some of the kinks. It wasn't foolproof by any means, and would actually put them in a much worse situation if Julian's timing was off. But they all agreed it was the best chance they had.

2d6

Robert Bevan

Chapter 2

Under the cover of darkness, they approached the cottage. Greta was humming softly and Tim was weeping openly. Wearing nothing but a coil of rope, Cooper took his position below the window of the room Greta and Tim were in. Dave nakedly walked around to the other side of the house and stood outside the kitchen window. Julian stood outside the front door, unrolled the scroll in his sweaty hands, licked his dry lips, and nodded to Ravenus, perched up on the roof. "Caw!" said Ravenus. It was the agreed-upon signal, for Cooper's benefit. Shortly after, Cooper began shouting the famous Bourbon Street chant. "Show your tits! Show your tits!" "What in the name of the gods?" said Greta. "You again!" "Show your tits! Show your tits!" "How dare you show your face again! You will rue this day!" Only a little more calmly, she spoke to Tim. Julian could only just make out what she was saying over Cooper's chanting. "You stay here, Krum. Mommy will take care of that filthy pervert." Julian felt the earth tremble slightly as she stomped through the house, and that's when Dave joined in the chanting. "Show your tits! Show your tits!" "The nerve of you!" Greta screamed. "Why can you not leave decent people alone? Oh, the bees shall eat well in the coming weeks. I can promise you that!" The ground shook more violently with each step she took closer to Julian. His hands were trembling so much that he could barely make out the magical writing on the scroll. He took a deep breath to calm himself, and then heard the latch being undone on the other side of the door. "Enlarge Person!" Julian shouted as soon as the door swung open. "Wha!" screamed Greta and slammed the door shut. He must have startled her. "Did it work?" shouted Dave. "I don't know," Julian shouted back. "She closed the –" A foot crashed through the window next to the door. It was almost as long as Julian was tall, but surprisingly feminine for a foot so large. "Um…" said Julian. "Yeah, it worked." He ran around to Cooper's side of the house in time to see Tim climbing up the rope and out of the window. "Horse!" said Julian. A sturdy grey horse appeared before him. "Horse!" he said again, and a brown horse appeared next to the grey one. "What the hell are those for?" asked Dave, coming around the corner. "Let's just walk. She's not going anywhere." "There's something I forgot to mention," Julian lied. "That spell is only going to last for a minute." That part wasn't a lie at all. "What the fuck, man!" cried Dave. "I can't ride a horse. Look at my ass!" "Hey Dave," said Cooper. "What?" Cooper punched Dave in the face. "What the fu—" Cooper punched him again, this time knocking him out cold. "Let's go." Cooper mounted the grey horse, leaned over, and picked up Dave by the arm. Julian and Tim mounted the brown horse, and they galloped back toward the pool by the willow trees. "Come back here, you filthy perverts!" Greta screamed after them. "Come back with my son!" Gradually her screams faded as the group lengthened their distance from her. She was fast, but she wasn't horse fast. When they reached the pool, Cooper tossed Dave's unconscious body into the water. A few seconds later, Dave was on his feet, coughing and cursing. "My fucking face!" he cried, covering his face with his hands. "Your ass feel better?" said Cooper. "I really hate you, Cooper," said Dave. "And thanks." "Don't mention it." "Are you okay, Tim?" asked Julian. "Physically, I'm fine," said Tim. "But psychologically, I don't know. That was pretty messed up." "Oh boo-hoo," said Cooper. "Poor little Tim had to suck on giant titties all day." "Dude, they dressed me in a diaper!" Tim spread his arms out to show off the thick, white, fluffy fabric wrapped around his waist. "It was humiliating." Cooper waved his hand dismissively at Tim. "You're describing some men's wildest fantasies." Everyone stared silently at Cooper. "What?" he said defensively. "Not necessarily mine. I'm just sayin'." Julian suddenly remembered the smoking bottle and took it out of his bag. "Is that the smoking bottle the giant was using?" asked Tim. "Yeah." "Nice grab." "I'm sending it back." "Like fuck you are!" said Tim. "I don't feel right keeping it," said Julian. "Thorak needs this for his livelihood. "For his lively—" Tim stammered. "Thorak? When the hell did you two become such good buddies?" "I feel sorry for them," said Julian. "They just tried to murder you and feed you to bees!" cried Tim. "They put me in a diaper and sexually assaulted me! Dave, Cooper, are you listening to this bullshit?" Dave frowned and averted his eyes from Tim's glare. "I don't know." "Have a heart, man," said Cooper. "She just lost a son." Tim shook his head. "Un-fucking-believable. Fine. Do whatever you want. Let's make absolutely sure that this entire expedition was another glorious waste of time." Julian secured the bottle to the brown horse's saddle and gave instructions to the horse. "Go that way. Stop when you reach the house." The horse ran off into the night. About a minute later, way off in the distance, Julian heard the dreaded equine scream and knew that he had once again sent an innocent magical horse to its death. He was pretty sure it was far enough away such that the others wouldn't have heard it, so he mourned his short-lived companion in silence. "We should get moving," said Julian. Dave and Cooper scavenged Tim's clothes, which were barely sufficient to cover their junk. Tim remained in his diaper. Only Julian was fully clothed as they walked back to Cardinia. Tim reached into the folds of his diaper and pulled out a large hunk of white cheese. "I grabbed this before I left, if anyone's hungry." "Nice!" said Dave, smiling through his blood-crusted beard. "Oh hell yes!" said Cooper. "I'm hungry as fuck." Julian smiled at Tim and politely declined. ⁂ [ Cooper's Christmas Carol ] Cooper grimaced down at the dead boar he carried under his right arm. Ravenus had eaten its eyes, but Cooper still felt like the boar was looking back at him, mocking him, with the inside of his testicle even now drying on its tusk. Dave's Heal spell had repaired Cooper's nuts well enough, but it hadn't done anything for the lumpy rash spreading out from his left armpit. That much, at least, he couldn't blame on the boar. Still, fuck boars. Nobody else was in any better a mood as they trudged back to the Whore's Head Inn. A boar was good for a bit of food. And to be fair, this was a decent-sized boar. But it wasn't treasure. It wasn't a prize the four of them could hold their heads up high while offering. It was a notch above a completely wasted day. Cooper knew this. But just in case he didn't, Tim had mentioned it about forty thousand times since they started back home. "Frank is going to be pissed," said Tim. "Four guys. Twelve hours. That's forty-eight man-hours, and what have we got to show for it? A pig." "It's not all that bad," said Julian. "Look at the size of it. That's enough meat to feed the whole pub for a couple of days." "Look at that thing," Tim snapped. "Half of its hair is missing. It was coughing up blood before we even attacked it. It's obviously riddled with disease and parasites. And that's not even taking into account that it's been marinating in Cooper's pit-juice for the past hour and a half." "Still," said Dave. "It's not like we're coming back completely empty-handed." Hopefully, Tony the Elf would be on door duty when they arrived. They didn't exactly like one another, but at least he didn't fuck around with secret passwords and all that kind of bullshit like Gorgonzola. He'd just slide the window open, roll his eyes like he was hoping you had died out there, and then open the door. Cooper didn't need a warm welcome. What he needed was a cold beer… maybe a shot of stonepiss. When they arrived ten minutes later, the question of who was on door duty turned out to be moot. The door was wide open, with four dumbasses trying to shove a pine tree through it. "What the hell are you guys doing?" said Cooper. "Oh, good!" said a dwarf whose name Cooper had forgotten. "Could you give us a hand?" "I can give you a foot in the ass if you don't get that fucking tree out of my way." Cooper didn't like many of the dwarves at the Whore's Head Inn, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why. Dave was easy enough to figure out. He didn't like Dave because Dave sucked. But he didn't have that specific a reason not to like the guy asking him to help move the tree. The best he could come up with was that the game dictated that half-orcs and dwarves just didn't get along. He didn't like that explanation because it made him feel like a racist. "You don't have to be a dick about it," said the elf who called himself Scorn. "Come on. We don't need his help." "I'm sorry," said Cooper. He dropped the boar and palmed the chopped up base of the trunk. He shoved as hard as he could, but the tree wouldn't budge. It was jammed in there real good. "Okay guys," said the dwarf. "On three!" "Fuck that," said Cooper. "I've got this." He cracked his knuckles and his neck on both sides. "I'm really angry!" His heart-rate picked up the pace as hot blood surged through his body. His man-tits ballooned out into mighty pectoral muscles. The growth spread out to his arms and legs, all the way out to his fingers and toes. His vision turned pink. "FUCK YOU, TREE!" he shouted, shoving the tree effortlessly through the doorway. Most of the branches on the bottom half broke, but there was no avoiding that. His task successful, he ceased his Barbarian Rage. He inhaled deeply, inviting in the soothing scent of pine. As his muscles relaxed and his vision lost its blood-tint, Cooper found that he had knocked over a number of tables and chairs, and caught several patrons in the branches of the great tree. He stood vulnerably amongst the silent crowd staring at him. "Merry Christmas!" said Frank, clearly plastered. Gnomes got a bonus to their Constitution score. He had obviously skipped the beer and gone straight for the stonepiss. For some reason, he was wearing a Santa Claus hat, but not a shirt. If his skin, for whatever reason, were to turn blue, he'd be the spitting image of Papa Smurf. Cooper tucked this observation into an easily accessible pocket in the back of his mind for further consideration at a later time. "What the hell?" said Tim. He and Julian had followed in the path of furniture carnage Cooper had left in the tree's wake. "It's barely autumn." People were laughing. Booze was flowing. The man they most feared was shitfaced and shirtless. It was just like Tim to start asking questions at a time like this. "We do this every couple of months," explained the booze-sodden gnome-shell of Frank. "It helps keep morale up." He hiccoughed and raised his mug. "Merry Christmas!" "Good enough for me," said Cooper. He picked his kill up off the floor, took it behind the bar to the kitchen, and set it on Barney's preparation table. "What the hell am I supposed to do with that?" asked Barney. "Cook it." "That's the most sickly-looking boar I've ever seen. Did you kill it, or just find it dead in the woods?" "Dude," said Cooper. "This is fresh meat." Barney picked up a meat cleaver and chopped into the hindquarter of the dead animal. The muscle beneath the patchy-haired skin was tinted green and crawling with little worms. Cooper frowned. "Those will die in the oven, right?" Barney crossed his arms. "I'm not cooking this thing." "Fuck you, dude," said Cooper. "I'll cook it myself." "Do you have any ranks in the Cooking skill?" "I didn't even spend a skill point to get Literacy," said Cooper. "You think I'm going to blow one on Cooking? Seriously, how hard can it be?" "Suit yourself," said Barney. "I'm done for the night. The kitchen's all yours." Cooper opened the oven door and looked inside. There was still a pretty strong wood fire burning beneath the rack. Nothing to it. He shoved the boar carcass onto the rack. A few of the worms fell out of the post-mortem wound and into the fire, making a satisfying popping sound. "Merry Christmas, you squirmy fuckers," said Cooper. He closed the oven door and went back out to the bar to get a drink. The few resident druids at the Whore's Head Inn had healed the broken lower branches of the tree. It stood upright in a corner, its trunk planted in a barrel. Cooper had to admit, it didn't look half bad. "All right!" said Frank, waving a stonepiss bottle in the general direction of the tree. "Now the magic users. Work your magic!" All of the wizards and sorcerers, who far outnumbered the druids, crowded around the tree and began to cast their spells. The dull corner suddenly exploded with light. Glowing, illusory ornaments hung from every branch. Multi-colored lights twinkled and orbited the tree in haphazard directions. Someone even cast a Light spell on an armored glove to place on top of the tree. It was a sight to behold. Cooper wiped away a tear and sniffed back some snot, but then decided it wasn't worth the effort. People were used to seeing fluids seep out of his face. He let it flow. "Now that's a fucking Christmas tree!" said Frank. Cooper necked one mug of beer and poured himself another to take back to the kitchen. He opened the oven door to check on his boar. It didn't look any different than it had when he put it in there. "It's not going to cook if you keep opening the door," said Julian, his slender elf body silhouetted against the twinkling Christmas lights beyond the doorway. "Thanks," said Cooper. "But I got this. Does your bird ever lay eggs? We could make some nog." "Ravenus is male," said Julian. "And even if he did lay eggs, I don't think he'd appreciate you drinking his potential offspring." "Just a thought." Cooper opened the oven door again. No perceptible change. "I think I need to turn it over." He reached into the oven and grabbed the dead boar. It was hot to the touch, but not painfully so. His half-orc hands were leathery and rough, and were usually coated in a protective layer of filth. Having a Charisma score of 3 had its perks. No need for oven mitts. The hair on the bottom half of the boar was singed. Cooper gave it a satisfied nod, flipped it over, and shoved it back into the oven. "You don't have to eat that, you know," said Julian. "There's plenty of food out there that isn't crawling with disease." "That fucker gored me in the nuts," said Cooper. "I'm going to eat him." Julian shook his head. "Just make sure you let it cook a while longer. Come on. Let's go top off your beer." The communal area of the Whore's Head Inn was bustling with Christmas spirit. Bards played Christmas carols, and everyone drunkenly sang along. Cooper had drunk half a dozen more mugs of beer before he remembered his boar in the oven. "Fuck!" he said. "What's wrong?" said Julian. Cooper scrunched up his face at Julian. "You sneaky bastard. You used Diplomacy on me to make me forget about my boar, didn't you?" "I just didn't want you to get sick." Cooper stomped back into the kitchen, bumping against the door frame on his way in. "Come on, man!" Julian called after him. "Let it go! You killed the thing. How much more revenge do you need?" "I will have my revenge when I turn that tusky bastard into poo!" Cooper pulled the oven door open, expecting a cloud of black smoke to billow out. There was no smoke. The fire had died down to barely glowing embers, and the meat only looked to be charred on the bottom. Perfect. He took the boar out of the oven, held it before him, and prepared to bite into it. "Cooper!" said Julian, standing in the doorway again. "I'm begging you, man. Don't do it." Cooper flashed his own tusks at Julian before ripping into the boar's belly. It was juicy and tasted of salt… and something that he couldn't quite put his finger on. "That's so fucking gross," said Julian. "Tastes like vengeance!" said Cooper, boar juice flowing down both sides of his mouth onto his chest. Once his tongue had had enough time to explore the subtle complexities of flavor, he had to admit, if only to himself, that Julian was right. It actually tasted pretty shitty. "Oh my god!" said Julian, looking at the boar when Cooper lowered it. "That's not even meat you're eating. You bit into its intestines." That explained the shit taste. Cooper swallowed. "I could use another beer." He left the boar on the preparation table, halfheartedly intending to come back and finish it. He and Julian rejoined the party. It took three more mugs of beer before Cooper was able to taste anything but pig shit. Cooper scanned the crowd. He was happy to see that even Tim looked to be having a good time. Dave, for all his dwarven bonus to Saving Throws vs. Poison, looked well on his way to being hammered, fucking up the lyrics to Holly Jolly Christmas. Someone had even magically changed the leopard fur on his forearm to green with red spots. Looking back at the table where Dave and Tim had been sitting, Cooper saw it was littered with empty beer mugs, shot glasses, stonepiss bottles, and Dave's gloved gauntlets. A foul idea began to brew in Cooper's head even as something even fouler brewed in his bowels. Sneaking over to the unattended table, Cooper tripped over four chairs and knocked over two other tables. Fortunately, the only people who seemed to notice were the ones sitting at them. Having reached his target, he swiped Dave's gauntlets and made for the front entrance. He had a bomb ticking in his gut, and it was going to be a photo-finish race. He slammed the door shut behind him, only just managing to get Dave's gauntlets under his loincloth before his ass exploded like an angry volcano, spraying the inside of the gauntlets as well as the outside of his own forearms with worm-riddled liquid shit. He wiped his arms and the outside of the gauntlets on his loincloth until they were passably clean. He was just about to knock on the door when he spotted Julian's familiar, Ravenus, staring down at him from his perch atop the sign for the Whore's Head Inn. That fucker had seen everything. "Not a word from you, understand?" Cooper knew Ravenus couldn't understand his words, as the bird was only able to communicate in the Elven tongue, but he hoped his threatening grimace communicated his warning well enough. Ravenus squawked back at him and flew away. Cooper pounded the door with his fist. He was sweating, and he wasn't quite sure that he had done all the shitting he needed to do. His stomach was turning like a contortionist trying to escape a straightjacket. The window of the door slid open. Julian was on the other side. His eyes widened. "Cooper! What's wrong with you? You look like shit. I mean, even for you." "Just open the door, would you, I've got to –" He doubled over and puked on the wall of the neighboring building. The door opened behind him, and Julian was soon at his side. "Are you okay?" "Better now," said Cooper. "Thanks." "I told you not to eat that boar, you ass!" Julian scolded him. "Look at you! You're sweating and shitting and puking and— Hey, are those Dave's gauntlets? Why do you have those?" Cooper's heart was racing and his vision was beginning to blur as the world spun around his head, but he still managed a weak laugh. "I took a shit in them." "Why the fuck would you do that?" Cooper steadied himself against a post. "Don't get your pussy in a knot." "My what in a what?" "It's just a prank. Trust me. He'll think it's –" Cooper dropped to his knees and splattered Julian's shoes in vomit. "—hilarious." "No he won't, you stupid asshole," said Julian. "Come on, man," said Cooper, climbing up the wooden post to get on his feet again. "Where's your sense of Christmas spirit?" "That's what you call Christmas spirit?" said one of the four Julians swirling around each other. They all looked pissed. The tips of their big elf ears were almost glowing red. "I've never felt more proud to be Jewish. Now come on inside. You need to get cleaned up and rested. Leave those out here." Cooper looked down at his hand to see what Julian was pointing to. He had a pair of gauntlets in his hand. "Where the fuck did these come from?" "Jesus Christ," said Julian. "You're delirious. Just drop them." Cooper dropped the gauntlets and took a step toward the swirling images of his friend. He slipped in his own vomit puddle and slammed the ground hard with the back of his head. The world slowly faded to black.

2d6

Robert Bevan

Chapter 3

When Cooper woke, his mind was clear and his vision focused. He looked down at his hands. They weren't covered in shit. He was in a bed much too large for him. The polished wooden bedposts were as thick around as he was. Each had a sconce attached about five feet above the comforter, holding a torch. The dim, flickering light from the torches was not enough for Cooper to see the top of the bedposts. They might have continued up forever for all he knew. He felt like a kitten. But as huge as it was, the bed felt warm and safe, which was more than he could say for the dark void beyond it. The silent illusion of security inside his torchlit sphere was shattered by a sound from the outside. It was faint and distant, but it was definitely a sound, and it was getting closer. It didn't take Cooper long to identify the sound as chains, rattling in a rhythmic pattern, which Cooper soon judged to be that of approaching footsteps. "Who's out there?" cried Cooper, pulling the comforter up over the lower half of his face. He was all but paralyzed with fear. "Coooooooper," a not entirely unfamiliar voice called back to him. Chink, clink. The chains rattled. "What do you want?" "Coooooooper," the voice called again, this time a little louder. Chink, clink. "I'll kick your ass!" said Cooper. "Fuck off!" "COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPER!" the voice bellowed. It obviously didn't appreciate being threatened. It sounded like it was nearly right on top of him. The rattle of the chains was now deafening. Chink clink, chink clink. A black man covered in chains stepped into the torchlight. His hands were manacled together, as were his feet. Seemingly purposeless chains were wrapped arbitrarily around his body, the ends of them dragging behind him. Cooper swallowed hard and mustered his courage to speak. "Django?" "No, mon," said the figure. He grinned at Cooper, and his white teeth shone like high-beams. Suddenly, his voice, his face, his dreadlocked hair all clicked together in Cooper's mind. "Bob Marley?" "Ya, mon." Cooper lowered the comforter. "It's an honor. I'm a big fan. That song… um… I…" "I Shot the Sherriff?" "Dude, it's cool," said Cooper. "I chopped a guard's head off." "What?" "I'm sorry. I'm confused." "You don't know any of my music, do you, mon?" Cooper hung his head. "I'm sorry. I swear it's not because you're black." "I beg your pardon?" "I just never got into reggae. Jesus, this is so embarrassing." Bob Marley lifted his chained hands in a peaceful gesture. "Don't sweat it, mon! I'm not here to talk about music." "Why are you here?" asked Cooper. "And why are you all chained up? I've got to say, I'm not entirely comfortable with this imagery. I mean, between the whole black-dude-in-chains, and your shitty Jamaican accent, I just feel like there's some racial insensitivity going on." "It's your dream, mon," said Bob Marley. "If there's sometin' here you uncomfortable with, maybe you need to look inside yourself." "Thank you for your insight, Bob Marley. Can you please go away now?" "I cannot!" said Bob Marley. He seemed to resent the question. "I am doomed to walk in these chains for all eternity. And you will be too, unless you change." "My loincloth?" He lifted the comforter to look down at it, and his eyes started to water at the smell of escaping fart. He had a mean dutch oven going on down there. "Your heart, mon!" said Bob Marley. "You be a miserable excuse for a human being." "I'm a half-orc." Bob Marley shook his head. "I got no more patience for you, mon. I'll say what I came to say, and then I'll be on my way." "Is that from one of your songs? It's beautiful." "You will be visited by tree spirits. They –" "What, like nymphs?" Bob Marley rattled his chains. He was getting flustered. "Tree spirits! One, two, tree!" "Oh, three spirits. I'm sorry. Does that include you?" "No, mon. Three more. I should have made that clear." Bob Marley was pretty chill if you didn't provoke him. "Should I prepare somehow? Are they going to ask me questions?" "It's time I must be goin', mon." Bob Marley stepped backwards, out of the torchlight. "No, Bob Marley!" cried Cooper. "Don't leave me alone in the dark!" "Change your heart, mon." The voice was no longer coming from a focused point of origin. It echoed in from every direction. "Bob Marley! Please, wait!" "Change your heart!" It was fainter, but more commanding. "Don't go!" "Chaaaaange your heeeeeaaaaaaart…" This time it was barely a whisper. "Fuck you, Bob Marley!" Once again, Cooper was alone in complete silence, with only the quickened beat of his pulse to keep him company.

2d6

Robert Bevan

Chapter 4

Cooper lay on the bed for what might have been minutes or months. Time was murky in this place. Panic eventually gave way to boredom, and he thought about having a wank, but he didn't know whose bed he was in. He was just drifting off to sleep again when he heard a sound which did not come from his own body. It was a mixture of grunts, snorts, and pants, like a fat guy running to catch a bus. Cooper sat upright, determined to face this demon without fear. The grunts and snorts grew louder until Cooper was able to pinpoint a direction. He stood up on the bed and waited, fists balled at his side. Finally, the creature emerged from the shadows. It was the sickly boar that Cooper had killed. It was burned black on one side and slightly singed on the other, just as it had been when he'd taken it out of the oven. It even had a large chunk missing from its underside. The boar looked up at him. "Donald McKinley Cooper?" It's voice was husky and dry. "Who wants to know?" "I'm the ghost of Christmas past." "Shit," said Cooper. "I wish I'd known that back when you gored me in the nuts. We could've worked something out." "You seem out of sorts. Do not be afraid. I mean you no harm." "I'm just a little concerned about my heart. Bob Marley said I needed a transplant. But then, I don't expect he's a licensed cardiologist." "Because he's black?" "Fuck you, pig!" The boar's empty eye sockets squinted as it snorted and wheezed at him. Cooper assumed that's just the way cooked boars laugh. "Come, Cooper!" said the boar after it had finished laughing at him. "Take my hoof. I have something to show you." It stood on its hind legs and reached out a charred, blackened foreleg to Cooper. The torches on the bedposts flared bright for an instant and then went out completely. Cooper was in total darkness holding hands with a dead pig. They were floating in the void, for the bed beneath him was gone. "Open your eyes, Cooper," said the boar. Cooper hadn't even realized his eyes were closed. When he opened them, he was sitting on the curb in the parking lot outside a Waffle House. The boar was next to him. The torches had been replaced with electric lamps. It was still dark, but the night was filled with stars. "What the fuck are we doing at Waffle House?" asked Cooper. "You want to fuel up before a long trip?" "The long trip is at its conclusion," said the boar. "This is our destination." "You wanted to show me a Waffle House?" "Not just any Waffle House, Cooper. Come, follow me." The boar waddled across the parking lot toward the entrance of the restaurant, right into the path of a Ford Taurus with some drunk asshole at the wheel. Cooper jumped to his feet. "Pig, watch out!" He flinched as the car met the boar, but his fears were unwarranted. The car passed through the animal like it wasn't even there. The boar turned around to face him. "You needn't fear the physical objects of this world. We currently exist on the Ethereal Plane. We can do nothing here but observe." "Sweet!" said Cooper. He ran out onto the I-10 just in time to catch a tractor-trailer moving at least ninety miles per hour. It rushed through him fast and noisily, like a hurricane wind. It was exhilarating. "Cooper!" the boar shouted at him. "Get back over here right now!" Cooper did as he was told. The boar walked through the front window of the Waffle House, and Cooper followed. Walking through a pane of glass wasn't as much fun as being hit by a truck, but it was still pretty cool. The restaurant was empty, except for the beast of a woman behind the counter. She looked like the Hutt that Jabba had rejected for the prom. She was an easy deuce and a half, with a dark, hairy birthmark on the left side of her face. Nice big titties though, and probably an easy lay. A chill ran down Cooper's ethereal spine at such a thought. "Does she look familiar, Cooper?" "She looks like she fell out of the ugly tree and… I don't know, fucking ate it or something. What does the Waffle House or that fucking yeti have to do with Christmas past?" "These are your memories, Cooper," said the boar. "I am but a guide. This is a Christmas seven years ago. You spent it at the casinos on the coast." Cooper grinned. "I remember that Christmas. I nailed this chick in the bathroom of a Waff—" Clearer memories began rushing into his head. The Waffle House. The fat chick. The Ford Taurus. The drunk asshole. "NO!" The bell on the door rang behind him, and Cooper quickly turned around. A younger, human version of himself stumbled through the entrance. "Ho ho ho, baby!" said the bumbling idiot through a cloud of his own cigarette smoke. "What can I get for you?" said the thing behind the counter. "Maybe it's me who's got something for you," said human Cooper, staggering toward the counter like he was being controlled by an unskilled puppeteer. The big girl raised a bushy eyebrow and laughed. "You couldn't handle this, sugar. Not in your condition. Seriously, what do you want?" "Beer's fine," said Cooper, finally slumping down on a bar stool. "We don't have beer." "Jack and Coke?" "Do you know where you are?" He looked up into her eyes. "I know where I want to be." "Jesus fuck!" said ethereal Cooper, trying to slap his human self. His huge half-orc hands just breezed through his human head, not even stirring a hair. "Knock that shit off!" He sat through two cups of coffee and some of the most painful and desperate flirting he'd ever heard. Eventually, she started to succumb to his drunken charm. During his third cup of coffee, the she-beast came out from behind the counter. "Where is she going?" Cooper asked the boar. "I think you know." She locked the front door and hung up the "Closed" sign. "No!" cried Cooper. "You can't close the Waffle House! The Waffle House is never closed!" She turned around and gave human Cooper a come-hither look. Spirit Cooper wanted to puke his ethereal guts out, but human Cooper had a conspicuous bulge in the crotch of his jeans. She took his hand and led him to the women's restroom. "Let's go, man," Cooper pleaded with the boar. "I really don't want to hear what goes on in there." "You shall hear!" the boar shouted at him. "And furthermore, you shall see!" "No, ghost pig!" cried Cooper. "You can't make me!" But even as he said it, his ethereal body drifted involuntarily toward the bathroom door. As he got nearer, the sounds coming from within the bathroom grew louder and more disturbing, like a mop wringer. Cooper's head was level with the boar's, facing the women's restroom door and almost touching it. The boar turned to Cooper. "It is time. Behold!" Their heads went through the door simultaneously. On the other side was a ghastly sight. The first thing Cooper homed in on was his own bare ass. He was standing upright, pounding away into her from behind. She was bent over the sink, just a stack of moaning fat rolls. It looked like he was raping the Michelin Man. "Make it stop, spirit!" cried Cooper. "Please make it stop!" "Okay," said the boar. "I can't take much more of this either." Sight and sound began to fade until Cooper was once again in silent oblivion.

2d6

Robert Bevan

Chapter 5

Cooper's sensory deprivation was so complete that he even started to doubt his own existence until he felt cold stone beneath his feet. He dropped to his knees and pawed at the ground, looking for a clue as to which way he should proceed. The dilemma was solved when two torches burst into life on a wall directly in front of him. Between them, they illuminated an ornate golden door. A pair of cherubs, one high and one low, held either end of a staff, which served as the door's handle. Cooper stepped forward and gripped the handle. Testing it, he found the door moved freely in either direction. He pulled it open just enough to take a peek at whatever might be on the other side. "Cooper!" a voice boomed from within the next room. There was no point in trying to hide. He'd been made. He opened the door wider. Mordred sat on a gilded throne at the far side of the room. His stupid purple cloak had transformed into a plus-sized Hugh Hefner smoking jacket, exposing more of his pasty man-cleavage than Cooper could stand to look at. He looked like the king of the Bacchus parade. "Come in and know me better, man," said Mordred. His voice echoed in the chamber like a god's. "This is well more than I ever wanted to know you," said Cooper. "I'm sorry," said Mordred, cupping a hand around his ear and leaning forward. "Could you speak up?" Cooper's eyes readjusted. The room was far larger than he had first assumed, which made Mordred proportionately larger as well. He must have been about forty feet tall. It might have been his giant bed Cooper had woken up in. He was glad he'd reconsidered masturbating in it. That would have been weird. Cooper raised his voice. "What do you want?" The giant Mordred smiled and shrugged. "Peace on Earth. Good will toward men." "So you're the ghost of Christmas present." "What do you think?" "It makes sense," said Cooper. "You've got more than eighteen hundred fathers." Mordred frowned. "It's brothers." "I know," said Cooper. "That was just a cheap shot at your mom. The implication was that she's a big whore." "Yeah," said Mordred. "I got it." "You mind if we get this show on the road?" asked Cooper. "I'd kind of like to hurry through this part. I'm still pretty pissed at you for sending us here and giving me perpetual diarrhea." Mordred stomped his great booted feet on the ground and rose from his throne. The room shook. "Is that any worse than what you did to me?" he bellowed. "Blame me not for the consequences you bring upon yourself! Your heart is dark and your deeds are wicked!" "What the fuck are you talking about?" Giant Mordred grabbed a torch from a sconce on the wall and walked toward Cooper. He must have been shrinking as he walked, as Cooper's perception of his size never changed. By the time he reached Cooper, they were approximately the same size. "Take my sleeve." Cooper did as he was told, and the chamber began to crumble around them. Giant chunks of the stone ceiling smashed into the floor, obliterating both on impact. The walls crumbled away to nothing. The great throne melted away. When it was all done, he and Mordred were standing on a quiet, snow-covered street. It took Cooper a moment to realize they were standing outside the Whore's Head Inn. "Hold on a sec," said Cooper. "Why's it snowing? It's not even cold out." "Your mind is confusing your current reality with more conventional images of Christmas," Mordred explained. "Pay no mind to the snow." In front of the door, Cooper saw his own body lying unconscious on the ground. "Am I dead?" "Ho ho ho!" Mordred chuckled a hearty Santa Clause laugh. "Not yet, friend." "Is this what you wanted to show me?" "This much even you could have figured out on your own," said Mordred. "Be patient, man. Watch." He didn't have to wait long. The door opened, spilling out multi-colored flashing lights and the sounds of merrymaking. Julian led Dave and Tim to Cooper's unconscious body. "Can you help me drag him inside?" said Julian, the only one who looked even remotely sober. "Is it snowing?" asked Tim. "Of course not," said Dave. "You're just trashed. Hey, what are my gauntlets doing out here?" "Wait, Dave!" cried Julian. "Don't –" but it was too late. "What the fuck?" said Dave, pulling his arm back out of the glove. It was slimy and brown. The leopard fur band on his forearm was slathered in half-orc shit. Spirit Cooper nudged Mordred with his elbow. "What did I say, huh? Fucking hilarious." "Do you see anyone laughing?" asked Mordred. "Julian's too uptight, Tim's so trashed he barely knows where he is, and Dave's the butt of the joke," said Cooper. "Of course no one's laughing now. But they'll come around tomorrow." "Will they?" asked Mordred. "Will they laugh when Dave dies of dysentery? Will they laugh when Tim shrivels up to a mere husk of a halfling and loses the use of his legs?" "No!" said Cooper. "Not Tiny Tim! Hold on… I didn't shit in Tim's gloves. How's he going to get dysentery?" "Let's go back to Dave for a moment," said Mordred. "He's the real Bob Cratchit of this story." "Wait a second. How many Bobs are in this story?" "Just the one." "But what about –" "Your mind jumbled the memories of Bob Cratchit and Jacob Marley, creating Bob Marley. It's because you're stupid." "Ah, I see." "Why do you treat Dave so badly?" asked Mordred. "What have you got against the guy?" "Dave sucks." "Can you be anymore specific?" "No," said Cooper. "It's a general suck." Dave threw the gauntlet down at Physical Cooper. It bounced off his face. Cooper grunted. His eyelids twitched, and he put his finger in his nose. Spirit Cooper turned to Mordred. "See?" "You felt that was undeserved?" "He attacked me while I was sleeping." "Come on, guys," said Tim. "Let's get back to the party. Leave this dickhead in the snow." "What snow are you talking about?" said Dave. "You two can stand out here and freeze your asses off if you want," said Tim. "I'm going back inside." "What are you talking about?" said Dave. "It's not even cold." "Screw this," said Tim. "I need a –" His little halfling arms flailed out as he slipped in Cooper's vomit puddle. Dave caught one of them to keep him from falling down, thus answering the question of how Tim contracts dysentery. Dave led Tim back inside the Whore's Head. Julian hesitated, looking down at Cooper, but eventually abandoned him as well. Spirit Cooper frowned. "I didn't want to hurt anyone. It's my Intelligence. You said so yourself. I'm stupid." "Let's take a walk," said Mordred. "I have one more thing I want to show you." Cooper gloomily followed Mordred to the apothecary across the street. Mordred pointed his torch into the alley between this building and the one next to it. "After you." Cooper walked into the alley. It was dark, in spite of Mordred's torch behind him, so he proceeded cautiously, keeping one hand on the brick wall to maintain direction. The alley went on far longer than it should have. He seemed to be walking for miles, and maybe even descending. After an indeterminate length of time, Mordred spoke. "Stop. We have arrived." "How can you tell?" asked Cooper. Mordred walked past Cooper and thrust his torch forward. The flame flared bright, illuminating the end of the alley. They were at a dead end. Ahead of them, two emaciated children – a boy and a girl – were shackled to the wall. Their eyes were milky white, and they snapped their teeth at Cooper, as if trying to eat him, but their chains held true. "Jesus Christ!" shouted Cooper. "Who the fuck are they?" "His name is Intelligence and hers is Charisma," said Mordred. "What the fuck are they doing chained in the alley?" "I should probably remind you that you're dreaming right now," said Mordred. "Weird shit happens in dreams." Cooper nodded. "Fair enough." "Beware them both," warned Mordred, "for they are not your friends. But blame them not for your actions. The choices you make are yours alone." The light from Mordred's torch began to fade swiftly. By the time Cooper turned around, he was in complete darkness. It wasn't the void, like the previous times, as he could still hear the snarling and snapping of the kids chained to the wall. "Mordred?" Cooper called out. There was no answer. "Mordred!" The word simply echoed down the long, dark alley. "You fat fuck! Don't leave me alone with these freakshow kids!" He reached out, and was relieved to find the brick wall where it was supposed to be. He walked briskly away from the two rabid children, and was surprised to find the journey back to the street only took a few seconds. Cooper ran out into the middle of the street and waited. He was still shaken up by the two kids shackled in the alley, but he was more excited by anticipating who might represent the ghost of Christmas yet to come. He stood in the middle of the street, closed his eyes, placed the clawed tips of his index fingers on his temples, and tried to will Doc Brown to blast onto the scene in his DeLorean. It was his dream, after all. Surely he could choose the last ghost. Several minutes passed without any lightning-engulfed cars or wild-eyed mad scientists. Now that he thought about it, nothing at all was going on. The street was eerily quiet, even for as late at night as it must have been. He gave up on meeting Christopher Lloyd and walked back to the Whore's Head Inn. The first thing he noticed was that the front windows were broken. He must have missed a hell of a party. He peeked into one window to find that the place was empty. A layer of dust covered the floor and furniture, suggesting that it had been empty for quite some time. "Hello?" he called inside. There was no answer. He walked over to the entrance, surprised to find it wide open. Also surprising was the fact that his own body was missing. Had he woken up? Had the guys had a change of heart and dragged him inside? A loud caw startled Cooper out of his speculations. Ravenus looked down at him from his perch on top of the tavern sign. "Goddammit!" said Cooper. "Not you! Anyone but you!" "There is no one else but me!" said Ravenus. "Whoa," said Cooper. "How come I can understand you?" "Because you're dreaming, fucktard." "Oh, right." "Follow me," said the bird. He flew in short bursts, perching on tree branches or lamp posts as he waited for Cooper to catch up. Cooper followed Ravenus out of the Collapsed Sewer District, to the outer-regions of the city where there were more open spaces than buildings. In the middle of one such open space stood a single tombstone. Ravenus flapped down to land atop the stone. "Behold!" Memories of Scrooge McDuck started to manifest in Cooper's head, and his heartbeat quickened. "Whose grave is this, spirit?" "What kind of question is that?" asked Ravenus. "Read it." Cooper hung his head in shame. "I'm illiterate. It's part of being a barbarian." Ravenus shook his bird head. "Unbelievable. It's Dave's, you moron." "Oh, thank fuck." Cooper breathed a sigh of relief. Ravenus stared at him with his beady little judgmental bird eyes. "What?" said Cooper. "It's a bummer about Dave. I'm sorry about that. I just thought… wait a minute. What did you mean before when you said there's no one else but you?" "How many ways can you interpret that?" asked Ravenus. "An epidemic of dysentery swept through the city. Dave here was lucky to be one of the early ones. He got a proper burial at least. Most residents wound up being dumped into mass graves and burned." Cooper's lower lip quivered as he asked the first question that came to mind. "Tim?" "Dead!" cried Ravenus. "All of them are dead. You killed Dave. You killed Tim. You killed Julian, damn you!" "And me?" "Don't worry, Cooper," said Ravenus. "You're alive and well. You survived because your body was accustomed to constantly shitting itself. I survived because I'm a carrion eater. I eat nastier shit than you can poop out on a daily basis." "Say it isn't so!" cried Cooper. "I'm stuck here forever, alone with you?" "Oh, I wouldn't say alone," said Ravenus, spreading his black wings wide. "This is a city of death now. My kind has taken over." He let out a loud caw. The caw was answered by at least a dozen more in the near vicinity, and then a hundred from the darkness beyond, and a thousand more beyond that. Cooper looked up at a nearby tree. Every branch was covered in ravens, standing shoulder to shoulder, eyeing him hungrily. Cooper backed away, but there was nowhere to go. The night was alive with the flapping of black wings. "You can't eat me!" he cried. "I'm not dead, and I'm disgusting!" "We're willing to overlook all that," said Ravenus. "Just this once." He bolted from his perch toward Cooper. Ravens swarmed in from everywhere, scratching and pecking at his skin. "Nooooo!" Cooper cried, but his plea was drowned out by a cacophony of cawing and screeching. He could neither see nor breathe. He was literally drowning in black feathers. Consciousness faded, and he was once again in the void.

2d6

Robert Bevan

Chapter 6

Cooper awoke to the warmth of the sun on his face. No, that wasn't quite right. It was still dark, and this warmth was liquidy. He opened his eyes to discover a stray dog pissing on him. He sat up and spit out the dog piss that had run into his mouth. "What day is it?" The dog didn't answer. Instead it sniffed at one of Dave's gauntlets, still lying undisturbed on the ground, presumably still full of Cooper's shit. "Merciful spirits!" cried Cooper. "There's still time! Make haste, dog! Run and fetch the prize turkey!" The dog stared blankly at him. "Go on. Get the fuck out of here." He took a threatening step toward the dog, and it ran off. The door to the Whore's Head Inn opened, and Julian, Dave, and Tim stepped out. "He looks okay to me," said Tim. "Hey," said Dave. "What are my gauntlets doing out here?" He took a step toward them. "No!" Cooper shouted. He jumped repeatedly on the gauntlets until they were mangled beyond repair. The pain in his feet was eclipsed by the joy in his heart. "What the fuck, man!" cried Dave. "You're welcome," said Cooper. "How hard did he hit his head?" asked Tim. "Pretty hard," said Julian. Cooper picked up Tim and squeezed him against his chest. "Oh, Tiny Tim! I'm so happy you're alive!" "Please don't call me that," said Tim. "And put me down. You smell like shit." Inside the inn, the party was still going strong. Cooper switched from beer to stonepiss to drown out the pain in his head and feet. His "Tiny Tim" moniker spread quickly, made even more hilarious by how pissed off Tim got every time someone said it. No matter what universe you happen to be stuck in, there are few things in life funnier than an angry midget. Frank's face was beet red from laughing so hard. "Please, sir. May I have another?" "That's not even the right fucking story!" screamed Tim. He climbed up on a table to address the drunken crowd. The bards stopped playing their instruments and the crowd quieted down and looked at him. He raised his little arms and extended both middle fingers. "God damn you, every one!" ⁂ [ Sticky White Mess ] Julian stared at the yellowed, musty pages of a random spellbook he had picked up from a nearby shelf. The magical runes were easy enough to decipher into pronounceable syllables, but they made no sense to him. It was like trying to understand a foreign language after only having cracked its alphabet. He honestly didn't give a damn what was in the book. The only reason he'd picked it up was to give him an excuse to sit at one of the tables, across from a stunningly beautiful female elf. She had curly golden hair that a goddess would envy, and ears that could sail ships. He and Ravenus shot each other a mutually curious glance. It was only since arriving in this world that Julian had come to include 'enormous ears' as something he looked for in a woman. A Norwegian forest cat, white around the muzzle but otherwise covered in splotches of brown and black, lay curled up next to the elven girl's book. It looked like his aunt's cat, only fatter and presumably with even more tenuous ties to Norway. It kept a lazy watch on Ravenus, each of them likely fantasizing about making a meal of the other. Ravenus was growing impatient. Julian could sense it, just as he knew the bird could sense his own feelings of jittery inadequacy in the presence of such beauty. He scratched a talon on the rough wood of the table. The sound was amplified by the otherwise silent library. The elven maiden blew a golden curl out of her eye. "Do you two mind?" she said. "I'm trying to study." "Gryffindor?" asked Julian. "What in the Abyss are you talking about?" she said. Julian looked at Ravenus. "Slytherin." The elf girl likewise turned her attention to Ravenus. "What is he talking about?" Ravenus shrugged his wings. "I'm sorry ma'am. I honestly don't know." The tips of Julian's own giant ears were burning. He was making a fool of himself. What good was a Charisma score of 17 if he couldn't even competently talk to a girl? "Begging your pardon, miss," said Ravenus. "I believe my master fancies you." "Ravenus!" said Julian. "Get out of here!" "I was only trying to –" "Right now! Wait outside." "Yes, sir," said Ravenus. "Right away, sir." He flew out of the library through one of many small openings high in the wall which seemed to have been placed there specifically for flying familiars to enter and exit through. "I'm really sorry," said Julian. "I don't know what's gotten into him. I'm just here to study as well." He closed his book and held up the cover for her to see. "Illusory Spells, Volume VI," said the elf girl. "That's some pretty heavy reading. What spell are you working on?" Julian flipped open to the first random page he could find with emboldened title runes. "This one." He sounded out the syllables. "Mis…lead." He slapped his palm against his forehead. "Shit." The elf girl smiled. "You're doing a fine job of it." "Look, I'm sorry," said Julian. "Ravenus was right. I only grabbed this book off the shelf so I'd have an excuse to sit next to you. You're… I'm… You've got really pretty ears." She rolled her eyes, but her cat purred. Julian grinned. "Lucifer!" she said. "Stop it!" She picked the cat up off the table and tossed him onto the floor. "Go find some rats." The cat gave her a small whine of disapproval before scampering off. The pudgy critter was quicker than Julian would have guessed it could. "You named your cat Lucifer?" asked Julian. "It's Draconic for 'Light Bringer'". "Yeah, I know that," Julian lied. "It's just that…" "What?" "I don't know, it's just…" "Listen, I'm flattered that you like my ears or whatever. You have lovely ears yourself. But I've only got a week to learn this Invisibility spell, or else I'm not going to graduate this year." "Invisibility?" said Julian. "I've looked into that spell. It's only level 2." "Well excuse me," she said. "I'm sorry if I came off as some great wizardess. I didn't mean to Mislead you." "I said I was sorry about that," said Julian. "If you'd ease off a bit, I might be able to help you." "Do you even know the Invisibility spell?" "Not yet," said Julian. "But it's high on my list of spells to learn." "So you're saying what?" she said. "You want to be study partners or something?" "Not exactly," said Julian. "In fact, I think you're wasting your time here." She raised a perfect golden eyebrow. "Is that right? And how powerful a wizard are you to advise me such?" Julian lowered his eyes. "I've only dabbled in wizardry," he admitted. "I wasn't very good at it. But I'm a practicing sorcerer now." "Ha!" she said. "Sorcery. Lazy man's magic. There's no discipline in sorcery. You fling spells around without understanding the magic behind them, and to what end? When I'm enchanting swords for the king's personal guard, you'll still be performing at children's birthday parties." "I don't think that's –" "Listen, pretty boy! I didn't work my ears off for two years at Mystical Melinda's Preparatory Academy for Girls just so some mage-clown could come sweep me off my feet in a public library. Now if you don't mind, I've –" "You spent two years trying to master a second level spell?" "I wish you'd stop talking like that. What are these levels you keep talking about?" "Never mind that," said Julian. "It doesn't matter how you approach your magic, or whatever path you choose to follow in life. In this world, there's one surefire way to advance." "And what's that?" "Kill monsters." The female elf pursed her lips and furrowed her brow at Julian. It was adorable. "You're saying that if I practice the spells I've already mastered, I'll be better equipped to understand new magic?" "No," said Julian. "I'm saying that if you go kill some monsters, you'll gain experience." "Kill them with magic?" "If you like. Stab them, hit them with sticks, throw them off cliffs. Whatever you like. My friend Cooper uses an axe. Tim's more partial to a crossbow. Dave usually just stands around and gets the crap beaten out of –" "Stop talking," said the female elf. "How is any of that supposed to help me master this invisibility spell by next week?" Julian stood up. "Depending on how far along you are already, you might have that spell mastered by this evening." He flashed a smile, making a conscious Diplomacy check. "Come on, what do you say? I'll buy you dinner." She stood up and bit her lower lip. "I suppose I should eat at some point." She slammed her massive, leather-bound book closed and shoved it into a rough suede backpack. Her cloak was made out of the same material. It looked just loose enough to allow her the range of movement she'd need to cast spells while still being thick and rugged enough to deflect a casual attempt at a stabbing. "Okay, sorcerer. I'm willing to waste a few hours while I let my brain recharge. What did you have in mind?" "First I'll introduce you to my friends," said Julian. "What's your name?" She broke eye contact for a split-second before answering. "Um... You can call me Diamond." Julian smiled. "That's a pretty name. I'm Julian." Diamond stood up and strapped on her backpack. "Let's go then, Julian the Sorcerer." "What about Lucifer?" "He'll catch up." Julian led the way out of the arched front entrance of the Great Library of Cardinia. A grassy quad, about the size of a football field, served as a communal open area for the library they stood in front of, the university to their left, City Hall directly across from them, and the Cardinian Multi-faith Grand Temple and Medical Center to their right. Along the perimeter of the quad, between each of these four prominent structures, stood an assortment of tents, specialty shops, food vendors, minor potions and scrolls dealers, showmen, and charlatans. If he cared to look hard enough, he could probably spot a few residents of the Whore's Head Inn hawking their meager wares. Ravenus flew down from the roof of the library and perched atop his quarterstaff. "May I rejoin you, sir?" "Of course," said Julian. "Did you find anything to eat?" "No, sir. I merely sat on the roof." "Oh, that's –" "Waiting." "You didn't –" "Alone." "I'm sorry, Ravenus," said Julian. "You just… She was… You were speaking too candidly. Human conversations are more complex than that. There are subtleties and –" "What do human conversations have to do with anything?" asked Diamond. "Oh, sorry," said Julian. "I meant elven." "You are a strange one," said Diamond. "Where are these friends of yours?" They weren't hard to find. While there was no shortage of dwarves, halflings, and half-orcs roaming the quad, it was rare to see any of them interacting with any other than their own kind, and most of them seemed to have something better to do on a weekday morning than sit on the grass and get wasted. "There they are," said Julian. Cooper was waving a jug at him. "Those are your friends?" said Diamond. "Yeah." "Wow," she said. "I wasn't expecting such a... um... diverse group." "Try not to take offense at anything Cooper might say," said Julian. "He's a good guy, but he tends to come off a bit abrasive before you really get to know him." "Which one's Cooper?" "He's the half-orc waving the jug." "Thanks for the warning." "Hey guys," said Julian as soon as they were within reasonable speaking distance. "I'd like to introduce a friend of mine." He ignored the amused glance exchanged by Dave and Tim. "This is Diamond." "Sweet," said Cooper. "Is she a stripper?" Tim coughed some beer out of his nose. "Cooper!" said Julian. "I'm sorry, Diamond." "It's quite all right," said Diamond. She smiled politely at Cooper. "I'm afraid I'm nothing quite so exciting as that. Just a boring university student." Cooper nodded. "I like your pussy." Tim lost it. He fell backwards, barely holding on to his bottle in one hand while he pounded the grass with the other. Even Dave choked on his stonepiss. "God dammit, Cooper!" shouted Julian. "I love it when they stretch like that." Julian pulled his ears down to his cheeks. "What the fuck is wrong with you, man?" "Why thank you," said Diamond. "What?" cried Julian. "His name is Lucifer." Julian turned around. Diamond's familiar had shown up, its front paws stretched out in front of its yawning face. "Have you considered shaving it?" asked Dave, only barely managing to keep his laughter under control. Everyone looked at him. "What a random and oddly inappropriate question," said Cooper. Diamond picked up her cat. "Yes. I must say that was kind of weird." "I was just advising Diamond," said Julian, "on the best way to master a new spell." Cooper pointed past Julian. "I think there's a library over there." "Thank you, Cooper," said Julian. "That's very helpful. I was hoping someone might have an idea of a more efficient way to accumulate the requisite experience necessary to achieve said mastery." If one of the guys were to bring up monster-killing, it would give him some credibility. "Practice makes perfect," said Dave. "I've often found that if you want to learn how to do something, the best method is to just dive right in and do it, mistakes be damned. Sooner or later, the perseverance will reward you with –" "Shut up, Dave," said Julian. "Tim, do you have any ideas?" Tim narrowed his eyes and nodded slowly, licking his lips as if he had picked up on a bit of innuendo that Julian hadn't intended to transmit. He took a quick swig from his bottle and then smiled up at Diamond. "Let me assure you," said Tim. "My friend Julian is an accomplished tutor of the arcane arts, and his rates are competitive." He pulled the scroll tube containing his character sheet out of his bag. He unrolled the paper and ran his finger down the center. "We might be able to work you in for an hour tomorrow afternoon." Julian hung his head. "Huh," said Diamond. Her tone was slightly amused, but largely unimpressed. "Are you guys trying to swindle me?" "No!" said Julian. "Of course not!" He glared at Tim. "Well, I suppose he was, but I'm not." "Sorry, dude," said Tim. "I thought you were dropping a hint." "I was," said Julian. "I was talking about killing monsters." "Oh right," said Tim. "Of course," agreed Dave. "Much more efficient." "Beats the shit out of studying," said Cooper. Julian looked at Diamond. "Convinced?" "I only agreed to this out of curiosity about you and your strange friends," said Diamond. "This is time I'm allowing myself to waste. I never believed for a second that throwing rocks at the tarrasque was going to advance my academic career." "Who's the tarrasque?" asked Julian. Diamond looked at him skeptically. "Is that a serious question?" "Of course not," Julian lied. "Does that mean you're willing to give it a try?" "I'm willing to watch whatever crazy show you have in store for me." "That begs the question," said Tim, swaying on his feet. "What crazy show do you have in store for her?" "I was thinking about that little cave we ran across yesterday," said Julian. "The one with the giant spiders crawling around outside of it?" said Dave. "Didn't you use your stupid Diplomacy skill specifically to keep us from going in there?" "I've had a change of heart." "It's amazing what hormones can do." "What did you call me, runt?" said Diamond, dropping Lucifer and drawing a dagger from her left sleeve. The handle was marbled red and black. A pair of entwined serpents was etched along the center of the blade. Lucifer's fur bristled as he hissed at Dave. "Whoa!" said Julian. "He didn't mean it like that." "How many ways could he mean it?" Diamond snapped back at him. Then to Dave, "Don't think I won't willingly die defending my honor. And if it comes to that, I promise I'll take you into the Abyss with me, dwarf." "Seriously, Dave," said Cooper. "That was uncalled for. What's gotten into you?" Dave stood, mouth agape. "Hormones!" said Julian, trying to crank up the Diplomacy. "One word. They're chemicals in our bodies that regulate our growth and influence our motivations." Diamond tucked the dagger back into sleeve. "I'll take you at your word this time, only because I haven't understood a single thing you've been talking about since I met you. Just keep the dwarf away from me. He gives me the creeps." "I don't know that I'm in any condition to go spider hunting," said Tim. "I'm a little wasted." "Well who told you to start drinking so early in the day?" said Julian. "Did you even get the trigger mechanism on your crossbow fixed?" Tim grabbed his crossbow from off his back and frowned at it. "Umm… no. I forgot to do that." "That's the whole reason we walked all the way to the city center!" "We got distracted," said Cooper. "We ran into a booze stall while we were looking for a weapon repair shop." "Here," said Diamond. "Let me see it." Tim handed over his crossbow. Diamond held it close to her face, and squinted into the trigger area. She pulled out her dagger. After a few pokes, prods, clicks, and twists, she successfully cocked and released the weapon. "Good as new," she said, handing it back to Tim. "Impressive," said Julian. "I'm an only child," said Diamond. "It was important to my father that I know how to handle a variety of weapons." She looked down at Tim. "You really should take better care of that. The time you're most likely to discover it doesn't work is likely the time you most need it." "Wise words," said Julian. "My father's," said Diamond. "Now who's up for this great spider hunt? If we don't get started soon, I'm going to go back to studying." "Okay," said Julian. "Let's go. Time to sober up, Tim." Tim took a swig from his bottle. "Fuck it. I'll take my chances." Half an hour later, they were beyond the protection of the city walls, headed northwest, away from the main road, across the grassy expanse between road and woodland. "Stay low," Julian whispered to Diamond. "There may be owlbears out here." "I'll fear no owlbear in the company of such brave men." "I can't tell if you're being sarcastic." "She is," said Dave. "Just keep your distance, dwarf," said Diamond, any trace of mirth now gone from her voice. "And if you keep staring at my bottom, you'll find yourself minus an eye." Dave's face turned red. "It's not my fault," he said. "I'm slower than you are, and I'm short." The top of Tim's head appeared over the top of the tall grass. He was jumping, but not as high as he wanted to. "Are we almost to the trees?" he said. "I've got to piss." "Just piss in the grass," said Cooper. "That's what I've been doing." "I know," said Tim. "I've been stepping in it, asshole." "Keep it down, guys," said Julian. "We're almost there." When they finally did arrive at the tree line, Julian was relieved. The grasslands may be generally safer than the forest, and it was certainly easier to spot larger predators from farther away. But there could have been smaller, yet just as deadly, creatures lurking mere feet away crouching in wait, and he'd have been none the wiser until they made their move. While Tim saturated the stump of a felled oak, Cooper rubbed his ass against the trunk of another, leaving behind a crumbly streak of green and brown. Somewhere, a druid was crying. "Ravenus?" Julian called out as loudly as he dared. "Up here, sir," said Ravenus, perched on a branch of the tree Cooper was busy defiling. "What are you doing?" asked Julian. "You were supposed to be scouting the area." "There's not much to scout, sir," said Ravenus. "The whole area is quiet. Unnaturally so, if I may offer my opinion." Julian concentrated. Ravenus was right. Outside of the waning trickle of Tim's urine and the scratching of Cooper's leathery ass against bark, the place was silent. No tittering birds. No chirping crickets. No chattering squirrels. "What do you suppose –" "There!" said Diamond, reaching into her sleeve. Julian whirled around just in time to spot a nondescript pile of underbrush before Diamond threw her dagger into it. Much to Julian's surprise, the pile of sticks and leaves shrieked and stood upright. It had a reptilian face and hateful red eyes. "Kobolds!" said Dave. An instant later, a dozen or more bowstrings twanged from every direction. "Ow!" said Cooper. His torso was peppered with arrows. "That hurts, you little shitbags!" Dave touched Cooper's elbow. "I heal thee." Cooper let out a long, soft fart that sounded like a weak outboard motor while most of the arrows fell out of his body. The kobold Diamond had hit with her dagger called out two sharp barks and a yelp. Based on his comrades' reactions, Julian guessed the order was Chihuahuan for 'retreat'. They fanned out in different directions. Cooper started to run after one kobold while Dave charged after a different one in the opposite direction. "What's going on?" asked Tim, unstoppering a fresh bottle of booze. "Where the fuck is everybody going?" "Stop!" shouted Diamond. She spoke with such presence that Cooper and Dave stopped dead in their tracks. Even one of the kobolds paused long enough for Julian to shoot him in the face. "Have some," said Julian as the confused reptile collapsed to the ground. He looked to see if Diamond had seen the shot. She hadn't. She was busy shouting at Cooper. "Don't split the party," said Diamond. "They'll only regroup and hunt you individually. Go after the leader!" "Holy shit!" said Tim. "Kobolds!" He raised his crossbow and pulled the trigger. His bolt lodged into the trunk of a nearby tree about eight feet from the ground and not even close to any kobolds. "Fuck." Diamond took off after the kobold she had hit with her dagger. Julian and Dave followed, and it wasn't long before Julian heard Cooper stomping through the brush, hot on his heels. He cast a glance behind him and was relieved to see that Cooper had Tim tucked under his arm like a football. They almost all piled into each other when they caught up with Diamond. She was just standing there, hands on her hips, her head turning right, then left, then right again. "What happened?" asked Julian. "Where'd he go?" "He just disappeared," said Diamond. "Did you see him disappear?" asked Julian. "Could it have been a spell?" "I don't think so. He was in too much of a hurry to be casting spells. I lost sight of him for a second, and then he was gone. He's around here somewhere." Julian looked up into the treetops. He supposed a creature that small would be able to hide in the foliage, but it was unlikely it would have been able to climb that high without being seen. "Maybe we should just let them go," said Dave. "They tried to kill your friend," said Diamond. "Don't worry about me," said Cooper. "It's cool." He set Tim down and plucked an arrow out of his chest. "The leader still has my dagger," said Diamond. "We can get you another dagger," offered Dave. "That one was special." Dave chuckled. "How special could it be? It didn't even kill a kobold." Diamond glared down at Dave so severely that it might have killed a kobold. "My father gave me that dagger." Dave lowered his head. "I'm just going to shut up now." Tim staggered into the tense air between Dave and Diamond. "You guys are going about this all wrong. You've got to look at it logically." He walked aimlessly as he talked, constantly changing directions, as if moving was the only thing keeping him from falling over. He finally steadied himself against a tree with one hand and waved his bottle around with the other as he continued. "This is the time to apply Occam's Razor." "You have a magical blade?" Diamond sounded skeptical. "It's not a weapon," said Tim. "It's a principal of logic. When you have… give me a minute, I'm a little wasted." He bit his lower lip. "Okay, I've got it. Let's say you have two entities, and –" Cooper snorted. Everyone looked at him. "What?" said Cooper. "He said titties." "Ha!" said Diamond, her face lighting up. "I suppose he did." Dave scrunched up his face and punched a tree trunk. "If you halfwits would shut up for a minute," said Tim, staggering away from his tree, toward a spot of slightly elevated ground to sit down on. "I'll solve your little – FUCK!" A rectangular panel of earth gave way beneath his ass, and he fell into a concealed hole. The fake ground was mounted on an axle at its center, and the whole thing swung around like a giant garbage can lid to reveal an identical display on the opposite side. Settling into place, it was nearly indistinguishable from the natural forest floor surrounding it. "Well I'll be damned," said Cooper. "Is that how a rogue's Trapfinding ability works?" "Seems counterproductive if you ask me," said Julian. Dave poked the head of his mace at the trap door, opening it just a crack. It was dark inside. "Tim?" he called. "Yeah?" Tim called back. "Are you okay?" "Yeah, why?" "'Cause you just fell in a pit." "Oh, right," said Tim. "It's cool. There's a safety net or something. I can't tell. It's dark down here. I can't find my beer." "You've probably had enough for now anyway." "Screw you!" "Okay," said Dave. "Just hang on a bit. We're going to figure out a way to get you out of there." He removed his mace, and the gap closed. "What do you think?" he said to the rest of the party. "Throw him a rope?" suggested Julian. "Tim's got the rope." "Fuck it," said Cooper. "Let's just jump in after him. What's the worst that could happen?" "Do I seriously have to answer that question?" said Julian. "You heard him," said Cooper. "He said there's a safety net." "That doesn't strike you as odd?" said Dave. "I mean, who puts a safety net at the bottom of a pit trap? Doesn't that entirely defeat the purpose of leaving a trap in the first place?" "You think too much," said Cooper. "There are times for thinking, and there are times for action." Dave rubbed the leopard fur on his wrist. "Well I think this certainly qualifies as a time for –" "Action," said Cooper, shoving Dave into the pit. "Shiiiiiiit!" said Dave, disappearing into the hole. "That was a dick move, Cooper," said Julian. "Even for you." "I was just having some fun with him," said Cooper. "We were all going to jump in sooner or later. It's not like we had a whole lot of choice. We weren't just going to leave Tim down there and go hit the pub, were we?" "There are always options." "Like what?" "We could have sent Ravenus down to bring back one end of Tim's rope." Cooper stroked his fat, leathery neck. "That's a good idea. You should have brought it up before I –" A screeching, howling roar reverberated through the forest, like Satan had just stepped on a Lego. "What was that?" asked Dave. "Owlbears," said Diamond. "Dammit," said Julian. "They've caught our scent," said Diamond. "Whatever options there were are gone now. We have to jump in." "I told you," said Cooper. "But there could be anything down there," Julian protested. Diamond hugged Lucifer close to her chest. "Between anything and owlbears, I'll choose anything." She jumped into the pit. "That was irresponsible reasoning," said Julian. Another piercing scream-roar shook the air. This one was closer than before. "Have fun with the owlbears, fucker," said Cooper, and cannonballed through the revolving trap door. "Well, shit," Julian said to Ravenus, the only one there left to listen. "You coming?" He held the trap door open with his quarterstaff, just wide enough for Ravenus to get through. The bird dove through the gap and into the darkness. Julian was nudging the trap door with his foot, trying to muster up the courage to jump into some strange abyss, when an owlbear crashed into view. It might have been the adrenaline talking, but the beast looked to be as big as a house, with a beak like the sharpened hood of a Volkswagen Beetle. When its eyes met his, he suddenly found he had the courage to run away. He jumped into the hole. The drop was a little longer than Julian had been anticipating. It was just long enough for him to have time to wonder if he had missed the alleged safety net before he finally connected with it. His impact made a reverberating ripple in the rest of the net, on which he could get a sense of where everyone else was around him without actually being able to see them. A slow and steady wave met him from beyond his feet. A dull moan came from the same direction. Dave. A lighter, but more rapid, pulse came from his left, accompanied by the sound of vomiting. Tim. A solid presence was somewhere above him, conspicuous due to its relative lack of movement. The dense mass was laughing. Cooper. A final mass, proportional to his own, was see-sawing with him in a steady rhythm. It asked "Are you okay?" Diamond. "I'm fine," said Julian. "Just getting my bearings is all." Despite the constant waving of the net, Julian managed to sit upright. It was a little more challenging still because his clothes and skin stuck to the fabric. "Ew… why's it sticky?" "Oh good," said Cooper. "You feel that too? I thought it was just my skin." "I still can't find my bottle," said Tim. "How about some light, Julian?" Julian pulled a copper coin out of his belt pouch and cupped it between his hands. "Light." When he uncovered the coin, his immediate surroundings were bathed in soft, golden light. They were in a roughly spherical earthen-walled chamber. The net they were all sitting on bisected the chamber horizontally. While it appeared to have been put there for the unlikely purpose of safety for those who fell victim of the trap above, it did not appear to be man-made. It was a dense and haphazard weave of sticky, silky strands of… something. It was stronger than it looked, too. The whole net was paper thin, but supported all of their weight easily. Fingering a few strands of it, Julian guessed he'd have a hard time ripping through it if he wanted to. Movement in the shadows just beyond the radius of his Light spell caught his attention. "What was that?" he whispered. "Um," said Dave as the shadows moved in closer, taking more definite forms. There were dozens of them. "You know those spiders we were hunting? I think we found them." The spiders closed in, forming a perimeter around the group. They ranged in size from Dave to Cooper, either venom or saliva dripping from their fangs. Neither boded well for Julian and his friends. "We are so fucked," said Dave. Even a straight fight on solid ground would have been nigh-impossible to win. There were just too many of them, and they were so big. And here they were on the spiders' turf, where those eight-legged fuckers could move about like Fred Astaire, but he and his friends would struggle to crawl. Julian hated to admit it, but Dave had made what he felt was an astute observation. Interestingly enough, the spiders didn't close in and devour them all. Not just then, at least. They kept a safe distance while chattering to each other in their spider language. The biggest one stood tall on its exoskeletal legs and scurried through the crowd into the darkness beyond the Light spell. "Hello," said Julian to the nearest spider. He spoke slowly and loudly. "We mean you no harm. We are sorry for invading your home. We would just like to leave." The spider opened its giant mandibles and hissed at him. "Do you have magic to speak with spiders?" asked Diamond. "No," said Julian. "Then what good do you think you're going to accomplish?" "I don't know. It's better than nothing, right?" "I'm not so sure that it was." The spider chatter rose steadily in volume and pitch until it stopped abruptly. The spiders in Cooper's direction parted to form an empty lane on the massive web. The large spider which had scurried away now returned. It was not alone. Behind it were two even larger creatures. They, too, walked on arachnid legs, but their torsos and heads were like those of elves, only black. The male stood tall and proud, white braids hanging down from either side of his black, angular face. White ink tattoos of bladed weapons ran the length of each muscular arm and across his broad chest. The female wore her hair in a short flapper bob. The cleavage of her pert black breasts was barely contained by a corset that looked to be woven of spider silk. "Driders," said Dave. His voice was less than enthusiastic. "What are driders?" asked Julian. "Half drow, half spider," said Dave. "Drow?" said Julian. "Oh wait, I remember. Those were the black people, right?" "Dark elves." "Is that like the game equivalent of African American?" "No, it's –": "Silence!" said the male drider. Julian and Dave ceased their discussion at once. The male drider grinned, showing off a mouthful of shiny white teeth which matched his pupil-less eyes. "You have done well, my pet," he said, patting the giant spider at his side. "You shall be rewarded." He turned to the female drider. "The Dark Goddess smiles upon us this day, my bride. We needn't make do with a single measly Kobold after all." "That kobold," said Julian. "Was it carrying a dagger? Because –" "Silence!" the male drider roared. He elevated his body on his great spider legs until he was able to curve his abdomen underneath them. From the rear tip of his abdomen, he squirted a sticky white fluid at Julian, covering him from shoulder to knee. "Hey!" said Julian, earning him another squirt. He found he was unable to move his arms away from the sides of his body. His legs were likewise stuck together. The substance began to crystallize into strands similar to the ones which made up the web they were all standing on. "Dude," said Cooper. "Did you just jizz on my friend? That's not cool, man." "You will mind your tongue, foul creature!" said the female drider. She sprayed a coating of web at Cooper. "Fucking hell, man," said Cooper, struggling to tear through the fluid before it crystallized. "Your missus packs quite a load as well. I totally didn't see that coming." Both driders focused their spray on Cooper, and he was soon overwhelmed in a thick, white cocoon, completely covered except for his head. "This is so humiliating," Cooper groaned. "I feel like a Japanese secretary." He wriggled around on the web like a giant maggot. The rest of the group were barely able to stand up on the web, much less defend themselves. One by one, the driders coated them all in individual cocoons. After they were all helplessly squirming on the web, the giant spiders grouped themselves into teams, squirted a bit more web onto each of their feet, and started dragging them out of the chamber. "Reginald," said the female drider. "Can't we just eat the little one now? It's been so long since we've had proper mammal. I grow so weary of kobold flesh." The male drider, Reginald, looked back at his wife sympathetically, but shook his head. "When the Dark Goddess bestows such gifts upon us, it is unwise not to make the most of them. The kobold who preceded this group is not like to survive the night. If we eat the halfling now, the kobold meat runs the risk of spoiling. We shall dine on kobold tonight. We can have the halfing tomorrow, dear Lidia." Lidia lowered her head, pouting. Reginald placed his index finger under Lidia's chin and lifted her head until their eyes met. He was smiling. "I know a certain someone who has a birthday next week," he said. "I can't think of a better reason to feast on dwarf." Lidia's white eyes brightened. "Oh Reginald! You are right of course. I will wait!" Then she frowned and looked down at Cooper. "And what shall we do with the half-orc? I fear his meat has already begun to spoil." "Fuck you, lady!" said Cooper. "That's my natural musk." "My children!" Reginald bellowed, his arms spread out before him. The spiders all stopped simultaneously. "Put this group in the storage chamber. Bring my beautiful bride and I the wounded kobold. Please me and you shall all dine on half-orc tonight!" The spiders glanced uncomfortably at one another for a moment. A few of the nearest ones gave Cooper a sniff and backed away. One of the spiders chattered. Reginald lowered his arms. "Well then do it because you've been ordered to, ungrateful vermin! There's nothing stopping us from dining on spider, you know." With that, the spiders returned to their duties. A few of them scurried ahead. Julian and his friends were dragged through a ten foot wide earthen-walled corridor which led downward at a slight angle out of the pit-trap chamber. A few minutes passed before Julian heard weak moaning coming from the other direction. "What's that noise?" "I can't move my head that way," said Dave. He was one of the two of the party who was able to see in the pitch-black darkness they were being dragged through. They were now well beyond the light of Julian's enchanted coin. The spell had probably expired by now anyway. "I see it," said Cooper. "The spiders that ran ahead are dragging something back this way." "The wounded kobold," said Julian. "See if he's got my dagger when he passes," said Diamond. "Ha!" shrieked the kobold as he was dragged past them. "This is your fault! You deserve this. I'll die with a smile on my face." "Where's my dagger, you little reptilian bastard?" said Diamond. "Damn you all to the depths!" shouted the kobold. His voice was fading. The spiders were moving faster. "I didn't see any daggers on him, but he was covered in spider splooge, so he might have had it under there or something." Eventually they arrived at some sort of a destination. The way the sound echoed off the walls, Julian guessed they were in another large chamber. The texture of the floor felt like web, though it wasn't suspended in the air like in the other chamber. This was just web on solid ground. "What's going on?" asked Julian. "I think we're in the storage chamber," said Dave. "The walls, floor, and ceiling are all covered in white." Cooper snorted. "It looks like Dave got set loose in an elementary school." Tim laughed. "Fuck you, Cooper," said Dave. "Cease your stupid bickering right now," said Diamond. "What are the spiders doing?" "About half of them are climbing up the walls," said Dave. "The rest are just hanging around. There's something hanging from the ceiling. Two somethings actually. They might be kobolds." "Are they alive?" asked Diamond. "It's hard to tell from here," said Dave. "They aren't really moving or anything. They look – Oh my God, I wish you guys could see this!" "What's going on?" asked Julian. "The spiders are descending from the ceiling in groups of three. They're suspended from their own threads, but they're swinging around one another, braiding the threads together. It's remarkable." "I'm glad you're enjoying this so much, dwarf," said Diamond. "But shouldn't you be focusing more on a way to get us out of here?" "I'm just reporting what I see," said Dave. "Nobody ever likes my ideas anyway. I'll leave the escape to the brainy one." "Who's the brainy one?" "Tim." "The drunk halfling?" "I've really got to piss," said Tim. "Something tells me his mind isn't completely focused on the task at hand," said Diamond. "Then Julian can think of something," said Dave. "He's got a knack for thinking up crazy stupid ideas that always manage to work." "Well thank you, Dave," said Julian. "I'll take that as a – Shit, what's going on?" His feet were being pulled again, but not forward. This time they were being pulled up. "We're being hoisted up to the ceiling," said Dave. Julian ascended slowly for a couple of minutes. In the darkness, it was impossible to tell just how far up he was. Shortly after he stopped ascending, the spiders scurried away. "Whassup?" said Cooper. Something growled in response. Presumably, one of the kobolds Dave had mentioned. "You shouldn't be so hostile," said Julian. "We're all in this together now. The only chance we have of escaping is by working together." "Ha!" one of the kobolds barked. "You think you're going to escape? There is no escaping here. The only way you're getting out of here is when those driders shit out your remains. There were eight of us hanging up here last week. Jirrick told us about what you did to him. Now he's being devoured as well. You all can rot in the Abyss." "Jirrick?" said Diamond. "Is that the kobold leader? Did he mention having a dagger on him?" The kobold merely growled at her. Julian had no intention of being drider shit. He started swinging his body back and forth. "Dave, how high up would you say we are?" "I don't know," said Dave. "Pretty high." "I mean, do you think we'd survive a fall from this height?" "It would definitely hurt. And you'd probably land on your face." Julian stopped swinging. He'd go back to that if he didn't think of anything else. "Cooper," said Julian. "Do you think you're strong enough to bust out of your web?" "I don't know," said Cooper. "Those fuckers bukakked me pretty good. I'm trying. I feel like I'm close, but not quite strong enough." "Use your Barbarian Rage," said Julian. "That should bump your Strength up more than enough to break through." "I already used it today." "When?" "This morning, while you were in the library." "You guys were all getting trashed on the quad," said Julian. "What did you have to get enraged about?" "The booze guy needed help moving his stall," said Cooper. "He wanted to make room for a Doomsayer. He said people drink more when they think the world is about to end." "Dammit," said Julian. Then he had an idea. "Ravenus!" He tried to keep his tone the same as if he were just talking to his friends. "Ravenus, if you're out there, don't answer. Just come to me." A few seconds later, he heard the familiar flapping, and then Ravenus was perched on his shoulder, hanging upside down from the webbing. "I'm here, sir. Do you want I should cut you down from here?" "Jesus, no," said Julian. "Don't do that. I'd probably break my neck. But do you think you could claw through to my hand?" "Not a problem, sir." Ravenus flew up to Julian's hand and began tearing away at web. "It'll take that bird forever to get you free," said Dave. "And then what?" "I'm not trying to get myself free," said Julian. "That's it, Ravenus. Almost there. Ow! Okay, that's enough." Ravenus stopped scratching. "Sorry, sir. I seem to have nicked you a bit." "It's okay, Ravenus," said Julian, grabbing one of Ravenus's talons. "I want you to deliver this spell to Cooper." "Of course, sir." Julian whispered the incantation. "Bull's Strength." He let go of Ravenus. "Now go touch his face." "Ow!" said Cooper a couple of seconds later. "Fuck off, bird! Get out of my – Oh, what's this? Sweet!" A few grunts, rips, and swears later, "Almost there. I've almost got – Oh fuck!" "Cooper?" said Julian. The next sound was a crash, and then Cooper called out from below. "I'm okay!" "Not for long, you aren't," said Dave. "Huh?" said Cooper. "Oh shit." "What's going on?" asked Julian. "The spiders are back," said Dave. "They must have felt the vibrations from Cooper hitting the floor." "Cooper can handle a few spiders," said Julian. He knew in his heart that it was only wishful thinking. He'd seen their numbers. Cooper might be able to take them all down, one at a time, but like this they'd overwhelm him in no time. "Come on, man!" said Dave. "At least give it your best shot. What are you doing? Stand up and ready your axe!" "Fuck that," said Cooper. "What's he doing?" asked Diamond. "He's just kneeling on the ground," said Dave, "The spiders are closing in all around him, and he's just rummaging around in his bag." "Shit," said Tim. "What is it?" said Julian. "I held it as long as I could. I was hoping this web shit would be waterproof. It isn't. I just pissed in my face." "Your friend is about to die down there," said Diamond. "I would think you'd be a little more concerned." "Who the fuck are you?" said Tim. Julian sighed. "That's Diamond." "Sweet," said Tim. "Is she a stripper?" The room lit up from below. Julian looked down. Holy shit that's a long drop. Cooper wielded a torch. The spiders, almost on top of him now, stopped dead in their tracks. "Cooper!" cried Dave. "Stop! You don't know what you're doing!" "Poor Man's Fireball!" said Cooper. "What's wrong?" asked Julian. Dave shook his head. "He knows exactly what he's doing. You might want to brace yourselves." The spiders must have had a pretty good idea of Cooper's intentions. They started crawling over each other trying to scramble away from him. "Not so fast, fuckers!" said Cooper. He dropped the torch at his feet. Cooper went up in flames, standing at the epicenter of a wave of fire that spread along the webby floor well faster than those hairy bastards could ever hope to run. They crackled and popped like Rice Krispies as the flames spread up the walls. And that's about the time that Julian caught the meaning of Dave's warning. "Oh shit! Ravenus, fly away!" Ravenus squawked but did as he was bid. Julian watched helplessly as the flames curved up the round walls to where they would meet at the ceiling. This would not end well. The one good thing Julian could say about being set on fire was that it freed his arms and legs to brace him for what would otherwise have been a deadly fall. Tim was alive, yelping and excitedly patting out the tiny fires on his now exposed chest hair. Dave's armor made him sound like a garbage truck collision when he hit the ground, but it appeared to have protected him from the fire. Painful as it was, Julian was pleasantly surprised to find that he didn't seem to have broken anything during the fall. The only explanation was that game mechanics didn't account for broken bones. He was certain, however, that between the fire and the fall, he'd lost more than a few hit points. He rolled back and forth on the ground to make sure he wasn't still on fire like Cooper was. Cooper walked among the dead and dying spiders, smashing his axe into any of the latter he found. His loincloth had almost completely burned away, displaying his leathery ass to an undeserving world. Flames still licked their way up, threatening to set the garment completely free. "Hey Dave," said Cooper, putting out a hand. "You mind slapping me a Heal spell?" "Yeah, no problem," said Dave, touching his hand to Cooper's. A spider took advantage of Cooper's distraction and rose to its feet behind him. "Cooper!" cried Julian. "Behind you!" "Oh my God that's refreshing," said Cooper. He farted, sending a jet of blue flame into the approaching spider's face. It's eight eyes melted down the sides of its horror-stricken face before the creature collapsed to the ground. Julian frowned. Nothing deserved to die like that. "Excuse me," said Cooper. "What the fuck, man!" said Tim. Whoever said there was no quick way to get sober had obviously not tried setting himself on fire. "You okay, Tim?" asked Dave, offering him a hand to help him up. Tim slapped his hand away. "I don't need your hand," he said, glaring at Cooper. "I need my fucking epidermis!" "Don't be such a pussy," said Cooper. "It worked, didn't it? We're free and alive, and the spiders aren't." "That's more than I can say for the kobolds," said Dave, poking through their charred remains. "Poor little bastards only get like four hit points or something like that. There's barely anything left of them." "Wait!" said Julian. "Where's Diamond?" He scanned the room frantically for her, but the light from the burning spiders was beginning to fade quickly. "Diamond? Are you there? Are you okay?" There was no answer. "Dave, I fell here, and you fell over there. That means Diamond should have fallen somewhere around here," Julian said, pointing to the spot where he guessed Diamond should be. "Come over here and tell me if you see anything." Dave stomped over. "There's nothing, dude," said Dave. "Sorry. Just dirt and ash." "Relax, dude," said Cooper. "She's got to be somewhere. Maybe she snuck off for a piss or something." "You killed her, you stupid bastard!" said Julian. "Bullshit," said Cooper. "If she was dead, then there would be a body. Your mind's not right, because it's in your dick right now. She'll turn up." "My mind is fine," said Julian. "Did you see the kobolds? There was barely anything of them left, because they only had four hit points. Diamond was a first level wizard! She might have had less than that." "Fewer," said Tim. "What?" said Julian. "It's not less hit points," said Tim. "It's fewer. Just sayin'." "Fuck you!" said Julian. "He just fucking disintegrated Diamond!" "Who's Diamond?" asked Tim. "I'm sorry. I only just sobered up. Where are we?" "Fuck all of you!" said Julian. "I'm out of here." He stomped off through the nearest exit he could find. "You're going the wrong way," said Dave. "How would you know?" said Julian. He neither looked back nor slowed his pace. "That tunnel goes down," Dave continued. "If we're trying to reach the surface, we'd do better to go up. There's another tunnel that goes up from here." Dave made a fair point, but Julian gave him the finger as he continued defiantly heading in the wrong direction. "We need to go after him," said Tim. Julian's elf ears could hear their conversation from an impressive distance away. "Cooper just burned his girlfriend alive," said Dave. "He's going to need some time." "Hey fuck you, Dave," said Cooper. "How was I supposed to know she only had one hit point. She seemed pretty capable to me. I did the only thing I could think of. Considering my low Intelligence score, I'm pretty impressed with myself. I stand by my decision." "No one's blaming you," said Dave. "But maybe you should apologize to Julian just the same." "Yeah, okay." "There's no way you killed all those spiders. Some of them will have escaped to report to the driders. We need to get moving before they come back." And so of course the three assholes started following Julian down the wrong tunnel. "If you don't mind me saying so, sir," said Ravenus, perched on Julian's shoulder. "You might be overreacting a bit." "I mind," said Julian. "Dave's right. I need some time to myself to cool off." "Yes, sir," said Ravenus. "Of course, sir. But might you address the small matter of us not being able to see?" Julian huffed out a sigh. "Fine. Light." The end of his quarterstaff filled the small, descending corridor with light. As he expected, there wasn't anything here worth seeing. Just dirt, dirt, and more dirt. He had been content just to stumble along in the dark. One point of interest was an opening coming up on the right, and a single giant spider crawling out of it. The spider faced Julian, standing high on its legs, filling the cramped corridor. This was just the sort of thing Julian needed to settle his nerves. Something to beat the shit out of. He charged at the spider. It was obviously expecting a different reaction. It lowered its body a couple of inches and took a single step back. Julian battle cried his first incantation. "Magic Missile!" He threw a glowing red ball of hate-magic at the confused arachnid, which exploded in its thorax. The spider shrieked in pain and took a desperate grab for Julian when he got into range. Julian shrugged off the spider leg and got down to engaging the beast the way he really wanted to... clubbing it repeatedly in the face. It fell on the second or third swing, but Julian kept bashing away until his club was flinging slimy spider guts all over the walls and diminishing the light from the spell. "Feel better?" asked Dave. "Huh?" Julian stopped beating the dead spider. "Oh, um... yeah, a little." "I'm sorry I incinerated your girlfriend," said Cooper. "It's okay," said Julian. "I know you didn't mean to. I don't think she was into me anyway. I wasn't getting that vibe, you know?" "Hold on," said Tim. "How does that make it okay to incinerate a person?" "Just let it go, dude," said Cooper. "Hey. What's in here?" He poked his head through the side passage. "Score! We found their treasure room!" Tim and Dave followed him inside. "Ravenus," said Julian. "Stay here and keep your eyes open for driders." "But I can't see, sir." "Then listen. We won't be long." Julian stepped inside the treasure room. Unlike the other chambers he'd been in down here, this room was cubical. For a treasure room, it wasn't very impressive. There were a few weapons lying around, but most of them were either broken, or rusted, or both. The room was littered with busted wooden crates, some of them covered with canvas sheets, spotted black and smelling of mold. One large and conspicuous chest sat against the back wall. It looked like the quintessential treasure chest from an old pirate movie. Cooper opened the chest and frowned. "Empty." He reached inside, as if to confirm by touch what his eyes already told him. "Something's coming," said Ravenus. "Put out your light!" "Shit," said Dave. "What are we going to do?" "We'll fight," said Cooper. "You know we're no match for driders," said Dave. "They'll spray us down with web again before we get an Attack Roll." "Hide!" said Julian. It wasn't a great plan, but it was as good as any at this point. He ducked behind some crates and pulled a sheet of canvas over his head. His friends did likewise. They waited in perfect silence, broken only once by a squeaky fart. Poor Dave. He was hiding under the same canvas as Cooper. A minute later, the patter of what Julian guessed was sixteen giant legs sounded just outside the entrance of the room. A female voice gasped. "My jewels!" Julian knew the voice. It was Lidia, the female drider. "My weapons!" cried Reginald. The great treasure chest creaked open. "My gold! All of it gone!" "And what's that smell?" "Those little savages will pay for their transgressions!" "It's not enough that they murder our children," said Lidia. Her voice had a slight sniffle to it. "They had to go and rob us as well!" "Come on guys," said a voice from outside that Julian wasn't expecting to hear. It was his own voice, or at least a very poor imitation of it. "I found some more spiders over here. Maybe we can rape them before we kill them this time!" "My babies!" cried Lidia. "Those fiends!" said Reginald. "Come, sweet wife. They aren't far. They won't escape us again!" Their giant spider feet rushed out of the room. Julian pulled the tarp off of his head. The air in the room was thick with fart. Dave inhaled deeply. "Come on!" said Julian. "Ravenus just bought us a little time. We have to get out of here." Cooper led the way back to the storage chamber. Julian and Tim, who couldn't see in the dark, stumbled along behind him as best they could, while Dave took up the rear. Julian knew they had arrived when he tripped over the corpse of a dead giant spider. "Dave, didn't you say there was a passage leading up?" "Yeah," said Dave. "It's right up there. I don't know how we're supposed to get to it though." "Cooper," said Julian. "Can you take Tim's rope and climb the wall?" "I don't think so," said Cooper. "The walls are curved. I'd only be able to make it halfway up." "Damn," said Julian. "I've got it," said Tim. "We'll pile up spider corpses and climb up those." "First of all, ew," said Julian. "Secondly, we don't have that kind of time." "Tim," said Cooper. "Get your rope. I've got an idea." Tim dug blindly through his bag for a moment. "Here." "No, that's okay," said Cooper. "Just hold this end." "What?" said Tim. "Hey, put me down! Aaaaahh! Ow! Fuck!" There was a brief pause, and then a thud on the ground. "Ow." "Shit," said Cooper. "I missed. Sorry." "No!" said Tim. "Not again!" "Second time's the charm," said Cooper. "Aaaaaaaahhh!" said Tim. There was no thud this time. Tim had apparently arrived at his destination. "Okay, Julian," said Cooper. "Your turn." "What?" said Julian, backing away from Cooper's voice. "Why?" "Tim can't support my weight by himself." Cooper's voice grew closer with every word. It was pointless to resist. "Don't be such a baby." Two giant half-orc hands grabbed his upper arms and picked him up. Julian's body swung backward, and then swiftly forward... and up. He sailed through the darkness, flailing his arms for purchase. His upper body landed in an upward-sloping passage and immediately started to slide out of it. Tim caught his arm, and he managed to scramble up to safety. "Dave's too heavy for me to throw," said Cooper. "I'm coming up the rope. You two hold it. Ready?" Julian and Tim wrapped the rope around their wrists and dug their heels into the earthen walls of the tunnel. "Ready," said Tim. Cooper started up the rope, and Julian felt like his arms were going to be pulled off. He and Tim groaned but held their ground. When Cooper reached the passage, the pressure on Julian's wrist let up. He and Tim exhaled. "Dave," said Cooper. "Your turn. Tie the rope around your waist. "A little light please?" said Ravenus, somewhere below them. "Light!" said Julian. There wasn't much point in hiding now. "Ravenus, we're up here!" Ravenus flew up into the passage. "I'm sorry, sir. I distracted them as long as I could, but they're coming back." "You were brilliant, Ravenus," said Julian. "Dave, you fat fuck!" said Cooper. "Are you ready yet?" "Ready!" Dave called back. "Pull!" Tim and Julian hurried up the passage, with Cooper dragging Dave behind them. "There's a light up ahead!" said Tim. Julian shielded the light from his staff and looked up the passage. Tim was right. It was tiny and distant, but it was there. The way out. Their salvation. "There!" shouted Reginald. Julian could imagine the driders' point of view, looking up at Dave's big dwarf ass struggling into the passage. Damn. They'd put forth a good effort, but it was done. The driders could climb the walls as effortlessly and quickly as if they were walking on the ground. There was no way Julian and his friends would make it out of the drider lair before they were caught. Cooper rushed past Julian. "Come on, jackass! They're gaining on us!" "What's the point?" said Julian. "We've lost. We're out of options. I'll just fire a Magic Missile at them as a final fuck you before we die." Cooper stopped and looked at Julian. "There are always options. You know what you have to do." Then he turned and continued up the passage. "What kind of cryptic bullshit was that?" Julian called after him. Dave squeezed his way past Julian. "Whatever you've got planned, better do it quick." "But I don't have anything planned!" Julian cried. "What do I have to..." Then it hit him. It was obvious. He'd do the same thing he always did. He looked down the passage just as Reginald started to crawl into it. "You die first, elf!" said Reginald. His white eyes looked pissed off. He only had just enough room to squeeze his abdomen under his legs and point his spidery ass at Julian. "Horse!" Julian shouted, just in time for a very surprised-looking horse to catch an assful of web. The poor animal didn't even have room to stand up properly. "What's this?" demanded Reginald. The terrified horse whinnied. "Bwaaaaaaaaaagghh!" shouted Reginald. Lidia joined in half a second later. It was an extended shout which ended abruptly. It translated to "I just got kicked by a horse and fell a long distance to the ground." "Sorry, friend," Julian said to the magical horse. "But well done." He turned around. "Let's go!" But his friends were well ahead of him. They were nearly to the end of the tunnel, where it widened to about ten feet wide, when Julian heard the horse scream, which ended very quickly. "Hurry up, guys!" "Wait!" said Tim just before they entered the sweet sweet light of the sun. "Are you crazy?" said Dave. "They're right behind us!" Tim got down on his knees and ran a finger along an almost invisible thread. "It's a trap." "Well thanks for that, Admiral Ackbar," said Cooper. "But I'll take my chances." "No," said Tim. "The driders must have rigged the exit, but I think we can bypass it if we stay close to the left wall." The four of them inched their way outside, backs against the wall. "We did it!" said Julian. "We're free!" "Wait a second," said Dave. "Is there any rule that says driders can't go outside their lair?" "Shit," said Tim. "Julian, do you have any more Mount spells left?" "Just one," said Julian. "Run!" said Dave. He took off as fast as his thick little legs would carry him. Not nearly fast enough. "They're hurt," said Julian. "We might not stand much of a chance, but let's see if we can't take at least one of those fuckers down." "I'm with you," said Cooper, holding his axe ready. Tim loaded his crossbow. "I'm with you, too," he said. "But I'm going to hide behind this tree." "Okay," said Julian. "It's for the Sneak Attack Bonus," Tim explained. "Okay," Julian repeated. "Seriously, it's fine." A few seconds later, Reginald was visible, approaching the opening of the tunnel. When the tunnel got wide enough, Lidia took her place beside her husband, running on their monstrous arachnid legs toward Julian, Cooper, and Dave, who had apparently had a change of heart. Julian took a deep breath to steady his resolve. His grip on his quarterstaff was slick with sweat as he pointed it at Reginald. "Magic Missile." A white bolt of energy flew out of the staff, striking the drider in the chest. Whether or not he even noticed it was anybody's guess. It certainly didn't slow him down. "Well shit," said Cooper. That summed up their situation pretty eloquently. They had used up all their tricks and all their luck. It was time to admit that they were way out of their league, and now they were going to – Click. Twang. Swoosh. Thwack. A barrage of swords, spears, daggers, and javelins sprang from the ground surrounding the cave entrance. They were rigged on a series of ropes, strings, and bent trees. The driders were skewered from all sides. "My weapons!" groaned Reginald. The tip of a bolt sprouted out the front of Lidia's throat. Another from Reginald's left eye. Their bodies went limp and they shat out white blobs of web. "'The fuck just happened?" asked Cooper. Then he farted. It was even more pungent than usual. "Jesus, Cooper!" said Dave. He and Julian stepped away from Cooper. "Sorry guys," said Cooper. "That one may have been more liquid than gas." He reached down the front of what barely qualified as a loincloth anymore, and pulled out a piece of paper. "What's that?" said Julian. "Where did you get it?" "I found it in the treasure chest," said Cooper. "I took it to wipe with." "Why didn't you show that to the rest of us?" demanded Julian. "I didn't think it was important. There's nothing on it but some meaningless scribble." "That's because you're illiterate, stupid!" He snatched the paper out of Cooper's hand. "Words can cut too, you know." Julian spread the paper against the trunk of a tree, flattening out the wrinkles, and smearing brown streaks that he was pretty sure had been contributed by Cooper. "It's a letter." His heart skipped a beat. "It's a letter to me!" "What?" said Tim. "What does it say?" Julian cleared his throat and read the letter aloud. Dear Julian, If you're reading this letter, then that means you're alive, and that's a good thing. It also means you're heading in the wrong direction. The surface is up, silly. I've got to hand it to you, you were right. You'll be happy to know that, somehow or another, I've mastered the Invisibility spell. It came in very handy for stealing the driders' treasure and sneaking past them. So I'd like to thank you for that, and for a wonderful adventure. You really know how to show a girl a good time. I regret having to tell you that I'm not in the market for a romantic relationship at present. You're a lovely elf with a big heart, and there's a more deserving female elf that I'm sure you'll make very happy one day. Please respect my privacy and do not try to look for me. We wouldn't want things to get awkward, would we? Know that I'll treasure the memory of today, and I'll never forget you. Sincerely, D.

2d6

Robert Bevan

Chapter 7

P.S. Julian paused to glare up at Cooper. "What?" said Cooper. Julian continued reading. P.S. When I find a way out of here, I'm going to set a trap with some weapons I found. Keep to the left against the wall and you can avoid getting stabbed to death. "Oh shit," said Cooper. "Sorry." P.P.S. Apologize to the dwarf for me. He was just too much fun to pick on. He's so cute when he gets flustered. "Well that's nice," said Dave, his face flushing red. Julian lowered the letter. "There's a heart and a smiley face." "Um..." said Cooper. "She's alive at least. That's good news, right? She must be more than just a first level wizardess." "I couldn't rig a trap like that," said Tim. "She must have a few levels of rogue in her." Julian crumpled the paper in his fist. "What a fucking bitch! I wish you had incinerated her." "You don't mean that," said Tim. "That's just your broken heart talking." "I bet her name's not even really Diamond." Cooper slapped a hand on Julian's shoulder. "It never is, friend. It never is." ⁂ [ Clerical Error ] The goblins attacked suddenly and with the ferocity of religious fanatics, most wielding morningstars, but Dave estimated that about a quarter of them favored short swords. Some of the latter were even armed with a dagger in their off hand. None of them carried shields. Those who only carried one weapon gripped the handles with both hands, adding to the savagery of their attacks. "Watch out!" Tim had said when they sprung their ambush, but his warning did the rest of the group little good, as all of the goblins seemed hell-bent on Tim. Cooper had sliced one in half through the abdomen as it attempted to rush past him on its way to Tim, but Tim was still surrounded by six other goblins with a few more impatiently waiting to get into the melee. Tim was fascinating to watch in close combat; he fought like a breakdancing knife-fighter, ducking and dodging blades and spiky maces while swiping and jabbing with his own little dagger. Give Tim a few more levels, and Dave might have been tempted to just sit back and enjoy the show. But as quickly and deftly as Tim moved, some of the goblins' attacks connected, and for every goblin Tim dropped, another was ready to take its place. Dave brought the heavy, steel ball at the end of his mace down on the head of a goblin, introducing its brain to its heart. Julian didn't waste any of his magic on goblins. His quarterstaff could drop them as well as a Magic Missile could, and he hadn't yet learned any offensive area-of-effect spells. Ravenus did his part by scratching and pecking the goblins' eyes out. Most of the little bastards had so few Hit Points that the combined efforts of a bird and an elf wielding a stick were enough to bring them down. Cooper, of course, was the most effective at goblin butchery. His greataxe sliced through goblins at nearly twice the rate anyone else was able to manage. He carved a path of carnage toward Tim. When Tim finally got an opening, he bolted, diving under Cooper's legs. He had done a miraculous job of avoiding goblin swords and morningstars, but he was still in pretty bad shape. His right eye was swollen shut, his clothes were riddled with shallow puncture wounds, clinging to his body with blood and sweat, and when he stood back up, he strongly favored his left leg. Their preferred target out of reach, some of the remaining goblins began to hack and club whoever was nearest them. Most, however, tried to work their way around or through the group. "What the hell have these guys got against Tim?" asked Dave, crushing a goblin's chest against a tree trunk. "Julian and I will handle the rest of them," said Cooper. He kicked one goblin backwards into the air. Its head connected with a low tree branch, sending it into an impressive forward somersault before it landed face first on the ground. "Just go heal Tim!" Dave stepped back from the fight. He reached his left arm out to Tim, who grabbed it with both of his little hands like it was a life-saving rope. "I heal thee," said Dave. Tim closed his good eye and smiled, waiting for the healing magic to course through his body. Dave watched Tim's face. It was always satisfying to see the wounds close up, the swelling go down, fractured bones realign. The satisfied sigh would be reward enough for the help he could provide his friend. No sigh came. No wounds closed up. Tim's smile faded to a frown. "Um… Dave?" "Hmm," said Dave. "That's weird. Let me try again." He placed both hands firmly on either side of Tim's face. "I heal thee!" Nothing happened. Dave pressed more firmly on Tim's face, squishing his cheeks and lips. "I HEAL THEE!" "Dude," said Tim through his squished-up, bleeding mouth. "That fucking hurts." "What's the hold up?" asked Cooper. The din of combat had subsided. "You think you guys could stop making out for a minute and help us loot these bodies?" "I don't know what's wrong," said Dave. He released his grip on Tim's face. "This has never happened to me before." Tim spat some blood on the ground. "It's okay, big guy. It happens to all of us every now and again. I won't judge." He started limping toward Cooper and Julian. "These guys have any cash?" "Not a single fucking copper piece between them so far," said Cooper. "We might be able to sell some of these weapons though." He shoved three goblin-sized morningstars into his bag. They looked like toys in Cooper's giant hands. "We should come away with a bunch of Experience Points from that though," said Julian. "Right?" Cooper shrugged. "They were just goblins." "But there were like a gazillion of them!" "Thirty," said Tim, surveying the carnage. "Forty tops. We'll get a little something, but don't expect to level up or anything." "Why do you think they were so focused on you?" "Who knows?" said Tim, kicking a goblin corpse with his right foot. He winced in pain. "It's a common enough tactic to gang up on the littlest guy first, and work your way up from there." He put his hand on a tree trunk to keep from falling over. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" asked Cooper. "Dave was supposed to patch you up." "Yeah," said Tim. "Only his magic didn't work." "Holy shit," said Cooper. "I didn't think it was possible." "What?" said Julian. "What is it?" "Dave became more useless." Dave just gave Cooper a stubby middle finger, and then bent down to pick up a goblin short sword. The stillness of the late afternoon air was pierced by a wolf's howl. Everyone turned westward at once. Two wolves, about halfway between the size of a regular wolf and that of a horse, stood atop a ledge, silhouetted against the grey sky. Mounted on the back of each wolf was a goblin rider. The one on the left was dressed in a loose-fitting gown of roughspun wool. The rider on the right, wearing black plate armor, bore a standard. Dave immediately recognized the symbol on the wind-torn, black banner. He'd seen it in a book he'd recently borrowed from the Cardinian public library. The red skull of OuiJas, the goddess of Death, the favored deity of necromancers. "Guys," said Dave. "I'm not so sure this encounter is over." "Sure it is," said Cooper. "Those two just showed up. Julian, make some horses." "Bullshit," said Tim, loading a bolt into his crossbow. "You know they've been up there the whole time as well as I do." "What difference does any of this make?" said Julian. "If they were involved in the attack," said Dave. "then they count as part of the encounter." "So what?" "So if we run away now, we don't get any Experience Points." "Well shit," said Julian. "It's just two more goblins and a couple of dogs," said Tim. "We can take them." The words slurred out of his mouth with a helping of bloody drool. "No way," said Dave. "It's too risky, especially with my healing on the fritz." "I could Magic Missile them from here," said Julian. "But then I wouldn't have enough Level 1 spells to get us out of here if we did have to run." "Sorry, Fucko," said Cooper. "I have to agree with Shithead on this one." "Do you always have to be such an asshole?" said Dave. "What?" said Cooper. "I said I agreed with you." The goblin in the roughspun gown raised his arms and began chanting. "Well you losers can stay here and jerk each other off," said Tim. "That just leaves more Experience Points for – JESUS!" One of the dead goblins had grabbed him by the ankle. "I don't get it," said Julian. "What does Jesus need with Exper—" "Julian!" shouted Cooper. "Horses! Now!" He chopped the undead goblin's head in half. It released Tim's leg. But two more goblin zombies attacked Cooper from behind. "Horse!" said Julian. A sturdy, brown draft horse appeared next to him. One of the goblin zombies shambling toward Julian unwisely passed behind the horse. It received a hoof to the chest and a free ticket to twenty feet away. Tim fired a bolt point-blank into a zombie's face, dropping it instantly. He scurried up the trunk of a nearby tree like a frightened squirrel. "Goddamn!" said Cooper. "These little fuckers really pack a punch when they're dead. He had four undead goblins clawing, biting, and punching him. Dave would have tried to help, but he had three zombies closing in on him to deal with. He remembered the holy symbol he wore on a string around his neck. If he could turn a few of them, he'd be able to help Cooper. He brandished the holy symbol at two of the zombies coming at him. "Go away!" One zombie grabbed his outstretched arm and bit into his leopard-fur-covered forearm. Yellow, pointed teeth pierced through skin and muscle, all the way to the bone. It seared like a red hot bear trap. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes. The other zombie punched his breastplate, probably doing more damage to its hand than it did to Dave. He backhanded the punching zombie and ripped his arm free from the biting zombie. That was at least as painful as the actual bite had been. "Horse!" Julian cried a second time, circling around the first horse to avoid the zombie that was chasing him. A white horse appeared, a bit taller and leaner than the first one. It was time to go. Dave held his mace low and swung it upward, catching the bitey zombie in the chin. The whole lower half of its face was a smashed mess of blood and bone. It wouldn't be biting anyone ever again, but it didn't seem to mind. "I'm really angry!" Cooper shouted. His Barbarian Rage kicked in, and his fat and flabby skin grew tight, bulging with expanded muscles. He dropped his axe, reached behind his shoulders, and tore two of the clinging zombies off of his back. These he swung around to beat other zombies with. Fight fire with fire, Dave supposed. But the undead goblins were still getting punches in here and there. Even with his temporary bonus to Strength and Constitution, Cooper wouldn't be able to take them all down. "Come on, Cooper! Let's go!" Dave's concern for Cooper was not entirely unselfish. He needed Cooper's great strength to help him get his squat, heavy dwarf body onto the back of a horse. Cooper whirled around with a thunderous roar and bloodshot, red eyes. He threw a zombie at Dave. It wasn't exactly in the strike zone, but the target was considerably larger than a baseball and Dave already had his mace ready. He swung it as hard as he could with both hands. The head of his mace struck between the flying zombie's legs. When it hit the ground, it didn't get back up. "Foul balls," said Dave. Cooper grunted. It almost sounded like a laugh. He gripped the remaining zombie below the chin and above the chest, and strained briefly until its head was separated from its body, a good six inches of spinal cord dangling from it. "Come on!" shouted Julian. He and Tim were already mounted on each of the horses and ready to ride. Cooper kicked one more zombie out of his way and made for the horses. He lifted Dave onto the back of Julian's horse, and hopped onto the back of Tim's horse. "Yah!" cried Tim. His horse didn't respond. "Go, horses!" said Julian. The horses bolted forward simultaneously. As they retreated, Cooper shrunk down to his natural, still-impressive girth. His rock-solid abs melted back into a pot belly, and his pectoral muscles sagged back into man-tits. Dwarves weren't made to ride horses. Their legs were too short to reach down into stirrups, and their thick, dense bodies made the whole galloping unit top-heavy. Maybe they'd do okay in a customized dwarven saddle, but one thing was for sure. Dwarves were certainly never meant to ride bareback on the rear end of a horse while clinging to an elf at top speed through a forest while being chased by goblin zombies. Dave barely lasted a minute. Julian shouted something that Dave couldn't quite make out over the rush of the wind and the pounding of hooves on earth. It sounded like "Fuck!", but he wasn't sure. It could just as easily have been – Julian dipped his head down, and Dave caught a low-hanging pine branch right in the face.

2d6

Robert Bevan

Chapter 8

"Duck," Dave groaned as consciousness flowed back into his mind. His face felt like a gorilla had slammed it into a brick wall, and he was surprised he could speak at all, or even breathe for that matter. When his vision cleared, he saw Julian and Tim standing over him. Tim's face was already a bruised and beaten mess. Judging by the expression on Julian's face, his own face must have looked even worse. With a bit of effort and a lot of pain, Dave managed to sit up. Cooper was pissing on the tree whose acquaintance Dave had recently made. He recognized it by the low-hanging branch bereft of a section of bark. He could feel bits of the bark swimming around in his bloody mouth. Julian's horses were gone, which either meant that more than two hours had passed or that Julian had managed to find a way to accidentally kill them before the spell duration ran out. Dave gave each option equal odds. "Zombies?" Dave forced the question out of his overtaxed lungs. "Gomblies," said Julian, grinning stupidly. "What?" Each syllable that escaped Dave's lips caused him an excess of pain which he would have preferred not to have had to endure. He would have appreciated more succinct answers to his questions. "I made that up while you were out," said Julian. He sounded very proud of himself. "It's a cross between zombie and goblin." "It was either that or zoblin," said Tim. "You made…" Dave spat out what was either a chunk of bark or a tooth. "…the right call." The words were flowing easier now, but not so much so that he wanted to use more than he had to. He looked up pleadingly at Julian. Julian shrugged. "They didn't follow us. I've got Ravenus keeping an eye on them in case they change their minds. Sorry about your face." "It wasn't you," said Dave. "It was the gods. I'm being punished." He held out a hand to Julian. Julian helped Dave to his feet. "For what?" "I don't know," said Dave. "Excessive violence? Maybe they thought I should know what it feels like to get hit in the face with a blunt instrument." He gestured up to the tree branch. "Doubtful," said Cooper, having finished pissing on the gods' instrument of justice. "I'm way more violent than you. And you're really slow. The fight's usually over by the time you show up." "Thanks, Cooper." "Don't mention it. Also, you're kind of a pussy." "Hey Cooper," said Tim. "Lay off, would you? He's having a rough day." Cooper crossed his arms. "I was only trying to help. You know, figure out why the gods are pissed at Dave. Didn't you say that there aren't any dumb ideas when you're brainstorming?" "I wasn't talking about yours." "Hmph," said Cooper. "Well you should have made that clearer." "There's an easy enough way to test Dave's theory," said Julian. Everyone looked at him. "Heal yourself. If the gods wanted to teach you a lesson by hitting you in the face with a tree, I think they got their message across. If your healing still doesn't work, it must be something else." "I guess there's some logic to that," said Tim. "Couldn't hurt to try." Dave touched the tip his finger to the tip of his nose, discovering it was about half a centimeter back from where it was supposed to be. "I heal me." There was no orgasmic rush of healing magic. No cathartic release of pain. His nose hurt from him touching it. "Again," said Julian. "I'm sorry about your face." "Let's head back to town," said Tim. "We need to find another cleric who can heal us." The walk back to Cardinia was long and agonizing. Dave brought up the idea of camping out for the night so that Julian could cast his Mount spells again, but the suggestion was quickly – and Dave admitted, wisely – shot down. Julian, the elven sorcerer, probably had more Hit Points than the rest of the party combined. If they ran into so much as a dire gnat, they were fucked. With Ravenus scouting ahead of them, they eventually made their way to the relative safety of the city walls early the next morning. Fortunately, the Temple of Halor appeared to be a twenty-four hour establishment. The exterior of the building was simple brick and mortar. It was larger than any other building in the vicinity, and better constructed, with patterns of bricks poking out just a bit further than the otherwise flat surface in the shape of Halor's Star. Dave recognized the symbol from the – "Oh shit," said Dave, suddenly wide awake. "I know why the gods are pissed at me." "Why?" asked Julian. "A few days ago, I checked out a book from the library." "You see?" said Cooper. "This is why I don't read." "Shut up, you dumb shit!" said Dave. The others, Cooper included, stared back at him in surprise. "This is all your fault!" "What the fuck are you talking about?" asked Cooper. "What did I do?" "Gentlemen!" said a young half-orcish cleric from the now-open front doorway. He was dressed in a gown of golden silk. His head was clean-shaven, adorned only by a thin, gold-threaded headband. His underbite was not so pronounced as Cooper's. He clearly favored his human parent more, and could almost be considered handsome by human standards. Taking into account the -2 penalty half-orcs get, he must have rolled a hell of a Charisma score. "This is a house of worship. Kindly take your bickering down to the – Oh! It appears you have been injured." "We were attacked by goblins," said Tim. "Zombies," said Dave. "Gomblies," said Julian. "Come inside at once," said the half-orcish cleric, "and bear witness to the healing power of Halor, Father of Gods." Somewhere from within the temple, a gong sounded. They followed the cleric inside, except for Ravenus, who asked Julian for permission to catch a bit of sleep on the roof. The walls, columns, and ceiling were coated in some kind of gold-flecked paint. Dave guessed there was some Light magic mixed in with the paint as well. The polished, hardwood floor reflected the light from the walls. It was as bright as noon inside the temple, and only about half a dozen candles burning. The reflection of their flames in the gold flecks of the paint wouldn't account for even close to how bright it was inside. In contrast to the humble exterior, the inside of this place was truly befitting of Halor, the God of Light. There was probably a symbolic reason for the contrast, but Dave's face hurt too much to contemplate it. Dave was overwhelmed with awe and a compulsion to confess his great sin. On the other hand, his face hurt like a son of a bitch, and he was afraid he might be refused healing if he admitted his offense to the gods. He reasoned that he could do both, so long as he did them in the correct order. Get healed first. Confess second. "My name is Tamun," said the cleric as he led them straight down the center of the great room, toward an altar on which stood a statue twice as tall as a man. Halor. Both altar and statue were covered in the same Light-infuse paint. "Brother Benedict!" Tamun called out. "Brother Stansibold! Brother Murkwort!" After a moment, three figures came from three different directions, each dressed in identical golden gowns. Two were human, the third was a goblin. "You're a goblin?" Julian blurted out. "Do you have a problem with that?" asked Tamun severely. His tone suggested that it wasn't all that uncommon for visitors to have a problem with that. Dave sensed that some of those visitors may have even taken issue with a half-orcish servant of Halor. "What? No!" said Julian, fishtailing in the other direction. "That's totally cool. Some of my best friends are goblins." Tim elbowed Julian in the hip. The clerics formed a line, shoulder to shoulder, in front of the altar. Tamun raised his great, half-orc arms. "Kneel before Halor, Father of Gods, and know his mercy!" The gong sounded again. It sounded like it was behind them this time, but Dave didn't remember passing any gongs on his way to the altar. Dave knelt before Tamun. Cooper and Tim knelt before the two human clerics. Tamun shot Julian an ice-cold, tight-lipped, Sam Jackson stare. Dave looked over. Julian was still standing up. The goblin cleric was staring sheepishly at the ground. "What?" said Julian. "Perhaps you would be more comfortable," said Tamun, "if Brother Murkwort changed places with Brother Benedict or Brother Stansibold?" His voice could have frozen nitrogen. "What? No! Come on, man. It's not like that," said Julian. "I wasn't even injured. I didn't want you to waste a –" Tim reached up and punched Julian in the back of the knee. Julian dropped to his knees and stayed there. The sides of Tamun's lips curved upward, ever-so-slightly, in a satisfied grin. He placed his hand on Dave's head and nodded to his fellow clerics. They, likewise, placed their hands atop his friends' heads. "Halor," said Tamun. "Father of Gods, Giver of Light!" The mysterious gong sounded again. "Shine your light upon the souls of these, your unworthy children. Mend the flesh. Cleanse the spirit. Make them whole, that they may shine your divine Light upon others. By the Light of the Father." The other clerics repeated, "By the Light of –" Dave missed the last part of the repeated blessing, as his face cracked. Blood rushed through his head like the dial had been cranked up from 2 to 10. His vision abandoned him. The only sound he could hear was the rush of blood through his ears. The pain in his face was so intense that he thought maybe the gods weren't finished with him. When the pain subsided, Dave knew his face was whole again. Before his sight returned, he smelled the evidence of Cooper's successful healing as well. "Don't be such a baby, Brother Stansibold," said Tamun. "People respond to Halor's healing Light in different ways. It will wash out. Go and change your gown. Brother Benedict, Brother Murkwort, please fetch a mop and bucket." "Right away, Brother Tamun," the two lesser clerics said in unison. "Rise, dwarf," said Tamun. Dave got slowly to his feet, his vision returning but still very blurry. "Thank you. Do we… um…?" "Speak your mind, dwarf." "This is awkward," said Dave. "What do we owe you?" "Halor does not prostitute his Light for coin," said Tamun. "However, it is the custom for one to leave a donation to the temple to show one's gratitude." "We'll give you what we have," said Dave. "It isn't much. Tim?" Tim tossed a small coin pouch to Tamun. "You can keep the pouch. It's worth a silver piece." Tamun opened the bag and looked inside. He frowned. "You are indeed fortunate that Halor does not prostitute his Light for coin." Dave felt the rush of blood again in his face. "I'm sorry," he said. "We can come back with more later." Tamun placed the coin pouch on the altar. "Unburden your heart, dwarf. Your body is healed, and yet I sense there is still a rent in your spirit." "I made a mistake," said Dave. "The gods have stripped me of my own powers." "You must understand, child. You have no powers. You are but a vessel through which the gods do their will." "Yeah, okay," said Dave as reverently as he could. "You know what I mean though, right?" Dave had never been this nervous talking to a priest back in the real world, likely because he didn't believe in their god. "I do," said Tamun. "Speak to me of your sin, and we can see what may be done to set you back on the path of Light." "I borrowed a book from Cardinia's Great Library. Saint Whistlethorn's Encyclopedia of the Gods." "I am familiar with the text." "I was just trying to educate myself, you know? What with me being a cleric and all." Tamun pursed his lips and furrowed his brow, but eventually nodded. "Knowledge is a noble pursuit." "I was reading in a quiet, solitary corner of the tavern when I needed to go relieve myself," Dave explained. "When I returned, I discovered Cooper in my seat, looking through the book." He hated the idea of throwing Cooper under the bus, but he had to get the truth out. "That was an encyclopedia of the gods?" asked Cooper. "I thought it was porn." Everyone looked at him. "What?" he said defensively. "Some of those goddesses are hot, and they were doing some weird shit in some of the pictures." "Please forgive him," said Dave. "He can't read." "Continue with your story," said Tamun. "So when I get back," said Dave, "Cooper gets up and leaves all hurried like. And when I look at the book, I see he'd sneezed all over the pages. It's just covered in yellow and green slime." Cooper snorted. "I sneezed? You thought that was sn— Ow!" Julian had knocked him on the head with his quarterstaff. "Dude, that fucking hurts." After catching Julian's reprimanding glare, he added. "Oh shit, right. I totally sneezed. I think I'm coming down with a cold." He sniffed, but for the first time in his existence as a half-orc, his sinuses were clear as could be. Dave no longer felt any qualms about throwing Cooper under the bus. He hoped it was one of those big double-decker buses they have in England. Tamun stared, frozen and open-mouthed, at Cooper for a moment. He snapped out of it and looked at Dave. "So the pages were covered in mucus." To Cooper he said "Please allow your friend to finish his story uninterrupted." "I did my best to wipe it clean," said Dave. "But the ink smeared and the pages stuck together." "The sin was not yours, but your friend's," said Tamun. "But it was my responsibility," said Dave. "I was the one who checked it out from the library." Tamun grinned. His teeth were pointed like Cooper's, but much straighter and whiter. "This is an issue between you and the librarian, not you and the gods. Saint Whistlethorn's Encyclopedia of the Gods is a respected historical work, but it is not considered a sacred text. Tell me, what did you do with the book?" "I returned it." "In its sullied condition?" "Yes." "Did you bring the defacement to the librarian's attention?" Dave looked at the floor. "No." "I'm surprised at you, Dave," said Cooper. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself." Julian conked him on the head again. "Shut up," he whispered. "Your friend is correct," Tamun said to Dave. "Such behavior is unbecoming of a servant of the Light." Dave sighed. "But I do not think," Tamun continued, "that this is why you have been punished. Shameful as it may be, this is still a minor offense. There must be more to this story." Dave looked up at Tamun. "Nope," he said. "Honestly, that's about it." He felt some sense of relief, but knew that he still had a problem. "What did you do after you returned the book?" asked Tamun. Dave laughed nervously. "I high-tailed it to the door, praying that I could make it out onto the quad before the librarian found the sticky pages." Tamun's eyes widened. "You did what?" "High-tailed?" said Dave. "It just means that I walked briskly." "You defaced images of the gods, and then prayed to those same gods to spare you from the wrath of a librarian? Would you kick a tiger cub and seek protection from its mother?" "It sounds pretty bad when you put it like that." "You have heaped insult onto offense," said Tamun. "Your punishment is just. Praise be to the Light, the gods are more merciful than I might have been." "I'm really sorry," said Dave. "How can I make this right?" "You must atone," said Tamun. He placed his massive palm on Dave's forehead. His claws dug, straddling the line between uncomfortably and painfully, through Dave's thick hair and into his scalp. Not daring to try to move his head, Dave looked up as far has his eyeballs would allow. It wasn't enough for him to be able to see Tamun's face. "Um… should I say a prayer or write a letter of apology or something?" "Your careless words cast you into darkness," said Tamun. "It will take action to put you back on the Path of Light." "I could wash dishes, or –" "Do not speak, dwarf," said Tamun. "I require concentration." A few awkward moments passed while Dave silently bore the discomfort of half-orc claws digging into his head. Finally, Tamun spoke. "I see the goblin necromancer. He rides upon a black worg. Beside him flies the banner of OuiJas. The goblins who attacked you, did they seem organized?" "Not particularly, I guess," said Dave. "They didn't fight like goblins are supposed to fight," said Tim. "They should have been hiding up in the trees to ambush us with arrows. And they should have known that, even if they managed to take down one or two of us, they couldn't have hoped to have survived that fight. And they all went for me. It didn't make sense." "It makes perfect sense," said Tamun. "You are, at least to the lay observer, the smallest and weakest of your group. It's a common battle strategy to concentrate on a single kill rather than merely wound many." "That still doesn't explain why they just charged into battle kamikaze style." "Simple," said Tamun. "Their purpose was to die. If they could take one of you with them, all the better." "I don't understand what purpose that would serve them," said Julian. "Theirs was not the purpose being served," said Tamun. "They were most likely magically coerced or promised rewards in the afterlife. The leader pulls their strings. He seeks to build an army of the undead." "What's the point?" said Julian. "He already had an army of fanatically obedient followers." "That was no army," said Tamun. "Imagine if he had gotten lucky and killed you all. You would now be his undead servants. Zombies do not require food. They do not tire. They do not complain or disobey. You yourselves can testify they are stronger dead than they were alive." "My ass can testify," said Cooper. "We've heard enough of your ass's testimony today, thanks," said Tim. "This is good news for you," said Tamun. "What's good about it?" asked Dave. "The path to your redemption has been made clear." Tamun tightened his hold of Dave's head. The pain from his claws fell to the back of Dave's mind when he felt the sudden and searing heat coming from the half-orc's palm. "Yah!" cried Dave as his forehead sizzled. Tamun removed his hand, and the pain was gone. Dave turned around. "Whoa," said Julian. "Wicked," said Tim. "What the fuck is that on your head?" said Cooper. Dave felt his forehead. It was still a little tender, but otherwise felt normal enough. Tim spit on the blade of his dagger and polished it with his sleeve. "Try this." Dave accepted the dagger and held the blade in front of him. When he adjusted it to just the right angle, he could see his forehead reflected in it. There was a tattoo right smack in the center of it. The center of the tattoo, accounting for the majority of the whole, was a solid black circle, a little smaller than a golf ball. The circumference of the circle was lined with the same luminescent golden pigment which coated the interior of the temple. Wavy golden lines, a millimeter thick at the base, and thinning out into points a centimeter away, radiated out from the round center. A solar eclipse. "You have been marked as one whose spirit is lost in shadow," said Tamun. "Appease the gods, and you may once again walk in the Light." Dave pointed to his forehead. "Will that get rid of this… I mean it's cool and all. I just would have preferred it on my chest, or back or something." "When you have fulfilled the task the gods have placed before you, the mark will vanish." "What task?" asked Dave. Julian sighed. "We have to go kill all the gomblies, don't we?" "And the necromancer goblin," added Tim. "Shit," said Cooper. "That's impossible!" said Dave. "We already had our asses handed to us by them, and I don't have any magic. How are we even supposed to find them again?" "You have an unholy mark on your face," said Tamun. "Evil will find you." "That's reassuring." Tim yawned like a man three times his size. "Do you guys have a place we could crash? Maybe get a drink first? I'm wrecked." "I cannot permit you to stay here," said Tamun. "Your friend's face bears an unholy mark." "Come on, dude," said Tim. "You put that there." "I am but a vessel." Cooper laughed through his nose. His sinuses were nice and clogged again. "What?" said Julian. "He said 'I am a butt vessel'." "No he didn't. And what would that even mean anyway?" "I have no idea," admitted Cooper. "That's part of what makes it so funny. So much is left to the imagination." "I must ask you to leave this place at once," said Tamun. "Come on, man," said Tim. "We've had a rough day. We're fucking exhausted. Just let us crash here on the floor for a couple of hours." "If you will not leave peacefully, I shall have you removed by force. Brother Murkwort?" The goblin cleric looked up from his task of mopping Cooper's shit off of the polished hardwood floor. His eyes had been heavy with exhaustion before, but there was a certain glint in them now. He pulled the wooden handle off the head of the mop and held it horizontally atop his open palms. As he whispered a small prayer, the mop handle began to glow with a faint green light. "He's casting Magic Weapon," said Dave. "We should go." The others stood, dumbfounded, like it was the first time they'd ever seen someone cast a spell before. Brother Murkwort held his enchanted mop handle by one end and looked at them severely. "Do you guys see what I see?" asked Tim. "I see that we're about to get our asses ki—" Dave saw it. The four of them spoke in one voice. "Yoda." Brother Murkwort swung the glowing mop handle in wide, complicated arcs behind his back and above his head. He started slowly, and the movements grew faster and faster until he was standing in a glowing, green cocoon. He advanced. "Take me!" said Cooper, dropping to his knees. "This is how I want to die." "NOOOOO!" cried Julian, Tim, and Dave as the Jedi knight brought his lightsaber down to split Cooper's face in half. "Ow," said Cooper as the only slightly magically enhanced mop handle bounced off his head. "We should go," said Dave. "All right," said Cooper, rubbing his head. "Do not return until you have atoned for your sin!" Tamun called out after them as they exited the temple. Cooper gave him the finger. "Whatever you say, butt vessel." Julian laughed. "Okay. It's pretty funny." The temple door just barely missed Dave's ass as it closed behind him. "So what do we do now?" asked Julian. "I guess we head back to the Whore's Head," said Dave. "Sounds good," said Cooper. "I need a drink." "What you need," said Dave, "is a fucking urologist." "I don't think I can make it all the way back to the Whore's Head," said Tim. "I'd rather just crash here on the street." "Not in this neighborhood," said Julian. "The Kingsguard would pick us up in no time for vagrancy." "That doesn't leave many options," said Dave. "Best we start wa—FUCK!" He swatted away a giant cockroach that had just flown into his face. The stunned insect fell to the ground. It was as big as Dave's finger, and Dave had thick dwarven fingers. As soon as it got its bearings, it scurried back toward him on its creepy-crawly legs. A shiver ran up Dave's spine from the encounter, but he kept control of himself enough to bring his boot down on the bug. "This just isn't your night," said Julian. He called up to the roof. "Ravenus! It's time to go." "Five more minutes!" said the bird. "Now!" Ravenus peeked over the edge of the roof. "Oh all right. Ooh! What's that?" He flapped down from the roof and greedily gobbled up the squashed cockroach. Dave was just getting ready to start the long trudge back to the Whore's Head when two more cockroaches flew all up in his face. "Yahahahoohahoohooha!" cried Dave as he swatted the huge bugs away. "What the fuck is going on!" Dave didn't have to worry about these two cockroaches getting in his face again, as they were devoured by rats when they hit the ground. "Yawahawahaaa!" said Dave, jumping into Cooper's arms. Cooper, of course, dropped him on his ass. "Fuck, you're heavy." Five rats were nose to nose with Dave, squeaking at him as if trying to communicate. "I think they like you," said Tim. Dave bounced up to his feet and kicked a rat, sending it flying to the other side of the street. Cooper called out after it, "You were too good for him anyway!" No matter how Dave stepped, danced, or hopped, he couldn't get away from the growing swarm of vermin. He had to sweep his arms continuously all over his armor like a madman to keep it free of cockroaches. "Make it stop! Make it stop!" "What's all this noise?" demanded a Kingsguard, coming around the corner of Halor's temple. "Help me!" cried Dave. The Kingsguard actually started laughing. "Looks like someone displeased the gods." "What's so fucking funny about that!" "Calm yourself, dwarf. The vermin won't hurt you." Dave did not calm himself. He continued dancing and brushing away cockroaches. "Excuse me, sir," said Julian. "You appear to have more of an idea of what's happening here than we do. Might you shed some light on the situation?" "Creatures of the night." The Kingsguard nodded toward Dave. "The rats and bugs, they're attracted to the unholy mark on your friend's head. It's been far too long since the last time this happened." "I can't help but find it odd," said Julian, "that you take such pleasure in watching my friend writhe in a swarm of vermin." "Oh, I take no pleasure in that," said the Kingsguard. "It's a disgusting sight to behold for sure. But it's great for the city. We need a good rat purge every now and again. It's probably a good time to mention, I'll need to escort your friend out of the city at once." "But we need to rest," said Dave. "We've been awake for nearly an entire day." He was too exhausted to continue sweeping the bugs away. They crawled all over him, through his hair, under his armor. While he would prefer they not be there, the worst of the terror was behind him. "Good luck with that," said the Kingsguard. "I don't know if you've noticed, but you're covered in cockroaches and rats." Dave sighed, ejecting a cockroach which happened to be crawling across his mouth at the time. It spread its brown, papery wings and flew right back into his face. He started walking. Tim, Julian, and Cooper walked in a wide arc behind Dave, giving the growing swarm of rats plenty of room, while the Kingsguard strutted ahead of him like they were in some kind of goddamn parade. Other guards they passed, as well as the few residents of the city who were up and about this early in the morning, actually cheered as the procession passed. At first Dave assumed they were mocking him like a bunch of self-righteous pricks, but through the squeak of rats and the flap of cockroach wings, he actually began to make out words of encouragement. "Good luck on your quest!" "May you walk in the Light again!" "Thanks for clearing out all the rats!" One pretty young woman stepped out onto the top balcony of a three story building as Dave passed underneath. She smiled down sympathetically at him, plucked a rose from the vine entwined around the railing, and tossed it down to him. It was, of course, immediately devoured by rats, but Dave appreciated the gesture. "Seek the Light," said the Kingsguard escort, stopping just before the open gate. "We're going to die out there, you know," said Dave. "Have faith, son. The gods will provide you with all you need." Dave had heard similar bullshit back in the real world, usually only involving a singular god. The Kingsguard's words did little to encourage him. "So," said Julian after the gates closed behind them. "Should we like set up camp or whatever?" He spoke loudly to account for the distance away from each other they all stood and the noise from all the rats now surrounding Dave. "Do you honestly think any of us could sleep right now?" Dave shouted back. "So what then?" "I'm going to go find those gomblies and get rid of this curse." "But you know we can't take them. They've probably got more gomblies by now." "Then I'll die!" shouted Dave. "I'm fucking tired, and I'm crawling with fucking bugs and rats. I can't live like this." Dawn was breaking as Dave trudged through the meadow, headed to where they'd had their previous encounter with the goblin necromancer and his gomblies. The rest of the group followed. The noise wasn't as deafening out here, presumably because the rats were busy consuming whatever food they could hunt or scavenge in the tall grass. "Cooper," said Julian. "Would you mind carrying me?" "What are you, six years old? You can walk just like everyone else." "It's going to be a long walk," said Julian. "If I can get my four hours of meditation in, I can have spells ready when we meet the gomblies… or in case we need to make a speedy retreat again." Cooper sighed. "Fuck. All right." "Oh that's adorable," said Tim. Dave turned around. Julian was sitting snugly in Cooper's arms, elf head nestled peacefully against half-orc man-tit, slender arms wrapped around fat, leathery neck. They looked like they should be crossing a threshold. "Keep moving, shithead," said Cooper. Dave turned back around and kept moving. Only when the thick grass of the meadow gave way to the first trees of the forest did it become clear just how many rats had joined Dave's entourage. It must have been in the tens of thousands. The sun was high in the sky when Ravenus reported the first zombie sighting. "He's just over that rise," said Ravenus, settling on higher tree branch than he normally would when giving a surveillance report, presumably to keep a healthy distance away from a horde of hungry rats. "Funny thing is, this one's not a goblin. It's a half-elf." "That can only mean one of two things," said Tim. "Either it's a wandering zombie not associated with the goblin necromancer or, more likely, that fucker has had a busy night, and his undead army is growing." "That would be bad," said Julian. "Hey," said Cooper. "How long have you been awake?" "A few minutes now." Cooper dropped Julian and stretched out his arms. "Dick." "Okay," said Tim. "Dave, you stay here and try to keep your little friends as quiet as you can. The more we can pick off one-at-a-time, the fewer we'll have to face when they finally catch on." It was as good a plan as any. Dave agreed. "Julian, Cooper," said Tim. "You guys go hide behind those two trees. I'll run ahead, shoot the zombie, and run past you. When he passes between the trees, you two beat the shit out of him. Got it?" "Got it," said Julian. "Good plan," said Cooper. He and Julian took their places behind their respective trees. Tim pranced silently ahead of them on tiptoes until he disappeared over the rise. After a moment, Dave heard the familiar snap of Tim's crossbow being released. Seconds later, Tim bolted back into view, darted between the trees, and turned around, already loading his next bolt. After a few more seconds passed, a jarring sound clanged out from right around where Dave guessed the zombie was supposed to have been. "What the fuck is that?" asked Cooper. "It sounds like a cowbell," said Julian. Tim ran back to the top of the rise. "Hey, man! Knock that shit off!" He fired another bolt. The ringing ceased. Dave ran up to the top of the rise. There was no point in trying to keep quiet now. A dead half-elf lay on the ground, a bolt in its neck, a bolt in its eye, and a fucking cowbell in its hand. "What the hell was that all about?" His entourage of rats descended on the corpse, leaving behind nothing but bone and bell a minute later. "We're so fucked," said Tim. "What's with the cowbell?" asked Julian. "Why didn't it chase you?" asked Cooper. "Those weren't its orders," said Tim. "Zombies follow their creators' simple commands. Usually the command is 'Kill anything that comes near', but there's no rule that says you can't have them wander about and raise an alarm." As if on cue, the undead began to shuffle out through the trees on the northern and western perimeter of their visibility. The first wave was at least two dozen strong, mostly gomblies, but sprinkled here and there with other humanoid creatures. Dave knew that there would be far more than that. He looked down at the skeletonized half-orc corpse and smiled. "The gods will provide," said Dave. "Like fuck they will," said Tim. "We've got to get out of here. Julian. Do you have your spells back yet? Can you summon up some horses?" "No," said Dave. "The gods will provide." He picked up the bell and rang it as hard as he could. "What the fuck does he think he's doing?" Cooper shouted over the clanging of the bell. "I think a cockroach must have crawled into his brain," said Tim. Dave paused in his bell-ringing. "You guys may want to climb up some trees or something." He rang the bell some more. "Praise be to Halor, Father of Gods!" He couldn't be sure over the sound of the bell, but he thought he might have heard a gong. Sure enough, more and more zombies shambled out from the trees. There must have been over a hundred. When they entered the rat zone, the furry little bastards went to town on them, devouring their feet almost instantly. The zombies stumbled and were overwhelmed by a swarms of rats. The rat mounds shrank like deflating balloons until there was nothing left but bone. Not a single zombie came close to within striking distance of Dave. When the last of the zombies collapsed before him, Dave saw the goblin necromancer and his standard bearer off in the distance, atop their wolf mounts. "There they are!" cried Dave. "Get them!" Cooper hopped down out of his tree. "Julian! Horse me!" "Horse!" said Julian, and a black stallion appeared next to Cooper. Cooper unstrapped his greataxe and charged after the goblins. The standard bearer dropped his standard. He and the necromancer began to flee. "Magic Missile!" shouted Julian. A golden bolt of magical energy left behind a trail of sparkly dust as it swerved around trees and eventually zeroed in on the necromancer, knocking him off of his steed. The sight of a charging half-orc on horseback brandishing a greataxe must have trumped the black wolf's loyalty to its rider. It bolted, as did the still-mounted standard bearer. "FUCK YOU!!!" Cooper shouted, swinging his axe underhanded into the stunned necromancer. Dave couldn't be sure from this distance, but he doubted the pile of gore Cooper's axe had just created would be sufficiently in-tact for any other necromancers who happened by to be able to animate. A couple of cockroaches crawled out from Dave's hair and flew away into the forest. He noticed the congregation of rats seemed less dense as well. "Dave!" said Tim. "Your tattoo is beginning to fade!" He held out his dagger for Dave. Dave accepted the dagger and held the blade up, adjusting the angle until he found his reflection. Sure enough, the black was fading, and the gold was losing its shimmer. "Oh thank god," he said. "I'm so fucking tired." "Well you can rest easy," said Julian. "I only used one Magic Missile, so I can summon two more horses. Tim and I are small enough to comfortably share one, so you and Cooper can each have your own. We'll take it slow so you can even nod off in the saddle." "You know," said Dave. "I think I just might do that." He gave his body a good shake, and a few more cockroaches fell out of his armor. "Horse!" said Julian. A short and sturdy brown horse appeared next to Dave. It was perfect for him. In fact, he might even be able to climb up on top of this one without Cooper's help. "Horse!" Julian said again. A sleek, chestnut-colored mare appeared next to him, perfectly suited for himself and Tim. "You fuckers ready to roll?" asked Cooper, trotting up on his own horse. "Just a minute," said Dave, staring at the reflection of the fading tattoo on his forehead. "I don't want to take any chances." When the mark had completely vanished, he handed back Tim's dagger. "Okay, guys. Let's – Ow!" He looked down. A rat had crawled up his boot and bitten him on the knee. He smacked it off. "You ungrateful little shit." Just then, all three horses began to scream. Rats were climbing up their legs. Cooper's horse threw him off and started bucking wildly. Four more rats tried to climb up Dave's legs. Even more were scurrying toward him. "Run!" cried Tim. He, Julian, and Dave ran away from the rats, and the rats let them go, favoring the three immobilized horses. Cooper ran out of the frenzy with about ten rats still clinging to him. "Ow! Ow! Ow! Shit! Ow!" said Cooper, as he rolled around on the ground shaking rats off of himself. Dave, Julian, and Tim watched helplessly as, one by one, the horse-shaped mounds of frenzied rats suddenly collapsed as the magical horses inside died and vanished. The walk back to Cardinia, and even still farther to the Whore's Head Inn, was a long, arduous, but fortunately uneventful one. They finally arrived in the late afternoon, and immediately crashed on the floor and fell asleep. All except for Dave, who was forced to sleep out back in the animal pen until he sorted out his cockroach problem. ⁂ [ Cornholed ] "This must be the place," said Tim, looking up from the scrap of paper in his little hand. The house wasn't anything Julian would call fantastic. It was a nice place, large and wooden with a wrap-around porch, but it wouldn't have looked out of place back home. Beyond it was a seemingly endless sea of bright green corn stalks. It reminded Julian of the time he had to drive through Indiana. Ravenus circled above catching large flying insects, but Julian could feel his familiar's hunger for decaying flesh. His stomach turned with a mixture of desire and revulsion at the thought. It wasn't always pleasant to share an empathic link with a carrion bird. "You should probably go up and knock," said Tim. Whenever they came across a door, there was an evolving protocol forming for which one of them would approach it. If there was reason to believe the door might be trapped, Tim would check it out first. If they were in a hurry, Cooper would smash it down. If they spent too long talking about it, Dave would get impatient and suffer whatever consequences came from just walking up and opening it. But in a case such as this one, where they were reasonably sure that no one on either side of the door wanted to murder anyone on the other side, the task fell to Julian. He had the highest Charisma score of anyone in the party. He was The Face. Julian only had time to take a single step off the dirt path when the front door of the house swung open. "You the boys Skip Wiggins sent?" said the white-haired gentleman at the door. "Who the fuck is Ski—" Julian, Tim, and Dave all glared at Cooper. He knew better than to talk while Julian was using his Diplomacy. "Sorry." Julian looked back at the owner of the house and flashed what he hoped was a charming smile. "That's us!" he said, probably a little too enthusiastically. The man stared back at Julian for a time. His coal-black eyes betrayed no hint of offense or amusement. He was short for a human, but as short as Tim or Dave. He wore a simple white cotton tunic. A beige shawl covered his shoulders, and a matching wide-brimmed hat shielded his sunburnt face from the sun. He had bushy white eyebrows and a handlebar mustache. The most curious feature was the medallion, a red stone a little smaller than a golf ball, the man wore around his neck on a simple silk cord. It wasn't particularly decorative, and didn't really go with the rest of his outfit. He rubbed the white stubble on his chin as his eyes moved from Julian to Dave, then to Tim, and finally to Cooper. He spat a mouthful of something brown on the sun-baked earth near Cooper's feet. "Y'all s'posed to be warriors?" he said. "That's right, sir," said Julian. "We were told that we would be well-suited for –" "You look like a bunch of cob gobblers to me." Julian's face remained frozen in a stupid grin. He was unsure of how one was meant to respond to that. "I guess you get what you pay for," said the man. "The name's Chester. Come on up an' set down a spell. Can I get you boys a drink?" "That would be lovely," said Julian, leading his friends up the front steps. "Gertie!" Chester shouted into the house. "Fetch us a pitcher of lemonade." "Do you have anything stronger?" asked Cooper, ignoring his friends' glares. "I'm sorry. I'm just fighting a big fucking hangover." Chester nodded, then shouted back into the house. "Throw a squirt of corn piss in it!" Julian stopped before reaching the top step. His friends did likewise. Not visible from ground level, the section of porch in front of the door was covered by a great blue rug with a silver floral pattern. It looked very expensive. Chester sat down on the rug and invited them to do the same. "Don't be shy now. Just take your shoes off first." Julian and Dave, the only two of them who actually wore shoes, removed them, and they all sat down on the rug. A moment later, a tall, thin woman emerged from the doorway with a tray. She might have been attractive back in her day, but that day was long past. Likewise, the faded pink dress she wore was likely at one time a tasteful and elegant showcase for the beautiful young woman inside it, conservatively cut below the knee, but revealing well-toned arms in their entirety. Now it was ragged, dirty, and threadbare, and the arms it revealed were flabby, the hands and forearms red and chapped. "Dammit, Gertie!" said Chester. "This ain't no occasion to be usin' our fine glassware!" "But your guests." Chester gestured at Julian and the others. "These are hired mercenaries, not foreign dignitaries. Ain't a one of 'em even human." He turned to Julian. "No offense." "Um…" said Julian. "None taken?" "I'll go an' fetch the wooden cups." "Aw hell," said Chester. "Y'already done wasted enough time. Just set the tray down an' get back inside. Y'oughtta be shamed of yourself lookin' the way you do." "Yes, Pappa," said Gertie, setting down the tray in the middle of the group. Chester called out after her as she retreated into the house. "Any these glasses get broken, it's comin' outta your ass, hear?" No response came from within the house. Julian, Tim, Dave, and Cooper stared at each other uncomfortably as Chester poured the drinks and passed the glasses around. "The hell's wrong with your arm, boy?" asked Chester, staring at the leopard fur band around Dave's forearm. "That some kinda gang affiliation?" "No," said Dave. "It's… I don't like to talk about it." "Well let's talk business then," said Chester, raising his own glass. Cooper swallowed his entire glass at once. Dave downed his in a quick series of gulps. Tim only got half as far on his first go. Julian took a careful sip. Gertie had obviously thrown in more than a 'squirt' of cornpiss. The drink tasted like lemon-flavored rubbing alcohol. "We understand you have some kind of problem in your cornfield?" said Julian. "Ankhegs," said Chester. "Gesundheit," said Cooper. Chester narrowed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Mr. Chester," said Julian. "I'm not familiar with the term." "Ankhegs?" "Gesundheit," Cooper said again. Chester stood up and brandished his crossbow. "You makin' fun of me, boy? I got a mind to put a hole in that big ugly head of yours." "Please, sir!" said Julian, scrambling for a Diplomacy check. "That won't be necessary." He looked at Cooper. "You say another goddamned word, and I'll shoot you myself." Cooper pouted. Chester sat down with a wide grin. "Well there you go, son! That's how you deal with the lower races." "The lower races?" The question escaped Julian's lips before he had time to think better of asking it. "Sure," said Chester. "There's a natural order to life. We humans is at the top, with you elves just below us. And then come…" He looked at Tim, Cooper, and Dave. "… well, the rest of them." Tim swallowed down the rest of his drink, presumably to give his mouth something to do other than respond to Chester's proposed natural order to life. Dave refilled his own glass, then Cooper's and Tim's. Diplomacy had taped the wing back onto the burning airplane. Now it was time to hit the eject button. "So, what's an ankheg?" "Ain't none of you boys been out the city in your whole lives?" said Chester. "I'm gonna have to have a word with Skip." "Ankhegs are large predatory arthropods," said Tim. He hiccupped. "They burrow under the ground. We've fought them before… back home." "Well there you go!" said Chester. "At least one of you's got half a brain rattlin' round in his head." "It was my understanding," Tim continued, "that ankhegs *hiccup* were good for farmland. Don't they aerate the soil or something?" Julian gave Tim a thankful smile. He knew Tim had a temper, and that rednecks were one of his biggest triggers. He was probably making continuous Concentration checks to avoid punching this asshole in the face. "So they're like dire worms?" asked Julian. Chester frowned at him. "What?" "Arthropods, stupid!" said Tim. "Like lobsters and spiders and shit." "How the hell am I supposed to know what an arthropod is?" "You get the Discovery Channel, don't you?" "All they ever play is fucking Amish Mafia!" "I may have to rethink the natural order of life," said Chester. "Can one of you tell me what in the Abyss these two are arguin' about?" Cooper made a show of how tightly his lips were sealed and shrugged. "We were talking about ankhegs," said Dave. "And how they aerate the soil." "Now that's right," said Chester. "You have one or two ankhegs in your field, and that's a blessing from the gods. Not only do they aerate the soil, but they keep rodent populations in check. And that's just fine." Julian listened intently. Even racist assholes were interesting to listen to when they were talking about a subject they genuinely knew something about. "But sometimes," Chester continued. "Sometimes the balance is tipped. Ankhegs themselves don't have a lot of natural predators, but they's too stupid to watch over their eggs after the mating season. Those eggs is fair game for whatever other critters is crawlin' around underground, and so most of them never even get to hatch. But on occasion, a whole nest will get through the winter unmolested, and then you got problems." "What sorts of problems?" asked Julian. "Well it's one thing to aerate the soil," said Chester. "But you get too much aeration, and it undermines the structural integrity of the land. I got sinkholes formin'." "I guess that's pretty bad," said Julian. "Oh that ain't the worst of it," Chester went on. "What do you think happens when all the rabbits and rats is gone? All those crawly basterds gotta eat somethin'. They've started attacking my field hands!" "Do you use zombies?" Chester glared at Julian. "What kind of sick question is that?" "I'm sorry," said Julian. "It's just that I know a guy up the road who –" "Simon Peppercorn." "Yeah, that's him." "You boys best steer clear of folks like that," said Chester. "He's a practitioner of the Dark Arts." "Who the fuck is Simon Pep—" Julian knocked Cooper on the forehead with his quarterstaff. "I warned you." "We's a good gods-fearin' family," said Chester, raising his chin and puffing out his chest. "We use slaves." Dave facepalmed himself. Tim swigged back an entire glass of 'lemonade'. Cooper farted. "Gods have mercy, boy!" said Chester, waving his hand violently in front of his face. "You practice some Dark Arts yourself, don't you!" "Excuse me," said Cooper. "I say it's about time we went and had a look at the cornfield." "Good idea," said Julian, springing up to his feet. "Set your skinny ass back down, son," said Chester. "You ain't gonna see nothin' from ground level. Anyways, the ankhegs can sense the slightest tremor in the ground. It's how they hunt." Julian started to sit back down. "Then how are we going to –" "Giddap!" said Chester. Julian's ass met the rug a good half-second before it was supposed to. It took him a moment to make sense of that, but he soon discovered it was because the rug had risen off the porch. "A flying carpet!" said Tim. "Awesome!" said Dave. "Fuck yes!" said Cooper. Julian just sat where he was, exhilarated and a little terrified, even though they were only about a foot off the ground. "Heh heh," Chester laughed. "You boys is easily entertained." He brushed his hand along the carpet's surface. The carpet responded by moving in that direction, hovering out past the front steps out over the open ground. They were now about ten feet off the ground. Falling from that height probably wouldn't even do any damage, but Julian scooted back away from the edge just the same. "Get this baby moving!" said Tim, hopping up to his feet. "I've got to take a leak!" He stumbled past Dave to the back edge of the carpet, looking as though he was certainly going to fall off. He caught his balance just in time. "Hold on!" said Chester. The carpet accelerated out of Cooper's fart cloud at a surprisingly smooth rate. Tim let a stream of urine spray behind them as they circled around the big house. "Woooooo!" "Sit down before you kill yourself!" said Julian. He took another small swig of cornpiss lemonade to intoxicate the butterflies in his stomach. When Tim was finished, he returned to the group, tying the rope that held his pants up. "I've always wanted to do that." "What?" said Julian. "How would the idea even occur to –" "It's true," said Dave. "He's mentioned it a few times before." "Ain't no feelin' in the world quite like that, is there?" said Chester. He steered the flying rug past the house and out over the sea of corn. Julian's long ears sliced through the air as the carpet picked up speed. The view from above opened his eyes as to just how vast this cornfield was; it stretched for miles in every direction. It also made plain imperfections in the otherwise homogenous pattern of stalks. Chester slowed the carpet until they were hovering over one of these imperfections, a roughly circular hole in the ground, about five feet in diameter, leading downward at a sharp angle. "Ankheg burrow," said Chester. "Cornhole," said Cooper. Dave and Tim laughed. Pissing off the back of a magic carpet must have done wonders for Tim. The rare sight of him laughing all but forced Julian to chuckle along. "This ain't no pleasure cruise," said Chester, who had obviously not found Cooper's comment quite so funny as the rest of them had. "The observations you make out here might very well save your worthless lives. So you might want to –" "Bwwaaarrrrrggggghh!" roared something from about fifty feet away. It was a terrible sound, like a bobcat choking on a squirrel which hadn't yet given up the fight. Julian looked toward the noise. Sure enough, a section of cornstalks was shaking violently, some of them tipping over, others sinking straight down. "Well here you go," said Chester. "The perfect opportunity for you boys to educate yourselves on what you're up against." The carpet meandered above the stalks until it reached the fightin-progress. Julian recognized the goblin immediately for what it was. The creature it was desperately hacking at with a sharpened piece of wood, he could only assume was an ankheg. It was only partially exposed. It's head looked like that of a brown grasshopper, but with enormous mandibles. The two exposed legs reminded Julian of steel fence posts, but with hooked claws at the end. The back end of a crossbow bolt appeared in its thorax, right below its leg. Julian looked to his right. Tim had fired the shot. The creature hissed as it released its hold on the goblin's leg and turned its attention toward them. Chester, strangely enough, had not yet even raised his own crossbow. He must be wanting to assess their ability. Still, that was some pretty cold shit when one of his own workers' life was on the line. "Magic Missile!" said Julian. He was too spooked by the ankheg's appearance to focus on a form for the spell, so it just came out as a white glowing blob of magic. It did its job though, exploding into the side of the thing's face, shattering the exoskeletal cheek and part of its right eye. Unfortunately, the parts that did the biting seemed to still be fully functional. Dave stood at the edge of the carpet, mace ready, waiting for the ankheg to come within striking range. "Don't be a pussy," said Cooper, kicking Dave in the back. "Shiiiii-" said Dave on the way down. The end of his scream was drowned out by the crashing of corn stalks. When the ankheg bent down to bite Dave, Cooper leapt off the carpet onto its back. "Fuck you, you husky bitch!" Riding piggyback on an enormous insect proved more challenging than Cooper had apparently accounted for, and he dropped his axe in order to hang on. The ankheg swayed back and forth, trying to shake him off, but Cooper had his left arm firmly locked in a chokehold around the creature's neck. He punched into the cavity Julian's Magic Missile had opened up, and then pulled out a fistful of brown and red goop that must have been the mashed remnants of its brain. The creature stopped writhing and slumped forward over Dave, taking Cooper with it, head first into the ground. "Ow," said Cooper. "Impressive work," said Chester. "If not a tad unconventional." "It might not have killed you to jump in on the action," said Tim. The kettle was beginning to boil. Chester shrugged off the comment. "Bolts cost money." He looked down at the goblin. The pitiful thing's left leg was torn up pretty bad, but he remained standing. His white burlap shirt had been ripped wide open, revealing skin underneath that appeared to be worse off than the skin unshielded from the sun. It was pink and blistered, like second degree burns. "What you got in your hand, son?" The goblin looked up like he'd been caught fucking Gertie. "Oh this? Ain't nothin', sir. Just a little chunk of wood is all." "You know goblin's ain't s'posed to carry no weapons out here," said Chester, fingering the stone that hung from his neck. "Leave it to these here professionals to take care of the ankhegs. You just mind the corn." "If y'all ain't happened by just when you done, these professionals wouldn't have done me a whole lot of good." Chester scowled at the goblin with fiery hate in his eyes. For a second, Julian thought he might have to intervene. But the moment passed. Chester's face relaxed, and so did Julian. "How's that leg of yours?" "Oh, it ain't too bad," said the goblin. "I might need one or two days to recuperate, but I should be back to work in no time." "One or two days, huh?" Chester flashed a broad smile. "Why not make it a week?" "That's mighty generous of you, sir, but I reckon I'll only be –" THWACK A bolt in the forehead dropped the goblin to the dirt. "What the fuck!" Tim cried, jumping off of the carpet. "Give a gobber an inch, and he'll take a mile." It took Julian a second to realize Chester was talking to him, being the only one left up there on the carpet. His mind reeling, he had no idea how to respond. Was he still even trying to be diplomatic at this point? "Excuse me," he said. He hopped backwards off the carpet, catching the edge briefly with his fingers, hanging on just long enough to halt the momentum of his fall. "Y'all ain't had to worry 'bout that ankheg," said Chester. "Gobber woulda finished him off." "He didn't stand a fucking chance, and you know it!" said Tim, plucking the bolt out of the goblin's forehead. Bright red blood poured out of the wound and ran down the creature's dusty face. Tim dragged the body behind the ankheg corpse, which Dave was still struggling to get out from under. "Ha!" said Chester. "He didn't need to." He raised his eyebrows and tapped his temple. "It's brainpower what makes us the higher race. I have Gertie soak all the gobbers' laundry in a special batch of poison 'fore she hang it out to dry, just for this sort of eventuality." That explained the chemical burns. "You sadistic son of a whore!" said Cooper. Julian whacked him on the head with his quarterstaff. "My apologies," he said to Chester. "My acquaintance has more heart than brain." "Hey fuck you, dude," said Cooper. "Did you see what –" Julian gave him a look like he was going to hit him again. "Well that's real sweet," said Chester. "You know I once saw a sick dog suck milk from a sow titty." "Is that right?" said Julian. "I shit you not!" said Chester. "Funniest thing in the world, I tell you…" Julian's eyes remained focused on Chester, to give the appearance that he was still paying attention. But the bulk of his concentration was on Dave and Tim. "I heal thee," whispered Dave. It was barely loud enough for Julian's hyper-sensitive elf ears to pick up. There's no way Chester's Master Race human ears would have heard, particularly not over the sound of his own blathering. When he heard the sound of muffled groaning, he sighed and turned his attention back to Chester. "… but that don't matter none on account of we don't have room in the house for another nephew anyway." "But what about Bosley?" asked Cooper, who had obviously been fully engrossed in whatever Chester was talking about. "How did he react to Eli running off with Leopold's eldest daughter?" "Bosley?"Chester hunkered down to a squat and cupped a hand around the side of his mouth. "He's the one paid for the gods-damned taxidermist!" Cooper's eyes widened as he placed his fingertips over his mouth. "Fuck me!" Chester raised his eyebrows and nodded slowly. "I know, right?" "Excuse me," said Julian. "I hate to interrupt, but I'd like to know more about the job." Hoping that a little farm lingo might ease the transition, he added, "Daylight's a-waistin'." Chester stood up and frowned. "So it is. Well, ain't much 'splainin' needs done. You fellers take all the time you need and kill as many ankhegs as you can. When you're done, come on back to the farmhouse, and I'll give you one gold piece for every head you bring back." "Yes, sir," said Julian. Chester sat down, and the carpet began to pivot in the air toward the farmhouse. "Good luck!" Julian waited until he lost sight of the back of the carpet through the corn stalks. "He's gone." Tim and Dave stood up and stepped out from behind the dead ankheg. Between them stood the shirtless, shaken, but very much alive goblin. His leg was nicely healed up, the hole in his forehead had disappeared, and even the burns on his torso had disappeared. "Hello," said Julian, attempting a comforting smile. The goblin responded with a timid nod of his head. "My name is Julian. It's nice to meet you, Gobber." "Julian!" cried Dave. "No!" The goblin's timidity evaporated in an instant. Its red eyes grew wide. "Who you callin' a gobber, you big-eared bitch?" He pushed Dave out of his way and started marching toward Julian. "Huh?" said Julian, taking a step back. "I'm pretty sure that's like the goblin N-word," said Dave. "What?" cried Julian, crashing backward through stalks of corn. "I'm sorry! I thought that was your name!" "Oh, you a funny man," said the goblin. "We gonna see how funny you is with no teeth." He was somehow incredibly menacing for a three-foot-tall creature. "Come on, man! We just saved your life!" "You 'bout to wish you hadn't." Cooper stepped in front of the goblin. "Just calm the fuck down. Julian didn't mean anything." "This don't involve you. Best you just step out the way." "That's my friend," said Cooper. "So yes, it does involve me. If you'd just take a second and chill – The fuck?" Ravenus swooped in and pecked furiously on Cooper's head. "Ow! Fuck! Knock it off!" "Ravenus!" said Julian. "What are you doing?" Ravenus narrowly avoided Cooper's fist and settled on top of Juliian's quarterstaff. "I'm sorry, sir. I sensed you were being threatened." "Not by Cooper." "Dave?" "No." "Surely not Tim." "No." "But that only leaves…" Ravenus cocked his head to the side. "You felt threatened by a goblin?" "I inadvertently made an offensive remark… for which I'm very sorry." "But he's just a goblin," said Ravenus, just before getting knocked off of his perch by a flying ear of corn. "Nice shot," said Cooper. The goblin grinned. "I deserved that!" Ravenus said from behind several rows of corn stalks. "You speak elven?" asked Julian. It was the only explanation for him being able to understand what Ravenus had said. Well, either that or he was just a major dick. "That's right," said the goblin in a British accent. "I speak a couple other languages too." "Hey hey, none of that shit," said Cooper. "You guys speak English." "What's English?" asked the goblin. "Or common," said Cooper. "Whatever the fuck it's called. Just knock off that crazy bird language bullshit." The goblin looked confused, but Julian didn't feel like explaining how game languages worked. "What's your name?" asked Julian. "They call me Nutcracker." "Do I want to know why?" Nutcracker grinned. "Not firsthand." "Have you guys sorted all of your shit out?" asked Tim. "We should try to kill an ankheg or two before night falls. You're welcome to join us, Nutcracker." "And why would I want to do that?" "We'll cut you in on the coin," said Tim. "Besides, have you given any thought as to what you're next step is? I mean, your master thinks you're dead." Nutcracker laughed. "I don't reckon he can tell one of us from another." "Why don't you just leave?" asked Julian. "I don't see any walls or guards or anything. What's to stop any of you from leaving anytime you want?" "You seen that big stone Mister Chester wear 'round his neck?" "Yeah?" "That's what's called a property stone," said Nutcracker. "Now I don't know the magic behind it, but they got a wizard at every slave auction. They take blood from a newly purchased slave and do what they do. Whatever it is binds us to that stone." "So what happens if you try to leave?" asked Julian. "I tried a few times," said Nutcracker. "You reach a certain point and you just want to come back." "Interesting." "Same thing happens if you get a mind to do harm to Mister Chester. Like right now, for instance. He done murdered me today, but if he was here right now, I couldn't bring myself to lay a hand on him." "Because of the stone?" Nutcracker nodded. "Mmm hmm." "What if you destroyed the stone?" "I seen a couple fools try it once," said Nutcracker. "They snuck into the house and grabbed it. This was before Mister Chester took to wearin' it 'round his neck all the time. They banged on that thing with hammers and rocks for a good twenty minutes before Mister Chester come 'round on that flying carpet of his. He shot them both dead, and they ain't put so much as a gods damned scratch on the stone. Damn thing's nigh-indestructible." "Have you thought about –" The ground rumbled beneath Julian's feet. "What was that?" he asked, having a pretty good idea of what the answer was. "Take this!" said Tim, tossing his short sword to Nutcracker. He loaded his crossbow. Nutcracker snatched the sword out of the air by the hilt and made a few practice swipes against some corn stalks. The stalks weren't exactly worthy adversaries, but Julian could tell that this little goblin knew his way around a sword. "What's going on?" asked Ravenus, poking his head out of the fallen ankheg's giant eye. "Ravenus," said Julian. "Fly!" Ravenus flapped his wings, spraying Julian with a bit eyeball goo, and took to the air. Julian, Dave, Tim, and Cooper stepped this way and that, like they were in a drunken square dance, trying to figure out exactly where the approaching ankheg was most likely to emerge. Nutcracker stared straight at a certain spot on the ground, sword held high with both hands and pointing down. The ground disintegrated exactly at the point where Nutcracker had predicted. The massive bug emerged. Brown exoskeleton with a red underbelly, it was easily fifty percent bigger than the previous one. Nutcracker dug into its underbelly with his sword as it burst out of the hole, putting a nice big gash in its side. The ankheg swiped at Nutcracker with one of its massive legs, sending the goblin flying into the maize. The little guy had some fight in him, sure. But he still only weighed about forty-five pounds. When the ankheg had fully emerged from its hole, it was as big as a city bus. "Yah!" said Dave, swinging his mace at the creature's head. The ankheg dodged Dave's clumsy swing, knocking the weapon out of his hands with a swipe of its mandibles. "Shit," said Dave as his mace disappeared down the ankheg's hole. The ankheg made a sound like an old person snoring, only much much louder, and opened its mandibles wide, spraying a jet of dull green liquid into Dave's face. It sizzled on contact. "Yah!" cried Dave. It was decidedly different in tone and pitch than his previous 'yah'. He covered his face with his hands and ran around like a headless chicken. "My eyes! I can't – Wha? FUUUUUUCK!" He accidentally followed his mace. "Ha!" said Cooper. "Dave just got cornholed!" He swung his axe with both hands. The ankheg raised its center leg to deflect the blow, but wound up minus a leg for the effort. Tim fired a bolt into the creature's back for whatever good that did. It seemed more distracted by its missing leg. Julian didn't know what else the day had in store for them, and thought it best to conserve his magic for now. He brought his quarterstaff down hard on the ankheg's rear end, but failed to smash through its hard shell. Understandably pissed off about its severed leg, the ankheg grabbed Cooper with its two front legs and brought its mouth down on Cooper's head. It immediately released him, hissing and standing upright on its hind legs, leaving itself wide open for Nutcracker to charge out from the corn stalks and plunge Tim's short sword deep into its soft underbelly. There followed a moment of hesitation, as if the ankheg couldn't decide if it was dead yet or not. Tim made the decision for it, firing a bolt right into its face. Nutcracker rolled out of the way as the giant beast's body smashed a previously unmolested section of cornfield. "Nice work," Julian said to Nutcracker. "Yeah," said Nutcracker. "Um… you too." Julian didn't think he meant it to be as condescending as it sounded. "Hey Dave!" Tim called down the hole. "You okay down there?" "Yeah," Dave shouted. "Never been better." His tone suggested otherwise. "Do you need some help getting out?" "No," said Dave. "You guys should come down here. I think I found something." "What is it?" "Some kind of stone surface." "Probably just bedrock." "Dude," said Dave. "I'm a dwarf. I know stone. This is man-made." Tim looked at Julian. Julian shrugged. "Okay, fine," said Tim. "We're coming down." The incline of the tunnel was steep enough to slide down, but Julian made his way down carefully, afraid that the whole tunnel could collapse at any minute. Corn roots held the soil together most of the way down, so at least there was a bit of comfort in that, but not quite enough to offset the anxiety he felt at the slightest possibility of being buried alive. "Hey Dave," said Cooper. "Do you think you could heal me? I got scratched by that ankheg." "Sorry," said Dave. "My face melted off. I just used up my last Heal spell for the day for that." "Damn," said Tim. "I didn't realize it was that bad." "It wasn't. I only used two spells for myself. The rest I used on Nutcracker." "How many spells did he need?" said Cooper. "He's a goblin. They only have what, like four Hit Points?" "He must have Fighter levels," said Tim. "He handled my sword pretty well." Cooper snorted. "That came out wrong." "What the hell are you guys talking about?" asked Nutcracker. "Give me your dagger," Dave said to Tim. Tim held the weapon out in Dave's general direction, but it was obvious that he couldn't see. Even Julian's Low Light Vision was barely functional this far down. Dave, Cooper, and probably even Nutcracker had Darkvision, and could see perfectly fine with no light at all. "With the proper leverage," Dave grunted as he worked the dagger between two stone tiles. "I should be… able… to…" He sighed as he hefted the three-foot-square, two-inch-thick slab of stone from the place it had been resting, undisturbed, for who knew how many hundreds of years. He slid it onto identical slabs further down the ankheg tunnel. "I don't know about this," said Julian. "Something feels wrong." Dave peeked inside. "You guys!" He sounded more excited than Julian had ever heard him sound before. "We've hit the fucking jackpot!" "What is it?" asked Tim. "Gold!" said Dave. "Gold?" said Nutcracker. "Sacks of it!" "Let me see!" said Cooper, crawling past Julian. "Hey," said Tim. "Stop pushing." "You guys keep your voices down," said Julian. He had a strong feeling in his gut that something bad was going to happen. "Damn it, Cooper," said Dave. "Wait a second. There isn't enough room for – Waaaah!" Dave crashed into the floor below them. The sound of his armor slamming into the stone floor made it pointless to continue reminding anyone to keep their voices down. "Oops," said Cooper. "Um… are you okay?" "Fuck you!" "Don't worry, guys," said Cooper. "He's okay." "What's down there?" asked Tim. "It must be some kind of treasure vault," said Dave. "There's gold, but there's also a bunch of these tiny stone statues everywhere. Whoever this belongs to must have a thing for rats. The detail on these is exquisite. I can't even find any chisel marks or anything. And there's hundreds of them. Take a look." "Not bad," said Cooper, holding a little rat statue in his hand. "Not bad?" said Dave. "That's a magnificent work of art. I'd love to meet the guy who makes these. It's too bad he wastes all of his talent on rats though." "Artists are weird," said Cooper. He passed the stone rat to Julian. Dave was right. It was an impressively detailed piece of stone work. "We can admire the art later," said Tim. "Tie one of those gold sacks to the end of this rope. Cooper, you go back up the tunnel and pull when I tell you to." The first sack of gold came up with no problem. It was almost as big as Tim. The comparison was easy to make, as Tim gave it a great big hug and crotch thrust when it surfaced. "We are getting the fuck out of here tonight," said Tim. "Ready for round two?" He hopped down into the cornhole. "Holy shit!" said Dave. "What's wrong?" asked Tim. "Guys!" cried Dave. "I'm not alone down here. Throw me the rope, quick!" A few seconds later, he cried, "Pull!" "Jesus Christ!" said Cooper as he, Julian, and Nutcracker pulled on the rope. "Dave has put on some serious fucking weight." "What the hell?" said Julian. They were barely making any progress. "It's like he's made of…" Julian suddenly remembered the rat statue. "Oh shit. Cooper! Rage now!" "Good idea," said Cooper. "I'm really angry!" Julian watched as Cooper's elongated shadow on the fallen cornstalks widened. Suddenly they all started moving backwards very quickly. Tim came out of the hole first. What followed was exactly what Julian feared. The other end of the rope was wrapped around the forearms of a terrified-looking stone statue of Dave. "Fuck!" said Tim. "He's turned to stone." "What could do that?" asked Julian. "Could have been a number of things," said Tim. "Medusa, basilisk, cockatrice, I don't know." "Can we, um… fix him?" "Not without a high-level wizard," said Tim. "And likely a shit ton of money." Julian nudged the sack of gold with his foot. "We've got a shit ton of money." "That still leaves us short a wizard." "Old Man Belmont lives just up the road," said Nutcracker. "He's a wizard." "A powerful one?" asked Tim. "They all powerful 'round here," said Nutcracker. "This is the Garden District. Rich folks retire here. Most of them is powerful wizards and clerics. Mister Chester's the exception, havin' done made all his money on corn. I can take you there if you like." "I thought you couldn't leave the farm," said Julian. "Oh I can go that far," said Nutcracker. "No problem." "How are we going to carry him?" asked Tim. "Cooper's Rage won't last more than another few minutes." "I can summon a horse," said Julian. "We could just drag him behind. I don't think he'd feel it, would he?" "I'm not as worried about that as I am about breaking him." Tim picked up the stone rat and handed it to Cooper. "Squeeze." Cooper wrapped his gigantic sausage fingers around the stone rat and squeezed. The veins in his forearm bulged out like coaxial cables. After a muffled crunch, he opened his hand. The rat was in at least five or six pieces. "Yeah," said Tim. "I don't think dragging him behind a horse is going to work." After about thirty minutes of trial and error, they managed to rig up a harness out of Cooper's leather bag and the rope still attached to Dave's arm. They were fairly confident that, if they took their time, they'd be able to carry Dave and the sack of gold between two horses before Julian's Mount spell duration expired. "Okay," said Tim. "Do your thing." "Horse," said Julian. A sturdy gray draft horse popped into existence in front of him. "Horse," he repeated, and a brown horse of similar build appeared right beside it. The perfect horses for this particular situation. His magical skills were improving. They tied Dave facing headfirst between the two saddlehorns just above his center of gravity so that , if left to his own devices, his feet would fall to the ground. Once Cooper and Tim were mounted, Julian tied Dave's feet to Cooper's waist. Julian and Nutcracker mounted the other horse. As long as the horses walked together, they would be fine. Julian addressed the horses together, hoping that would keep them nicely synched together. "Horses, walk together slowly." The plan worked better than he had hoped. The horses movements were perfectly synchronized. It was like Riverdance. Nutcracker navigated them through the maize until they were far enough away from the house that they could safely travel on the road without being seen. They passed a couple of goblins here and there along the way. Nutcracker put his finger over his lips, and the other goblins went back to work like they hadn't seen a thing. "I was wondering," said Julian, once they were on the road. "And I'm sorry if this is a sensitive question." "Then don't ask it," said Tim. "I have to know," said Julian. "How is it that you all came to be slaves?" "Julian!" Tim snapped. "It's just that I've seen other goblins around Cardinia. They seem to be doing all right for themselves." "Well good for them," said Nutcracker. "We ain't slaves because we's goblins." He shrugged his shoulders. "We's cheap because we's goblins. We's slaves because we was captured in war." "So you're saying there can be slaves of other races?" "What kind of fool question is that?" "We're not from around here." "I ain't from 'round here neither," said Nutcracker, "which, sadly, is the reason I came to be on the losin' side of the war." "Oh." Julian was curious about how things worked, but he didn't want to pry too deep into Nutcracker's personal history. "To answer your question, anyone can end up a slave. Don't matter what race you are. I had a human on the auction block on my left, and a minotaur on my right. Both fetched a hell of a lot more coin than I did." "So all captured soldiers become the slaves of their enemy?" asked Tim. "Not all," said Nutcracker. "Some choose death." "Huh?" "Every soldier gets a choice. Some folks feel they let down their king or country or what have you, and deserve death. Some is more scared of getting' a bad slave master than they is of death itself. Some prefer a quick death from a fellow soldier to the indignity of being a slave. Me, I figure death's gonna come sooner or later whether I want it to or not, so I'll just keep on livin' and see what else life has in store for me." From there, they traveled in silence but for the perfectly timed rhythm of hooves on dirt. It was only about another hour before Nutcracker pointed out Old Man Belmont's tower on the horizon. From a distance, the tower looked pretty much like what Julian expected a wizard's tower to look like. Tall, thin, impractical. But as they got closer, he saw that the tower was merely the focal point of a series of smaller buildings. What's more, he could hear children playing and laughing. "Does Old Man Belmont have kids?" Nutcracker laughed. "No, not for a long time. He got him some pretty little grandkids though. You best let me off here. Won't do none of us no good for you to be seen with me." Julian stopped the horses, and Nutcracker dismounted, careful not to jostle Dave. "See you back on the farm?" asked Julian. Nutcracker nodded. "Good luck." "Do you think we can trust him?" asked Tim when Julian started the horses moving again. "With what?" "The money." "I don't see how he has much use for it," said Julian. "What if he tries to make a deal with Chester?" asked Tim. "Secure his freedom for some information on some hidden treasure?" "I don't think he'd have time for all that," said Julian. "Chester would most likely just shoot him again anyway." "I don't like it." "Ravenus!" Julian called out. A few seconds later, Ravenus flew into view and settled atop Julian's quarterstaff. "Yes, Master Julian?" "Would you mind flying back and keeping an eye on the hole we just pulled Dave out of?" "Of course, sir!" Ravenus took off into the sky. "Feel better?" Julian asked Tim. "A little." It would have to do. The property was surrounded by a cobblestone, chest-high wall. It must have been meant only for decoration, as it would have kept out only the very laziest of would-be intruders. The wall was interrupted only in one place, by an archway constructed of rough-but-shimmery blue-gray stones. There were no gates, and the arch was just large enough for two riders to enter on horseback abreast of one another. It occurred to Julian as they approached the arch that the sound of children's' laughter was now conspicuously absent. They stopped just short of passing under the arch. "Belmont," said Tim, reading a brass plaque mounted on the arch. "I guess we're at the right place." "Should we just go in?" asked Julian. "I don't see a bell or anything," said Tim. "Fuck it," said Cooper. "Let's just go in." A cool breeze blew through Julian's hair, which was odd, considering he was wearing his sombrero. He looked up and discovered that the giant hat was hovering about a foot above his head. "Well that's interesting." "OW!" cried Cooper. "What the fuck!" When Julian turned to look, Cooper was holding a crossbow bolt in his hand. The tip was rounded to a nub, but it still left a nasty welt on his chest. "That hurt, you little shit!" Cooper said to the little blonde-haired girl who was suddenly standing on the wall, on the left side of the arch. She might have been about nine or ten years old if she was human. Judging by the size of her pointed ears in proportion to the rest of her head, Julian guessed she was half-elven. He wasn't sure how quickly they aged. In her left hand she brandished a wooden sword. In her right, she wielded a miniature, and apparently quite functional, hand-crossbow. "Who goes there?" said a young male voice. Julian looked at the other side of the arch. A half-elven boy, maybe a year or two younger than the girl, stood atop the wall unarmed, but with his left hand raised confidently in the air. His hair was a thick, wild mess of autumnal colors. His grinning teeth seemed a little too big for his mouth, and his eyes were two different colors. He was going through an awkward phase, but Julian guessed he'd be handsome when he grew out of it. Julian tried to grab his hovering sombrero, but the little boy jerked his hand higher, causing the hat to ascend just beyond Julian's reach. "State your business here!" demanded the little girl. "What's that you've got tied up between the horses?" "None of your business," said Cooper. "You're ugly," said the girl, matter-of-factly in the cruelly honest way that children are wont to do. "Your mother's a whore!" shouted Cooper. Julian shot him a severe glare. "…rrible dancer." It was as good a save as Julian could hope to expect. "No she isn't," said the girl. "My mother is an excellent dancer. She's performed for the Duke and Duchess of Windhollow-Brandyshire." Her tone carried a certain smugness that suggested that she'd just put Cooper in his place. "Oh," said Cooper. "I guess I was misinformed." "He's stupid, too," said the little boy, waving his hand in a circular motion, causing Julian's hat to do somersaults in the air above his head. "Let's ask Poppy to turn him into a pig so we can keep him." Julian had no choice but to move the conversation forward. "Is your Poppy in? We really need to see him." "He's 'round back by the stable," said the girl, "arguin' with Mamma." "Come on in!" said the boy. "My name's Stamen. That's my sister, Pistil." He hopped down off the wall, and Julian's hat fell into place on his head. Julian started the horses through the stone arch. As they passed underneath it, he was blinded by a sudden flash of white light. Before that could even register, he was falling through the air. He almost caught himself with his feet, but fell over backwards, stopping when his back met the unforgiving hard-packed dirt path below him. His vision came back pretty quickly, the light having come and gone like a camera flash. "Oh, my ass!" said Cooper. "Oh, your ass!" said Tim, who had landed on his back between Cooper's legs. The half-elven boy and girl were crippled by fits of laughter. Stamen was rolling around on the grass, while Pistil was hugging the arch to avoid falling off the wall. Both of them were wheezing like hyenas choking on mustard gas. A Tom and Jerry cartoon might well have killed them. The horses were gone. Tim rolled away from Cooper's legs and toward the Dave statue. A look of terror swept across his face. "What's wrong?" asked Julian. Tim peeked under a piece of Cooper's bag that was wrapped around Dave. "Oh shit." "What is it?" asked Julian, hoping he was wrong about what he presumed the answer would be. He wasn't. Tim pulled out a piece of Dave's head. The statue had fractured just above Dave's right ear, diagonally down his face to the mass of beard under his left jaw. "Oh my god, what have we done?" "Does that mean he's…" Julian couldn't bring himself to say the word. "Why didn't you keep track of the spell duration for those stupid horses?" Tim snapped at Julian. "The spell duration had nothing to do with it!" said Julian. "We had a good half-hour, maybe forty-five minutes left before the horses timed out. There's some kind of anti-magic magic in this arch!" "Dude," said Cooper. "Flip it over and see if you can see his brain." Julian's first instinct was to club him over the head or at least tell him to shut up, but curiosity got the better of him. He nodded to Tim. Tim flipped the chunk of Dave's stone head over. Disappointingly, it turned out just to be solid stone on the inside. "He might not be dead," said Julian. "His head's fucking cracked in half!" cried Tim. "We have to try," said Julian. "Hey Stamen. Take me to your Poppy." The boy was still red in the face, tears streaming down from both eyes. "Come on, move your ass. This is an emergency!" Stamen reined in control of his laughter and stood up. He and his sister led them around back behind the center building. Tim carried the stone head fragment, and Cooper carried the rest of the statue. As they approached, Julian could hear the aforementioned argument in progress. "You ain't given him a proper chance, Daddy." It was a woman's voice, speaking elven. "Proper chance!" responded an older man's voice. "Y'all been married ten years already, and I ain't seen a copper piece of rent money." "He's workin' his tail off," said the woman. "Raisin' two kids is expensive." "Don't I know it! It's me been payin' for them." "That ain't fair, Daddy. You know he does the best he can." "He plays an accordion in a tavern. I reckon I don't have to remind you who bought that." "Don't even bring that up. You said yourself it was a birthday present." The woman's voice was beginning to crack. "Aw don't go an' get yourself all worked up again. Everyone makes mistakes, Daffodil. I warned you 'bout gettin' involved with a human. I just hope you won't make the same mistake again once this one finally plays his last note." "Daddy!" "I think we can find him from here," said Julian. "I don't know if you kids should be hearing this." "Ain't nothin' we ain't heard before," said Pistil. "Daddy and Poppy don't get along so well." They finally rounded the corner to the back of the house, and Julian saw something he never expected to see. A fat elf. The old man had really let himself go by elf standards. Add to that the fact that he was wearing overalls without a shirt, and he wouldn't have looked out of place at Wal-Mart. He also wore a huge burlap satchel, presumably filled with carrots, like the one he was currently feeding to a horse. "Well what have we here?" he said. He spoke in the Common tongue, the courteous thing to do in mixed company. "Excuse me, sir," said Julian. "Mr. Belmont, is it?" "Aye, that's me," said Old Man Belmont. "This is my daughter, Daphne. "Pleased to meet you," said Daphne, acknowledging only Julian. She curtsied, lifting the sides of a dress made of corn husks and rose petals. The flora of the garment was not at all withered, as if she had tailored it less than twenty minutes ago, or it was being kept alive by some other means. Even the two twigs holding her orange hair up in a bob boasted vibrant green leaves. And who might you be?" asked Old Man Belmont. "My name is Julian, and…" He couldn't think of a very good segue. "We were wondering if you could help our friend." He gestured behind him to Tim and Cooper, who held up their pieces of Dave. "His head fell off." Old Man Belmont frowned. His flaccid jowls sagged like distorted reflections of his pointy ears. "I'm sorry about your friend there, but magic don't come cheap. A spell like that's like to cost more than you fellers can afford. There's costs involved on my end, you see. Spell components, time spent researching, simple supply and demand. This is a business, you see. And I have a reputation to protect. I can't just give away spells to any vagrant who walks in off –"" "We've got money," said Cooper, reaching into his bag. "Cooper!" cried Tim. "Don't –" But it was too late. Cooper pulled the sack of gold out of his bag and dropped it on the ground. A few gold coins spilled out of the top. "How much?" Stamen and Pistil gasped. Their mother's mouth hung open. Old Man Belmont's fluffy white eyebrows rose as he looked at the sack full of money. "Um… that much." "Awesome," said Cooper. "What are the odds of that? Talk about a lucky break." Julian and Tim glared at him. Cooper frowned. "What?" "Bullshit!" Tim said to Old Man Belmont. "You give us your honest price, or we'll take our business elsewhere." "I've told you my price, little feller," said the fat old elf. "Mind you don't jostle those pieces too much on your way out. When those rough edges grind together, tiny little bits crumble away. The more dust you lose, the less of a chance he'll survive the conversion back to flesh." Tim looked at his hand. His fingertips were already white with dust. He pursed his lips and looked at Julian. "Cooper," said Julian. "Talk to Mr. Belmont for a minute, would you?" "Why?" "Because I need to talk to Tim alone," said Julian. He looked at Old Man Belmont. "And elves have an excellent sense of hearing." Old Man Belmont shrugged and nodded. "So," said Cooper. "Magic, huh?" Julian took Tim by the arm and led him around the side of the house. "We've got to pay him what he wants." "We could get this done somewhere else at a fraction of the cost!" "Look at your goddamn fingers!" said Julian. "They're coated in Dave's powdered brain!" "Ew," said Tim, wiping his hand on his pants. "Don't get greedy," said Julian. "There's plenty more gold where that came from. The more time we spend squabbling over a few coins here, the bigger the chance Chester takes note of our absence. If he starts asking the right questions to the right goblins, there's a chance he could get to the rest of that gold before we do." Tim stood quietly for a few seconds, presumably trying to find a hole in Julian's argument. "You're right. Let's go." Diplomacy. Natural 20. When they came back around to the back of the house, Cooper, Old Man Belmont, and Daphne were huddled together like they were plotting to kill Caesar. "Well up to that point," Old Man Belmont was saying to Cooper when Julian and Tim returned, "Rodney hadn't never been with a woman." Cooper folded his arms and scowled. "And she just left him there on the island?" "Could you love a man who said the things he did to her uncle?" Cooper pointed at the ground and raised his voice in anger. "I could love a man who –" He paused thoughtfully. "Wait, where does that leave Bernard's pet pig?" Daphne put her hands on her hips and leaned in closer to Cooper than most people could stand. "There never was a pig to begin with." "Of course!" said Cooper, slapping himself on the forehead. "It all makes sense! That heartless bitch!" "Excuse me," said Julian. "We've come to a decision. We'll pay the money." "Well all right then," said Old Man Belmont. "Let's get started." He took the carrot satchel off of his shoulder. "Stamen!" The young half-elf boy stood at attention. "Yessir!" "Make yourself useful." Old Man Belmont tossed his satchel to the boy, who fell over under the weight of what looked to be a couple hundred carrots. "Follow me, gentlemen. Bring your friend." The fat old elf led them to the tower. Aside from its height, the tower was a pretty mundane affair. A simple column of gray stone, punctuated here and there by a seemingly arbitrary pattern of windows. The top of floor was wider around than the rest of the tower, like a tuna can on top of a stack of Coke cans. Old Man Belmont walked into an unimpressive, doorless entryway, little more than a rectangular hole in the wall. The inside of the first floor was even more of a letdown. It was magically lit by permanently enchanted stones such as Julian had seen in any number of dungeons, cellars, and even city street lamps at night. But here, why even bother with the light? There wasn't much to see. The inside walls were the same bare, rough stone as the outside. The floor was just plain dirt, bare except for a small circular rug in the center. Most notably absent was any obvious means of getting to the second floor. There were no stairs, no ladders, not even a hole in the ceiling. Old Man Belmont waddled to the center of the room and sat down on the little rug, almost concealing it entirely with his girth. The rug began to rise vertically into the air. "My way up is only big enough for one," said Old Man Belmont. His belly shook as he chuckled. "So long as that one is me. You fellers take the stairs. Meet me on the second floor." "What stairs?" asked Julian, but the old elf disappeared into an illusory plaster ceiling. "These stairs," said Pistil. Julian started. He hadn't even realized that she'd followed them. The girl had the makings of a rogue in her. Pistil grabbed a handful of dirt and threw it at the wall to the left of the entryway. The dirt settled on the first two invisible stairs which presumably wound around the inner wall all the way up to the second floor. The steps were only about six inches tall, and three feet long. The ascent would be a gradual one. Pistil ran up the first two semi-visible steps and kept on going, running on what looked like nothing but air. When she was about a third of the way around the circumference of the tower, and about six feet up in the air, she jumped over a two-foot expanse of nothing and landed on her feet on some more nothing. "You have to watch your step!" she called down at them. "There are gaps." "Gaps?" asked Julian. "Poppy says it won't do much to stop a determined intruder, but it might piss him off a bit." She continued running up the stairs, jumping over a pattern of gaps that only she knew. "I'll take the lead on this one," said Tim, handing off Dave's stone head to Julian. He scooped up two fistfuls of dirt and started carefully up the stairs, letting the dirt trickle out of his hands as his feet found each new step. Julian placed his right foot on the first step. Despite it appearing to be nothing more than a thin layer of floating dust, it felt like solid stone beneath his foot. He brought his left foot onto the step, and there he was, standing with nothing between his feet and the ground but six inches of empty space. He was already dizzy with vertigo. "Move your ass, dude," said Cooper. "Dave's heavy as fuck." "Oh right," said Julian. "Sorry." He took another step, and then another, this time finding the second tier of elevation. After climbing a few more stairs, he had the pattern down. Just when he got to the point of confidently placing one foot ahead of the other, he discovered one of the gaps that he'd forgotten having been warned about. His foot plunged down into true nothing, sending his whole body tipping forward. Must save the head! He was only about six feet in the air, so he resisted his instinct to reach his hands out for something to catch himself. Keeping his arms wrapped tightly around Dave's fragile stone head, he let himself fall. His face met the step beyond the gap pretty hard, invisible stone scraping against his cheek. Painful as it was, it did break his fall, and he might have been able to get back on his feet if he'd had the use of his arms. Unfortunately, the weight of Dave's head just served to drag his face down the side of the invisible stone slab until he found the bottom of it. He free-fell, landing on his head on the dirt floor of the tower. He would surely have broken his neck if the game rules allowed for that. "Mind the gaps," said Cooper. "The first one's easy enough to spot. It's marked with your face." He stepped over the gap above Julian in one long stride. Julian set aside thoughts of his sore neck, and the dirt that was sticking to his bleeding face and rolled out the way… just in case Cooper shat himself right there and then. It wouldn't have been the first time Cooper had shit on him. His friend had many fine qualities, but continence and timing were not among them. Further up the wall, on the other side of the tower, Tim was stopped before the third (and hopefully final) gap in the staircase. He tossed what little dirt he had left in his right hand ahead of him. From his position on the floor, and with blood sticking his right eyelids together, Julian couldn't tell if any of the dirt had settled onto a step. It must have, though, as Tim took the leap, landing confidently atop another invisible step. A little further along, and Tim's head was almost touching the ceiling. "There's no hatch or anything," said Tim, raising his arm. "It's just solid – Oh, there it is." The end of his arm disappeared into the ceiling. "Cool." He kept walking until he completely disappeared into the second floor. "Sweet!" said Cooper, stepping over the second gap. Julian groaned as he got back to his feet and limped back toward the first stair. "Poppy said for me to come and get you." Pistil's voice came from behind and above him. Julian turned around. The little half-elf girl was descending on her grandfather's miniature carpet. That looked much better than trying to climb those damned stairs again. He hobbled toward the center of the room, arriving there just ahead of her. "Just will it up, and it will take you," said Pistil, hopping off the carpet. "You're not coming?" asked Julian, taking a seat. The carpet was a little bigger than Old Man Belmont's girth had made it seem. "If this thing can hold your grandfather, I'm sure it can hold both of us." "Stairs is more fun!" said Pistil. She darted off toward the first step. "Race you to the second floor." Julian didn't even acknowledge the request enough to refuse it. He concentrated on the carpet. "Up?" he said. The carpet rose slowly, like an elevator. "Ew!" said Pistil. She had already cleared the first gap, but stopped short before one strangely visible brown stair. "Somebody shit on the stairs!" She and Julian looked up at Cooper, who had reached the top of the staircase. Evidence of his faux pas was still clinging to his inner thighs. He paused, wide-eyed and tight-lipped. If there's an appropriate thing to say in that set of circumstances, Cooper wouldn't have been the one to know. He turned away and hurriedly disappeared through the ceiling. Pistil stepped back and got in a few strides before clearing the visible stair. Julian looked up as the rug brought him closer to the false ceiling. The illusion was remarkable, complete with cobwebs, dust, and knots and imperfections in the wooden beams. It really looked like something he was about to smash his face into. He put his head down, closed his eyes, and hoped for the best. "Ah, there he is," said Old Man Belmont a few seconds later. Julian opened his eyes. This was more like what he expected the inside of a wizard's tower to look like. The round walls were lined with shelves full of haphazardly arranged scrolls and leather-bound tomes. On one side stood a wooden desk, atop which sat an assortment of beakers, as well as a long rack of test tubes, filled with liquids of varying textures and colors. Some of them bubbled, some smoked. Julian guessed these were potions in the process of being brewed. Behind the desk stood a cabinet with glass doors, through which he could see what he figured were the finished products, all neatly lined up and labeled in uniform glass jars. Old Man Belmont stood in front of a smaller table, flattening out a rolled up parchment. "Yes, this should do." "That's not fair!" wailed Pistil as her head emerged from the illusory floor at the top of the staircase. "I woulda won if this one didn't shit on the floor." Tim shook his head. Old Man Belmont looked at Cooper. "I have irritable bowls." Pistil pointed furiously at Cooper. "You'd better get back down there and clean that shit up, or my Poppy's gonna –" In a sudden puff of smoke, she turned into a black cat. "What the fuck just happened?" said Cooper. "She's got a lot of spirit, that one," said Old Man Belmont. He placed the wand he was holding back into the sleeve where it must have come from and bent over to scoop up the cat. "Is that your granddaughter?" asked Julian. "Go on now," Old Man Belmont said to the cat. "Play with your brother." He tossed it out of an open window. "REEEEOOWWWWWW!" Pistil protested on her way down. "Ow!" screamed Stamen from outside. "She scratched me!" Tim stood on tiptoes to look out the window. "You have a way with children." Old Man Belmont looked at Cooper and pointed to a spot on the floor next to his table. "Just put that here, big feller." "Careful!" said Tim as Cooper set the Dave statue noisily on the floor. Old Man Belmont ran a finger along the rough surface of the fracture. It came away white. He frowned as he rubbed his fingers together. "Now you bring the rest of him." Julian touched the floor next to the rug to make sure there was an actual floor there to touch. His hand went right through it. He mumbled a Detect Magic spell to himself, and his eyes were bombarded with color from all sides. He concentrated on the floor. The rug hovered in the center of a ten-foot-diameter circle of illusion, except for a two-foot-wide beam of real floor leading out from the carpet to the main floor of the second level of the tower. Satisfied, he walked across the beam and placed Dave's stone head into place. It didn't feel like it was going to stay put. "If I let go of this, it's going to slide off." "Wrap the rope around it," suggested Tim. Julian did so. "Why didn't the rope turn to stone like his boots and armor and everything did?" "He wasn't in complete possession of it," said Tim. "We were holding the other end. Cooper, put me up on the table." Cooper picked up Tim and placed him on top of the table next to the statue. Holding Cooper's shoulder to steady himself, Tim wrapped the rope around the two pieces of Dave's stone head until they were fastened together as securely as they were going to be. It only amplified the already-present look of terror on Dave's face. "All right," said Old Man Belmont. "Now you boys take a step back." Julian, Tim, and Cooper spread out, giving the fat old elf as much room as he could possibly need. Old Man Belmont cleared his throat and began to read from the scroll. Julian couldn't understand a single syllable of what he said. This was magic well above his pay grade. The incoherent chanting went on for a minute or so, Belmont waved his fat arms about occasionally, but Julian didn't think that was actually a part of the ritual. He was probably just an animated talker, like an excited Italian. After a loud crescendo of magical gibberish, he removed an expensive-looking dagger from the sleeve that Julian was all but certain he had just put his wand in. He grabbed the blade of the dagger tightly with one hand and winced as he jerked it out quickly with the other. He smeared his own blood over the parts of Dave's head which weren't obscured by rope, being a little more generous with it along the fracture line. Satisfied with the head, he spread his bleeding palm over the rest of Dave's body. He didn't coat it completely; more like a haphazard stroke of blood here and there, like a preliminary house painter who goes through with a brush and marks the sections of wall that are supposed to be painted. When Dave was smeared up pretty good, Old Man Belmont stepped back to admire his handiwork. "How do we know if it worked?" "How in the Abyss do you think you'll know?" said the old elf. "Oh right," said Tim. "I suppose that was kind of a stupid question." "You don't have to worry about the spell working," said Belmont. "I'm an experienced wizard." "That's a relief," said Julian. "What you've got to worry about is whether or not your friend there will survive the process." That was less of a relief. The blood on the statue began to sizzle and smoke. The stone itself took on a decidedly less solid state, the surface writhing and bubbling. Even the parts that weren't meant to be fleshy, such as Dave's armor, expanded and contracted as though life was coursing through it. From within the writhing stone, Julian could hear the faint beginning of a low moan. The surface of the stone seemed to decide on a shape it liked and hardened. Just when it looked like solid stone again, it began to crack everywhere all at once, like there was a real Dave in there, but coated in a layer of eggshell. His right foot stepped sideways, breaking away massive chunks of the brittle white substance. He lost his balance and fell hard on his face. "Oh!" cried Dave. "My fucking head!" "He's alive!" said Julian. Old Man Belmont nodded. "He has a strong will." Julian wiped a tear away from his right eye. "He gets a bonus because of his high Wisdom score." "What? Who? Where am I?" Dave was freaking out. He rolled onto his back, leaving behind flaky white chunks, and pulled frantically on the rope. "Why are my arms tied to my head?" "Take her easy there, sonny," said Old Man Belmont. "You've just been through an ordeal." "Who the fuck are you?" cried Dave, pulling even harder on the rope. "Dude," said Tim. "Chill the fuck out before you strangle yourself." "What's going on?" Dave was anything but chill. "Cooper," said Tim. "Sit on Dave while I untie the rope." "Wait, no!" said Dave. "I'm chill! I'm chill!" He stopped pulling on the rope and sat up. "Now just sit still," said Tim. He had Dave untied in no time. "Yaaaaaah!" Dave moaned, cradling his head in his hands. "Why does my head hurt so much?" "Here you go, son," said Old Man Belmont, thrusting a jar of clear liquid in Dave's face. "Take a swig of this." "Is that a potion of healing?" asked Julian. "Naw," said Belmont. "It's just a jar of cornpiss. I buy it off the feller up the road." He grimaced. "Aye, the corn will taste sweeter when it's feeding on his miserable corpse." Dave was greedily gulping back the cornpiss. Cooper was wrist deep into one nostril. Tim and Julian exchanged a glance. "Because he's human?" asked Julian. "Huh?" "Is that why you don't like your neighbor?" Julian pressed on in spite of Tim's warning look. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help but overhear the conversation you were having with your daughter about her husband. I just got the impression that you don't really care much for humans." "Aye, that's rich!" said Belmont. "I'm the bigot! I can't even buy a crate of cornpiss without him wantin' to gnaw my ear off all day long 'bout the hierarchy of races, or whatever he calls it. I'll go through two or three jars right then and there just to drown out his yappin', 'fore I can find a polite way to excuse myself." "I'm sorry," said Julian, "I didn't mean to –" "And I got nothin' personal against Marlow," Belmont continued. "He's a gentle enough husband and father. He's just not what you'd call a protector or provider." "Who's Marlow?" "My son-by-rights," said Belmont. "He's a bard, for crying out loud! Imagine that, my own flesh and blood married to a bard." "Bards suck," said Cooper. "You said it, pork pie!" Belmont laughed, slapping his knee. "Course, havin' them all stay here means I get to spend as much time as I like with my mongrel grandkids." Julian frowned. "Is mongrel really the preferred –" "Don't matter none anyways. He won't be 'round for long." "Why?" asked Julian. "Is he sick?" "He's human!" said Belmont. "God's be damned, boy! Keep up with the conversation." "I'm sorry," said Tim. "I don't mean to be rude, but I think you've taken enough of our time as well as our money. We really should be heading out." "Did you really not mean for that to be rude?" asked Julian. "Because it actually sounded pretty –" Old Man Belmont laughed. "Don't bother me none. Y'all get on your way now. You get into trouble again, just come on back here with another sack of gold." "Oh my god," said Dave, stumbling toward the center of the room. He held the empty jar in his right hand and rubbed his temple with his left, right where his head had been split in half. "My head feels a lot better, but I think I'm going to throw up." "Dave!" cried Julian. "Wait!" "Is there a bathroom in this – WHA!" Dave fell through the fake floor. Cooper snorted. "Dumbass, you should have taken the stairs." He was descending the staircase, his lower body already obscured by the illusion. "Fuck that," said Tim. "I'm going out this way." He climbed up onto the window sill, and out the other side, leaving only the tips of his fingers visible. A second later, those disappeared as well. Julian thought he'd try his luck on the stairs again. Going down turned out to easier than going up. The first third of the way down was tricky. Tim must have run out of dirt by the time he got up that far. After the stair that Cooper had shit on, the rest of the way down was easy, as Cooper was kind enough to leave behind big brown footprints. "You okay, Dave?" Julian said to the lump of dwarf spread out on the center of the floor. Dave turned his head toward Julian, gave him a weak 'thumbs up', and puked on the floor. "Better now." He reached out his hand for Cooper to help him up. "I've carried your fat ass enough today," said Cooper as he walked out the tower's exit. Julian supported Dave as he hobbled out behind Cooper. They found Tim limping as well. "That grass wasn't as soft as I thought it would be." The four of them started back toward the property's front gate. "Goodbye!" shouted Stamen. Julian turned around. Stamen and his sister, who had since turned back into a half-elf, were waving frantically at them, bright smiles on their faces. Old Man Belmont and his daughter stood behind their children, also smiling. Julian smiled back and waved. They might have just extorted every last bit of cash he and his friends had out of them, but they were nothing if not friendly people. "Who the hell were those people?" asked Dave once they were on the road back to Chester's farm. "Forget about them," said Tim. "What's the last thing you remember before blacking out?" "Corn," said Dave. "And there was a hole." Tim's lips quivered. He pressed them together tight. "Cornhole," said Cooper. Laughter and snot exploded out of Tim's nose. "Fuck you guys," said Dave, waddling ahead of the group. "I'm suffering here." "Dammit, Cooper," said Tim, wiping his sleeve across his face. "There's a lot of money riding on this. We need to know what's down there. Julian, you think you could use some Diplomacy on him?" "Screw that!" said Dave. "Stay the hell out of my head with your stupid Diplomacy. I'll tell you what I can remember as it comes back to me." Tim ran to catch up with Dave. "You saw something in the hole. Some kind of creature. You told us you weren't alone down there, and that we needed to pull the rope." "Yeah, I remember," said Dave. "It looked like a fat Komodo dragon, except that it had eight legs." "I knew it!" said Tim. "A basilisk. I totally called that." "There was a door on the other side of the room." "Of course there was," said Tim. "We accidentally stumbled into the treasure room of someone's secret lair." "Please don't say you want to go explore the rest of it," said Julian. "Fuck no!" said Tim. "Anyone with that much gold and a pet basilisk to guard it would kick the shit out of us. We need to go back in the way we came, keep our eyes closed, get the gold, and get the fuck back out of there." "Dude," said Dave. "That lizard thing was big." "They aren't very aggressive," said Tim. "And they're lazy. If we don't mess with it, it'll probably leave us alone." "I'll admit it didn't look terribly ferocious," said Dave. "But I don't know if I'm willing to gamble my life on having to fight it with my eyes closed. I mean, what if there are more of them? What if we get caught by whoever lives in the –" "Something's wrong!" Julian felt an intense, non-physical tug, like his soul had just been kicked in the nuts. "Ravenus!" "What's wrong with him?" asked Dave. "I don't know," said Julian. "Maybe he's hurt. I don't know." "Maybe he looked at the basilisk." Cooper laughed. "Stupid bird." "Goddamnit," said Tim. "If we have to pay to get that fucking bird unfrozen, it's coming out of your cut." "I have to go," said Julian. He ran ahead of the group as fast as he could. "Wait!" said Tim. "Shit! Come on, Cooper. Let's go." "Come on, guys!" said Dave. "Wait for me!" Julian's heart was pounding by the time he reached the cornfield. He had a compulsion to go to the farmhouse. His gut told him that's where he would find Ravenus. Figuring he'd get to the house much quicker by going through the field, rather than around it, he turned sharply and barreled through the first stalks of corn. Inertia carried him pretty far, and stubborn determination carried him still farther. By the time he realized that going around the field would have been the quicker option, it was too late. Doubling back and going around would take even more time than just continuing on his way. "Shit!" "Get out of the way!" Cooper called from behind him. Julian stepped aside as Cooper rushed past him, smashing down cornstalks without sacrificing hardly any speed at all. "Why good evening there, gentlemen!" said Chester once they had made it through the maize. He was sitting on the top step of his back porch. "You know I thought you fellers might turn up. I had Gertie make us up some more lemonade. How goes the hunt?" "You son of a bitch!" said Julian. "Where's Ravenus?" "I beg your pardon?" "My familiar!" "Oh, you must mean the bird," said Chester. "Don't you worry 'bout him. He's just fine. He's takin' a little nap inside." Julian stomped toward the porch stairs. "You'd better bring him to me right now, or else I'll –" "Easy there, son." Chester stood up, not exactly brandishing his crossbow, but making certain it was visible. "Else that little nap might turn into a very long one." "You think that crossbow scares me?" said Julian. "I've been shot before. How much of a match do you think you are against the three of us? Well… four once Dave shows up." "It appears you are correct," said Chester, his toothy grin never faltering. "You have me severely outnumbered and outmatched." He scratched at the stubble on his chin. "And yet here I am, not in the least bit afraid. Now why might that be?" "Fuck this," said Cooper, stepping forward. "Let me just pound some sense into this little bitch." "Stop!" said Julian. Chester had a point. He was way too confident given his apparent odds should it come to a fight. He was rich, and this was a world full of magic and monsters and shit that Julian didn't know anything about. "What do you want?" "Come on up and set down a spell, and we'll talk." "Fine." Julian, Tim, and Cooper took their places on the carpet behind glasses of lemonade which had already been set out for them. Two more glasses were unaccompanied. One was presumably meant for Dave, and the other for Chester himself. "Where's the other feller?" asked Chester. "The little fat one?" "Dave will be along shortly," said Tim. Cooper snorted. "Good one." Tim glared at Cooper, and then turned back to Chester. "He's slow." Chester stood against the railing and peered out into the corn. "That's all right. We got all the time in the world." He held his crossbow conspicuously behind his back. "Hey gobber!" he shouted. "Yeah, that's right, you. Get on over here. I think I dropped somethin'." Cooper snarled quietly and began to stand up. Julian kept him at bay with a hand on his knee. "I'm not going to sit here and watch him shoot another goblin in the face," whispered Cooper. "If he pulls that bow, I'm gonna make him eat it." "Take it easy," said Julian. "We don't know that he's going to – Tim!" he said as quietly as he could while still conveying his alarm and disapproval. "What the hell are you doing?" Tim was dipping a torn scrap of dirty white fabric into one of the unaccompanied glasses of lemonade. He looked at Julian and placed his finger over his lips. "That's right!" said Chester. "Right down there." The next thing Julian heard was the unmistakable splatter of urine hitting a surface from a significant height. "That mother fucker," whispered Julian, pressing down harder on Cooper's even more resisting knee. He looked at Cooper. "Still, it's not worth getting anyone killed over." "Woo hoo!" cackled Chester. "Gotcha!" "Yes sir, Mister Chester," said the goblin from below with poorly feigned enthusiasm. "You done got me real good." "What… the hell… is going on?" said Dave between panting breaths. "We's just havin' a bit of fun is all," said Chester, giving his dick a vigorous shake. "Get on up here and join your friends." Julian nudged Tim's arm. Tim nodded, pulled the scrap of fabric out of the lemonade, and shoved it in his pocket just before Chester turned to face them. Chester took a seat next to Tim, behind the glass of tainted lemonade. Dave took the place between Chester and Cooper. Chester raised his glass and grinned. "To new business opportunities!" "I'm not interested in new business opportunities," said Julian. "I just want my bird back." "Well I am interested," said Chester. "And if you want to see that bird again, you best tell me what you all was haulin' between them two horses earlier today." Shit. He must have spotted them leaving from his flying carpet. Julian was prepared to give up the gold, and was pretty sure that his relationship with Tim would recover after enough time had passed, but he was only willing to do that as a last resort. "That wasn't anything," he lied. "We were just… um…" "It was gold," said Tim. "Tim!" said Dave and Cooper. Julian, too, was surprised. He wasn't sure what was going on in Tim's head, but he was pretty sure he could rule out concern for Ravenus and respect for other people's property. "And there's plenty more where it came from." "Well well now," said Chester. "Seems the little runt knows his place." "Here's the business opportunity I propose," said Tim. "We take you to the vault hidden under your cornfield, and you give us the bird and let us go on our way. We keep the money we've already stashed away, and we never see each other again." Tim's lie about them having money stashed away confirmed Julian's suspicion that he was working some kind of angle. Chester frowned. "I must say I don't much like the idea of a couple of husk suckers like yourselves stealin' money off my property and gettin' away with it, but I'm man enough to admit when I don't have the upper hand. I'll accept your proposal." Tim smiled and raised his glass. He and Chester clinked their glasses together and drank deeply. "I want Ravenus first," said Julian. Whatever Tim had in mind, this was a point Julian intended to stay firm on. "Aye," said Chester. "I'll get your bird. Just remember though. You folks try to double-cross me, and I got o'er a hundred gobbers says you won't make it out of that cornfield alive." Julian looked at Tim. Tim nodded. "Deal," said Julian. He clinked his glass against Chester's, and they both drank. It burned going down. The mix had to be at least forty percent cornpiss. Cooper needed neither an invitation nor a clinked glass to start drinking. His glass was already empty. Chester stood up and opened the door. "I'll just go and grab us a bit more refreshment." Julian started to speak, but Chester cut him off. "Yes, and your gods damned bird too." Julian waited until the door closed behind him. "What the hell was that you were dipping in Chester's drink?" "A scrap of Nutcracker's shirt," said Tim. "He said it was poisoned." "Are you out of your mind?" "What? Fuck that guy. He's an asshole." "That was your big plan?" said Julian. "We poison him and run off with the gold? How can you be so stupid!" "I've got an Intelligence score of 17!" said Tim. "Fuck your Intelligence score," Julian snapped back at him. "That guy is an established member of the community. He's rich. If there's an investigation and we get caught, are you going to gamble all our lives on the 'He was an asshole' defense?" "Relax," said Tim. "That's not enough to kill him. He'll just think he ate some dodgy fish or undercooked meat or something." "Wait," said Dave. "If you weren't trying to kill him, doesn't the whole plan fall apart?" "I never said anything about killing him being a part of the plan," said Tim. "I just poisoned his drink for fun." "That's kinda fucked up," said Cooper. "So what's the plan then?" asked Dave. Tim shrugged. "We take Chester to the gold." Cooper frowned. "This plan sucks." "I wasn't finished," said Tim. "When –" The door creaked open as Chester stepped out backwards. In his left hand he held a full pitcher of lemonade. In his right he held a bird cage. He farted. "Excuse me," he said, uncharacteristically embarrassed. "Dunno what's got into me." He handed Julian the cage. Ravenus lay flat on his side. "What's wrong with him?" asked Julian. "He'll be alright," said Chester. "I just gave him a little sleep aid is all." "You poisoned my bird?" Julian glance quickly at Tim to acknowledge the smug grin he knew was waiting for him. "I ain't poisoned nothin'," said Chester. "It's just a harmless sleeping potion. He's a noisy critter, he is." "It's true," agreed Cooper. "Shut up, Cooper," said Julian. "Gentlemen," said Chester. "I believe we's gonna have to take this next round to go. Somethin' don't sit quite right in my belly." He sat down and placed his palm flat on the carpet. It rose with a jerk. Cooper rescued the pitcher of lemonade from tipping over and poured himself another glass. The carpet swerved and dipped as Chester struggled distractedly to follow Tim's directions. The ride this time wasn't smooth like it had been before. It was like a roller coaster, but with neither a track nor the implied guarantee that you weren't going to fall off and die. Julian held onto Ravenus's cage. Dave held onto Julian's leg. Cooper, to his credit, attempted to crane his neck over the front edge of the carpet as he vomited, but everyone wound up getting a little taste of the spray. Tim spilled his cornpiss lemonade onto his crotch, but Julian had a sneaking suspicion that he did it on purpose to conceal a crotchful of actual piss. Chester's face was red and sweaty when the carpet finally touched down near the huge, dead ankheg. Julian was happy to be on solid ground again. "Go on now," said Chester, stumbling off of the carpet. "Where's this treasure you –" He stopped mid-stride, clutching his gut and shutting his eyes tight. His cheeks ballooned as he puffed out long, controlled breaths. "God's be damned! What did that woman put in the porridge?" "It's right down in that hole," said Tim. "We'll just be on our way then?" "Ha!" said Chester. He wiped a hand across his forehead. It came away dripping with sweat. "Nice try, half-stalk. You fellers first." With obvious effort, he waved Tim ahead with his crossbow. "Okay," said Tim. "Gentlemen?" When he had the rest of the group's attention, but while Chester was still distracted by his own intestinal problems, Tim closed his eyes and held them shut for a few seconds. Julian and Dave nodded their understanding. "Dude," said Cooper. "Wake the fuck up. This is no time for – ow!" Julian kicked him in the calf. He looked down at Julian. Julian blinked his eyes hard three times, and left them shut for an entire second on the fourth blink. "Oh…" said Cooper. Julian could only hope he got the message. "We can get a move on whenever you two cock munchers are done battin' eyes at one another." Shit! Julian had been caught. Chester seemed to have regained a bit of his composure. Distraction! "Um…" said Julian. "Don't your insults usually have a corn theme to them?" Chester shrugged. "There's only so much you can do with corn." Cooper sighed. "And I bet you've done it all." "All right, smart guy," said Chester. "You first!" He pointed his crossbow at Cooper. Get on down that –" He doubled over in pain. "I swear I'm gonna kill that bitch." "Come on," said Tim. "Let's get this over with." He hopped down into the ankheg tunnel that led down to the underground chamber. Dave followed after Tim. Julian removed Ravenus from the cage and tucked him into a shirt pocket, snugly under his serape, just in case he should wake up at an inopportune moment and happen to make eye contact with a basilisk. He stepped down into the tunnel. Cooper stepped in behind him, followed by Chester. "Any you fellers bring a torch?" asked Chester. "I can't see shit down here." "Why don't you be the light holder?" asked Julian. "It's safer for you that way." After some labored breathing, Chester said, "Fine. Just hurry it up." "Light," said Julian as he touched the tip of the bolt loaded into Chester's crossbow. He hoped that Chester might think twice before shooting anyone, lest he lose their only source of light. "Right down there," said Tim once they had reached the square hole in the chamber ceiling. "Enough gold to double your acreage." "Why don't you hop down there first so I know it's safe?" "I'd be happy to," said Tim. He handed Cooper one end of his rope. "Hold this." Cooper found some decent footholds and planted his feet firmly on the dirt. Tim fed the rope through his hands and gripped it tight before hopping down into the hole. The rope pulled taut, and only slackened again once Tim had touched the floor below them. "I can't believe there's all this gold in one place!" said Tim. "I just want to dump it all out and swim in it!" Chester had heard enough. "Alright, it's my turn." He grabbed the rope and wrapped it around his wrist a few times. "Now you just lower me in. I ain't so spritely as that young feller. I'd most likely break a hip, hoppin' down there the way he done." Cooper lowered the rope until it started to slacken again. "This your idea of a joke, son?" asked Chester. "Huh?" said Tim. "Where's the gold?" "What do you mean?" asked Tim. "You can't see it?" "There ain't nothin' to see," said Chester. "Why are your eyes closed?" "They're still adjusting to the sudden change of light," said Tim. "What do you mean there's nothing to see?" "I mean there ain't no gods damned gold!" said Chester. "Only a couple ugly gobber statues. "Shit!" Tim said what Julian was thinking. "Boy, I'm warnin' you!" said Chester. "You don't play games with me, or else I'll –" He groaned. "Gods be damned, I can't hold it in anymore. Do me a favor and turn around, would you?" "Uh… yeah," said Tim. After a series of precursory farts, Chester groaned like he was having a sword slowly pulled out of his gut. "You guys okay down there?" asked Cooper. "I've got a few scraps of fabric if you need them," said Tim. "Just keep where you are and mind your – Gods be damned! What is tha—" "Chester?" said Tim. There was no answer. "Tim!" said Julian. "What's going on?" "I don't know," said Tim. "My eyes are closed." "Come back up." There was a small cracking sound, followed by a crunch. "Shit!" said Tim. "I just ran into Chester. I think I broke part of him off." "Grab the rope!" "Okay, I've got it. Pull me up!" Julian, Dave, and Cooper pulled on the rope. It was heavy lifting, meaning Chester had never let go, but it was still a lot easier than pulling up Dave had been. Tim emerged first, and helped finesse the squatting statue of Chester through the square hole. "Check out the size of the deuce he was dropping," said Cooper. It poked out of Chester's backside like a straightened squirrel tail. "He probably eats a lot of corn," said Julian. "It's weird that his poop also turned to stone." "It hadn't dropped yet," said Dave. "Technically he was still in possession of it." "That's all really interesting," said Tim. "But what the fuck happened to all the gold?" The answer came from the surface, as the cornfield above exploded in goblin laughter and cheer. Either that, or someone had set a badger loose in a cage full of cats. "What are they so excited about?" asked Dave. "They've got a bunch of gold?" suggested Julian. "But what can they hope to do with it?" said Tim. "They're still stuck here on the farm so long as Chester has – Oh shit." He looked at Chester's chest. The medallion was missing. Two fractured ends of petrified string hung down from the statue's neck. "Go! Go! Go!" Julian scrambled up the ankheg tunnel as fast as his hands and feet would allow. When he surfaced, the cornfield was in chaos. Thin plumes of white smoke billowed out from several random locations. The goblins had made a halfhearted effort of trying to torch the crop, but the stalks were all green, so the fire wasn't spreading. "Where's the carpet?" cried Tim as he popped up out of the hole. "Huh?" said Julian. He had forgotten about the carpet. He looked down. Sure enough, it wasn't where they had left it. Just as Tim looked skyward, a white bundle of fabric hit him in the face. "Ah! My fucking nose!" Julian looked up. A black rectangle barely interrupted the already very dark sky. A silhouetted hand waved down to him. "That's for helpin' us out," Nutcracker called down to them. "We's mighty grateful for what you done!" Julian picked the bundle up off the ground. It was a hastily knotted goblin shirt. He untied it and looked inside. "There's like ten gold coins in here." "You sons of bitches!" Tim shouted up at Nutcrracker, shaking his tiny halfling fist. "Come back here with the rest of our gold!" "Sorry folks," said Nutcracker. "We gots to make a new life for ourselves now. That takes coin. Y'all take care!" "Fuck you!" Tim shouted as the carpet grew smaller against the night sky. Julian waved goodbye until the carpet finally flew out of view. "Cheer up," he said to Tim. "We did a good thing today, and ten gold pieces isn't such a bad haul." "Fuck you, too," said Tim. He folded his arms and sat on the ground. It was kind of adorable. "What's going on?" asked Dave. He and Cooper were hauling the Chester statue up out of the ankheg hole. "The goblins made off with all the gold," said Tim. "And the carpet!" "Ah well," said Cooper. "Good for them. Easy come, easy go." Tim sulked even harder. "I hate all of you." "What do we do with him?" asked Dave, his hand on Chester's stone head. "I guess we'll take it back up to the farmhouse," said Julian. "Let his wife decide what she wants to do with him. She might have to barter off a few acres of the farm to Old Man Belmont. That is, if she even wants him back at – Cooper, what are you doing?" Cooper was on his knees behind the statue. "Just leaving something for him to remember us by." He broke the end off of Chester's stone turd and shoved it deep into the statue's wide open mouth. "If I had the money, I'd pay to see him get restored myself." Julian felt movement under his serape. He pulled out Ravenus and set him on the ground. "Hey, buddy! How are you feeling?" Ravenus shook his head and stretched out his wings. "A bit groggy, to be honest. What happened?" "We've got a long walk back to the Whore's Head," said Julian. "I'll tell you about it on the way."

2 Fuzzy, 2 Furious

Shannon Hale

Chapter 1

The night was as cool as glass. Streetlamps cast orange cones of light onto the pavement, but everything in between them was darkness. Darkness so thick, you could gnaw on it. Squirrel Girl perched atop a streetlamp, twelve feet above the quiet suburban street. Not the kind of place where you'd expect to run into a laser-blasting maniacal villain. Squirrel Girl's bushy tail twitched. Her keen eyes raked the darkness for any sign of that dastardly ne'er-do-well. Then her phone buzzed. Finally! All this waiting was getting super-boring. She went for the phone, scooping it out of a pouch on her utility belt. But a bunch of loose cashews spilled out of the pouch, and she fumbled the phone. "Dang it," she said, diving headfirst off the streetlamp. She caught the cell just before it could crack against the sidewalk, twisting to land on her feet. On her phone was a text from Ana Sofía Arcos Romero, her BHFF. ANA SOFÍA: Are you hidden? Squirrel Girl checked her surroundings in a super-sleuthy sleuth way. She was standing directly under the streetlamp, orange light falling over her as bright as a fire. She leaped up into the shadowy branches of an oak tree in someone's front yard. SQUIRREL GIRL: Yep of course I'm the most hiddenest. Soooo sleuthy. Very stakeout ANA SOFÍA: Good cuz u know sometimes u forget to hide and the bad guys see u and no more element of surprise SQUIRREL GIRL: Who me? ANA SOFÍA: Anyway the Squirrel Scouts on the north end of the park saw Laser Lady going down Bungalow Row so she might be coming your way SQUIRREL GIRL: Ooh is that what we're calling her cuz i was thinking maybe Light Emitting Desperado? You know, cuz it would be LED? Or Smashlight maybe? Zap Mama? ANA SOFÍA: She kinda named herself already. In the way that she's running around shouting I AM LASER LADY SQUIRREL GIRL: Good way of making sure no one messes up your name ANA SOFÍA: Maybe I should try it. Mr Hanks calls me Annie Sophie. The pain is real SQUIRREL GIRL: I'm so on board with u walking into first period and shouting I AM LASER LADY and u know what that's a pretty good name now that I think about it A voice cut against the cool-as-glass night, sharp as a diamond. Squirrel Girl wasn't sure if normal humans would be able to tell what the distant voice was saying, but her slightly-better-than-your-average-person's hearing most definitely identified the words "I AM LASER LADY! FEAR ME!" Squirrel Girl leaped from the treetop to the next one, and from there to a streetlamp, but the shouting faded. She sniffed the air but smelled no trail. In the next tree over, someone was waiting. A small, furry brown someone with a fetching pink bow tied around her neck. Tippy-Toe, her BSFF. "Chkkt-tik," said Tippy-Toe. "You got that right, Tip," said Squirrel Girl, landing on the branch next to her. "Wandering around a neighborhood pointing lasers at people is super annoying. Laser Lady might hurt someone." "Chukka chik-chet." "Yeah, Laser Lady is a pretty cool name. Per usual, we agree in all things." Squirrel Girl lifted up her human fist. Tippy-Toe tapped it with the knuckles of her tiny squirrel fist. A call began to ululate, growing louder and louder. A message was traveling down the chain of squirrels: Laser Lady had been spotted near the park. Tippy-Toe scurried up to perch on Squirrel Girl's shoulder. "It's clambering time!" said Squirrel Girl as she clambered out of the tree and onto a roof. "Did you get that joke, Tip?" Tippy-Toe shrugged. "'Cause I was clambering?" said Squirrel Girl, who was in fact still clambering, this time up a chimney. "Chkt-chikka kit coff," Tippy-Toe said, which meant, "But clambering implies climbing in an awkward manner, and you're much too graceful for that." "Aww," said Squirrel Girl, as she jumped off a roof. "Your compliment really takes the sting out of my failed joke." And suddenly, there she was. The nemesis of the night. The hoodlum of the hood. The mysterious Laser Lady. "Aha!" said Squirrel Girl, landing on the sidewalk directly in her path. Laser Lady swerved her bicycle to miss Squirrel Girl. Because Laser Lady was riding one. A bicycle, that is. Squirrel Girl had never battled a villain on a bike before. Firsts were always a plus. The bike crashed into a tree. Squirrel Girl managed to grab hold of Laser Lady's cape to keep her from crashing into the tree as well. Because Laser Lady was wearing one. A cape, that is. "FEAR ME!" said Laser Lady, tugging her cape from Squirrel Girl's hand. She looked about forty years old, white, with brown hair in a trim bob. She jumped to one side, flipped her purple plastic cape back with a cracking sound, and pointed her laser directly at Squirrel Girl's face. "Laser shot!" she said, firing a red beam into Squirrel Girl's eyes. Squirrel Girl squinted. "Ugh, stop that! It's really annoying. And could possibly cause retinal damage—I mean, I'm not an ophthalmologist, but you just never know." "Laser shot!" said Laser Lady, aiming the laser beam at Ana Sofía and the Squirrel Scouts, who were running toward them up the sidewalk. "She's been shining her laser-pointer thing at people in the park," said Ana Sofía. "She even shined it at cars." Squirrel Girl gasped. "That could distract a driver and cause an accident!" "That's right!" said Laser Lady. "I could cause an accident! So you should FEAR ME!" While she said it, she was trying to climb back onto her bicycle, but her cape kept getting caught on the chain ring. Squirrel Girl picked up the bicycle. Laser Lady tried to grab it, so Squirrel Girl held it over her head. "Look, Laser Lady," said Squirrel Girl, "I'm sure it's fun to ride around on a bike and shine a laser pointer at people and shout FEAR ME and all—" "It isn't about fun," said the would-be villain, jumping up and down, trying to reach her bike. "Sometimes you…you just want someone to…fear you…you know…what I mean?" Squirrel Girl smiled as a way to show understanding but not answer directly because, no, not really interested in being feared, thanks. For one thing, she wouldn't get invited to parties. "Let's get down to the nuts and bolts of this," said Squirrel Girl. "Why do you want so much to be feared?" Laser Lady lifted her laser pointer at Squirrel Girl. "LASER SHOT!" But before the beam of red light hit Squirrel Girl's face, Tippy-Toe leaped through the air, seized the laser pointer in her valiant jaws, and landed on the sidewalk. Laser Lady's shoulder's drooped. Her bottom lip quivered. "No more laser! Now what am I going to do?" "What do you think you should do?" Squirrel Girl asked. Because it was what her dad often said when she went to him with a problem. "Stop…shining laser pointers into people's eyes?" "Well, yeah. That's a really good start," said Squirrel Girl, still channeling Dad. "But back to the nuts! You want to be feared because…" "I don't know." Laser Lady jumped and reached for the bicycle, jumped and reached. "I guess…it's better…than being ignored. I'm sick of being…ignored!" Squirrel Girl nodded encouragingly. "I hear you, Laser Lady." "You do?" Laser Lady stopped jumping. "Because today at work we were in a meeting and I kept trying to give my input, but every time I spoke, Todd talked right over me just like always. I'd say, Maybe we could minimize the negative publicity…and Todd would say, WE SHOULD MINIMIZE THE NEGATIVE PUBLICITY while pointing his laser pointer at the board, and everyone would say Good idea, Todd! Great input, Todd! till I just snapped! I grabbed Todd's stupid laser pointer and ran!" Laser Lady sniffed. "The cape was from last year's Halloween costume…." She sniffed again. "Bride of Frankenstein." "Todd sounds like a real gem," said Squirrel Girl. Laser Lady looked up in surprise, and then, belatedly hearing the sarcasm, she started to laugh. "A real gem—that's Todd." "Obviously your pointer thing there is not the burn-holes-through-walls kind of laser," said Squirrel Girl. This conversation was suddenly super-interesting to her. She had known a "Todd" or two, after all. "But the pointer lasers are still mega annoying. Plus it's prolly not good for eyeballs. But you know what the real problem here is? Spoiler alert: it isn't lasers." "Then what is it?" "It's Todd," Squirrel Girl said. "YES!" agreed Laser Lady. "I think you need to tell him to back off. Tell him to stop copying you all the time and talking over you and stealing your ideas. That's way more annoying than a laser pointer." "You're right! Thanks, Squirrel Girl!" "Aw, that's what Super Heroes are for," said Squirrel Girl. She put the bicycle back down—which was a relief, because even with proportional squirrel strength her arms had started getting tired. Laser Lady wrapped her cape around her neck like a shawl and pedaled away, dinging her little bike bell. "Chkt-cht?" Tippy-Toe asked, holding up the laser pointer. "Yeah, good idea—we don't want any other potential villains getting ahold of this," she said, sliding it into a pouch on her utility belt. Squirrel Girl turned to the Squirrel Scouts, adjusting to make sure her hood was up and all. The hood sported little bear ears—which on a girl with a huge bushy squirrel tail could easily be mistaken for squirrel ears—and was part of her Super Hero disguise. "We did it, gang!" Squirrel Girl said, her fist punching the air. The Squirrel Scouts groaned. "What?" said Squirrel Girl, her fist coming back down. "Is it constipation? Sudden group constipation? That sounded like a gastrointestinal groan." The Squirrel Scouts looked at each other and seemed to share a general disappointment. Though from vastly different social groups at Union Junior and Union High, they'd come together to follow Squirrel Girl and fight bad guys. And hadn't that night been just oozing bad-guy fights and Squirrel Girl-ness? "There was, like, zero punching," said Heidi, the blond leader of the Somebodies. "Yeah, I like the punching parts," said Antonio, his pale face hidden under a baseball cap. "Remember when we got to punch all those robot drones?" "And the stomping! Don't forget the stomping!" said his friend Robbie. "I loved stomping on robots," Lucy Tang said quietly. "It was very satisfying how they crunched under my boot." "Yeah," said Vin Tang. He was skinny and black-haired, and a full head taller than his sister. "The robot drone battle was the best." "That was indeed magnificent, forsooth!" said the baron, a brown-skinned kid in a leather breastplate, a feathered cap atop his short Afro. "A tale fit for kings, to be retold long after our scarred hides are hanging on the Wall of Warriors." "Forsooth," the duchess said sadly. The Squirrel Scouts walked away, muttering to each other in disappointment. "When Ana Sofía texted us that we'd be fighting Laser Lady tonight I was all yeah, but now…" "But now…" "Yeah, but now…" "Forsooth…" Only Ana Sofía remained. She was wearing so many layers and scarves, Squirrel Girl could only see half of her brown face and her black bangs sticking out from under her hood. The girl did not like being cold. "So?" she asked. "At least it wasn't group constipation," Squirrel Girl said. "Huh? I didn't catch that," Ana Sofía said, pulling her hood back an inch. Under the clear light of the streetlamp, Squirrel Girl recounted to Ana Sofía the life-changing conversation she'd just had with Laser Lady. Ana Sofía wore hearing aids, but without seeing someone's lips as they spoke, it was nearly impossible for her to parse the sounds and make sense of a conversation. Even then, Squirrel Girl had come to realize, lipreading wasn't a 100 percent accurate sort of thing. Neither of them were fluent in ASL, but they both knew enough that Squirrel Girl often punctuated what she was saying with ASL signs for clarity. "I think this is a new thing, Ana Sofía!" she said. "Talking criminals out of criming! Why didn't I think of it before? It's so much faster than all the fighting and whacking and punching and gnawing. Seriously, the Avengers should look into the talking thing." "I'm not sure that would work every time," said Ana Sofía. "You tried to talk the Micro-Manager out of unleashing a droid demolition army on the neighborhood, but he did it anyway." "Maybe I didn't try hard enough." Tippy-Toe headed to the park, so the human girls started home, too, texting each other as they walked side by side. ANA SOFÍA: Did u do your math homework SQUIRREL GIRL: Yep ANA SOFÍA: Did u SQUIRREL GIRL: Any second now Did vin set a time for your date yet? ANA SOFÍA: I don't want to talk about vin SQUIRREL GIRL: He luvs u ANA SOFÍA: stahp SQUIRREL GIRL: Okay. Love you dude ANA SOFÍA: I know. Love you too Doreen Green, age fourteen, walked into homeroom at Union Junior High School with a loose swagger in her step. She'd talked a criminal out of criming last night (even if it was just Laser Lady), and that gave her some hippity-hoppity, make no mistake. She could almost forget the cramp in her tail, which was stuffed surreptitiously in the seat of her pants. Besides the large badonk her tail-hiding endeavors granted her, she could pretty much pass for a non-squirrel-powered middle school girl: short red hair, pale freckled skin, round face, front teeth a bit longer than your average teen's. Her powerful thick-thighed legs made it hard to find jeans that fit. Today she wore black-and-white-striped stretchy leggings under an aqua blue flare skirt, and a T-shirt featuring a smiling unicorn wearing braces. "Hey, Doreen," said Janessa Lopez. "Hey, Janessa," said Doreen Green. "Hi, Doreen," said Vin Tang. "Hi, Vin," said Doreen Green. All chill. Like it was a totally normal thing to be saying hi to multiple friends and not just the most amazing thing ever. Until her family's recent move to New Jersey, she'd never been part of a whole friend group—not a human one, anyway. The Squirrel Scouts didn't know that Doreen was secretly their neighborhood hero Squirrel Girl, of course, but she was still Ana Sofía's friend and a fellow Squirrel Scout. Doreen was feeling so tip-top, so cartwheelishly magical, she took an apple from her backpack and put it on the teacher's desk. "Morning, Ms. Schweinbein!" Ms. Schweinbein glared down at the apple through the glasses perched on her thin nose. Her skin was so pale it was nearly gray, and her hair was in a pencil-thin braid. Her face was smooth yet resigned in a way that made it impossible to tell her age. Twenty? Fifty? While her age wasn't definite, her smell definitely was. Doreen sniffed a couple of times. Yep, always with a very strong odor of animal. Her teacher must have a lot of pets. Doreen's nose wrinkled before she could stop it. "Excuse me?" said Ms. Schweinbein, glaring at her. "Do you have something to say?" "Me? Nope. Not at all. Just…" She pointed to the apple. "Are you attempting to bribe me, Doreen?" said Ms. Schweinbein. "Is a piece of fruit the going rate to get a teacher to pretend that your scattered homework is acceptable and that your constant interruptions in class are contributions rather than distractions?" "No! Not bribe! I just—" "Well, it won't work," said the teacher, tossing the apple at the garbage can. Doreen deftly caught it before it went in, and stuffed it back into her bag. "Geez, why's she always such a downer?" Doreen mumbled, sliding into her desk. "She's cool to me," said Janessa from the desk to her right. "Me too," said Vin from the desk to her left. So it was just Doreen that Ms. Schweinbein despised? What in the heck was up with that? "Where were you last night?" Janessa whispered. "Huh?" said Doreen. "We went out patrolling with her," Vin whispered. "Ana Sofía sent a group text about it. You didn't get it?" "Oh! Yeah! I, uh, couldn't make it," said Doreen. "Ended up being a bust anyway," said Janessa. "It wasn't a real villain, and Squirrel Girl just talked to her—" As the late bell rang, the PA system played its familiar five chimes, indicating morning announcements. "Good morning, Wolverines!" drawled the voice of Heidi, student body president and fellow Squirrel Scout. "Listen up, because we have a legit announcement today after the boring ones. Blah-blah track meet after school, blah-blah Kiwi Club fund-raiser tomorrow. Okay, okay, here's the real scoop: Of course you know about the mall that's going up on the border of Shady Oaks and Listless Pines? Well, the Chester Yard Mall's PR guy sent us a letter, and they're doing a contest. When the mall opens in two weeks, there will be an election to vote for the mall's mascot—either a dog or a cat. All the schools in Listless Pines will be campaigning for the dog—" "BOO! Listless Pines eats garbage!" another voice shouted. "Shut up, Dennis. Okay, like I was saying. All the schools in Shady Oaks—" "Including Union Junior. Go Wolverines!" "SHUT UP, DENNIS! Anyway, we'll be campaigning for the cat, and everyone knows cats are way better than dogs. So if the cat wins the vote for the Chester Yard Mall mascot, then the mall is going to pay for a pizza party for our entire school!" In Doreen's classroom, there was a collective gasp. In middle school, the words "pizza party" invoked reverence. After a moment of respectful silence, the class erupted with ebullient cheers. "Listen, everybody, we have to win," Heidi's voice continued. "No way is Listless Pines going to get our pizza party. So, hey, all the school clubs, you need to come up with ways to advertise the opening of the mall to the entire community, convince them to come out on mall opening day in two weeks, and vote CAT!" "GO CATS! GO WOLVERINES!" "Shut UP, Dennis—" The PA speaker cut off. The class boiled with excited chatter. "Cats, huh? I like dogs okay, but if it'll get us a pizza party…" "I can't wait for the new mall! I heard they're going to have a Johnny Blaze Steak Buffet with a full Latverian mustard bar!" "Listless Pines smells like sewage." "Oh man, pizza sounds sooo good right now. My mom made me drink a kale smoothie for breakfast." Doreen glanced up anxiously at the teacher, sure she would shush them all with an angry shout. But Ms. Schweinbein just leaned back against her desk, smiling in a satisfied sort of way. "This is big news indeed!" said Ms. Schweinbein. "Cats and dogs. Which is better? Both, if you ask me, for both are royalty of the greatest kingdom on earth: Kingdom Animalia. But as pizza is at stake, we will naturally join Team Cat. For the rest of the period, split into groups and come up with ways to sway the mascot vote toward the cat." She rubbed her hands together. "How I love a pizza party." Doreen felt her phone buzz and glanced down. Heidi had texted the Squirrel Scouts group. She saw Janessa and Vin take out their phones as well. HEIDI: Okay Squirrel Scouts did you hear the news? Are you all psyched? LUCY: Yeah math class is having a fit you'd think everyone was starving DENNIS: I'm starving. All I ate today was a candy bar HEIDI: Stop bragging about your stupid candy bar Dennis ANA SOFÍA: This is the Squirrel Scout group text for official biz not sure a mall opening qualifies HEIDI: Totes qualifies. Squirrel Scouts fight bad guys and now listless pines r da bad guys VIN: Maybe we should listen to Ana Sofía on this? ANTONIO: We got the announcement at the high school too skunk club is mega power in to take down listless pines JACKSON: PIZZA PARTY!!! HEIDI: Cats r best anyway so now we just have to get everyone in town to go vote for cats and we win DENNIS: Shouldn't I be on the pro dog side since I'm a dude? JANESSA: What are you even talking about Dennis DENNIS: Dogs are boys and cats are girls that's just science JANESSA: What are you even talking about Dennis LANESSA: I for one am loving this, at last something to fight for! DOREEN: Something to fight for? Isn't justice enough? LUCY: Haha Doreen ur hysterical ANA SOFÍA: I didn't realize everyone was so disgruntled BARON: Ah yesteryear was a time fit for bard tales but of late the bards are silent as we noble warriors do naught but wait and watch VIN: He means we don't do anything exciting anymore DUCHESS: Tis true. We long for the adventures we once knew HEIDI: Yeah no offense to SG I still think she's top drawer but it's just like ever since she cleaned up shady oaks nothing exciting ever happens JACKSON: PIZZA PARTY!!! ANTONIO: PIZZA PARTY!!! The whole conversation was making Doreen feel a bit ill, almost as if the four peanut butter sandwiches she'd had for breakfast hadn't settled well. "Doreen," said Ms. Schweinbein, suddenly leaning over her desk. "I specifically said to join groups. In class. Not play phone games or google celebrity crushes." Doreen looked left and right at Vin and Janessa and others also on their phones, who the teacher didn't seem to see. Or care about. "But they are—" Doreen started. "What?" said Ms. Schweinbein. "They are what? Hard at work? Not insulting their teacher?" Doreen's tail throbbed. Her leg shook, tired of inaction. Everyone not on their phones had already formed groups and were in earnest discussion. She was group-less. She hopped up and made her way to the back of the class. "Hey, there!" she said. "I'll join your group." "A little late for that," said a boy. Doreen turned to another. "Hello, fellow middle schoolers. Sorry I'm late. What's our plan for dominating this mysterious mall challenge—?" "Um, we've already kinda formed our group?" said a girl. "Nope," came the preemptive denial from a member of the third group. Doreen sat back at her desk. Honestly, she thought, I'd rather face off with a Super Villain or a droid army than a middle school classroom. She rubbed her head, feeling exposed without her brown-eared hoodie. Her hand went to her waist for a pick-me-up snack of nuts, but of course she wasn't wearing her utility belt at school. Here she was just Doreen Green, and right now, Doreen Green didn't feel like much of anything at all. Ana Sofía walked home from school slowly, her head so full of thoughts it felt almost too heavy for her neck. Something about the mall PR stunt smelled as rotten as Listless Pines on a sweltering hot day. Ana Sofía couldn't decipher PA announcements, so her teacher had repeated the gist of it for her sake. But still. Classrooms had terrible acoustics plus endless background noise—chairs squeaking against the floor, whispered conversations, creaking desks—and her hearing aid amplified not only the teacher's voice but every squeak, creak, and whisper as well. So whenever she was in class, her teachers wore a small microphone around their neck that transmitted what they said directly to her hearing aid. Even with that solution she usually didn't catch everything. Like the name of the mall. What had the teacher called it? Plus the mall was apparently offering to foot the bill for an enormous pizza party. She did the math:  Student body of Union Junior + Union High = approx. 3000  $10 per pizza  8 slices in each pizza, 4 per student  Cost of pizza: approximately $15,000 Fifteen thousand! That seemed like a lot of money just for a little PR for a mall everyone was already excited about anyway. And it didn't even include drinks! Though if it did, Ana Sofía hoped there'd be black cherry soda. Ana Sofía's dad was a construction manager on the mall, and he'd complained that the client was extremely particular about the details. He'd also mentioned that the client insisted on "no overtime!" so the workers got off before dark. According to her dad, that was very unusual. She took out her phone and browsed the website for the construction company, and from there clicked a link to the mall's homepage. Chester Yard? That was random. Ana Sofía had lived in Shady Oaks her whole life and had never heard of any person or place called Chester Yard. And that was a weird motto, but whatever. She scrolled down and for the first time saw the Chester Yard Mall's symbol: That looked extremely, uncomfortably, confusingly familiar. Take away the exclamation-pointed words, replace the happy face with a skull, and that was…that was…the Hydra logo, wasn't it? She texted the link to Doreen. ANA SOFÍA: Does this look odd to you? DOREEN: Yes why do they have DEALS! twice seems overkill ANA SOFÍA: But it looks like something else right? It's not just me? DOREEN: They're calling it chester yard mall? Boring. I'd name it something fun like marshMALLow. Or squirrel mall and nut emporium. Or just nut mall but then they'd probably think the stores sold nothing but nuts ANA SOFÍA: Probably DOREEN: Omigosh can you imagine a mall just for nuts I'm freaking out what a great idea Are you coming over later? ANA SOFÍA: I'll text you Doreen hadn't noticed the similarities between the Chester Yard Mall symbol and another, more sinister symbol, so Ana Sofía tried to pluck out those niggling weeds of worry. After all, if an actual secret evil organization was behind the neighborhood mall, why would it make such an obvious allusion to itself with that similar symbol? When Ana Sofía neared the Arcos Romero family's brick bungalow on Amanat Street, she smelled a faint wisp of sulfur. Then there he was in her kitchen—six foot six, blond hair, an empanada in each fist, going on about something while her mother Teresa laughed. Ana Sofía rolled her eyes. Her mom used to only make empanadas for birthdays, but recently, she found the time to do it whenever he stopped by, acting all like, Oh, these delicious meat-filled pockets of goodness? It's no trouble at all, I make them constantly! For the family, she usually baked the empanadas, saying they had less fat, but for the god of thunder, she fried them. The whole house smelled of oil and crisp dough and wondrousness. "Hola, Mami," said Ana Sofía, leaning in for a cheek kiss. "Hey, Thor." "Ana Sofía Arcos Romero!" Thor boomed, turning to face her fully. He finished off his empanadas with a heroic chewing-and-swallowing speed. "Gracias por la bendición de ser amigo de vuestra casa," he said in heavily accented Spanish. "Vosotros siempre me daís la bienvenida." To Ana Sofía, Thor's Spanish sounded like Shakespeare's English—with words and verb tenses that seemed formal and old-timey to her, though she knew they were still common in places like Spain. He used uncommon words in both languages, so she was surprised she could follow him. But he also spoke clearly and with so much natural emotion and animation no matter who he was speaking to, she could read his lips more easily than those of just about anyone else she knew. Teresa said something in Spanish that Ana Sofía didn't totally catch, but no doubt was something like Es un verdadero encanto, este tipo, because she was always saying stuff like that. She smiled so huge at the robust Avenger, it made Ana Sofía blush. Perhaps in past years, Ana Sofía had been the one secretly fangirling over the Norse god hero her family saw on Super Hero Action TV Live! news clips, where he was usually punching flying alien beasts and robot sharks and stuff. Not that she had ever admitted it out loud, but there was a slight possibility she did sorta, kinda use to daydream about, well, being buddies with Thor, like hanging out with him at a carnival, and he'd win her a stuffed frog at the strength game, and she'd introduce him to cotton candy, and they'd go to the face-painting booth and get matching Captain America masks and how they'd laugh and laugh! But now that he was genuinely a friend of the family, it was Teresa who was all fangirl giggles. Honestly. He wasn't that big a deal. Well, he was big—his head nearly touched their ceiling, and he wasn't even wearing his helmet. Just a gray hoodie and jeans today, as if drab clothes could possibly make him inconspicuous. For one thing, there was his war hammer, Mjölnir, sitting there on the linoleum. Kinda hard to blend in with the populace with a giant war hammer. For another, he was so broad and thick and heavy the floor creaked beneath his size-twenty sneakers. "Whatcha got today?" Ana Sofía asked. He lifted the hem of his jeans to show her the star-spangled tops of his socks. "Nice," she said. She slipped off her boots, showing off her purple-and-blue socks knit with a pattern of cat faces. "Excellent!" said Thor. "Socks," Ana Sofía said with a sigh. "They're hugs for the feet." "Allow me to sing the praises of socks," said Thor. Nor Vanaheim. Therefore praise be to Asgardian goat leather. For it is highly odor absorbent. "The elves of Alfheim make beautiful socks, but they are far too thin. And tiny! Woe betide any who claim the socks of Alfheim the best in the Nine Realms, for they are useless for naught but to prance upon carpets of grass! Svartalfheim's socks are much like those of Alfheim, except they are evil. Also they only come in purple. "The socks of Jotunheim serve in terms of size, but what do the Frost Giants care for foot warmth? Nothing, if one is to judge by the quality of their footwear! The socks of Nidavellir are too small and come preloaded with bits of whatever the dwarfish sock-smiths were eating during their labors—primarily yak meat, though oft a well-squashed elderberry. "Niffleheim's socks are made from the hair of the dead and are known to whisper in a most unsettling manner. And Muspelheim's socks are constantly on fire. "So you see, Midgard is the only place to go. And the fine knit foot sleeves of Teresa Romero are the best in Midgard." Ana Sofía was pretty impressed with herself that she'd managed to catch all that he said. But then again, he had made similar sock speeches in the past. "Oh! That reminds me," said Teresa. "I knit you a new pair. Espérame." Ana Sofía rolled her eyes again. Thor rubbed his hands together eagerly as Teresa ran off to fetch them. "Hey, so, Thor," asked Ana Sofía as she picked out an empanada, "what do you know about Hydra?" "Hydra? Nefarious fools, the lot!" he said. "'Twould do them good to spend a year mucking the stables of Valhalla, by Odin's beard it would. I have heard them claim that like the ancient beasts from whence they stole their name, whenever one cuts off a head of Hydra, two more take its place. And so it would seem! Despite the many labors of my colleagues in the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. to shut down their sordid operations, Hydra still exists, thousands or perhaps millions of humans devoted to their cause of domination and control, ever moving about the planet, always with new branches of their sect concocting evil plans." Ana Sofía had broken open the empanada and was scooping out the meat filling with a spoon onto a plate. Meat and sauce were unacceptable to the girl whose primary diet consisted of plain crackers and cheese, but she couldn't resist the flaky pastry empanada crust. She handed the plate of saucy meat to Thor like always. "So what would you say is their main goal?" she asked, taking a bite of the empty empanada shell. It crunched and flaked and tasted of heaven. He spooned all the meat filling into his mouth and swallowed before answering. "World domination." He waved his hand dismissively, as if their lack of imagination was beneath his notice. "Do you think they would open up a…branch or franchise or whatever…of Hydra here in Shady Oaks? And invest in local businesses? Possibly with secret nefarious goals in mind that have nothing to do with quality shopping choices?" "Nothing is too dastardly for Hydra! Though to be honest, Hydra is no villain fit for Thor Odinson. Too many little people running around in green jumpers. Like ants they seem to me—tiny and yet annoying when they bite. I prefer smacking fiends of more titanic girth with Mjölnir." He gave his hammer a friendly pat. "Like Frost Giants. And leviathans that have come ashore to test out evolution, that sort of thing. Unless Hydra puts on giant robot suits and marches on cities, I leave them to S.H.I.E.L.D. However, I believe the Winter Soldier is well-versed in Hydra's hideous underbelly. Also—" He stopped, cocking his head in a way Ana Sofía had come to realize meant he was listening to someone talking to him through his tiny hidden earpiece. She touched her own hearing aid with a finger, and a flash of longing brushed through her that she might hear what he heard and answer the calls he got. To be a hero. "I will come directly. And pity those who stand in the way of mighty Mjölnir!" Thor said to whoever spoke in his earpiece. He shouldered the hammer, the action almost decapitating a nearby table lamp. Ana Sofía added a mental note to the long list she maintained in her head. Note: Move lamp before next Thor visit. Shop for more robust style at yard sales. "Farewell, Ana Sofía Arcos Romero, and many thanks to your generous mother for her empanadas." "Wait! I found your socks!" Teresa rushed in, handing him a plastic grocery bag full of knitted things. He took the bag, put a hand on his chest, and partially bowed in thanks. Then, stepping just outside their kitchen door into the backyard, he swung his hammer on its leather strap around and around above his head till lightning fizzled and cracked. With a small boom and flash of rainbow colors, he went up and was gone. The front door burst open. "Is he here?" said Marco, Ana Sofía's little brother. "I smelled that smell he makes all the way down the street!" "Aw, pobrecito Marquito," said Teresa. "Tío Thor se acaba de ir. Go wash your hands if you want empanadas." "Okay, okay," said Marco, and he shuffled off to the bathroom. Ana Sofía couldn't help a creak of a smile. Tío. Uncle Thor. In Mexican culture, it was common to call adults with close relationships to the family tío and tía even if they weren't officially family, but she'd never seen her family so quickly adopt a tío. The front door burst open for the second time, and Ana Sofía's father, George, rushed in, looking around wildly. "Is he here? Is Thor here?" "He's gone, Papi. Sorry," said Ana Sofía. George banged his fist into his hand. "Every time I miss him! Every single time! I hurried over the second I got your text," he said to Teresa. He slumped into a chair, staring at the slight impression in the linoleum that Thor's hammer had left. "Just once I want to try to lift Mjölnir." Ana Sofía hadn't quite caught what he'd said, but her mother mimed lifting the heavy hammer, and Ana Sofía put it together. "Papi…" said Ana Sofía, bringing him a plate of empanadas. "I don't expect to be able to lift it," he said. Then shrugged. "Maybe just scoot it around a little." "How is the mall coming?" she asked. "Mmpf," he said with his mouth full. It was nearly impossible to read someone's lips when they were eating. She waited for him to finish. "It will be on time. And before you ask, no, I still don't know if there will be a sock shop." She hadn't been about to ask about the sock shop—not that she wasn't 100 percent invested in the idea and maybe sometimes prayed for it before bed (actually every night)—but she stopped herself from asking her father the more pressing question. Hydra? Behind the new mall? It really was ridiculous. Wasn't it? But maybe her suspicions were dead-on and she should alert Doreen immediately to leap in and save the day. She picked up her cell, intent on texting her that very second. What if it is Hydra? Squirrel Girl will know what to do…. No. She put her cell back down, glaring at it as if the phone had insulted her and her family. This whole BFF thing was new for her. She'd had friends in the past, of course, but not like Doreen, not the kind so fierce and true she had no doubt the girl would leap across the Grand Canyon for her. And with past friends (or friendish sorts), Ana Sofía had made the mistake of sharing raw thoughts that were met with mockery. What if she shared her suspicions, and Doreen laughed at her? No, she wouldn't do that, would she? But what if Ana Sofía shared, and Squirrel Girl believed her and took on the mall, but it turned out that Ana Sofía was wrong? She could imagine the look of disappointment in Squirrel Girl's eyes, the diminished trust, the disgust even. Ana Sofía just couldn't risk being wrong. Best to stay silent. Best to keep these thoughts to herself. "I remember when all this was just open farmland," Dor Green said, surveying the black asphalt of the parking lot surrounding the new mall. "You do love your open farmland," said Maureen Green. "Though I don't remember ever coming here since we've been residents of New Jersey." Doreen's parents looked a lot like her—pale, freckled, human. Maureen had short hair that was once red, now brownish and cut in a mushroom-cap style. Dor's hair was once also possibly red, now gone entirely, except for his coppery orange beard. Neither had a squirrel tail. "Prairie," said Dor. "Prairie land. The open sky. Yes sir." A crowd had gathered in the lot, and the thrum of anticipation and electric energy of people waiting zapped through Doreen, too. There'd been plenty of malls back in California, but a first mall was kind of special, she supposed. This mall wasn't even open yet. But her mother loved crowds in general and rallies in particular, and had dragged them along to take part in whatever this pre-opening mall rally thing was. "Maybe I was here years ago as a boy," Doreen's father was saying. "Maybe I was part of a secret Canadian Special Forces unit stationed in New Jersey before we met." Doreen's mother laughed. "Ah, yes, the infamous Canadian Boy Commandos." "You joke," said Dor, "but we could wrestle a musk ox to the ground in under a minute, we Boy Commandos." "Mean," Doreen said. "A musk ox does not deserve to be wrestled to the ground, even in imaginary dad stories." Dor grunted. "They were dishonorable musk oxen," he said. The three of them bounced on their feet and strained their necks, trying to see over the crowd to the temporary stage set up on the asphalt, which was bookended with two enormous speakers. Banners stretched above: one on the left read DOGS, one on the right read CATS, and one in the middle read HIP-HIP CHESTER YARD MALL HOORAY. The signs were all the same size and pushed so close together that it seemed to read DOGSHIP-HIP CHESTER YARD MALL HOORAYCATS. A velvet rope divided the crowd in half, left side dogs, right side cats. "Are we dogs-hip or hooray-cats?" Doreen's father asked. "Hooray-cats," Doreen said, leading her parents to the right side. "In olden times, did people use to actually say 'hip-hip hooray'?" Doreen asked her father. "Shout it out all casual and normal, like, School is canceled. Hip-hip hooray! or We got a coupon for twenty-five percent off carpet cleaning. Hip-hip hooray!" "Why are you asking me?" he said. "You're smarter than I am." "It seems like one of those old-person things," Doreen said. "You know, like 'be kind, rewind.'" "Forty-seven is not old," Dor said. "It's older than me," Doreen said. "Me too," her mother said. "I am, however, very wise. And can tell you that those words are clearly referencing the ancient art of bad marketing." "It also borrows from the tradition of Unfortunate Phrases," Dor said. He raised a hand. "And I don't mean that negatively. I am a huge fan of Unfortunate Phrases." "I'm only in ninth grade," said Doreen. "We haven't studied Unfortunate Phrases yet." "How is school going, Doreen?" asked her mother. "You haven't said much about it lately." "Um…" It had been going fine. She'd made a best friend. She'd joined a group of friends, even. She no longer hid in bathroom stalls at lunch or anything. But…well…it was too complicated to put into words. Ms. Schweinbein…the Squirrel Scouts…the homework she neglected in order to fight crime…that achy, half-herself feeling of hiding in plain sight…the ease and freedom of Squirrel Girl buried whenever she had to go back to being Doreen…"Fine," she said. "Oh, good," said Maureen. Her relieved smile convinced Doreen she'd been right not to say any more. Telling her mother the whole truth would probably just make her unhappy. Besides, Doreen had a plan! Or sort of a plan. Last night she'd looked up Steps to Conflict Resolution online. Talking down Laser Lady had been all instinct. But working through her many Doreen Green problems might take a more academic approach. Suddenly music erupted from the speakers—a last-century techno beat punctuated with a robotic voice saying "Yo! Yo! Here we go, dudebro!" A dozen dancers in green leotards marched onto the stage and began flapping their arms in unison. Confetti exploded, and a man in cargo shorts and a Hawaiian shirt leaped onto the stage and "danced" in front of the others. His moves reminded Doreen of her Commander Quiff exercise videos. "Is that someone I should recognize?" Doreen's father shouted to her over the music. "Why are you asking me?" Doreen shouted back. "Because it seems like a young-person thing." The music paused and the dancers froze in position. "SHADY OAKS AND LISTLESS PINES!" the man shouted into a microphone. "ARE…YOU…READY?!" A few people clapped. A few more let out some weak "yeah"s. Doreen started to feel bad for the guy. "Because I'm ready," he whispered, the microphone making his whisper super-loud and hissy. Some of the crowd visibly shuddered. It was an uncomfortable experience to be addressed in a painfully loud whisper. Now Doreen felt really bad for Mr. Cargo Shorts. And he was trying so hard. "Yay!" Doreen called out. A few people looked around to see if there was something else nearby worth cheering for. "Folks, let me introduce myself," the man said, sounding friendly and normal despite being on a stage with twelve frozen green dancers. "My name is Bryan. That's with a Y, and you can call me Bry." The crowd shuffled, looked away, cleared throats. "Hi, Bryan!" Doreen yelled. Bryan waved in Doreen's general direction and continued speaking. "But, hey, you aren't here for me, are you?" "I probably should have called him Bry," Doreen whispered to her mom. "I mean, he just finished saying we should call him that, and then I went and yelled his whole full name." "It's fine, dear," Maureen said. "I'm sure he was happy to hear it." Bryan gestured, and the green-leotarded dancers grabbed some big gun-looking things, like they had ripped cannons off a pirate ship. "Wait, what?" Doreen said. She scampered up onto her father's shoulders. "I need—" "You're here for FREE STUFF!" Bryan yelled. The leotarded cannoneers opened fire at the crowd, and dozens of cloth bundles filled the sky. Doreen reached up and grabbed one, careful not to be too phenomenally squirrelly in public. Doreen's father groaned. "Down, please. I'm not Thor, and you are not six years old anymore." "Sorry, Pop!" Doreen said, sliding off. "My squirrel-sense was tingling." "Is that actually a thing?" "I don't know. It just looked like those dancers had weapons." She unfolded her catch. "But they were just shooting T-shirts." She sniffed one and stuck out her tongue. "Ugh—smelly T-shirts." "Probably the chemicals they use in manufacturing," said Maureen. "Remember to always wash new clothes before wearing them!" "Gotcha," said Doreen. She felt a little weird—kinda cotton-brained, a bit tilty. Her chest tightened, the crowd seemed to push in, and she wondered if she was developing sudden and random claustrophobia. "I got one!" Maureen shouted, unwrapping a yellow T-shirt with the Chester Yard Mall logo on the front and the word CATS printed in large letters on the back. "What size is it?" Dor asked. "Too small for you," Maureen said, pulling the shirt on over the blouse she was wearing. "I love this shirt! Nobody touch this shirt—it's mine!" "Whoa, okay, Mom." "WE GOTTA FIGURE OUT OUR MALL MASCOT, FOLKS!" Bryan called. "I thought that was their mascot," Dor said, opening up another T-shirt bundle to show the logo on the front. "What is it? A bearded egg?" The Chester Yard Mall logo featured a smiley face with curly tentacle-like details coming out of the bottom. Ana Sofía had pointed out this logo to her, too, and she took an extra moment to examine it. Yep, definitely an odd choice for a mall logo. "No one would have a bearded egg as a mascot, Dor," Maureen said. "What even is a bearded egg? This is a happy little octopus." "We've got it down to two," Bryan was saying. "Cats, represented by the fine people from Shady Oaks, and dogs, championed by the stalwart citizens of Listless Pines." A few of the high school boys from the dog side began to bark. Doreen felt the Team Cat crowd take a step back as if united in fear. Team Dog barked louder. "Now, you already know that the schools on the winning side will get a free pizza party—" Cheers erupted from both sides. Doreen smiled. She wasn't really a mall person, but it was always nice when people got excited about things. "But I'm about to RAISE! THE! STAKES!" Someone in the crowd gasped. It wasn't Doreen, but she appreciated the drama of the gasper. "How far am I raising it? By one hundred dollars! Each!" More people gasped. "Those shirts you've got there are your ticket to a one-hundred-dollar gift card good at any shop in the mall!" The crowd began to mutter and splutter and generally make confused and excited noises. By now everyone had a shirt, but there were a few extras. Small fights broke out, and people shoving and yelling and tugging on the extras. "But, Bry, you say, what's the catch?" Bryan continued over his microphone. "Well, folks, the only catch is that you have to be on the winning team. When we have the final vote at the mall opening in two weeks' time, if cat wins then people with cat shirts get one-hundred-dollar gift cards." The dog side of the crowd booed. "But if dog wins, then the people with dog shirts get one-hundred-dollar gift cards!" One of the kids struggling on the ground for the extra shirts shoved the other one, pulling the shirt from his grip and running off. "Hey!" Doreen said. "That wasn't nice!" "Gimme your shirt," a pink-haired girl from the dog side shouted at Doreen. The girl already had her dog shirt on. "Why?" A group of people on the cat side started to chant, "Cats rule! Dogs drool!" "Shut up!" the pink-haired girl yelled. "I didn't say anything!" Doreen said. "I don't even want your stupid cat shirt," she said. "Dogs are going to win anyway." People were shouting. Those boys on the dog side were barking again, their tone becoming increasingly wolfish. Doreen's hands squeezed into fists, and she kinda wanted to punch someone. Instead she balled up her shirt and tossed it toward a couple of people who were fighting over one, hoping to break it up—but instead several people swarmed it, elbows out, shoulders shoving. "There can be only one winning side!" Bryan called from the stage. "To the victors go the spoils!" "Well, he certainly isn't helping things," Maureen said. The rope between the two sides fell to the ground, whatever had been holding it up knocked over. "But we've got one more little surprise," Bryan shouted into the microphone, his voice booming over the speakers to drown out the noisy crowd. "You're going to need to convince the rest of the people in your neighborhoods to vote for your side, if you really want to win. And the best way to convince people of something is…" He leaned over with a hand cupped to his ear as if waiting for an answer from the crowd. "Reasoned dialogue!" Doreen called out. "That's right," Bryan said. "Advertising!" "I liked your answer better," Doreen's father said. One of the green-leotarded dancers marched up onto the stage next to Bryan. He was holding a new T-shirt cannon that had been spray-painted yellow and dusted with glitter. "We have one more shirt," Bryan said. "A golden shirt. Ooooooh. Whoever gets this one will be featured in a video on our TuberTV channel! And they will get…free! Ice! Cream!" The crowd roared, surging toward the stage. A small boy near the front made a frightened yip at the surge and tried to run away but tripped and fell to the ground. "Oh no," Doreen said. Maureen unzipped her large purse and showed Doreen—she'd packed the hoodie. "Go," Maureen said. The man with the golden gun shot his shirt bullet high over the crowd, and the people began shoving toward where they thought it would land. Only it didn't land. Squirrel Girl leaped over the crowd's heads, plucking the bundle from the air and landing fifty feet later on the stage. "Whoa!" said Bryan. The crowd still seethed and shoved. But up here out of it, Squirrel Girl's head cleared, and she couldn't smell the muddy, unpleasant odor of those T-shirts anymore. Squirrel Girl leaned over the front of the stage. She swatted people back with her tail, and then grabbed the fallen boy by the back of his shirt. His arms were scratched up, and when she lifted him onto the stage, he just lay down. Squirrel Girl tried to give the crowd her best you-know-better-than-that look, but it didn't work as well on a thousand people as it did on the toddlers she babysat. "Very heroic!" Bryan said. "Now, young lady, you who retrieved the golden shirt, which animal are you?" Squirrel Girl intensified her you-know-better-than-that look and twitched her tail. "Yes, of course," Bryan said. "You are Squirrel Girl. But are you on the dog side or the cat side?" He tilted the microphone toward her, and Squirrel Girl grabbed it. "Thanks, Bryan!" she said. "And you know what, folks? I have to say I'm a little disappointed." Bryan swiped at the microphone, but Squirrel Girl batted away his hand with her tail. "I mean, we're all excited," she said. "Free shirts are exciting! And gift cards! And pizza! These are awesome things to get excited about. But you gotta draw the line at shoving your neighbors and trampling people, amirite?" She leaned over to the boy lying on the stage. "I mean, this kid…Hey, buddy, what's your name?" "Munkel," the boy said, sitting up. "How do you spell that?" "M-U-N-K-E-L," the boy said. "Huh," Squirrel Girl said. "Just like it sounds. Kid, you have an awesome name. I have never met a Munkel before, and I am super-happy to meet you." She handed Munkel the golden shirt and looked at the crowd. "Guys, did you hear that? This kid's name is Munkel. How cool is that?" Bryan grabbed at the microphone again, and Squirrel Girl jumped out of his reach onto a speaker, and from there to the banner rope just over the second HIP in the HIP-HIP CHESTER YARD MALL HOORAY sign. It swung back and forth beneath her, creaking but not snapping. She smiled. Oh, man, gee whiz, and snap, crackle, and pop, it was good to be Squirrel Girl on a sunny fall Saturday afternoon, swinging on a banner rope above a crowd that she could help become better citizens and kinder human beings with a few wise words. "So, Munkel there," she said, "almost got squished by you guys. OVER A SHIRT. I think you know that's not okay. You got carried away. You were excited, I get it. But you know what always ruins a day? People getting squished. Like, one hundred percent of the time. So be Team Cat or Team Dog or whatever. You be you. But you know what both cats and dogs don't do? They don't squish people. Or, like, fight over shirts and gift cards and stuff. That's a jerky thing to do. So don't act like a jerk." Bryan was standing beneath her, his eyebrows lowered in irritation. "Um…Squirrel Girl out," she said, dropping the microphone into Bryan's hands. "That's it, folks," he said. "Always exciting at Chester Yard Mall events! Enjoy your shirts! We will be in touch." The crowd broke up as music started to play. Squirrel Girl leaped from the stage and sprinted across the parking lot to the beat of "Here We Go, Dudebro." One of the dancers shouted to the crowd, "Are you all ready for this?" And if she had to guess, the answer would be no. No one is ever ready for Squirrel Girl. Yo yo every1ne on sociable medias listen up! Hashtag coming soon! Hashtag Chester Yard Mall™ on Viper Avenue. Join us opening day to vote for the hashtag mall mascot—Groovy Cat vs. LOL Dog—not to mention some "apocalyptically" good deals! ;) ;) ;) ;) trollolololololol Also free sausages. > Joey: Free sausages! Yeah! > Aaliyah: Vote cats! Did you know that petting a cat can lower your blood pressure? >> Nick So can petting a dog. Plus dogs are friendlier. Vote dogs! > Susie: I attended the rally yesterday. Did anyone else see the t-shirts they were giving away? They had a happy face with tentacles logo that I swear I've seen before. >> John Um yeah that's because if you replace the happy face with a skull it's the Hydra symbol. Obviously they are poking fun by using a parody of Hydra's logo. >>> Sandra Seems in poor taste to me. >> Hank Maybe they are the actual Hydra? >>> John Um yeah actual Hydra is totally going to open a mall in New Jersey and cleverly hide the horrible truth by barely covering up their symbol with a smile emoji. Way to go, you cracked the case, dipwad. > GreenCowlLver213: What an excellent mall. I will patronize the mall opening day and likely get a great deal on jeans and a corndog. > Yolanda: Hydra is evil, do not be fooled run for your lives > Nicole: Vote dogs! Dogs' sense of smell is 10,000 x stronger than a human's. They're awesome. >> Trindy There are millions more pet cats in North America than dogs, so obviously cats are more popular. Plus they're smarter! >>> Jeremy Fake news! Dogs are actually smarter than cats. #science >>>> Melodie Faker fake news! Cats and dogs are the same smartness. But cats are more self-reliant. Also cuter. Vote cats! > Blane: Free sausages! I am there! > Bianca: Weird question: did anyone else feel off yesterday at the rally? Like the smell of the t-shirts made me feel ill and super uncomfortable. And my watch said my heart rate sped way up. >> Nate The same thing happened to me too! I just had to get out of there. >> John Way to go, you're probably hypoglycemic and blaming it on t-shirts. What a wimp. > Sandra: How can the mall use imagery from an Evil Organization as marketing? >> LaTosha Um I don't think a secret and illegal organization can copyright a logo so basically anyone could use it >> Lance Don't be so sensitive! It's clearly a joke! Besides, Hydra has an objectively good logo. >> Bruiser And even if it was Hydra, so what? The mall is investing in our community, creating jobs and getting kids engaged! >>> Joyce Amen! Our county has the highest unemployment rate in the state. We need this mall! >>> Sandra But what if it really was Hydra? You couldn't be so nonchalant about it then. I mean, they're EVIL >>>> Lance Oh come on, this again? Hydra is just another socio-economic point of view. Everybody's entitled to their own opinion. >>>> Bruiser Plus you can't judge a whole group by what one guy does. The Red Skull was also a man, are you going to condemn all men for what he did? >>>>> Sandra *hard eye roll* >>> Susie Um, no. Hydra's mission statement is World Domination. >>>> Lance Get in line. Every company's mission statement is World Domination. >>>>> Susie You make a really good point! >>>>> Lance :) > Yvette: Do not trust anything that uses the unpleasant and poorly masked symbol of Hydra > GreenCowlLver214: Such exciting times. I will be at the mall on opening day to enjoy the atmosphere of communal capitalism and also to score discounted sweaters.

2 Fuzzy, 2 Furious

Shannon Hale

Chapter 2

Doreen smelled the nutloaf the moment her dad took it out of the oven. She snapped her math book shut, scurried out of her room, and took the flight of steps down in one leap. "Dinner—" "Here!" said Doreen. "…time," finished her father. Maureen came into the kitchen, wafting a plasticky odor of paint. And beneath the paint and nutloaf, a third smell: that weird, dirty smell of the mall Tshirts. "Why do you have a dog shirt, Dor?" asked Maureen. Dor was wearing the Chester Yard Mall T-shirt, the happy-face-with-tentacles. But it was orange, not yellow like their CATS shirts. And when he turned to get a bowl of cottage cheese with mandarin oranges, they could see DOGS on the back. "I traded my cat one for this one," said Dor. He sniffed. "I like dogs." Maureen smoothed the front of her lilac sweatshirt, on which she had embroidered an orange-and-white tabby with enormous kitten eyes. "We are a cat house, Dor," she said. "You knew that when you married me." "Well, now, you knew I was a big, big fan of dogs, I'm ninety-nine percent positive." "I knew you liked dogs," said Maureen. "You've mentioned that. But I love cats. They are sweet little balls of floof, and your fondness for dogs is nowhere near the level of my ardent admiration of cats." "Well, what if it is?" "Well, what if it ISN'T?" After a familiar three knocks at the kitchen door, Ana Sofía stepped inside. She smiled, noticed Maureen and Dor facing each other with fists on hips, and then frowned. "Whoa, everything okay?" asked Ana Sofía. Maureen turned to face her, a habit now, so Ana Sofía could more easily read her lips. "Doreen's father chose to be Team Dog, Ana Sofía. I wish I could make up this stuff, I truly do. Then I could be a wealthy soap opera writer." "A man can love his wife and her extensive embroidered-cat-sweatshirt collection and still believe dogs are the best animal," said Dor. "Scientists have proven this." "Oh, really?" said Maureen. "Show me one peer-reviewed study that arrived at that conclusion. A single one, Dorian Green!" "Well, if cats are so gosh-darned great, how come we don't have one?" he asked. "You know why, Dor! You know I'm allergic and must love them from a loving distance!" "There are hypoallergenic cats, Maureen," he said. "Like pillows. And earrings. The technology exists! I think you just make excuses because you don't love cats that much. Not like I love dogs!" Doreen and Ana Sofía exchanged looks. Ana Sofía put her hand over her mouth. "Dad," said Doreen, "that T-shirt seriously stinks. You should take it off." "You haven't washed it yet?" said Maureen. "You know you're supposed to 'Wash Before Wear'!" "So, um, we're going outside, and I think you should change shirts while we're gone!" Doreen shouted over their chatter, and they hurried to the backyard before bursting out laughing. "No way," said Ana Sofía, climbing up the ladder to the backyard tree house. "I didn't think your parents had fights." Doreen leaped right up through the window and sat on one of the beanbags. "Sometimes they do," she signed, and then spoke aloud. "It got ugly last year when Mom told Dad she'd never liked SpongeBob SquarePants." "I thought your parents were perfect." "Whenever the fights come, they're soo funny, and then afterward they get all lovey and make popcorn so we can snuggle on the couch and watch movies. That was a super-random fight, I've gotta admit, but I predict we're only twenty minutes from popcorn. Anyway, what's up?" "Did you see all the online chatter about the Chester Yard Mall?" asked Ana Sofía, passing Doreen her phone. Doreen read the comments on the Friendbook post. "Wow, everybody is taking this so seriously! It is weird that the mall is using a logo similar to Hydra's. I guess they're just trying to cash in on their brand." "Their brand of evil, warfare, and world domination?" Doreen's tail twitched. "Oh. Yeah. There is that. I guess I'm not completely up on all things Hydra. I know the Micro-Manager was basically being a jerk as an audition to join them." "Yeah, so, they're really bad," said Ana Sofía. "And what if this mall…What if it really is Hydra?" Doreen laughed. "That's funny. Hydra building a mall." Ana Sofía opened her mouth and then closed it without saying anything. "Wouldn't that be hilarious, though?" said Doreen, still laughing. "Hydra, building a mall! An EVIL mall…" But Ana Sofía didn't laugh. She looked down at her feet. Doreen's laugh faded at the sight. Her instinct was to leap onto the flaking yellow-painted tree-house bench and declare, Does something trouble you, my friend? Tell me your mind, that we may have no secrets between us. I won't judge you for your thoughts, I will only prize them like star-spangled treasures. Speak out boldly! But this whole best-friend business was pretty new for Doreen. Instincts in battle had done well for her so far. She totally stopped that carjacker that one time, not to mention bested a pair of robot parents, and for sure the Micro-Manager business. That had gone A++. So her Squirrel Girl instincts were solid. Her Doreen instincts, on the other paw, were suspect. Even now, being a part of the Squirrel Scouts, she noticed how sometimes she'd say something that seemed perfectly reasonable, but everyone would kinda look at each other out of the corner of their eye. She didn't want to do anything embarrassing that might chase away Ana Sofía, aka One of the Awesomest Human Beings Alive. But still… "Are you worried about the mall?" Doreen signed. Ana Sofía shrugged. "It's okay if you are," said Doreen. "I mean, it's okay if you're not, too. I mean, it's okay whatever is cool I don't know…" "What was that?" asked Ana Sofía. Doreen had stopped signing and been kinda mumbling, which she knew made it hard for Ana Sofía to understand. "Never mind," she said. "Sorry." Ana Sofía looked down again. She took a couple of deep breaths. Was she upset? But what would she be upset about? "Maybe…Maybe it'd be a good idea to text some of those Avengers you have numbers for," said Ana Sofía. "Also Thor said Winter Soldier might know a lot about Hydra." "Winter Soldier?" Doreen shivered. "I texted him last month for advice when we were battling the Micro-Manager. He's kinda intense." "Yeah…" "So maybe I'll try some other heroes first?" said Doreen. From inside, the shouty voices had stopped. And Doreen could smell the popcorn. She smiled. "Can you stay and watch a movie with us? Mom will probably pick The Muppets. We'll definitely turn on the closed-captioning." SQUIRREL GIRL: Hey hero friends a question from your friendly neighborhood squirrel girl. How can u tell if a thing is hydra or not IRON MAN: If it whispers HAIL HYDRA SPIDER-MAN: Or does one of those evil laughs SQUIRREL GIRL: Ha! srsly tho BLACK WIDOW: No group texts pls SPIDER-MAN: Wait was that an evil ha? BLACK WIDOW: STOP RESPONDING SPIDER-MAN WE CAN ALL SEE THIS IRON MAN: BTW Squirrel Girl I totally knew you'd come ask for my help again SQUIRREL GIRL: Oh yeah I'm really trying to include you more since last time when I accidentally thought you weren't a hero and all that. I feel so bad! For you! IRON MAN: So are we pals now? SQUIRREL GIRL: Um yes? Or advice buddies? Is that a thing? IRON MAN: Hey why do you have my number saved under "Facial Hair Thing" on your phone SQUIRREL GIRL: How can you see what name I used to save your number? IRON MAN: I'm a genius SPIDER-MAN: I call you GUAPO on my phone IRON MAN: I know SPIDER-MAN: Which means handsome in spanish IRON MAN: I KNOW SQUIRREL GIRL: I just want you to know that I don't think you're ugly or anything IRON MAN: Um SQUIRREL GIRL: The facial hair thing is like code in case a bad guy steals my phone so they won't know who you are. Anyway I know some men grow facial hair to hide deep-seated insecurities about themselves but i don't think that's the case 4 u BLACK WIDOW OH SNAP SPIDER-MAN: Secret code sounds like something hydra would do BLACK WIDOW: I regret the oh snap. I'm NOT getting pulled into a group text. Why doesn't my new phone have a way to block group texts? IRON MAN: New OS requires you to be friendly BLACK WIDOW: It REQUIRES you to participate in group texts which IMO is the greatest evil ever to be unleashed on earth SQUIRREL GIRL: Oh man sorry bw SPIDER-MAN: Don't be sorry you didn't invent group texts. Or maybe your secret identity did I don't know I invent some cool things sometimes nbd IRON MAN: Me too SQUIRREL GIRL: I didn't invent group text SPIDER-MAN: Well that's good? You know, because it's evil SQUIRREL GIRL: Evil like hydra? So…any advice there? BLACK WIDOW: MUTE DELETE BLOCK UNSUBSCRIBE IRON MAN: Are you trying to tell us something, Widow? BLACK WIDOW: Only that I'm going to need a new communicator after this one is smashed by a boot SQUIRREL GIRL: I'm so sorry to bug you but as I mentioned before I'm just trying to find out if hydra is in my neighborhood and also how do you guys get anything done no offense you just go on tangents a lot? SPIDER-MAN: Tangent was my nickname in third grade IRON MAN: Are you saying you think I should shave? BLACK WIDOW: Hydra is everywhere. But unless you're 100% sure don't worry about it. Hydra really isn't something you should be taking on SQUIRREL GIRL: Ok IRON MAN: Real talk. Hydra is about 3 things. World domination, unsavory memes, and group texting. SQUIRREL GIRL: Cool! Thanks SPIDER-MAN: I thought Hydra was about neo-fascism, government infiltration, and global criminal operations IRON MAN: Those are sub-categories to the other three BLACK WIDOW: Now smashing my avengers communicator. I will be offgrid until I return to HQ SPIDER-MAN: You still have a personal phone tho right? For emergencies? IRON MAN: What's the number, B-dubs? Widow? SPIDER-MAN: Dude I think she smashed it for real IRON MAN: Yeah, she totally smashed it. But back to our conversation, Squirrel Girl. I'm not self-conscious about my looks at all, I'm probably the most humble guy you know. I'm just curious if you were serious about the facial hair? SQUIRREL GIRL: Wow you were all sooo helpful but I gotta go! SQUIRREL GIRL: Hi so hey! This is Squirrel Girl. Remember me? I texted you before for some villain advice? WINTER SOLDIER: Winter Soldier is go SQUIRREL GIRL: Yeah about that no need! To go anywhere actually! I just had a question WINTER SOLDIER: Winter Soldier is go SQUIRREL GIRL: Got it. So don't freak out but my question is about Hydra WINTER SOLDIER: I am familiar with Hydra SQUIRREL GIRL: Yeah that's what Thor said! I just want some nonviolent advice k? Would hydra ever do something weird like open a shopping mall in a suburb WINTER SOLDIER: In 1946 Hydra infiltrated a small town in Lithuania at night and took the human babies out of their cribs, replacing them with baby goats SQUIRREL GIRL: What happened to the human babies? WINTER SOLDIER: They were found in a chicken coop SQUIRREL GIRL: What happened to the chickens WINTER SOLDIER: Never ask about the chickens SQUIRREL GIRL: Ok WINTER SOLDIER: In 1952 Hydra took over a radio station in Duluth and played the song "I've Got a Gal in Kalamazoo" for seventy hours straight SQUIRREL GIRL: I know that song! WINTER SOLDIER: Several people in town went mad SQUIRREL GIRL: I'm totally humming it right now WINTER SOLDIER: In 1978 Hydra opened an ice cream stand in Long Island just so they could serve disturbing flavors to the public SQUIRREL GIRL: Disturbing flavors? WINTER SOLDIER: Motor oil. Bile of convicted murderer. Lizard tears. Strawberry banana. SQUIRREL GIRL: Hydra doesn't sound that bad really WINTER SOLDIER: They believed if they could get people to accept unacceptable flavors, they could get people to accept unacceptable government SQUIRREL GIRL: Were they successful? WINTER SOLDIER: Often. They have toppled governments, murdered millions, and ruined the second seasons of previously promising sitcoms SQUIRREL GIRL: They've murdered millions of people??? WINTER SOLDIER: Well probably but I meant millions of bees. During their Cleanse the Air Initiative. Honeybees are vital for a thriving agrarian society. Do not neglect to take a tablespoon of raw honey daily for the health of your lymph nodes SQUIRREL GIRL: That song is stuck in my head WINTER SOLDIER: Now more than ever you need a tablespoon of raw honey SQUIRREL GIRL: You know what winter soldier? I'm really proud of you! You haven't freaked out at all about hydra and gave me top notch advice. Good job buddy! WINTER SOLDIER: Thank you. Also I am tracing your phone. As soon as I find your location I'll be there to wipe out any suspected Hydra agents within a two-mile radius in a quick and lethal manner, scourging the very earth for any trace of their passage. I will try not to harm bystanders but can't make promises SQUIRREL GIRL: K powering down my phone now bye! IRON MAN: Hey Squirrel Girl you never really said if you were serious about my facial hair seeming to be a way to hide deep-seated insecurities. Because I don't have any btw. Deep-seated insecurities. I'm fine. That sounded plaintive. Tone can be difficult to read in texts. But I just wanted you to know that I'm serious. Seriously fine. And I like my facial hair and am not needing any outside confirmation of my choices in order to feel good about myself.: Squirrel Girl? Are you there? I perched on the shattered stump of a once-mighty oak, the claws of my hind paws flexing against the too-smooth surface. Trees fell, acorns rotted. These were facts of life. But when trees were shaved from the earth by machines, they were left like that stump. Unnaturally smooth. The humans had cut several trees down to make room for this "mall." It wasn't like there was a true forest here, but Nip Snigglebum and Poppin Pufflegs both lost nests. The sun had begun to fall, and I watched the human workers pack up their tools, climb into their wheeled metal boxes, and roll home. Humans build machines to cool them off in the day and hide inside buildings to escape the glare of the sun. They even cover their eyes with darkened glass to go outside. Why not just work at night? I was going to have to ask Doreen about this. A tangy scent of sage wafted on the air, and I knew I was about to be joined by Fuzz Fountain Cortez on this unnerving stump. "Got another harvest of furless coming," said Cortez, scampering up beside me. Sure enough, as soon as the last truck of mall builders left, new cars full of humans arrived. The vehicles that left were all different sorts, sizes, and colors, but those that arrived were all midsize gray cars. It appears some humans did work at night. Just like the cars, the humans that got out of them looked the same to me. Pale, male, light brown fuzz on their heads. To be honest, unless I could smell them, I had a hard time distinguishing between humans, especially the pale male ones. It irritated me to think that if Thor put on a blue onesie with a star on it, he was Captain America for all I knew. If Hawkeye didn't have his bow, Thor his hammer, and Cap his shield—same guy. I wondered if that was why they had accessories—so squirrels could tell them apart. Big Sissy Hotlegs leaped onto the stump, towering over both me and Cortez. "You tell tail from tooth, Tip?" she asked. She wondered if I could tell the difference between the humans. "Nope," I said. The three of us headed to the ground, where Chomp Style was sharpening his teeth on a piece of gravel. "Ma'am," he said to me, nodding. Our ears twitched at the sound of paw beats on cement. We knew who it was, and that there was nothing to fear, but the instinct to flee from dogs was tough to suppress. Speedo Strutfuzz galloped up on his terrier mount, Sir Woof. His task was to scout the area for guards. "Dogless," he said. "No humans, even. Not outside." I nodded. Getting intel on this nest was going to take more than a stakeout. It was going to take a break-in. After overhearing Doreen and Ana Sofía talk about this monstrosity of a human habitat, I needed to know exactly what we were dealing with. This was squirrel turf. This was our scamperland, even if it had been paved over. If evil lurked here, I would know. And I would take care of it. I'm Tippy-Toe, and that's what I do. And that was why I assembled this group. A break-in of this magnitude required a specialized strike force.

2 Fuzzy, 2 Furious

Shannon Hale

SQUIRREL TEAM SIX

 Tippy-Toe  Aliases: Tip, T-Toe, Missus T, The Right Paw of Justice  Rank: Captain  Bipedal Height: 1′0″  Identifying Features: Pink bow, clever eyes  Special Skills: Genius-level squirrel intellect, languages, paw-to-claw combat

2 Fuzzy, 2 Furious

Shannon Hale

Chapter 4

 Fuzz Fountain Cortez  Aliases: Bibi Peluchita Furbi Cortez, Furbullet  Rank: Lieutenant  Bipedal Height: 0′10″  Identifying Features: Patched black-and-brown natural camouflage  Special Skills: High-speed pursuit, leaping, tracking

2 Fuzzy, 2 Furious

Shannon Hale

Chapter 5

 Chomp Style  Aliases: Charles Monroe Styles, The Mouth  Rank: Corporal  Bipedal Height: 0′8″  Identifying Features: Overlarge front teeth, muscular head, short tail  Special Skills: Demolition, infiltration

2 Fuzzy, 2 Furious

Shannon Hale

Chapter 6

 Speedo Strutfuzz  Aliases: Strutto Speedfuzz, The Centaur  Rank: Sergeant  Bipedal Height: 0′9″  Identifying Features: Extra-long whiskers, missing third claw on left paw  Special Skills: Recon, communication, cavalry

2 Fuzzy, 2 Furious

Shannon Hale

Chapter 7

 Big Sissy Hotlegs  Aliases: Big Sis, M. Squee Cisneros, Rabbitsbane  Rank: Sergeant  Bipedal Height: 1′5″  Identifying Features: Red-furred paws and legs, large size, muscular tail, burn scars on haunches  Special Skills: Paw-to-claw combat, demolition, heavy weapons

2 Fuzzy, 2 Furious

Shannon Hale

Chapter 8

 Chive Alpha— "Hold up," I said, looking all around. "Where's Chive Alpha?" Cortez leaned in. "She shed that name again." I twitched my tail in frustration. Recently a squirrel named Sour Cream and her children were abducted and nearly roasted alive by a dastardly human villain. Sour Cream's children had collectively been known as "the Chives," but after that ordeal, one of them adopted the moniker Chive Alpha. That didn't last. Every couple of days she changed her name to something else. Currently she was…um, which one was it now? Mudbomb, maybe. "Hello?" I said. "Um…Mudbomb?" "…It can destroy the world…" she whispered from somewhere nearby. "Mudbomb—" "…It can destroy the world," the whisper came again. "What can destroy the world?" I asked. "MUDBOMB can!" she cried, leaping from beneath the dirt at our feet. At some point she had managed to burrow under the earth and remain there without any of us noticing. That was why I wanted her on Squirrel Team Six.  Chive Alpha MUDBOMB  Aliases: The Chive, Hiss the Manslayer, Skyfang the Indomitable, Night Weasel, Damocles the Fallen, Doom Claw, Scar Saw, The Terror that Scampers, Tooth Lotus, Stig the Stygian Rat Rank: Private  Bipedal Height: 0′6″  Identifying Features: Small size, red-black eyes  Special Skills: Infiltration, camouflage, berserker rage "Sweet skulk, Mudbomb," I said. She squinched up her nose. "Yeah, maybe I've seasoned out of Mudbomb." I put a paw on her shoulder and led her away for a chitter session. "Little cousin, the team needs a name to call you. One name. How about you scamp to Chive Alpha till you've set a claw on your exact forever name?" She chewed a dirt clod off her fur, then nodded. I patted her head. "Speedo," I said. "You know the plan. Eyes and ears sharp. One bark danger to us, two barks danger to you." Speedo Strutfuzz saluted, grabbing hold of his mount's neck fur. "Hi-ho, Sir Woof!" he shouted. "Away!" "Speedo short a few nuts?" Chive Alpha asked as the dog and squirrel galloped away. "Nope," I said. "Just a squirrel with big dreams. Now let's scamper." We eyed the cameras and moved in their periphery—slinking under the cars, darting between their gazes, then squeezing tight against the building. Usually a squirrel didn't need to bother. But five squirrels running in formation to a single destination might catch the humans' attention. We sidled up along the wall of the mall, stopping near the entrance the identical men used. I twitched my tail at the two cameras mounted above the door. "How's your mother, Cortez?" I asked. "Trunk-strong and fluffy," Fuzz Fountain Cortez said. "The haunch fungus is under control now." She tapped various locations on the outer wall of the mall and then scratched a small x on one of the spots. "I had the fungus once," Chomp Style said, ambling up to the spot Cortez marked. "Terrible thing. Rotted fungus itched more than an ant party in your nethers." Chomp Style opened his mouth wide and took a head-size bite out of the mall's concrete wall. "How'd you spook it out?" Cortez asked. Chomp Style spat out a piece of wall. "Ham," he said. "Ham?" Big Sissy Hotlegs asked. "You ate ham?" "'Course not," he said, coughing out rock dust. "Can't stand animal flesh. 'Cept for beetles, but that ain't really the same." Chomp Style bit again and again till he could scamper into the new hole in the wall. Then he gnawed more, steady this time, like a machine, till he had broken through to the other side. It was a tight head-first squeeze for Big Sis, but Mudbomb—I mean, Chive Alpha—tumbled through no problem. The inside of the mall was enormous—as big as a park, only no trees and no grass. And no sky. No windows even. It was a big blind cage. I shook my head at the thought that humans chose to dwell in cages. "So do you rub the ham on your fur?" I asked as we fanned out, sniffing. "Gross," Chive Alpha whispered. "No, ma'am," Chomp Style said, brushing dust from his whiskers. "Not exactly, anyway. The hamslime is skin-medicine, not fur-medicine. You gotta treat new fur as it grows, so the old fur's gotta go." "You shaved your butt," Chive Alpha said. "Yes, missy, yes, I did." Fuzz Fountain Cortez's tail rose in a way that meant I found something interesting, so we focused our sniffing in her direction. "Not easy work, fur-shaving," Big Sissy Hotlegs said, moving to a guarded posture behind Cortez, eyes on the shadows. "Rougher still in the rear." "Wasn't no scamper in the field," Chomp Style said. "Though to chitter true, it was more of a 'scraping' than a shaving." "GROSS," Chive Alpha said again, scampering up the wall to a single camera mounted high above. "Tell me more." The camera began to turn toward where Cortez was investigating. I didn't want the wire chewed through, because that would have sent someone to come fix it. But I also didn't want four squirrels on camera. When Chive Alpha reached the camera and opened her mouth, I hissed at her. She tilted her head, looked at me innocently, and pulled a pebble out of her cheek. She stuffed the thing into the hinge of the camera. Its movement halted with a low buzz, and then it turned to scan in the opposite direction. I gave her a claws-up. She twitched her tail in a shrug. Cortez took off and we followed. Chive Alpha stayed on the walls, scampering spider-style beside us. "No way my ma would try Chomp's ham plan," Cortez said, her nose to the floor. "Her cousin was hobbled by meat." "Straight chitter?" Big Sissy Hotlegs asked from her guard position at the rear. "Straight as roads and houses," Cortez said. "My nest used to do rounds by a deli where one of the bigger kid-humans flung meat at us." "Donations?" I asked. "Target practice," she said. "Kid would acorn-up handfuls and throw them at squirrels and birds." "Humans are weird," Chive Alpha muttered from her spot on the wall. Cortez stopped in front of one of the stores, sniffed once, and nodded. "We didn't bother dodging," Cortez said. "The kid had aim like a mole, and, hey, free meat." The store was dark inside, a pull-down metal grate protecting it. From other humans, anyway. The spaces between the bars were wider than Big Sissy's skull. Chive Alpha dangled by her rear paws from one of the bars, pulled another pebble from her mouth, and tossed it inside. We listened—tails twitchless, eyes blinkless. No sound returned. So we scampered inside. "Long story short," Cortez said, "one meat chunk was really a ham bone, and it struck Cousin Jig right on the tail. His balance was never the same after that." Racks of strange human garments made a labyrinth within the store. Our claws tik-tikked against the floor. A whiff confirmed the floorboards weren't wood but plastic molded to look it. A second sniff brought in another scent—a burning, warning sort of odor, the like I'd never smelled before, not in a human dwelling and not in the wild. Firelike, but not truly fire. Strange. Cortez sniffed her way to a door against the back wall. Chomp Style looked at me and twitched a whisker in question. I gave him a "hold on" whisker back as Big Sissy Hotlegs shoved the door with her shoulder. It swung open, and we all darted away just in case there was something behind it ready to pounce. There wasn't. In fact, all that was behind it was an empty closet with a large circle of metal in the floor. "Trail of human smell stops there," Cortez said, pointing her nose at the disc. "A door, then," I said. "Could be a trampoline," Big Sissy Hotlegs said, carefully putting a paw on the disc. "Why would they store a trampoline in a closet?" Chive Alpha said. "It's a door." Big Sissy Hotlegs jumped on the disc, only going up about three feet up. "It isn't a trampoline. I think it's a door." "That's what I said." "I love trampolines." Big Sissy Hotlegs shook her head at the door in the floor. Chomp Style scampered around the perimeter of the circle. "No human twigs or knots," he said. He meant switches or buttons. "How's it open, then?" Cortez asked. Chomp Style tapped the floor-door with a claw, and then licked it. "No bark, bone, or stone I bit before," he said. "Time to change that," I said. Chomp Style braced his chin on the floor and carefully placed his front teeth against the metal. Then he bit. His head quivered and then…snap! A shard of Chompy's tooth broke loose, flying off to the side. Chive Alpha snatched it out of the air with her tiny front paw and tossed it back. We've all snapped a front tooth a time or twelve. It'll grow again. "Husks and pebbles," he said, licking the chipped spot. "Tougher than sewer pipe, this is. It might even be—" He stopped, but we knew what he was going to say. Squirrel-proof. It's not a real thing. It's an idea made up to frighten kits into staying close to the nest. We stared at this floor-door. This possibly squirrel-proof floor-door. There was a moment of tense silence, and then Chive Alpha broke it. "How did you keep the ham on your bum, Chomps?" Chomp Style tucked the broken shard of tooth into his cheeks. "Underpants," he said. The five of us turned to look at the ground squirrel. "Underpants?" he said. "You know, like regular pants, but smaller. And…under." "All squeaks in human-town know what underpants are," Big Sissy Hotlegs said. "Not me," Chive Alpha said. "I need all the details, from root to leaf." "Well, see," Chomp Style said, "the humans, they got bums, right?" I twitched my tail. "She's teasing you. The Chive knows what underpants are." "Aw, man," Chive Alpha said. "I wanted him to go on about it." "Focus on the job," I said. High on the walls were square vents for the mall's air-conditioning system. I flicked my tail. "Yes, ma'am," Chive Alpha said, scampering up the wall. She nipped a bit of metal off a grate and slipped inside. So kind of humans to create secret passages for squirrels in everything they build. The rest of us watched the spot where she disappeared and then slowly turned back to look at Chomp Style. "Underpants are the least of it," Chomp Style said. "A squeak'll do most anything to get rid of the fungus." Chive Alpha chittered from behind the grate of a different vent than the one she entered. "Like branchwork all inside out! Big hollow tree, vents going everywhere!" "How about the roots?" I asked, twitching my tail at the "squirrel-proof" door. "The basement?" "No," Chive Alpha said, scampering down beside us. "Only trunk and branches. No roots. No basement." We all looked to the door in the floor that was made of something Chomp Style can't bite through. "Then where does that go?" Cortez asked. "The door isn't always the weakest point," said Chomp Style, bending to the floor around the door. "Wait," I said. "Cortez, could you take a snuffle?" She sniffed around the floor, back and forth in a grid pattern. "Careful, Chomps," she said. "Under the floor here, it smells like a wrong forest fire. Like lightning in an old shoe." I asked Chomp Style to go real slow, so he peeled a tiny spot layer by layer. In a people house, all we would have found was paint, drywall, cement, wood, and such. But here… A reddish glow peeped through the hole. "What is that?" I asked. Cortez sniffed. "It's hotter than fire, and it runs all over beneath this floor." Fire that didn't burn the building? I sniffed and placed the smell: lasers. Outside the mall, a dog barked. "Sir Woof," Chive Alpha said. In seconds we were out of the empty shop, through the empty mall, and on the other side of the wall-tunnel Chomp Style chewed. Just as we escaped the parking lot and dove into the safety of the trees, another gray car parked near the others. A man got out, just like all the rest. This one looked around first. Looked hard. We scampered away in silence. A silence once again broken by Chive Alpha. "Is no one going to bring up how Chomp Style said—" "We've put away all further talk about ham and underpants, Alpha," I said. "Hoarded and sealed." "This is something else." I sighed. "Go ahead." "Chomps chittered about giving sewer pipe the gnaw! 'Tougher than sewer pipe,' he said." "That I did," Chomp Style said. "So, how do you know it's tougher than sewer pipe?" Chive Alpha said. "There's got to be some kind of story there." "There is, but it's as messy as a litter of kits in a chocolate cake." The five headed on to the neighborhood park, chittering among themselves. I twitched my tail in a quick farewell and veered toward Doreen's. She needed to know about the mystery of the missing basement. "Wait," said Squirrel Girl. "So is there a basement or not?" "Chk-cht-chff." "The 'squirrel-proof' door goes down?" said Squirrel Girl. "But the ventilation system doesn't?" "Chit-chikka," said Tippy-Toe. "Well, you're the expert," said Squirrel Girl. "I personally have never crawled around inside the ventilation system of a building, and so I rely on your vast personal experience. Hmm, I wonder why the builders would do that." "Cheti-kit." "I'm not sure I follow. Hot 'not-fire' runs under the floor around the floor-door? Maybe hot water pipes?" Tippy-Toe sneezed a negating sneeze. "Huh. Curiouser and curiouser…." The girl squirrel and the Squirrel Girl were perched in an elm tree on Oak Street. Its leaves had turned golden but not yet fallen, tapping in the breeze with a dry rhythm. The sound was eager, impatient, like fingers rubbing together. The foliage was dense enough in that dark evening to keep them hidden from spying eyes, especially any in, say, the little green house directly in front of them. "Tippy-Toe, my friend, tell me your thoughts on this creepy little house here." Tippy-Toe twitched a whisker. "Yeah, okay, it isn't so creepy. But that's her house, Tip. Ms. Schweinbein, the teacher who doesn't like me. There's just something off about her, you know?" Tippy-Toe lifted her furry nose in the air. It twitched as she sniffed. She flicked her tail in the squirrel equivalent of a shrug. "I don't know, just an instinct," said Squirrel Girl. "She treats Doreen-me super-weird. Like, why is she always hassling me-slash-her, right? Plus, she transferred randomly in the middle of the term, and coincidentally right after Mike Romanger was taken away by S.H.I.E.L.D. to some juvie for young Super Villains. I mean, if the kid I used to eat lunch with turned out to be a Super Villain, anyone could be. His parents worked for Hydra, you know. So what if Ms. Schweinbein—" "Chek-chitta." "You're right, her house doesn't smell especially evil," said Squirrel Girl. "In fact, it smells like…like dogs. And cats. And, I don't know, maybe llamas? What do llamas smell like?" "Chkt." "Like an ancient terror ready to shed its skin and devour the world? How do you even—" Tippy holds up a paw. "Chk. Cht-chikka." "Oh," Squirrel Girl said. "They smell like goats. I misheard. You know, Ms. Schweinbein has a strong animaly odor about her as well. Isn't that curious?" A face appeared at the window. Ms. Schweinbein's pale, narrow face, looking out at the night with beady eyes. Squirrel and girl both froze, still as prey. Squirrel Girl scanned the face in the window for any telltale signs of disguise or perhaps shape-shifting ability. All week in class, Ms. Schweinbein had been on Doreen's tail. And all week, Squirrel Girl had become increasingly convinced that the woman was a Super Villain disguised as an English teacher. Squirrel Girl wished she'd do something obviously evil super-quick and hopefully in full view. Doreen had told her parents she'd be home in an hour, and she still had to study for that Social Studies quiz. Ms. Schweinbein squinted out at the dark. From behind the cover of leaves, Squirrel Girl squinted right back. Until the teacher snapped the curtains shut. Squirrel Girl's phone buzzed. Her special, hero-business-only phone that Ana Sofía had given her. She pulled it out of a pocket on her utility belt, hoping as always that maybe it was She-Hulk asking her out for smoothies sometime, which was a thing that hadn't happened recently or actually ever but maybe could happen one day so why not hope for it every single time? It was a text from Ana Sofía which, while not She-Hulk, was always welcome. ANA SOFÍA: Check out this link. The link took Squirrel Girl to a TuberTV video of Bryan from the mall rally. He was wearing a Chester Yard Mall T-shirt and cargo shorts and standing in front of the mall flanked by two teens. They also wore the Chester Yard Mall shirts, the girl in the orange "dog" variety and the boy in the yellow "cat" option. BRYAN LAZARDO: Hey gang! Bryan Lazardo here, aka your pal Bry, PR guru for Chester Yard Mall. Chester Yard Mall—where the deals are apocalyptically good! I'm here with two youths of our community who are involved in getting the word out about our mall mascot competition. Alisha is Team Dog, and Connor is Team Cat. Can you tell our viewers why you're— CONNOR: Cats rule, dogs drool! BRYAN LAZARDO: Oh my! ALISHA: Real mature, Connor. You know that cats cause mental illness, right? They're full of parasites that get inside your brain and give you disorders. CONNOR: That's canine propaganda! Cats are clean. Dogs are dirtier than a sewer. BRYAN LAZARDO: Hahaha! I love the enthusiasm! I'll give this one-hundred-dollar gift card to whichever of you can convince the other to vote for your candidate. ALISHA: Cats are predators and they eat people in their sleep ALL THE TIME! CONNOR: Dogs fart flesh-eating bacteria! ALISHA: CATS CHEW ON— CONNOR: DOGS ARE LITERALLY— As the two kids continued to yell alternative dog and cat facts at each other, Bryan Lazardo kept tilting his head at the camera with a campy can-you-believe-this expression. When the shouting slowed down, he frowned at them both. BRYAN LAZARDO: Don't go fighting like cats and dogs, now. He held up the gift card enticingly, and they started yelling at each other all over again. "I don't know about that dude," said Squirrel Girl. "Seems like he wants people to fight. I'm not one to judge, Tippy-Toe, but I get the feeling I wouldn't necessarily be lifelong buds with Bry." BRYAN LAZARDO: Before we end this riveting segment, we have one more guest. This young man received the golden T-shirt at our kickoff rally, thereby earning the honor of an appearance on our first video. Come right over here, champ. That's it, where the camera can see you. Well, sport, anything to say? MUNKEL: Um…I'm on Team Squirrel! BRYAN LAZARD: Ha-ha-ha! You just never know what's going to happen at the Chester Yard Mall! Come to the grand opening in just a few days! "Aw, did you see that, Tip?" said Squirrel Girl. "That's the boy with the awesome name whose life I miraculously saved one time from a horrible squishing death." "Chkkt-tat." "You're right, he does seem like a bright kid." "Bright" was a thing Doreen's parents always called her, too. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed! And she'd believed them, until middle school. Squirrel Girl opened up the text message field, her thumbs on her phone, nearly texting to Ana Sofía her suspicions about Ms. Schweinbein. But no. If she kept complaining about how her teacher didn't like her, maybe Ana Sofía would start noticing that Doreen was unlikable and then she wouldn't like her either and that would be catastrophe of the loneliest flavor. Her phone buzzed with a new text. ANA SOFÍA: The skunk club says someone from listless pines spraypainted a challenge on the high school to meet at mall lot tonight and squirrel scouts are headed there now SQUIRREL GIRL: On it Squirrel Girl leaped out of the tree, with a wistful backward glance at Ms. Schweinbein's house. "I'll just have to expose her Super Villain secrets another day," she told Tippy-Toe, who rode on her shoulder. "Chek-kit," Tippy-Toe said with complete confidence in her BHFF. The mall was about twenty blocks away. Squirrel Girl hopped from rooftop to rooftop, and as she traveled, squirrels followed. First Tippy-Toe was joined by five other squirrels. And then more came. More squirrels and more squirrels, until a great flowing shape of them followed behind. When they reached the last house on the block, Squirrel Girl chirped a warning, and the squirrels leaped onto her arms and back, riding as she soared over the street to the next block. "Look, it's Squirrel Girl!" she heard as she passed. Her tail was out and free; her name was semi-famous. She was Squirrel Girl, and everybody knew it. Her heart pumped. The Social Studies quiz was forgotten. At the mall, she spied two groups gathered on the unpainted asphalt that would become the mall's parking lot. In the glow of the orange security lights, she could make out one side wearing darker T-shirts than the other. Mall T-shirts. It was Cats vs. Dogs. And they were howling and hissing at each other. Also shouting insults and dubious facts about domesticated animals. But the howling and hissing was the most obnoxious part of it. Squirrel Girl spotted Vin with some other Squirrel Scouts and hopped over to him. "Squirrel Girl, I'm glad you're here!" Vin said. "They're saying really mean stuff about cats!" "Okay," said Squirrel Girl. "So, that's not very nice, right?" "It's not!" said Vin. "We're probably going to have to punch them." "Wait, what?" "They're being mean, so they must be villains, so they need to be punched!" Vin said boldly, then seemed to hear himself and had the grace to blush. "Um, I think things are getting out of control." Squirrel Girl spotted Antonio in front. He wore his dingy white baseball hat low over his eyes, his brown hair straight and shaggy. He took a step toward someone from Team Dog. And he lifted up a baseball bat. "WHOA!" yelled Squirrel Girl. "Hey now! No weapons, friends. Let's not be hasty—" A rock whizzed past her, an inch from her head. "Everyone needs to CALM THE FREAK DOWN!" No reaction. Probably no one was listening to her. The whole talk-criminals-out-of-criming thing didn't work unless they heard her. She leaped over their heads and landed in the narrow space between the two groups. The squirrels followed, arranging themselves around her like her own furry shadow. She pulled the bat out of Antonio's hands. "Hey, I thought you were on our side!" he said. "I'm on the side of you not getting killed or thrown in jail, Antonio, which means yeah, I'm one hundred percent totally on your side." But the other Skunk Club members had bats, too. One had a heavy metal chain; someone else held a glass bottle. The LARPers were especially well armed with literal swords and bows with arrows. They were yelling at the Team Dog group and taking steps forward. She yanked away the glass bottle. Groups of squirrels leaped onto the bats and LARPer swords, their collective weight making the weapons too clumsy to wield, and they were forced to drop them. "Hey!" the LARPers said. "Sorry!" said Squirrel Girl. "I still like you! Let's be friends!" "They're wide open now!" shouted a blond guy on Team Dog. He was gripping a bat. "Let's get them!" "Um…nope," said Squirrel Girl. As they rushed forward, the squirrel army picked up the fallen weapons and carried them out of the way of the mob. At the same time, Squirrel Girl swiped the Team Dog leader with her tail, knocking him down. She scurried, dodged, and slid around the front line of Team Dog, seizing any tools and weapons as she went and dropping them to waiting squirrels, who quickly carried them off. The Team Dog leader scrambled to his feet, his eyes blazing. He swung his fist to punch her. Which just seemed rude. She dodged, grabbed his fist, and pushed up on his arm to vault herself onto his shoulders. "Now listen up, everyone!" she said, from where she stood atop his shoulders. The guy punched at her ankles. He jerked around, trying to knock her off. But her balance game, it was good. "Stop that," she said, swiping his head with her tail. "I'm only going to be here for a minute." He still lurched around. "JUST HOLD STILL!" she said. She rapped him on his ear with one foot. He stopped lurching. "Good boy. Okay, then. So, guys, this is all really silly, isn't it?" The mob stared at her. "Um," said a girl, "you mean how you're standing on Geoff's shoulders?" "No, obviously this is a clever solution to the no-one-was-listening-to-me problem. I mean, all this fighting is silly!" "But it's for a hundred-dollar gift card!" someone shouted. And the group took up the idea, shouting about gift cards, and then started shouting at each other again, their postures aggressive, their domesticated-pets insults fiery. Geoff jolted forward as if to join them. She squeezed Geoff's head between her feet. He squeaked and held still. "Look, look, I get it!" she said. "Gift cards are, like, one of the best things on the planet, right?" The crowd nodded. "But, um, fighting people to get gift cards is so not cool. So, stop it?" The crowd murmured. "I mean, stop it!" she said with her fists on her hips, like her mother when she was shouting at the TV news. "Go on home, guys. I'm serious. Squirrel Girl is here and I'm not going to let any of you bash heads or punch faces or whip chains and whatnot." The crowd seemed to believe she was not going to let them commit idle acts of violence. And she was clearly drawing the line at whatnot. So with no other real reason to be there, they began to disperse. The orange-shirted group headed in one direction, the yellow-shirted ones in another. "So, can I go, too?" asked Geoff. "Honestly, Geoff," she said, "you'd think standing on your shoulders for a few minutes was such a big deal." She hopped down. "Be good." "Okaaaay!" he said as he ran off. And Squirrel Girl found herself alone in the parking lot. She sighed and took out her phone. SQUIRREL GIRL: I talked them out of fighting! Sort of. They didn't seem 100% convinced ANA SOFÍA: People are acting extra weird lately right? It's not just me? SQUIRREL GIRL: No u r not the only one acting extra weird ANA SOFÍA: Ha ha SQUIRREL GIRL: Ur right everyone needs to calm the freak down but when I tell them to calm the freak down they don't do it ANA SOFÍA: Maybe we need a plan b SQUIRREL GIRL: I thought plan b was when i punch them till they stop criming ANA SOFÍA: We're gonna need more plans Everything was completely quiet. Ana Sofía's bed was perfectly cozy. She closed her eyes and waited for the gray wash of exhaustion to roll beneath her, rock her like a boat on water, and then pull her under to float, weightless, in the cola-dark ocean of sleep. Only that didn't happen. Because of her knotted-up stomach. Ana Sofía frowned at herself in the dark. She didn't believe in instinct. What some called instinct she figured was actually knowledge and experience that the brain processed superfast. But still…something about the Chester Yard Mall just felt off. She had to find real, concrete data either to support or refute this nagging feeling, or she wasn't going to get any sleep whatsoever. And sleep was one of her top five favorite things. So she sat up in bed, booted up her laptop, and began to poke around the comments on the Friendbook mall post. There were some new ones she hadn't seen, including: Jerry I am gainfully employed by the fine Chester Yard Mall and look forward to sharing with this upstanding community the many hot hot deals on opening day. So many hot hot deals you must be there to see. She tracked the origin of the comment, and that's where things got interesting. It appeared that mall-employee Jerry had been on the "dark net" when he submitted his comment. The dark net was basically a secret internet for nefarious purposes. A breeding ground for villains. She knew this for a fact because when she'd hacked her way into Baddit, a villain forum on the dark net, she'd happened upon this convo: BADDIT> Battle Tips KRAVEN: EXCUSE PLEASE I AM LOOKING FOR FORKED BLADE SPEAR WITH SPIKED DORSAL RIDGE LOKI: Alas, cutlery is not sold here. This spot, 'tis for sharing "battle tips," as the title of the chat room so graciously indicates KRAVEN: FORKED BLADE SPEAR WITH SPIKED RIDGE HAS BATTLE TIP. ON THE TIP OF THE SPEAR LOKI: Verily. Though in this case, "tip" means "advice." English can be such a cruel language to new learners, DO NOT AGREE YOU? KRAVEN: I ADVICE YOU NOT TO TAUNT KRAVEN THE HUNTER. FORKED BLADE SPEAR IS VERY IMPORTANT LOKI: I am sure 'tis true in whatever grunting sub-culture you hail from, but here we are looking for tricks. "Top Ten Ways to Stop Iron Man," that sort of thing. KRAVEN: TOP ONE WAY TO STOP IRON MAN IS WITH FORKED BLADE BATTLE SPEAR WITH SPIKED DORSAL RIDGE Villains apparently felt free to discuss all manner of diabolic skullduggery on their supposedly supersecret Baddit forum. That very morning, Ana Sofía had discovered this: ULTRON 0.2: Looking for vibranium KLAW: How much? ULTRON 0.2: 150 metric tons KLAW: HAHAHAHAHAHA ULTRON 0.2: HA HA HA HA KLAW: Good one ULTRON 0.2: Yes. A good one KLAW: So how much do you really need? ULTRON 0.2: 150 metric tons KLAW: … ULTRON 0.2: 151 would also be okay KLAW: Friend, that much vibranium doesn't even exist ULTRON 0.2: Friend? KLAW: Yeah I can't help you ULTRON 0.2: You are my friend KLAW: This is creepy. I'm out. ULTRON 0.2: Friend? ULTRON 0.2: Friend? Where did you go? I miss my friend Who was to say if the "Jerry" who had commented on the Friendbook post really was a mall employee. But if he was employed by Chester Yard Mall, and he was operating from the dark net… Ana Sofía furiously searched for more info on Chester Yard Mall but found little. Bryan Lazardo, the mall's PR guy, also left a very small electronic fingerprint. All she could dig up on him was a profile on Hooked-In, a website where people randomly shared their work resumes. Name: Bryan Lazardo Current job title: VP of Communications at Chester Yard Mall Properties Previous: Hamilton Yogurts, Dannon Robotics, Americorp Education: Strucker University Summary: Being with Chester Yard Mall feels like being part of something greater than myself. And it is! To be able to contribute to the everlasting growth of mankind by creating MALLS and eliminating HIGH PRICES from the face of the earth is an incredible feeling. If only all CUSTOMERS could see it the way I do they would be spared BAD DEALS when the final reckoning comes. I am always on the lookout for new opportunities to grow within THIS CAPITALIST NATION and will stop at nothing to fulfill the will of MY BOSS and THE MARKET. Weird, right? Or maybe not. Maybe everyone's Hooked-In profile made them sound like someone disguising their world-domination plans as professional networking. Maybe she was just paranoid ever since the Micro-Manager incident. Maybe she was spoiled for reality and simply imagining villainy and ne'er-do-wells everywhere. Good thing she hadn't told Doreen that she thought Chester Yard Mall was really Hydra after all. That would have been so embarrassing. Besides, when Ana Sofía had broached the topic, Doreen had laughed. She'd laughed at her. Immediately Ana Sofía had felt eight years old again, like the time in third grade she'd been assigned a group project to put on a mini play about nutrition for Parents Night. She'd had a great idea. It was so great, she broke her personal rules about speaking up as little as possible. "We could all pretend to be Super Heroes! And Punch candy and stuff!" The other kids had laughed at her idea. Not because it was funny, but because they found her idea laughable. And she'd known it was a good one because, come on, Super Heroes Punching candy! Instead the group ended up being vegetables standing around and listing off their individual vitamin content. When someone was mean to Ana Sofía, she wanted to smack them or scream in their faces or slice them to bits with sharp words. But when they laughed at her, she curled up tight inside herself, into a shell she sometimes forgot was there. The hardness of that shell was a comfort, something to lean up against, something solid at her back. But when she curled up inside it, she didn't ever want to come out again. She'd been partly curled up inside ever since, more or less. Speaking up and sharing ideas generally terrified her, until Doreen Green bulldozed into her life and gave her someone who genuinely seemed interested in her thoughts, someone safe. But then Doreen had laughed at her idea. And not only that, but when Ana Sofía hadn't understood something Doreen said and asked her to repeat it, Doreen had just spoken that horrible phrase, Ana Sofía's least favorite in the English language: "Never mind." Likewise, in Spanish, she cringed when someone said to her, "no importa." She'd learned that hearing people never-minded each other all the time, and it apparently wasn't a big deal to them. But to Ana Sofía, it was a huge deal. It was turning her off. It was saying, Making an effort to communicate with you isn't worth my time. And it hurt. Bad. Doreen was a sunburst of wonderful and kind, and surely she hadn't meant the laugh and the never-minding. But still…ugh. Having a best friend was very confusing. Note: Keep unsubstantiated ideas to self. Do not risk Doreen's friendship by confessing too many embarrassing thoughts. When you get comfortable, you get careless, and carelessness leads to lost friendships. And don't tell her when she does something that hurts you. That will just make her even more sure you're not worth the trouble. Ana Sofía sat up and turned on her lamp. And there on her side table was the origami unicorn Vin had pressed into superthin leather. Since joining the LARPers, he'd started making things out of leather and gotten pretty good. Had the leather unicorn been a Whatever, here you go thing? Or was it a way to say, Hey, remember all those paper horses I used to fold and leave on your chair in fifth grade? Here's an even cooler one as a way to say I still think you're cool? Friendship wasn't the only confusing thing. People were. People in general. The entire population of the planet: confusing. Ana Sofía went downstairs and found her dad at the kitchen table, eating arroz con leche and reading on his phone. He spoke. She hadn't put her hearing aids back in, but judging by his body language and knowing him, it was probably something like "Can't sleep?" so she replied with a vague "Hmm." She grabbed a box of crackers from a cupboard and sat beside him. This past year, her mom had been working the night shift at the hospital so she could be home for Ana Sofía and Marco after school while their dad was at work. One side effect was that she wasn't around to stop Dad's midnight munching. His belly had started to pooch out beneath his shirt. "If Mom doesn't switch schedules, you're going to gain a lot of weight, Dad." He smiled and took a big bite of pudding. "Sin vergüenza," she said, because it's what her mom would have called him. Shameless. "Hey, Dad, what's in the mall's basement?" "It doesn't have a basement," she thought he said. "Wait, the mall doesn't have a basement?" she said, double-checking her lip-reading. "Are you sure?" He nodded and probably said, "I think I would know." Tippy-Toe had told Doreen there was a basement. But how could one of the construction managers not know about it? Was Tippy-Toe mistaken? Her phone, plugged in on the counter, lit up. She checked it. It was the Squirrel Scouts texting group. DENNIS: Did you hear about the dog monster? HEIDI: What are you talking about Dennis DENNIS: There's a dog monster in shady oaks for real this is going to be so good for team cat!!! JACKSON: It's true everybodys talking about it and we sorta saw it running past the circle q JANESSA: So creepy I swear I heard it sniffing around my house DUCHESS: Forsooth! A beast worthy of my steel! BARON: And of my crossbow! We shall make it regret invading our fair barony ANTONIO: Dibs on dis VIN: Ana Sofía can you tell squirrel girl about the dog monster A dog monster? For real? Maybe they were just as paranoid as she was, imagining villains everywhere, and so obsessed with this stupid mascot competition that they'd seen a large dog and instead thought it was a "dog monster." She reread the texts, wincing again when she got to Vin's. A while back he'd asked her out and then never followed up on it, so why was he always addressing her in group texts like things were totally normal? She turned off her phone and left it on the counter when she went upstairs, calling over her shoulder, "Go to bed, Papi, or I'll tell Mom who ate all the arroz con leche." In the afternoons, I take naps. Most squirrels do. Why do business in the bright and squinty sun when the light is so much more pleasant at dawn and dusk, when the blue light and the yellow light mix and mellow together and the world is full of cozy shadows? So in the early afternoon, with Doreen still in school, I'd normally be curled up between a pair of friendly branches and snoozing the daylight away. But a squirrel is not always so lucky. A cloudburst crept up on us like a sneaky weevil, and no fierce sunlight meant no nap. Just a very wet, very early twilight. And for a squirrel, twilight is the time for action. I scrambled to one of the distant branches of my tree. A leaf heavy with water tipped, and I dodged just in time to avoid a thorough wetting. I scanned the horizon, and I listened. On one paw, rain cleans everything. And as a squirrel who prefers to smell first and ask questions later, I appreciated the rain-cleaned air. On the other paw, the rain made for a lot of noise. I'm a beast who likes to hear things coming long before they arrive, and the sound of constant rain on branches and leaves and roads and houses is like a young cousin chittering "Hey, hey, hey, hey" in my ear. I know what you're thinking. But, Tippy, the human world is noisy. With the cars and machines and constant electric buzzing, how do you cope? I tune it out. But I can't tune out nature. Davey Porkpun, assigned watch for today's daysleep, scampered up beside me. "Hey, hey, hey, hey," he chittered in my ear, and I flicked a leaf, knocking large drops of water on him. He shook his head, blinking. "Whoa! Why you tryna drown a squeak in leafspit?" "Because I'm getting enough pitter-patter stormwise. Don't need the fake-rain chitter-patter on top." "I don't—" he started. I held up a paw, and in between peals of thunder, I heard it again. A noise. Subtle, distant. Animal. "You catch that sound?" I whispered to Davey. "Mighty thunder, Tip. Maybe that yellow-furred hammer human is about." "No, between the thunder." I twitched my tail, and three squirrels on below branches took on my tail-command and shot out in different directions to do some recon. Davey and I sat still, listening. Again, behind the patter of the rain, it came. A howl of some kind. Loud. Angry. "Well, that's a pig-free rattle, at least," he said. "You know I shuck pigs well—sound, sight, and smell. So straight chitter and trust the squeak. It weren't no pig." "I…I didn't ask if it was a pig." "Now you got no need to ask," he said, grinning. But the sound, the howl, cut through his chitter. Something was out there. Something big. "Shiver and twitch," Davey said. "That sounds like a dog." We have had our differences, dogs and squirrels, but recently we'd reached an understanding with the local canines. I'd thought the days of our having to fear those things were over. "Find Speedo," I said. A minute later, Speedo Strutfuzz galloped up on Sir Woof. "So you caught the chitter?" Speedo asked. "What chitter?" I said. "Dog news," he said. "You didn't know?" "What have they done?" "Nothing," Speedo said. "Nothing but scurry and huddle. The smell and sound on the air's got all the dogs in town spooked." "Sir Woof isn't spooked," I said. "Oh, the Woof is good and spooked," he said, patting the beast. "But he's brave." I looked the animal in the eyes. There was fear there, but it was under control. "Something prowls the ground," I said. "It's angry. And it sounds like a dog." "IT ISN'T A PIG!" shouted Davey, mid-scamper to the branches above. Speedo opened his mouth. "Just ignore him," I said. "May be dog-sound to us," Speedo said. He nodded to his mount. "But it's wrong-sound to the pups." "Right," I said, sniffing the air. "This is a job for Squirrel Girl." BADDIT> evil deed bragging Jerry: It's coming It's totally coming It's loose and on its first prowl All I'm saying is, if you live in Jersey in the Shady Oaks area, don't go outside today Hee hee hee Or you'll see IT. The creature I'm talking about… Doesn't anyone here care about this? Klaw: Nope no one here cares about this Jerry: But it's a dog beast! And I made it basically! Don't we brag here? Isn't that a thing? Klaw: Exactly. This is for *bragging* ie talking about something you've done *after* the fact. You think this is our first rodeo? Come back and brag when your "dog beast" actually terrorizes something and isn't taken down by some caped fool first Jerry: Oh I will. I totally will. And fyi the dog beast isn't the only one. There is another… Klaw: Literally nobody here cares about this Jerry: K fine bye PS my name isn't really Jerry Hee hee hee Five minutes to the end of school. And counting. They were supposed to be working quietly on a Biology worksheet, but Doreen could hear Heidi and Janessa in the row behind her chatting about a weekend party. A party Doreen had not been invited to. Her Doreen Green instinct was to turn around and say, Hey, guys, is that party you're talking about a Squirrel Scout thing? Because if it is, I'd totally like to come because I'm a Squirrel Scout, too, even though you never technically see me on missions and stuff…. She got as far as turning around before remembering her Doreen Green instincts weren't the shiniest example of reliability lately. They stopped talking and looked at her. She smiled. "Um…" she said. "So…never mind." She turned back around and adjusted her position in her chair for the fifteenth time that minute. Even if the clock hadn't shown five-minutes-to, the cramp in her tail would have told the time. And the time was almost up. She glanced around the room to see if anyone noticed the way she kept shifting. But most of the kids were busy scribbling on their papers in an attempt to avoid homework. Three were facedown on their desks. One was snoring. A familiar furry face peered through her classroom window. "Tippy!" she blurted before remembering where she was. Which was in class. And now everyone was staring at her. And at the squirrel in the window. "Ms. Green, you have a question?" Mr. Rodriguez asked. "No thanks," said Doreen. "I mean, yes, sure, I have loads of questions constantly, but not one for you at this particular moment." Mr. Rodriguez gave her a thumbs-up, then went back to grading papers. "So cute," Heidi cooed at Tippy-Toe. "She's just sitting there watching us!" Tippy-Toe made the ASL sign for "Squirrel Girl" that Ana Sofía had coined—left paw making an S, right paw making a G, with the G swooping off the S like a lovely tail. Doreen nodded. It looked like she would not be walking home from school with her BHFF after all. Usually she and Ana Sofía just got each other like milk gets shake, but the past couple of days something felt off. She'd been looking forward to their walk home today to chat and maybe fix whatever was wrong. "Psst, hey," Heidi said. "That's Tippy-Toe, right? Do you think she's trying to tell us something?" "Maybe we should be on alert as we leave school today?" said Doreen. "For potential criminal thuggery?" "Totes," said Heidi, texting on her phone. "I'll let the Scouts know." Doreen didn't wait to gather with the rest of the Squirrel Scouts. Exactly sixty seconds after the end-of-school bell, Squirrel Girl was tail-out, eared-hoodie-up, and perched with her BSFF in a tree across the street. A crowd of students clotted the front stairs of the school, chatting and laughing, apparently totally fine being themselves and not in a hurry to pull hidden tails out of their pants and start saving the day. On the stoop, she spotted Heidi's blond hair and Ana Sofía's black. "That was a rough last twenty minutes at school, I tell you what," she said. "Chkt. Chk-cht-chkka!" "Right. Sorry. I'm focused. So there's some kind of 'not-dog'? What's a 'not-dog'?" Squirrel Girl asked. "Chk-kt-chkt." "Well, by that logic, we're all not-dogs," Squirrel Girl said. "You know, except the actual dogs." SQUIRREL GIRL: Can't walk home. TT says there's a not-dog around??? Maybe gather the scouts or something ANA SOFÍA: K The rain had stopped, and the air smelled as clean and sweet as cut apples. Squirrel Girl took a deep breath. Walking home with Ana Sofía in this weather would have been nice. But being on patrol for not-dogs with her BSFF in rain-cleaned air wasn't too shabby. She took another whiff. And then she smelled it. That weird stinky boy smell from the Chester Yard Mall opening rally, but mixed with feral dog. And…motor oil? Maybe? Whatever it was, it had no business intruding on the clean appley air smell. "I think—" she started, and then nearby, the shattering of glass. She leaped. She ran. She was Squirrel Girl on the move. Half a block down, in front of the Boot Scoot & Bootie, was the largest dog she had ever seen, surrounded by a litter of the ugliest puppies in history. "BARK! BARK! BAR-HAR-HAR-HARK!" the giant brown-furred dog yelled. It didn't bark. It yelled "BARK." And then it stood up on its hind legs. It was wearing cargo pants with a hole cut out in the back for its tail. The dog-man pointed to the shattered glass of the Boot Scoot & Bootie front window. "GO, MY DOGLINGS! FETCH THE WRETCHED FOOT-COVERS SO THAT WE MAY FEAST!" The puppies scuttled through the broken window and into the store like the best trained animals in the world. Students from Union Junior began gathering around the spectacle, pointing and whispering, and generally way too close to potential danger for Squirrel Girl's comfort. "WHO WANTS BROKEN GLASS?" the dog-man shouted to the growing crowd. He picked up some shards from the ground and began throwing them randomly. "YOU DO! AND YOU DO! AND YOU DO!" People jerked away as glass shattered at their feet and against a nearby car. "Rude!" shouted Heidi. "He's rude! And a villain, clearly. Get 'em, Squirrel Girl!" "Yeah, get 'em!" the other Squirrel Scouts shouted. All at once, Squirrel Girl felt hyped up, nervous, angry, proud, and sick to her stomach. Tippy-Toe bared her teeth. "Chkkt!" "Don't tear him apart with your lethal squirrel rage yet," Squirrel Girl said as she leaped from roof to roof, Tippy-Toe riding on her shoulder. "I want to try the talking thing first." She landed on top of the Boot Scoot & Bootie. One of the puppies had just dropped a stylish pair of black boots at the dog-man's feet. "Cute!" Heidi called from the crowd. Squirrel Girl was pretty sure she was talking about the boots, because the puppy-thing was, sad to say, not very cute. "There are better ways to get new shoes," Squirrel Girl called down. "BURH?" the dog-man said. He looked up and spotted her. "I AM DOG-LORD," he announced. "Good," she said. "Names! I AM SQUIRREL GIRL. Nice to meet you." "KICK HIS TAIL, SQUIRREL GIRL!" Dennis yelled from the crowd below. She thought she could probably kick his tail if the need arose. She was Squirrel Girl, after all! But she was also fourteen-year-old Doreen Green, and this looked like a legit adult man with possibly awesome dog powers. She scanned the crowd for Ana Sofía, wishing her friend could give her some kind of math info that would tell her if she could, in fact, kick his tail. Several more puppies charged out of the store and dropped pieces of footwear at Dog-Lord's feet. He picked a loafer off the top of the pile. "I don't think that's going to fit you," Squirrel Girl said. "I TAKE A SIZE SIXTEEN," Dog-Lord said. "BUT WEARING SHOES IS FOR THE WEAK!" He stuffed the shoe into his mouth, bit it in half, and spat out the heel. "Hey!" Squirrel Girl said. "Those aren't yours! You're going to have to pay for that. And the window." "DOG-LORD PAYS FOR NOTHING," he said, looming over her. "NOT SHOES, NOT DOG TREATS, NOT AFFORDABLE HEALTH CARE." "Okay, but can you tell your puppy pals to pause the looting for a sec while we talk about your motivations and probably how when you were a dog-kid the other dog-kids were mean to you and caused this dark period in your life?" "THEY ARE NOT 'PUPPY PALS.' THEY ARE MY DOGLING ARMY!" One of the doglings, tugging a snow boot in its jaws, got its ear stuck on a shard of glass in the window. "Oh no!" Squirrel Girl jumped off the roof and rushed toward the puppy just as it pushed free from the glass, leaving its ear behind. Its fake ear. And part of its fake fur. Underneath was metal. The doglings were little robots in dog suits. She glanced sidelong at Dog-Lord. "Are you a robot, too?" "NO! I AM ALL DOG!" "Ooh, so can you talk to dogs? I can talk to squirrels. We probably have a lot in common!" "DOGS DO NOT LIKE ME," he said. "Oh, man, that's kind of sad, especially if dogs are your thing. Is that why you're doing this? Because you're sad?" "IT IS BECAUSE THEY FEEL THREATENED," Dog-Lord said, sitting back on his haunches. "MY INCREDIBLE DOGLINESS THREATENS THEIR FRAGILE DOGULINITY." A tinny marimba sound played from the denim fanny pack Dog-Lord wore at his waist. He unzipped it and pulled out a phone, glancing at the screen. "I NEED TO TAKE THIS," he said, holding up a paw finger to Squirrel Girl. "Come on," Dennis shouted. "Fight already! This is taking way too long, and I'm jonesing for a yogurt." "What are you even talking about, Dennis?" Janessa said. Dog-Lord paced slowly, holding the phone to his large doggy ear. "YES," he said to whoever was on the other end. Squirrel Girl tossed the pile of shoes back into the store. She grabbed at one of the doglings, but its little mouth nipped her finger so hard it drew blood. "Ow," she said. "Bad dog!" "NO, BOSS," Dog-Lord was saying. "PEOPLE. YES, BOSS. I AM A GOOD BOY. NO MORE TALK. YES, BOSS. I AM DOG, NOT CHATTERBOX. DOG, YES." Dog-Lord hung up the phone, placing it carefully back into his fanny pack and zipping it shut. And then without warning, he barreled into Squirrel Girl. She twisted away, but he managed to grab her arm and roll. Their combined momentum swung her around, and she slammed hard into the sidewalk. Something cracked, and she really hoped it was the concrete and not her skull. "Chkt!" Tippy-Toe declared, and took a bite of the doggish hand that held Squirrel Girl's arm. "OW!" Dog-Lord yelped, letting go. "Ow is right," Squirrel Girl said rolling away, relieved to see a significant crack in the sidewalk. "We were having a perfectly good conversation, and you gave me the bum rush!" Dog-Lord snarled and threw a punch. She was ready this time and caught his fist. Her Doreen Green instincts might be on the fritz, but her Squirrel Girl instincts were a well-oiled machine. Still holding his fist, she leaped and gave Dog-Lord's arm a yank. He stumbled forward, caught himself, and pushed back, plowing his shoulder into her midsection. She gasped with the impact. He rushed her again, snarling. Still gasping, she leaped over his head, but in mid-leap he grabbed the toe of her boot with his mouth. She crashed to the pavement, Dog-Lord still clamped onto her foot. "GRRR," he said, mouth full of boot. "Look," she said, "points for sticking to the dog theme, but GROSS! You don't know where that shoe has been!" He growled again, and his teeth pierced through the leather of her boot. "Hey!" She yanked her leg away and scampered backward, jumped up ten feet to grab the roof, and, pushing off with her feet, leaped back to the top of the Boot Scoot & Bootie. "YES!" he crowed. "RUN! FEAR ME! I AM THE ALPHA!" "Oooh! You know what a good name would be?" Squirrel Girl said, flexing her toes in her boot. They seemed to be okay. "Alpha Dog!" Dog-Lord tilted his head to the side. "YOU ARE RIGHT. THAT IS A GOOD NAME. BUT I HAVE ALREADY COMMITTED TO THE TITLE DOG-LORD AND THEREFORE YOUR FEEDBACK IS USELESS." A good hundred students from Union Junior had gathered now. Squirrel Girl would have wanted to observe a half man, half dog, too, especially to peel back his defensive layers and discover what made him tick, but the students were just too relaxed about it. Dennis had somehow managed to get some frozen yogurt and was calmly eating it, like, five feet away. She had to engage this guy in friendly chatter before he hurt someone. "See, um, you could be Alpha Dog and defend the weak from injustice and stuff, instead of…whatever this is. What are you doing here, exactly?" "I AM BEING A REPRESENTATIVE OF ALL THINGS DOG." "Huh. This looks a lot like stealing and making a mess," she said. "If you wanted an objective opinion." Dog-Lord ran into the crowd with that same inhuman speed, grabbed Dennis's frozen yogurt, and held it high. Everyone gasped. "DOG-LORD TAKES WHAT HE WANTS WHEN HE WANTS!" he shouted. "That sounds like being a jerk," Squirrel Girl said, leaping toward him. "SEE ME!" Dog-Lord howled, dropping the yogurt to the ground. "SEE ME DESTROY WHAT YOU LOVE. SEE ME LIFT MY LEG AND—" "Whoa, gross!" Squirrel Girl said. She grabbed the yogurt, and then, doing a quick side roll, deposited the snack back into Dennis's hands. "It's perfectly fine—the yogurt part didn't touch the ground," she whispered. "Th-thanks?" said Dennis. "I WAS NOT GOING TO PEE. I WAS GOING TO STOMP! STOMPING IS NOT GROSS!" "Except when you're doing it on yogurt, Mr. Stompy-Pants." "I AM NOT MR. STOMPY-PANTS! I AM DOG-LORD! WHICH IS A NAME THAT HAS A HYPHEN IN THE MIDDLE. YOU KNOW, LIKE SPIDER HYPHEN MAN!" He swung his arm at Dennis AND his yogurt. Squirrel Girl shoved Dennis out of the way and took the blow herself. She flew back with the force of the punch, crashing into a nearby streetlamp. The lamppost cracked, bent, and fell, crashing to the street in a shower of sparks. Her head felt like a drum, her brain still vibrating with the impact. Dog-Lord ambled over to where she landed. "DOG HYPHEN LORD," he repeated. "Punch him!" Dennis yelled. "Demonstrate thy superior breeding all over his heinie!" shouted the baron. Squirrel Girl hopped up, aching but nothing broken. She held up a hand to the crowd, hoping they would move back. "BITE!" Dog-Lord shouted, and he clamped his teeth on Squirrel Girl's arm. "Ow! Hey! Bad dog! Bad dog!" She slapped his head, but her claws connected, leaving three red scratches down his jaw. He let her go and cradled his face, letting out a soft whine that was the most doglike sound he had made yet. She knelt down beside him. "Oh, man! I didn't mean to scratch you, sorry. Are you—" "SNARL!" He threw a wide punch at Squirrel Girl. She caught it again and jumped back. He was strong, but not, like, Hulk strong. Maybe half a Thor. Or two Captain Americas. Something like that. "MAD DOG!" he shouted. He ran at the crowd, grabbed Dennis, and chucked him. "Aaah!" said Squirrel Girl, leaping up to catch the ninth grader. He slammed into her, and they landed in a bush. "Whoa, you hurt?" she asked. Dennis shook his head, his eyes open wide. Semi-frozen yogurt melted off his face. Someone else went flying through the air. Squirrel Girl leaped as the crowd screamed. Dark hair, brown skin…No! She snatched Ana Sofía and hugged her tight, wrapping her tail around the girl's head as they hit the pavement and rolled. "Oh my gosh, are you okay?" she asked from beneath her friend, her fluffy tail wrapped protectively around her. Ana Sofía nodded. "Talking isn't working this time," said Squirrel Girl. "Maybe you're talking to his man half," said Ana Sofía. "Try talking to his dog half?" Squirrel Girl was on her feet and running again. "Oh, no you don't," Squirrel Girl said as she grabbed Dog-Lord's legs and then jumped back, tugging him away from the crowd. "You are being a huge jerk right now. Besides, this is not at all thematically appropriate. When do dogs grab people and throw them?" He wrenched his body around to snap at her. "GROWL!" he said. "BITE!" Squirrel Girl dropped him, dodging. He squirmed onto his feet and began hopping around and shouting, "BARK! BARK!" He got on all fours and charged her, mouth open wide. She put the fingers of one hand together into a kind of duck puppet and jabbed them at Dog-Lord's face. "Tssst!" she hissed. It's what that dog-trainer guy on TV did. Dog-Lord skidded to a halt, his furry forehead furrowed. "Burh?" Squirrel Girl stared him in the eyes. "Focus! Look, I get that you're frustrated. But you can't—" Dog-Lord shook his head and crouched to jump. "BARK!" "Tssst!" Squirrel Girl shoved her hand in front of his face again. The dog trainer always said you had to show the naughty dog who the boss was before they would start to behave. Dog-Lord froze. "You are not in charge here," she said. "OF COURSE NOT. BOSS IS IN CHARGE." At first she thought he meant her. That's right, Squirrel Girl is the boss! But then she remembered the phone call. "Who is your boss, Dog-Lord?" Dog-Lord glanced at his fanny pack. "UM," he said. "DOG-LORD. DOG-LORD IS BOSS." "No," Squirrel Girl said. "DOG-LORD IS STRONGEST THERE IS, SO DOG-LORD IS BOSS." "Are you kidding me?! If Hulk was here he would totally smack you for that." Dog-Lord shrugged. "HULK IS NOT HERE, SO DOG-LORD IS STRONGEST IN THIS PARTICULAR LOCATION." "Who called you on the phone?" "TO ME, MY DOGLINGS!" he growled, raising his arms up like the doglings were going to come from the sky or something. Squirrel Girl looked up to check just in case, but there were no sky-dogs. Something buzzed from inside the depths of the shoe shop. A dog robot crawled into view, made a menacing beep, and was tackled by a ball of squirrel fur. Tippy-Toe rolled with the puppy machine, pinning it to the ground. She gave it a sharp bite to the head. It went beeeep-ph-pah…and collapsed. "See?" Squirrel Girl said. "Come on. Call off your attack for the sake of the doglings." "ONE DOGLING IS OF NO CONSEQUENCE," he said. "BECAUSE AS I HAVE SAID, I HAVE AN ARMY." Dozens more doglings trotted out of the storefront, buzzing angrily. "Hath the time come to answer our noble lady's call?" asked the baron from the crowd. "Um, yeah," said Squirrel Girl. "Hey, Squirrel Scouts? Go nuts!" "Have at thee!" shouted the duchess, whacking a dogling with a broadsword. It may have been dull, but it did the job. "Gross!" said Heidi, stomping another with her boot. "You—are—ob—so—lete!" said Janessa, pounding with her backpack. "FOR FROYO!" shouted Dennis, chasing another and pelting it with the stolen shoes. "Dude, I was SERIOUSLY HUNGRY, TOO!" Tippy-Toe screeched as she leaped into the fray, followed by waves of furry brown, black, and red rodents in attack mode. The robot dogs gurgled, cracked, and sparked against the squirrel-and-Squirrel-Scout assault. Dog-Lord growled and howled, trying to get past Squirrel Girl to defend his doglings, but she dodged his punches and leaped about, yanking him back, tripping him up, using speed against his bulk, and randomness against his determined push forward. Within moments, nothing was left of the dogling army but sparking metal and fake fur. Dog-Lord howled with frustration. "So," said Squirrel Girl, as she knocked him off his feet again. "Let's talk about your rehabilitation." "PERHAPS WE SHOULD TALK…" Dog-Lord said, "ABOUT POISON SMOKE!" He reached into the fanny pack, pulled out a small sphere, and threw it at the crowd. When the ball broke, smoke plumed out. Squirrel Girl was separated from the crowd of innocent people by a gray-green Cloud of Doom. "Wait, what?!" Squirrel Girl backed away and waved her hands at the growing cloud. "This is just wrong! Smoke bombs are not a dog thing!" The people in the crowd were stumbling over each other to get away. Someone, probably Dennis, screamed "RUN!!" and everyone went nuts. Dog-Lord took off in a two-legged run in the opposite direction. "Tippy!" Squirrel Girl shouted. "Follow him! I'll find you after I get these people safe!" She held her breath and rushed into the cloud. The smoke didn't sting her eyes like she was expecting, so she was able to look around. Ana Sofía! She grabbed her first and deposited her on a lawn in the clear air. Another breath and back into the smoke. Several people were curled up on the ground, just lying there, shaking. She grabbed them two at a time, carried them out, took a breath, and dove back in. A breeze ruffled the smoke, and it quickly dissipated, leaving behind a smell more like rank body odor than what Squirrel Girl imagined poison smelled like, so maybe Dog-Lord had been lying about that part. At least it wasn't, like, lethal poison, because as far as she could tell, no one had died yet. "I'M POISONED!" screamed Dennis. He was lying on the school's front grass, rolling around and showing his hands to everyone. They were green. At least the palms were. Parts of the palms. Squirrel Girl sniffed his hand. "Dude," she said. "It's grass. Those are grass stains." He scratched at one hand with a nail, taking off a stripe of green. "Ohhh," he said. "You okay?" she asked Ana Sofía. "Go get him," said Ana Sofía. "Right!" she shouted, running off in the direction of Tippy-Toe and the fleeing Dog-Lord. "To justice!" Ten minutes and a brisk run through the park later, justice was served in the form of twenty squirrels surrounding Dog-Lord, now tightly wrapped in wire. "Where did you find all the wire?" she asked. Tippy-Toe twitched her tail in a shrug. She'd probably had some buried nearby. Squirrels were prepared. Squirrel Girl crouched down near the defeated villain. "Okay, lord of friggin' dogs," she said. "Let's talk. Who are you working for?" "NO ONE," Dog-Lord said. "Come on," Squirrel Girl said. "Somebody called you. Someone you called 'boss.' Who was that?" A white van screeched to a halt at the curb, a S.H.I.E.L.D. logo on the door. A bored-looking white woman in a gray jumpsuit got out, carrying a pole with a loop of rope at the end. "Hi!" Squirrel Girl said. "Agent Rozum, Animal Control," she said, walking past Squirrel Girl to the tied-up Dog-Lord. "Wait, aren't you S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Squirrel Girl asked. "The van says S.H.I.E.L.D." "Yep, S.H.I.E.L.D.," Agent Rozum said. "Animal-Control Division." She looped the rope around Dog-Lord's midsection. Or at least it was rope-ish. Tiny bolts of electricity visibly danced down it, and once it was around his body, Dog-Lord stiffened. Only his eyes moved. "I didn't know S.H.I.E.L.D. had an animal-control division." "Well, now you do." Rozum rolled a flat, wheeled disc under Dog-Lord's tail, pushed a button on a remote, and the disc lifted into the air, trolleying him into the back of the van. "I'm glad you're here," Squirrel Girl said, walking along with the woman. "I'm, like, ninety percent sure there's something going on in Shady Oaks. Like an evil plot or something. He's just part of it." "Different department," Agent Rozum said. "They're busy, but said Thor called to give us a heads-up about a rampaging dog hybrid." Ah. Ana Sofía must have alerted Thor, who then called S.H.I.E.L.D. "Well, you should at least find out who his boss is," Squirrel Girl said. "His boss totally called him on the phone. He has a phone in that weird little pack thingie, so could you give his phone to the right…um…department?" Agent Rozum checked the fanny pack. "No phone," she said. Dog-Lord smiled as the woman shut the van doors, and Squirrel Girl swore she saw little bits of phone still stuck between his sharp canine teeth. SQUIRREL GIRL: WHAT IN THE HECK IS GOING ON WITH THIS DOGMAN THING ANA SOFÍA: I dunno seems inevitable really. I should've anticipated it SQUIRREL GIRL: U should've anticipated a hybrid dog humanoid villain would attack shady oaks with his robot dog army? ANA SOFÍA: Yeah? I mean that's the new normal right? SQUIRREL GIRL: I miss the good ol days when I was the only super animal powered person in the hood ANA SOFÍA: So don't think I'm weird but this mall thing is still bugging me SQUIRREL GIRL: Yeah that whole basement no basement is weird ANA SOFÍA: Just check out this post and comments: http:/friendbook.usa/shady_listlessGROUP SHADY OAKS/LISTLESS PINES COMMUNITY FRIENDBOOK GROUP: Yo yo yo yo yo yo take our hashtag mall mascot poll! If hashtag Chester Yard Mall opened today, which would you vote for? LOLolololololololololol ;P Dennis: Wahoo! Cat is winning! Kayla: I saw that creepy dog thing. I don't know what that was, but I definitely don't want a dog winning now. Hunter THIS IS CAT PERSON PROPAGANDA! Come on, sheeples! You think a dog monster just HAPPENED to show up? The Cat people did that! To scare everyone into voting for cat! It's a CAT CONSPIRACY! A CATSPIRACY! Heidi: The dog beast just proved what we've been saying all along. Dogs are worst! Cats are first! Hunter: Don't be sucked in by their weird cat propaganda! Pauley: Come on, you really think the Shady Oaks high schoolers or whoever created a genetic dog/human hybrid? What, in their honors science class or something? And then unleashed it on Shady Oaks in an elaborate scheme to scare their own community into hating dogs and voting Cat? Hunter: Um, YES. Pauley :Get it? "Unleashed." Because it's a dog? And dogs use leashes? I thought that was pretty good. Linda: I'm seeing too many people fall for this conspiracy theory. I've had to unfriend five people today already. One of them was my mom. Wendy: Honestly people will believe ANYTHING. Pauley: Sometimes the most underappreciated humor is subtle word play. SQUIRREL GIRL: Looks like Dog-Lord did us a solid. Squirrel scouts will be happy that team cat is pulling ahead ANA SOFÍA: That's the thing tho. Can't be coincidence that a DOG villain shows up in the middle of mascot election weirdness. Today I found someone named Jerry on the dark net bragging about a dog creature and hinting that there was another. So u probly shld keep eye on listless pines. If a dog thing attacked shady oaks then listless pines might be attacked next SQUIRREL GIRL: OMGosh u think a cat monster might attack listless pines??? ANA SOFÍA: Honestly I don't know anything anymore SQUIRREL GIRL: Except all the math EVER ANA SOFÍA: Yeah except all the math ever SQUIRREL GIRL: I think I know who maybe would know something about dog lord. Gonna text them SQUIRREL GIRL: Hey do you guys know dog lord? SPIDERMAN: Is that a name or a title? Like is it a lord of dogs or a lord that is a dog? I have so many questions SQUIRREL GIRL: More the second one but I'm guessing that means you don't know him ROCKET: At Nova HQ they call Peter the Dog-Lord SPIDERMAN: Wait what Peter who I don't know any Peter ROCKET: Peter Quill! He calls himself Star-Lord but nobody else does SPIDERMAN: Right of course ROCKET: On Arcturus they call him Hog-Lord ROCKET: Centaurians skip the "Lord" bit and just call him something that translates to "meat-in-waiting" GROOT: I AM GROOT ROCKET: This IS me being nice, Groot! You want I should tell her what I call him? SQUIRREL GIRL: Back to Dog-Lord I thought maybe he might be related to Star-Lord or something? SPIDERMAN: Same last name SQUIRREL GIRL: Exactly! Or I thought spiderman would have run into him before cuz u have all those animal villains which is a weird thing I wanted to ask u about SPIDERMAN: Yes good question why do animal villains seek out the SpiderMan? I have three theories ROCKET: Not the theories again, make it stop. What's Dog-Lord look like? SQUIRREL GIRL: Half human half dog all menace ROCKET: Could be a Corguan. About seven feet tall, whines a lot? SQUIRREL GIRL: Bit shorter. whining sounds right tho ROCKET: Constantly talks about how his fur is better than your fur even though his is oily and smells like old cheese? SQUIRREL GIRL: Um no. He did have an army of little puppy robots, that seems alieny ROCKET: Nope, dealbreaker. Corguans hate any robot smaller than them. Creeps em out. SQUIRREL GIRL: Darn it! He did talk sort of like a human tho. Or like he used to be human SPIDERMAN: Cool! Like a werewolf? SQUIRREL GIRL: More like a weredog SPIDERMAN: Maybe he was bit by a radioactive dog! ROCKET: Yeah no that would straight up kill you. And the dog SPIDERMAN: But it happens all the time! SG, you were bit by a radioactive squirrel, right? SQUIRREL GIRL: No SPIDERMAN: Genetically engineered squirrel? SQUIRREL GIRL: Nope. Born this way ROCKET: I was bit by a radioactive raccoon SPIDERMAN: There! See? It happens! ROCKET: Whoops sorry voice textualizer got that wrong. I was bit by a radioactive BADOON SPIDERMAN: A radioactive baboon? ROCKET: No, flarknard, BADOON. Lizardy guys from the planet Moord. SPIDERMAN: Do you have badoon powers now ROCKET: No but I guess we're all pretty clear how you got spider powers SPIDERMAN: …It was a radioactive spider SQUIRREL GIRL: My friend told me that online someone was bragging about dog lord and hinted there might be another evil animal person wandering around soon, probably cat ROCKET: There are way more earth people with tails than I was led to believe SPIDERMAN: I have more to say on my animal villains so whenever you're ready for that SQUIRREL GIRL: Not now I've gotta go to school thanks for your help I guess! SPIDERMAN: Hey I have experience with cat people too if you need help. Does your cat person have a domino mask?: And a form-fitting black suit? ROCKET: Squirrel Girl's gone SPIDERMAN: Does she have soft white hair? And a coy smile ROCKET: Stop this is just sad "Some educators believe that there are three types of learners," Ms. Schweinbein said. "Auditory—those who best process spoken information…" Meh, thought Doreen. "…visual—those who best process pictures, diagrams, the written word, etc…." Meh, thought Doreen. "…and kinesthetic learners—those who learn best by doing, by participation." "Oh! That's me for sure!" said Doreen, feeling very kinesthetic-y. Ms. Schweinbein rolled her eyes at the outburst. She began to pace at the head of the class, back and forth, back and forth, her sneakers squeaking on the linoleum. Watching other people pace made Doreen's legs feel all antsy and envious. But Ms. Schweinbein didn't pace as an invitation for, say, fourteen-year-old students to hop up and join her in a fun and uniting joint-pacing extravaganza, as Doreen had learned firsthand a couple of weeks ago. Since that incident, Ms. Schweinbein had posted signs around the room:  STAY IN YOUR DESK  NO FIDGETING  WIGGLING IS INAPPROPRIATE HUMAN BEHAVIOR "In an attempt to reach you kinesthetic learners," Ms. Schweinbein continued, "I will be taking suggestions for our next essay's theme." She stopped, surveying the students as if she expected them to do something. Doreen fidgeted. Just a little. "Suggestions," Ms. Schweinbein repeated. "From you. The students. You get to participate in the decision-making process. I thought that would elicit something of a positive response." Shoulders in the class relaxed. "Awesome," whispered Vin. "Yes, Vin," the teacher said. "It is awesome." Doreen's hand shot up even before she knew what she might say. Ms. Schweinbein glanced at her, and then Janessa raised her hand. She called on Janessa. "How about justice?" Janessa asked. Doreen liked that idea, but was still a little peeved the teacher ignored her. She kept her hand up. Ms. Schweinbein called on Maurice next. "Maybe grass? Or, like, landscaping in general?" Maurice said. "Good," the teacher said, writing GRASS ETC beneath JUSTICE on the chalkboard. She then called on Kisha. And then Henry. And then Megan.  YOGURT  VIDEO GAMES  TEETH "How about you, Dougie? You always have good ideas," Ms. Schweinbein said. Dougie hadn't even been raising his hand. Only Doreen had been raising her hand. The whole time. Now she dropped it. There was no point. "Um, maybe, um…gum," Dougie said. "And all the stuff that is called gum, and was once gum, and things that might one day be gum again." Ms. Schweinbein wrote THE JOURNEY OF GUM. "Very thought-provoking. Thank you, Dougie. I'll consider your suggestions and tell you which I've selected tomorrow." Doreen's hand shot back up. Ms. Schweinbein sighed as she sat at her desk. "Class will be over in ten more minutes, Ms. Green," she said. "You can go to the restroom then." "But I—" Doreen began. "Everyone open your books to page one forty-two," Ms. Schweinbein said, speaking over Doreen. "Review the questions there. They might just be on a quiz tomorrow." Doreen lowered her hand. Squirrels, she thought. And computers. And dinosaurs living at the center of the earth. And fashion-forward Super Villains. That's what I would have said. As soon as the lunch bell rang, Doreen ran normal-human-speed to Ana Sofía's locker. She signed, "My teacher hates me. Really. She really hates me." "Sorry," signed Ana Sofía. "If she hates you, she's wrong." Doreen paced now. A growly/angry kind of pacing, like a wild squirrel in a zoo cage. She paced till words built up so high in her she felt like she'd swallowed an Eiffel Tower of words, and the top was poking out, and she just had to speak. She stopped pacing so Ana Sofía could see her lips clearly. "Ms. Schweinbein said a third of the grade is in-class participation, but then she doesn't let me participate. You know what that is? It's injustice, that's what. It's straight-up, friggin' injustice." "It is," Ana Sofía agreed. "That's not fair. You're trying your best, and she's not even giving you a chance." Doreen stood up straighter. "Yeah! You're right! And I fight injustice things all the time, so I should definitely get on this, pronto! Or someone should." She signed, "Squirrel Girl." "I know this whole situation stinks, but Squirrel Girl can't just go fight a teacher," said Ana Sofía. Doreen shrugged. She could if Ms. Schweinbein was a villain…which maybe she was…. "Speaking of participation," said Ana Sofía, and she fiddled nervously with the cord on her backpack, "sometimes I don't participate on purpose. I mean, after a few times of people making fun of your suggestions, and even laughing at you, it can get easier to just keep them to yourself." "That's true," said Doreen, though she had never reached the limit on that particular point. "So…" said Ana Sofía, "I really don't like it when people laugh at me. Or, you know, dismiss me with, like, a 'never mind' or whatever." Doreen nodded. Ana Sofía looked at her. There seemed to be something she wanted Doreen to say, but Doreen was stumped. "Dude," Doreen said in an I'm-all-in-agreement kind of way. That didn't quite seem to do it, though. Ana Sofía was still looking at her in that waiting/hopeful way. Doreen's forehead started to prickle with sweat. This was probably one of those really, really super-important moments in a friendship when she needed to say just the right thing. Doreen's mind was blank. She swallowed. "Yeah," she said, her voice dry, "that's really rude when people laugh at things we say when we're just trying to be helpful and all, so we should join forces and just stop that stuff, right?" Ana Sofía shrugged and walked away. Oh no! Had she failed? Had she not said just the right thing? And did that mean that Ana Sofía might not want to be her BHFF anymore? Sometimes keeping friends felt like putting together a nuclear warhead, and if you breathed wrong or hammered too hard or touched the wrong wires together, it would just explode on you in a huge and deadly and unfixable way. And after, when you were looking at the black crater at your feet, you still weren't sure if it exploded because of the breathing or the hammering or the wiring, so you didn't know what not to do next time. Doreen didn't want to wait for next time. She ran after Ana Sofía, who had joined the Squirrel Scouts at their long cafeteria table. She wanted to say something to Ana Sofía, even if it wasn't exactly the right thing, but Heidi was talking. "…and it was ah-mazing to fight robots again, right? Even weird little dog robots?" "Weird robot dogs!" said Jackson. He lifted up his hand as if waiting for a high five. When no one immediately obliged, even though she was nowhere near him, Doreen rushed forward, hand out and ready to save the day! Or at least the moment! Or just the high five! But with her tail tucked in, her balance was always off, and she bumped into the table, knocked against Bianca, who said "Ow!", and Dennis, who said "Watch it!", and tumbled onto the floor. When she stood up, everyone was staring at her. "Oopsie whoopsie!" she said, imitating Penny, an adorably clumsy kid on the TV show Penny for Your Thoughts, but no one seemed to get she was trying to make a joke. Not a smile was cracked. She glanced at Ana Sofía to see if her trip and failed joke had made her rethink their best-friendship, but she couldn't catch her eye. "I just think we need to make it clear to Squirrel Girl," said Heidi, "that we want to be in on that kind of action more." "Or," said Doreen, "we could text her when there's a problem and then let her take care of it since she wouldn't want any of us to get hurt!" "What are you even talking about, Doreen?" said Janessa. "We never get hurt." "Well, you almost did," said Doreen. "With Dog-Lord, I mean." "You weren't even there, Doreen," Lanessa said. "You didn't show up." Doreen shrugged. "That's what I heard, is all…." The conversation continued, but for perhaps the first time in her life, Doreen had indeed reached the point where participation hurt too much. Way easier to sit in silence, eat her three leftover nutloaf sandwiches, and replay in her mind every stupid thing she'd ever said. Doreen had sooo much homework it wasn't even funny. An hour of online math, three chapters of history textbook, and an essay for Ms. Schweinbein's class called "Why Animals Are Better than People." She hadn't remembered that suggestion coming from a student, and even though Doreen was completely open to exploring the topic, she honestly didn't know why she bothered to try. She was destined for a C-, the only grade Ms. Schweinbein ever gave her. Doreen had homework all right, but Squirrel Girl was out on patrol in Listless Pines. "Tip, I swear, she just straight-up hates Doreen-me," said Squirrel Girl, as she leaped from one roof to another. "CHKKT!" said Tippy-Toe. Squirrel Girl snorted. "Ouch, that sounds painful. Thanks, but you don't need to do that." Tippy-Toe sneezed in a way that meant she was ready at a moment's notice to exact severe squirrelly vengeance on this teacher, but in the meantime would respect her friend's desire for a peaceful resolution. "I mean, if we find evidence that Ms. Schweinbein is a super-powerful villain plotting to rain terror on Shady Oaks, and only a girl and her squirrel can stop her, then the squirrel gloves are off, obvs." Squirrel Girl leaped from a housetop to the windowsill of a two-story building and then climbed to the roof. A commercial center of Listless Pines lay before her. Frankly, it looked a lot like Shady Oaks. Streets, houses, businesses. A canal of gray water slithered alongside a street. She sniffed, but the air was no more stinky or pleasant than Shady Oaks. And yet the Squirrel Scouts insisted this area was enemy territory. She wondered what she was missing. "Ana Sofía said to keep an eye out around Listless Pines," said Squirrel Girl. "Online someone was threatening a second attack in this area. I don't know what we're looking for exactly, but I suspect—" Several people came running out of a nearby Shop-N-Pop, a chain grocery store where you could get your groceries and make custom bottles of soda, with flavors like Honey Kiwi, Blue Grapefruit Delirium, and When Frankincense Met Myrrh. Also, the people were screaming. "Chetti-kit?" said Tippy-Toe. "Yeah," said Squirrel Girl, "whatever they're running from is probably what we're looking for. Hey, will you round up some squirrel friends and I'll go inside and check it out?" She jumped off the building and landed on the roof of a parked car. Which suddenly wasn't parked anymore. "Sorry!" said Squirrel Girl, leaping off the car as it screeched out of the parking lot, nearly colliding with another car that was leaving in an equally screechy manner. Squirrel Girl dodged screeching cars and fleeing customers till by the time she got inside the grocery store, nobody was there but one man in a Shop-N-Pop apron, holding a phone to his ear. "I don't know what it is!" he whispered into the phone. "Some kind of animal girl with a tail!" "Squirrel," said Squirrel Girl. "It's a squirrel tail." "What? Oh, not you." He pointed into the store with a shaky hand. At first she didn't see anything, except that the store was a mess. Shopping carts abandoned mid-trip, food items scattered all over the floor. Then a flicker. A shadow in Aisle 8: Pet Supplies. "What is it?" Squirrel Girl whispered. "She calls herself Mistress Meow." He gulped. "The county police say they can't be here for twenty to thirty minutes. Since the Dog-Lord thing resolved without their attention, they've downgraded hybrid human-animal apparitions from 'urgent' to 'check-out-able.'" Squirrel Girl took out her phone. SQUIRREL GIRL: Can you tell thor to tell shield to send their animal control peeps to the shopnpop for a cat monster thing? ANA SOFÍA: I guess this is a normal text that I get in my life now ANA SOFÍA: Should I alert the squirrel scouts too? SQUIRREL GIRL: I guess? Squirrel Girl hesitated before clicking Send. At first the Squirrel Scouts were a win-win: a group of friends for Doreen, a group of supporters for Squirrel Girl. But were they friends really? Doreen wasn't 100 percent clear on that point. And Squirrel Girl wasn't 100 percent clear on what they wanted from her. In fact, just thinking about them made her feel hyped up, nervous, angry, proud, and sick to her stomach. That particular emotion combo was becoming more and more familiar. From the depths of the store came a low-throated growl. The employee took a step closer to Squirrel Girl. "Why don't you wait outside?" she said. "Could be dangerous." The guy shook his head. "I was promoted to store manager yesterday. And I took a sacred Shop-N-Pop oath to look after this store. I am its captain, and a captain goes down with the ship!" A thump, a sound of breaking glass, and a soft hiss. He gulped. He looked at Squirrel Girl with pleading eyes, his forehead sparkly with sweat. "What's your name, Mr. Store Manager?" "Herb," he said. "Great name," she said. "A-plus, for real. Never met a Herb before and I always wanted to. So, have you tried talking to her? I find that reasoned dialogue can solve, like, eighty-two percent of interpersonal conflicts." "No?" he said, as if afraid she'd get mad at him. Squirrel Girl sighed. He was, like, thirty years old. She was fourteen, for nuts' sake. People were way too willing to just trust anybody with authority, in her experience, whether that person got their authority from a uniform or from super powers. "Don't worry, Herb," she said. "I'm really good at this stuff." Squirrel Girl stalked down Aisle 8, hopping over spilled dog food, tiny brown nuggets still rolling as if recently disturbed. "Hello?" said Squirrel Girl. A flicker. Something moving above. Squirrel Girl leaped on top of the shelving. Nothing. Nothing except for packs of dry angel-hair pasta, crackling beneath her boots. She landed in Aisle 7: Pasta, Pasta Sauce, Pickles. And there, at the end of the aisle, lying atop the dairy case, was a…a…um…woman? Or cat? Or both? She had gray fur over her arms and legs, which were visible beneath her short-sleeved blouse and cut-off jeans shorts. Her head fur was longer, rising up in a kind of fauxhawk and tumbling down her back. Her face was mostly human, with pinkish pale skin and a thin nose, though her cheeks had long whiskers. "Meow," she said. "You must be Mistress Meow. I'm Squirrel Girl. I see we both prefer gendered, animal-centric monikers. We probably have lots of other stuff in common. Like a fondness for tails, and small furry creatures, and interesting smells, and…justice?" she added hopefully. "Meow," said Mistress Meow. Then she reached out a lazy paw and swatted a display of Heavenly Gravy, knocking it flat over. The glass bottles shattered against the concrete floor. "Geez, dude! That's not cool!" said Squirrel Girl. Splatters of gravy had splashed over her tail. She shook it, and some drops of gravy landed on Mistress Meow. "Come, now," Mistress Meow said in a slow, low voice, "don't be like that. You're making a mess." "I'm making a mess?" "Yes, just look at that gravy everywhere! First you came up to me so rudely, startling me, and making me knock it over—" "I…I…" Squirrel Girl took a deep breath and tried again with the Steps to Conflict Resolution by establishing some common ground. "So, you're a cat-person human, huh? That must be interesting. And challenging! I know for me it's not always easy to fit into the human world or the squirrel world, let alone both! Maybe you feel the same?" Mistress Meow stood up slowly and, balancing on the edge of the dairy case, began to pace its length. "Yes, I can see why humans would be suspicious of you. And squirrels…well, you know how they are…." "Huh," said Squirrel Girl, not quite sure if she was being insulted. Or if squirrels were being insulted. Or both. "I hate to be direct," said Mistress Meow, "but your conversation is dull and is getting in the way of my shopping." She leaped onto the display case of Aisle 6: Rice, Soup, Ethnic Food. The end display of microwavable goulash crashed to the floor. "Wait!" said Squirrel Girl, hurrying after her. "I haven't had a chance to Listen First, Talk Second! Or Agree upon Common Goals! Also, FYI, a life of crime doesn't pay!" Mistress Meow had leaped to Aisle 4: Paper Products, and was ripping open packages of toilet paper with her claws. "Stop that! You're making a huge mess. Have some animal girl pride, will you?" "Fine, whatever," said Mistress Meow. She sauntered down Aisle 4. Her tail swished back and forth, knocking off boxes of aluminum wrap and sandwich bags. "Hey!" said Squirrel Girl. "Mistress Meow! You can't just come into a grocery store and make a mess like this." The lady cat just kept walking, seemingly unaware that her tail was leaving a trail of destruction. Squirrel Girl followed her to the soda station at the back of the store. Rows of syrups in huge tanks dazzled with a rainbow of colors, labeled with flavors like Vanilla Explosion, Berry Jamboree, and Licorice Dreams. The occasional bubble rose up, emitting a low, slow gulp. "Mistress Meow? Um, excuse me? Did you hear what I said?" Mistress Meow looked lazily over her shoulder and blinked her green eyes. "You're still here? Wow, I wish I had sooo few responsibilities that I could waste hours just following people around grocery stores. How nice that must be." "Actually, I have a ton of—" Squirrel Girl was about to say homework, but she didn't have homework—that was Doreen! And best to keep that part of her life secret. "—um, a ton of respect. For cats. They're so…furry. And tailed. And just because sometimes they climb up trees and then can't get down again doesn't mean I would ever make fun of them." Mistress Meow sharpened her claws on a wall of the soda station, cutting right through to the tanks of soda stored behind it. Plain soda shot out in white fizzy streams. "Look what you made me do! All your blabbering is so distracting." "I'm sorry," Squirrel Girl said automatically. "Wait…what are you even talking about? I didn't make you do anything, but I'm going to. I don't like getting all Super-Hero-demanding, but you need to leave this store right now!" Mistress Meow blinked. She put out a paw, holding it behind a twenty-five-gallon tank of Egg Salad Syrup. "Don't—" Squirrel Girl started. "Ew, gross, egg salad–flavored soda syrup? But still, don't. Don't you do it. I mean it, Mistress Meow!" Mistress Meow held her gaze. Her paw twitched. The syrup tipped over, gushing yellow-green liquid all over the floor. "Oh dear," said Mistress Meow. "I bet now you wished you'd left me alone. How will you ever explain this mess to Herb?" "That's it!" said Squirrel Girl. "No more chatting. Let's go nuts!" She leaped, claws out. Mistress Meow dropped to the floor, her arms out in front, her elongated body stretching. Squirrel Girl passed over her head, landed against the wall feetfirst, then pushed off and pivoted, coming to a stop in battle stance, arm cocked and ready for punching time! Mistress Meow yawned, her mouth open wide to reveal a row of sharp teeth. She curled up on the painted concrete floor, just out of reach of the pool of syrup and soda. She closed her eyes. "Hey," said Squirrel Girl. "What are you doing? You can't nap in here." The tip of Mistress Meow's tail flicked in annoyance. She rolled over, eyes still closed. Squirrel Girl stood over her. Fists ready. Claws ready. Boots well prepared to stomp out injustice. And her opponent appeared to fall asleep. ANA SOFÍA: Hey I just got a text from Squirrel Girl. She's battling a cat person monster thing? I guess? THOR: Epic! A massive, fearsome feline rage beast is fit opponent for any hero! ANA SOFÍA: I think it's more like a regular lady with fur and a tail? And catlike enhanced abilities? Can you tell someone at S.H.I.E.L.D. to come pick her up like they did with Dog-Lord? THOR: Verily: I am told S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Animal Control Unit is currently engaged chasing a cabal of hyper-intelligent crocodiles in the Manhattan sewers. Doth your friend need immediate assistance? ANA SOFÍA: She says the cat lady is being super annoying but won't fight just curls up and naps THOR: Fearsome rage beasts are appropriate foes for the son of Odin. For villains of the annoying variety one might send a textual inquiry to Spider-Man. ANA SOFÍA: Ok. I don't have his number THOR: Ah, cats. In Asgard, the mighty Freya travels in a chariot borne by two cats of epic girth ANA SOFÍA: Wow! How does she get cats to pull her chariot? THOR: She is mighty! Also she does not go many places. ANA SOFÍA: I see THOR: In the halls of Valhalla, cats are trained to bring spice milk in pewter mugs to the mightiest warriors ANA SOFÍA: Really? THOR: Most certainly! However, they do not excel at this practice. ANA SOFÍA: Not great at it? THOR: So much spilled spice milk. So many scratched-up warriors. ANA SOFÍA: Cats are hard to train THOR: They are distractible, tis true. Perhaps thy heroic friend might try to distract her feminine feline with a well-placed ball of yarn or catnip-stuffed mouse toy ANA SOFÍA: Sure and I'll let you know if we encounter something mightier, like a Thor cat THOR: Indeed! If there were such a creature as Cat Thor 'twould be the mightiest pet of all. Mistress Meow was napping in the produce section, curled up on top of a display of oranges. This was her third nap in fifteen minutes. "C'mon, man," said Squirrel Girl, poking her with a zucchini. "I promised Herb I'd clear you out." She could see the store manager standing there valiantly by the front doors, his underarms dark with sweat. Poor Herb. She was not going to let him go down with the ship! Or let the ship go down! Or let this cat beastie destroy this market where she had never before shopped but might consider it now as the soda flavors were really interesting! She renewed her hold on the zucchini. Poke. Poke. It was surprisingly hard to engage in battle with a villain when they were catnapping. Her phone buzzed. Finally, Ana Sofía was answering her desperate texts! ANA SOFÍA: Shield busy. Thor says cats are super distractible and to try a cat toy or something Hmm. Distract her? As she put her phone back into a utility-belt pouch, she remembered an item stowed away in another pouch. Laser Lady's laser pointer. "Hey! Kitty!" Squirrel Girl pointed the dot of red light at an orange near Mistress Meow's head. "Kitty, what's that? What's that?" Mistress Meow's eyes opened to narrow slits. She sniffed. She twitched. Her eyes widened. Squirrel Girl pointed the laser at the floor. Mistress Meow tensed all over. Her gaze locked onto the wiggling dot of light. She pounced. But the dot of light danced out of the way, moving through the produce section. "What's that, huh?" said Squirrel Girl, moving down an aisle. "Get it! Get it!" "Mrooow!" said Mistress Meow. On all fours she chased after the light, pouncing but always missing, until she jumped right through the doors of the Shop-N-Pop. In the bright sunlight, the red dot disappeared. "Aha! I got you outside!" said Squirrel Girl, standing between the villain and the market. "Victory!" Mistress Meow hissed. And then she pounced. "Aah!" said Squirrel Girl as two hundred pounds of intellectually advanced cat flesh landed on her. Cat claws struck at her face, and Squirrel Girl only managed to roll in time to keep her eyeballs intact. She kicked her off and scrambled to her feet. "Dang, Mistress Meow, I have not seen this side of you." Mistress Meow pounced again, but several dozen squirrels jumped onto her back mid-leap. "Chktti!" said the one with the pink bow, and at the same time all the squirrels bit down. Mistress Meow screeched and rolled onto her back, trying to dislodge the squirrels. "Get off, vermin! Get off!" "Ha!" Squirrel Girl laughed. "I told you I could defeat you! And then you said, 'You and what army?' Well, I think I just answered your question!" "I never said that!" said Mistress Meow, rolling on her back as squirrels jumped out of her way. "You didn't?" said Squirrel Girl. "Dang it! I was just thinking about how if you said 'You and what army,' then I would know just what to respond, but you're right, you never did, and now I wasted the perfect comeback." She moved in on the attack, and Mistress Meow countered—claws swiping and tail lashing, powerful kicks and agile leaps. But with an army of squirrels at her side, Squirrel Girl was easily pressing her advantage. So Mistress Meow turned and ran. "Stop!" said Squirrel Girl, chasing her. "I think I'm supposed to turn you over to the authorities or something! The county police will be here in twenty minutes or less! Probably!" Mistress Meow ran, but Squirrel Girl was faster. She was almost to the open street when a van screeched to a halt right in her path. Mistress Meow leaped onto its roof. Antonio of the Skunk Club jumped out of the front seat. The sliding doors opened to let out a bunch of other Squirrel Scouts, spilling them out right under Mistress Meow's nose. They were in their Team Cat shirts and sounded like they were in mid-argument. "I told you to drive faster, Antonio!" "I got us here, didn't I?" "Yo, this the right place?" "Yeah, is that the right cat person?" "Squirrel Girl started without us! Typical." "Here we come to save the—" Dennis started. Mistress Meow grabbed him and held him fast, her claws out and poised right above his jugular. "Whoa, easy now," said Squirrel Girl. She glanced at the assembled Scouts and was relieved Ana Sofía wasn't among them. "Please, I have so much to live for!" said Dennis. "Such as?" asked Mistress Meow. "Um…I just meant in general." Dennis whimpered. "I didn't know there was going to be a quiz!" The sound of an electronic drum beat rang out. Mistress Meow stuck one claw into the phone hanging on her belt and lifted it to her ear. "Hello, boss….Probably….Well, I didn't know you meant now….Fine, whatever." Squirrel Girl sprang, her eyes zeroed in on that phone, but Mistress Meow yanked it out of her reach. Squirrel Girl somersaulted to a stop. "Dang it, I really want to know who you were talking to!" "Boss says to make havoc," said Mistress Meow, "and I'm such a good kitty." She picked up Dennis and threw him. "Not—" Dennis started. "—again!" Squirrel Girl finished. She jumped, catching him in the air, and landed hard. "Such a good little pet," said Mistress Meow. "Here, fetch this, too!" She threw a silver ball that had a very familiar glint. Squirrel Girl started to jump for it, but Heidi shoved her. "Stop stealing all the hero spotlight!" she said, catching it instead. Immediately brown gas leaked out of dozens of tiny holes in the ball. Squirrel Girl grabbed Heidi and leaped free of the smoke cloud. When she went back for the rest, instead of trying to escape, they were throwing punches. At each other. Sure, sometimes the Squirrel Scouts had fought among the group—but never with their fists. Why was everyone so crazy lately? "Stop it!" said Squirrel Girl. "Calm the freak down!" From outside the cloud, she fanned at the smoke with her fluffy tail, joined by dozens of other squirrels, all their tail winds directed at the smoke. It broke apart and blew away. "Stop fighting, guys, I'm serious!" said Squirrel Girl. "Or I won't bring you next time, got it?" "Fine, Mom," said Janessa. Squirrel Girl rolled her eyes. She was about to go full mom on them when she heard a car screech followed by a crash. Mistress Meow was in the middle of the street, waving her tail sassily at a crash involving three cars. She leaped from car roof to car roof, scratching them with her claws, hissing and laughing. "This is not acceptable behavior!" Squirrel Girl called. She chased her from car to car, and though she was the faster runner, Mistress Meow was agile and unpredictable, always one car ahead. Now ten cars were stopped, scratched up and dented, their drivers madly calling on cell phones or filming the scene. Squirrel Girl finally caught up and knocked Mistress Meow off a car. Another car turned the corner and swerved to miss them, slamming its brakes. It went over the edge of the street, and stopped inches from falling into the slope down to the canal that ran parallel to the road. "That was close!" said Squirrel Girl. The driver, a white-haired dark-skinned woman, was looking back and forth between Squirrel Girl and Mistress Meow, her hands gripping the steering wheel. "Now, come with me," said Squirrel Girl with as much Super-Hero-y authority as she could muster. "What was that?" said Mistress Meow. "I can't hear you over all the traffic. Let me get this out of the way." With enhanced feline strength, Mistress Meow gave the back end of the car a shove, pushing the front wheels over the edge into the canal. The car began to tilt. The driver inside screamed. Squirrel Girl scurried around to the front of the car. She dug her heels into the downward slope and pushed against the front bumper. Her feet were sliding, the car coming after her, about to push them both into the deep water. "Look what you made me do!" Mistress Meow shouted from the street. Tippy-Toe landed on the car's hood. "Chek-itit," she said, suggesting that they chase Mistress Meow up a tree, where she would surely be trapped for life. "Stop—hee-hee—stop, Tip! Don't make me laugh right now! This car is superheavy. Though if there's a tree high enough, that's not a bad idea. But if not, can you guys go after Mistress Meow and maybe pin her down with your collective squirrel weight till the cops get here?" Tippy-Toe sneezed in a way that meant it would be absolutely no trouble whatsoever for her team of squirrel heroes to stop a cat-human hybrid, and with a flick of her tail she was off. From halfway down the canal slope, Squirrel Girl could hear all sorts of things happening on the street: meowing, chittering, glass breaking, cars slamming into each other, honking. But mostly the driver lady still screaming. Then she started pounding on her car horn, as if a hundred decibels of honking in her face was going to help Squirrel Girl push a two-ton car any faster. "Don't worry!" said Squirrel Girl through gritted teeth. "I…will…save…the…DAY!" With a great heave, she pushed the car back up to flat level. She brushed off her hands. And looked around at the chaos. No Mistress Meow, but traffic was completely stopped by at least twenty damaged cars. "Um, hey, everybody, sorry about the crashing!" said Squirrel Girl. "I guess I couldn't actually save everyone. But did you see how I saved that one car from the canal? No? Nobody?" Under the clatter of horns and rattle of broken cars, she heard some rapid-fire chittering. Following the sound, she ran down a couple of blocks and found Mistress Meow facedown on a sidewalk. Or at least, she assumed that was Mistress Meow thrashing around beneath a furry, twitching pile made up of hundreds of squirrels. "Squirrel pile!" she said. "Oh man, I so want to jump in right now, but I'm afraid I'd squish some adorable tails. Tippy, any wire?" The pink-bowed squirrel atop the pile shrugged with her tail. They hadn't buried any handy wire or twine nearby. Squirrel Girl suspected the cat-lady could just claw through it anyway. What she needed was— A white van pulled up. With a S.H.I.E.L.D. logo. "Agent Rozum!" said Squirrel Girl. "You made it!" The agent had her nifty pole-and-rope device again, and she stood on the curb and surveyed the squirrel pile with the same bored expression. "Thor said you have another?" "Yep," said Squirrel Girl. "So does this happen a lot, then? Super-powered cat and dog people?" The agent shrugged. "Classified." Squirrel Girl pointed down. "You have some hyper-intelligent-crocodile slime on your boot." The agent looked at her shrewdly, and wiped her boot on the grass. "So what's the plan?" asked Squirrel Girl. "Want to put your floating-disc technology under the whole squirrel pile and take them in the van, or—No, better, I'll tell the squirrels to move, and you just be ready to collar her with that thing. Ready, squirrels? Jump off!" The squirrels leaped, popping off in all directions, and instantly Mistress Meow was in the air, too, claws out, leaping right at Squirrel Girl. The rope caught her in midair and she fell hard, right onto the disc. Her muscles temporarily paralyzed, she couldn't even hiss as the van doors closed. "Man, I wouldn't mind one of those pole things," said Squirrel Girl. "Not for civilian use," said Agent Rozum. She locked up the back of the van and climbed in the front, calling over her shoulder, "This is the first lady cat person in jeans shorts I've seen, FYI. Kinda weird, though in this job, that word loses all meaning." And she drove off. "Huh," said Squirrel Girl. "That is a thing that just happened." She looked back at the hundreds of squirrels. "I could be on the bottom…" she said. "Chktt," they said. Squirrel Girl dropped onto the pavement, shouting "Squirrel pile!" just before hundreds of pounds of squirrels briefly buried her in furry goodness. She was still laughing when she started the run back toward home. That C-paper on why animals are better than people wasn't going to write itself. Wasn't it interesting, she thought as she leaped from lamppost to lamppost, how Ms. Schweinbein assigned a paper on animals being better than people the very week two animal-people attacked the neighborhood? "Huh," said Squirrel Girl, as she ran down the sidewalk a little faster than the cars in the street. "Hey, Squirrel Girl!" people called out. She waved, too deep in thought to reply. And hadn't she noticed that the teacher's house smelled like cats and dogs just before Dog-Lord and Mistress Meow showed up to hassle Squirrel Girl? "Huh," said Squirrel Girl, as she leaped from one street corner to another. Also, just the other day in class, Ms. Schweinbein had mentioned "animal-human hybrids" with a wistful tone and a gleam in her eye, punctuated with a slow and villainous "hee-hee-hee" laugh. "Aha!" said Squirrel Girl as she pivoted to run along the ridge of a roof. She was no longer headed toward home and homework. That would have to wait. Again. She had a potentially villainous teacher to face. A delivery van pulled away from Ms. Schweinbein's home just as Squirrel Girl arrived. Ms. Schweinbein was dragging several large boxes from her porch into the house. Several large, suspicious boxes. And they seemed even more suspicious when Ms. Schweinbein looked around suspiciously before shutting the door. Tippy-Toe climbed up the trunk of the tree in two leaps, landed on a branch in front of Squirrel Girl, and stared at her, inches from her face. With two claws she pointed to her own black, blinkless eyes. "Yes, I see you, Tip," said Squirrel Girl. "Chkt-chuk," Tippy-Toe said. "Yes, I can see the rage in your black, blinkless eyes, Tip. And I thank you for being on my side. But before we attack, we should try the talking thing with Ms. Schweinbein, too…I guess." Tippy-Toe twitched her tail and let out a stream of chittering that roughly translated to If any more of those weevil-brained dog-men or cat-ladies are in there I am going to personally bite off every one of their toes. "Whoa! Dial it back a little, Tip," Squirrel Girl said. "I know you're upset at having your territory invaded by villainous animal-humans, but I don't think things are so bad that we need to start eating people." "Chkka." "Or biting off body parts. Same difference." Squirrel Girl and girl squirrel stared at the house. "Maybe I could just go knock," Squirrel Girl said. "That worked before." Tippy-Toe sniffed. The last time Squirrel Girl had just knocked on the door of someone she thought was a bad guy, evil robot people had answered. That unexpected encounter had ended in a big fight involving crashing trees, totaled cars, and terrified neighbors. "Okay, so maybe that last time wasn't ideal," she said. "But we did end up stopping the bad guys." "Chukka." "Let's just go take a closer look." Tippy-Toe and Squirrel Girl tipped on their toes across the street and to Ms. Schweinbein's house. Something in the basement squealed. Squirrel Girl peeked into a window well. The basement windows had been covered over with newspaper. "She's definitely hiding something," Squirrel Girl whispered. Ms. Schweinbein's neighbors switched on their porch light, bathing Squirrel Girl in a yellow glow. She scampered to the roof just as a woman opened the porch door and came out carrying a full garbage bag. A voice from inside the neighbor's house said, "How's the stench house tonight?" The neighbor woman groaned, looked at Schweinbein's house, and shook her head. "Still smells like a zoo," she replied, "but at least the wind isn't blowing our way." The neighbor went back inside and shut the door. The outside light turned off. "Ugh," Squirrel Girl whispered. "I hate sneaking around. I'm the good guy. I'm not supposed to sneak." Tippy-Toe sniffed again and twitched her tail. "You are so one of the good guys, Tippy," she said. "You just do your thing, and if people don't notice you, that's on them for being supremely unobservant of the great furry ones." Tippy-Toe scampered to the chimney, held up a paw, and motioned Squirrel Girl closer. Squirrel Girl knelt to listen. From the chimney came a muffled voice, full of echoes but still very familiar: Ms. Schweinbein. "…this is better than the cage, though, isn't it?…Yes, I know you want to go outside, but it isn't time….They wouldn't understand….They don't want you here….Only I love you….Let's see what's in your formulation today….Ah, a meat day….Ugh…I wish they would tell me who the meat was from before I feed it to you…." Besides Ms. Schweinbein's voice, other unsettling noises leaked out of the pipe. Chewing and smacking sounds. Like living things eating. Or being eaten. "Omigosh!" Squirrel Girl said. "That is so messed up! We have to stop her!" She slid down the roof and landed on the front steps, already knocking forcefully (but politely) on the door before she'd even landed. She crouched in battle stance. "Get ready, Tippy." Tippy-Toe ran her claws through her head fur, making it stand up in a ridge like a Mohawk. Claws out. Face fierce. Pink bow tied like a dream. There was an angry grunt from the other side of the door, and then it cracked open an inch. The equally angry eye of her teacher stared out of that crack, and then grew wide in surprise. Squirrel Girl was just about to pounce the door open when it swung wide. Her teacher took tiny little hops like a toddler who needs to go to the bathroom, wringing her hands and smiling more than seemed possible for that face. "Oh, oh, oh," said Ms. Schweinbein. Squirrel Girl relaxed her battle stance. "Um, are you okay?" "You…you…you…" she said, still hopping. Squirrel Girl looked to Tippy-Toe, who shrugged. "You're Squirrel Girl!" the woman shouted, and then began to squeal like a teapot. The neighbors' porch light came on again. "Hey, yes, yes I am," Squirrel Girl said. "Do you mind if I come in?" "Please!" Ms. Schweinbein said, taking those tiny steps backward now. "Come in, come in!" Squirrel Girl darted inside while scoping out her surroundings for any sign of a trap. The living room was small, furnished with a single table, lamp, and recliner. It all looked normal. Except for the smell. Now that she was inside, the smell of animal was so strong, her eyes watered. "Your tail is ah-mazing," Ms. Schweinbein said. "Um…thank you." "How did you know? How did you know to come here?" "Well…I…" "Did you get my letter? You must have gotten my letter! I sent it care of the Shady Oaks Neighborhood Council, but I never thought you'd actually get it!" "Wait. Are you—" "Hannah Schweinbein! I AM YOUR BIGGEST FAN!" "Oh, wow," Squirrel Girl said. Tippy-Toe made a coughing noise that was her attempt to disguise squirrel laughter. Ms. Schweinbein ran into the next room and came back with what looked a brown tea cozy with doll eyes glued on it. The woman thrust it at Squirrel Girl. "It's you," she said. "In crochet form! I made it!" Squirrel Girl reached for the little effigy, but Ms. Schweinbein pulled it back. "It's mine, though," she said, clutching the doll to her chest. "It's pretty cool," Squirrel Girl said, all her attention on her surroundings for any sign of what was really going on here. The idea that Ms. Schweinbein was both a superfan of Squirrel Girl and a super-not-fan of Doreen Green was super-weird. There had to be hidden cameras or something. Was there a show that pulled pranks on Super Heroes? Ms. Schweinbein was talking. "…so when I saw you online with the squirrels and the hero stuff and the tail and the leaping I thought, she loves animals just like I do and thinks doing good is good and is also so nice and cool, I thought I just had to come to Shady Oaks, and when I did, I saw you for real! I moved here you know, just recently, and I saw you out leaping through the trees, like, a few weeks ago and I wanted to call out a greeting or a 'Hey there, good job' or something, but I was too shy and…" While she spoke, a blur of something moved in Squirrel Girl's periphery. It'd been pale, fast, and low to the ground, tiny steps clicking against the tile. Squirrel Girl inched down the hall toward where it'd gone, Ms. Schweinbein following behind without a pause in her monologue. Squirrel Girl peeked into a room. There was a chicken. An actual, real chicken. It raised an orange foot and froze, looking at Squirrel girl with one wide yellow eye as if it was surprised to be discovered. "Chicken," Squirrel Girl said. "Oh, I know you're friendly," said Ms. Schweinbein, "and I shouldn't have been scared to talk to you but—" "No," Squirrel Girl said, pointing at the bird. "Chicken. There is a chicken in your house." Ms. Schweinbein spun around. "Mrs. Bubs!" Ms. Schweinbein cried, rushing to the bird. "Upstairs is not for chickens! How did you get out?" The woman bundled up the animal and hurried down a stairway. "I'll be right ba-ack," she sang out. "Just a se-cond…." When Ms. Schweinbein opened a door at the base of the stairs, the animal smell wasn't just strong. It was robust. It was undeniable. It was superhuman. Downstairs, underground, the air was thick with dirt, water, grass, manure, and fur. Also something began to bleat. Ms. Schweinbein jogged back up the stairs, out of breath and smiling. She shrugged. "Chickens! What are you going to do?" "Ms. Schweinbein—" Squirrel Girl said. "Call me Hannah," Ms. Schweinbein said. "Okay, uh, Hannah," Squirrel Girl said. "Don't take this the wrong way, but do you have some kind of experimental animal lab in the basement?" Ms. Schweinbein's expression clouded, and her eyes shifted down. "Um," she said. "It…um…it isn't a lab exactly." She looked like a little girl who had sneaked a frog home in her pocket. Squirrel Girl took a deep breath. She was suddenly the adult here, and her teacher was being naughty. "I'm going down," Squirrel Girl said. "Okay," Ms. Schweinbein squeaked. Squirrel Girl jumped. Ms. Schweinbein followed. Not jumping, though. The basement floor was covered in dirt. It had to be pretty deep, because one corner was growing alfalfa or something. There was a big plastic trough of water in the center and sun lamps in every corner. Mounted to the ceiling, a large fan slowly turned. And there were animals. A dog, a goat, two pigs, and a handful of chickens in cages. Mrs. Bubs peered out through the chicken wire. "So it's kind of a farm," Ms. Schweinbein said. "This is SO cool," Squirrel Girl said, crouching to pet the goat. Ms. Schweinbein brightened. "I'm so glad you think so! I knew we both love animals!" "I didn't even know you could do this in basements," Squirrel Girl said. "Why don't more people do this in basements?" "Well," Ms. Schweinbein said, "it's not exactly…you know, legal." "That's not good, then." "I know. But I love them so much. And I need them. They keep me sane. You don't know how terrible my day job is." "Look, Hannah, this is normally the kind of thing that I stop," Squirrel Girl said. "Animal farms?" "No. Criming. Law breaking." Ms. Schweinbein sniffed. Her eyes glistened. "But the thing is," Squirrel Girl said, "I think you can figure this out on your own." "I can?" "Yes," Squirrel Girl said. "But you are going to have to do something. Move them, move you, I don't know. You just can't keep a barnyard in a basement, can you?" Ms. Schweinbein shrugged. "I guess not," she said. A brief but loud sound of flatulence echoed against the basement's cement walls. Ms. Schweinbein sighed. "That was the goat. She has gas, poor dear." Squirrel Girl put her hands on her hips. It was a little difficult to feel heroic around farting farm animals, but she was doing her best. "I will let you care for your flatulent goat, then, Hannah. For I have evildoers to root out of hiding!" Squirrel Girl was up the basement stairs and almost out of the house before Ms. Schweinbein came chasing after her. "Wait! I've got an idea for you." Squirrel Girl paused, her hand on the doorknob. She did, in fact, have evildoers to root out of hiding. But Doreen Green knew how it felt to raise your hand and hope and hope that your teacher would call on you so you could share your idea. The fair thing would be to ignore Hannah as Hannah had ignored Doreen. But that would not be the heroic thing. Squirrel Girl took her hand off the door handle. "Tell me," she said. Ms. Schweinbein grinned. "Are you hunting Dog-Lord and Mistress Meow?" "Well…yeah, sorta," said Squirrel Girl. "Do you know anything about that?" "Human-animal hybrids?" The teacher's eyes still glistened, but no longer from sadness. "That's the dream. I subscribe to Hybrid Lover magazine, so I know that A.I.M. used to experiment with hybrids, but they're out of that game now. Whoever created them, that's no mom-and-pop operation. That's big-time." She shrugged. "Um, that's all I've got, I guess. Sorry. I just really wanted to help you!" She stared at Squirrel Girl so adoringly, stars seemed to twinkle in her eyes. "Hannah, I've got to say, you're not what I expected," said Squirrel Girl. "And you know what? I bet there are people around you—say, at your workplace, for instance, wherever that might be—who are not what you expect either. Maybe be nice to them? Like, super-nice? For me?" Ms. Schweinbein nodded, but she was still so starry-eyed, Squirrel Girl wasn't sure how much of that had soaked in. She waved as she bounded away, feeling just a tad grumpy. This Doreen Green problem was just something else that Squirrel Girl couldn't fix with a quick punch. She sighed. And then she laughed. "Chickens in the basement," she said. Tippy-Toe had climbed onto her shoulder as she raced across rooftops. "Chek-tita," said Tippy-Toe. "What's that? You're wondering what other basements hide?" The squirrel sneezed in a way that meant, Yes indeed, ma'am, I sure am.  TO: [Undisclosed Recipients]  DATE: Today  SUBJECT: RE: The Creatures that Stalk Our Halls  Please disregard the previous e-mail below. Mistress Meow and Dog-Lord will no longer be among us due to some extremely aggravating heroing. Related note: I am in a bad mood so don't talk to me today.  BOSS

2 Fuzzy, 2 Furious

Shannon Hale

Chapter 9

 TO: [Undisclosed Recipients]  DATE: Friday  SUBJECT: The Creatures that Stalk Our Halls  If you see the canine or the feline hybrid in our secret base, don't shoot at them with your plasma guns! Give them a hug! If you do try to shoot them, you might end up our next mauling victim. HAH! "MALL"-ING? That's crazy what with the mall and all, right? ;) But, Boss! you ask, How can we tell the difference between people in our base that need to be shot and those that shouldn't be shot? These genetic monstrosities aren't in uniform!  Yes indeedy! You just keep on shooting people out of uniform! BUT…and this is a big BUT (HA! big butt…), FUR IS NOW A UNIFORM! Isn't that incredible? Natural fur, that is. Don't be skinning your neighbor's pets for comfortable new slacks! Because we'll shoot you!  Yes, I know that Larry in Tanks and Siphoning appears to be covered in "natural fur," but actually he's just really hairy. When I say "natural," I mean "genetically merged with animal DNA." So sorry, Larry, no free pass for you! Everyone, if Larry's ever out of uniform, feel free to shoot him! Same goes for if he betrays us! (Hi, Larry! Don't betray us!) A note about food. We all love food! And the food in our cafeteria is the best food! BUT! (Another BIG BUT!) Unless you are me or Barry, our beastly compatriots outrank you. They get first choice at the buffet line. If you push in front of them or take their food, they WILL bite you. Like, probably a lot of times! You might die! I'm okay if they eat you, frankly! So be smart!  BOSS OUT!  P.S. I have reconsidered. If you see the hybrids in the base, DON'T try to give them a hug. Don't give anyone a hug. We are a 100 percent hug-free workplace.  This e-mail message may contain confidential material. If you are not an intended recipient, please delete this file from your computer, then throw your computer into the ocean, then row yourself as far away as you can.  Yo yo yo slick with sociable medias!!!!! The hashtag Chester Yard Mall™ grand opening is just two days away! ;D ;D ;D ;D Lol get rekt m8. Join us this Saturday at high noon when we open our doors for the first time. What groovy shocking surprises AND HASHTAG GREAT GROOVY DEALS await inside??? YO!!!!  Every1ne remember: opening day is also hashtag election day! Take our meme-a-tubular poll. Which far out animal do you think should be our hashtag mall mascot? ;P

2 Fuzzy, 2 Furious

Shannon Hale

Chapter 10

Frankie: Some creepy cat thing scratched up my car! I never liked cats before, but now I hate them! Beau: Yeah well cats probably hate you too! Frankie: Jump in the lake, jerkwad! Beau: Same to you, gorseface! Frankie: Um Beau: I meant horseface Erin: I saw that cat beast on the news! Creeeeeepy. William: It's dog propaganda! No way some cat monster randomly appears days before the mascot election. They're trying to scare you away from voting! Earl: I'm on Team Dog and I know lots of people on Team Dog and I promise you none of us made a cat monster in order to sway your vote. Vote dog because dogs RULE! Cyndee: No it was Team Cat that made the cat beast! My brother-in-law's best friend is friends with a cop and he said that Team Cat is tricking everyone into thinking Team Dog did it so that people will sympathize with Team Cat. Penny: Well I'm on Team Cat and that's all lies! You are a lying liar and so is your brother-in-law's best friend's cop friend! Cyndee: Team Cat thinks police are liars! You saw! Dogs are the team of law and order! Matthew: Someone spray-painted dog faces all over our house! Carson: Someone painted cat FECES all over OUR house! Penny: Oh yeah? How can you tell it was cat feces and not dog feces? Carson: They painted a big arrow pointing at it with the words "These are cat feces" Penny: Wow. I mean, I guess you've gotta admire the forethought. Sasha: Listless Pines punks drive their noisy trucks through our neighborhood and shout awful stuff at people. Awful! Inna: Am I the only one who thinks this mall might actually be Hydra? Cyndee: You're probably on Team Cat and just trying to scare everyone so they'll stay away and won't vote. And you know what? That's even eviler than Hydra. You disgust me. Vote Dog! Greencowllvro818: A fine shopping mall is the hallmark of a civilized society. I eagerly anticipate many peaceful shopping experiences in the climate-controlled, windowless splendor. Might there even be a fountain of crystal waters? I am hoping with great cause! Jake: Cats are literally spawned from the devil! Penny: Dogs are literally demons in fur disguises! Gladys: This is my last warning. Chester: Yard Mall is Hydra for real. I'm telling you do NOT go to that opening day or it will be your last. Inna: Okay never mind, I don't want to sound like Gladys the Nutjob. I'm sure Chester Yard Mall isn't really Hydra. Also, go Team Cat! Ana Sofía shut her computer and pressed her palms to her tired eyes. Too much screen reading. Not enough evidence finding. And so much nastiness! After a few hours online, Ana Sofía was a hop, skip, and a jump from giving up on humanity entirely and locking herself in the attic Emily Dickinson–style—but with the internet. She could totally do Dickinson as long as she had a laptop with a high-speed connection. But even offline, the tension kept building. At school that day, by seventh period the teachers had given up and let the students talk through class: about Mistress Meow and Dog-Lord, the contest, and the polling that showed Team Cat was behind. Even the weather seemed to be held tight in the grip of anticipation. No wind, no sun, gray clouds solid as a Vibranium shield, each day holding its breath and waiting, waiting for something to happen. The stillness raised goose bumps on her arms. Her phone buzzed. DOREEN: Hey just watched 3 squirrels imitate how humans dance and OMGosh Can hardly breathe. K anyway ur the awesomest Doreen out Humanity in general might be a lost cause for all she knew, but Doreen Green was not. She was someone worth fighting for. If only Ana Sofía could be certain about this stupid mall. Chester Yard Mall. Again, that name seemed so strange to her. On a whim, she opened her laptop back up and went to a site that decoded anagrams. She typed:  CHESTER YARD MALL And got dozens of variations.  THERMALLY SACRED  HYDRATES ARM CELL  ALCHEMY LARD REST Ugh. Useless. She was about to shut her laptop again when her eye caught one word.  SECRET Her skin danced with goose bumps. A word pair. She took out a pencil and paper and began to play with the remaining letters. If she left off "Mall" and just rearranged "Chester Yard" she got:  SECRET HARDY Wait! Rearrange "hardy" into "hydra." Chester Yard Mall = Secret Hydra Mall. "What the crap!" Ana Sofía said aloud, jumping to her feet. "Secret Hydra Mall? ¡No lo puedo creer!" They were barely even trying to hide. They were toying with everyone, as confident as bullies, as careless as big huge jerks. Ana Sofía pulled on her battle socks—the thick gray merino wool ones with reinforced heel and toe. She wasn't going to be able to solve this mystery entirely from a laptop. It was time to go into the field and kick up some dust. I gathered the team. Word had been getting around the squirrel community that we couldn't get into the basement of a human building. If we had a mind to enter, nothing should keep out squirrels. Nothing. I heard Pattersnip's daughter Miggy-Moo ask her mother what would happen if she got locked in a squirrel-proof house. Pattersnip told her there was no such thing as "squirrel-proof," but Miggy wasn't convinced. I didn't think Pattersnip was either. The family depends on me to keep it safe. Knock me out with goose down if I fail them. And so it was that Squirrel Team Six was lined up along the border of the empty lot facing the Chester Yard Mall parking lot. We took a moment, posing with tails lifted to the breeze, as if heroic music were playing in the background, like in those war movies I sometimes watch at Doreen's. I don't mind a little drama, when there's opportunity. I caught wind of a discarded gumdrop on the pavement nearby, but I didn't even dive for it. I was that committed to holding the pose. "They sapped over Chomp Style's gnaw-spot already," said Fuzz Fountain Cortez, eyeing the freshly cemented spot in the wall where we made our entrance the last time. Chomp Style grunted, and we all knew he meant it would be no trouble to make another one. "What is it, boy? What is it?" Speedo Strutfuzz said. Sir Woof was pawing the ground, whining, wagging his tail. Speedo acted like this was language, and maybe it was. "Sir Woof smells someone," said Speedo. "A human nearby. Weed-lurking." I twitched my tail at the team, and we spread out, Speedo and Sir Woof taking point. The weeds were so high I could barely jump to their tips. Once I could fully smell the human, my tail twitched in recognition. "Ana Sofía?" Cortez asked. Nestled between two trees with a blanket over her shoulders and head, Ana Sofía sat on the ground, tapping keys on her computer. I poked my head up over the back of the computer screen. "Hey," I said. "Eee!" she squeaked. I waved. "Tippy!" she said. "You totally freaked me out!" "Sorry," I said, doing my best to make a sign in the hand language she and Doreen use. It reminded me of Tailspeak, which is also a silent language, unlike Chitterspeak. But like all humans minus one, Ana Sofía can't understand Chitterspeak. Or Tailspeak. "What are you doing here?" "Yeah, I got the 'sorry,' but the rest I'm going to have to guess is a question about why I'm hiding out here with a computer?" I nodded. "Well, see," she said, "this is just close enough to tap the mall's administrative Wi-Fi. If I can log onto that locally, I might be able to grant myself access to whatever databases or systems they're using and get definite proof on how this mall is evil. Except the only thing even on their system is, like, stupid HVAC and property-management tools." She pointed to the screen of her computer. I scampered onto her shoulder to get a look. "That's a map of the mall," she said. "But what are you all doing here? I mean, beyond, you know, just being in nature like squirrels do. Is Doreen with you?" The lines of the map showed what the mall might look like if it had no roof and you were flying over it. I felt dizzy trying to get oriented. Squirrel maps aren't so flat and bird's-eye dependent. And they use smell more than sight. But eventually I located where on the map the room with the floor-door probably sat. I tapped a claw on the spot. "That's the Victor's Secret store," Ana Sofía said. I tapped again, right on the spot in the back room of the store where the floor-door was. "What is—" She started pecking at the keys. "Is that—" I waited. She typed and new things appeared and disappeared on the screen. "There's a door in there," she said. "In the floor. And it has way more security than any other door. You want to get in?" I nodded. She tapped and swiped at her computer. "I think…ugh…Just a second…Nope. I thought I could open it for you from here, but it won't let me." I hopped down from the computer. I had hoped finding Ana Sofía here would provide us with a safer way to get in than Squirrel Team Six's Covert Move Gamma: Wrecking and Entering, but it looked like the door was "human-proof," too. "Wait!" Ana Sofía said, her screen flashing. "Someone is going in the door now! Maybe I can—" She typed so fast, it sounded like a dozen squirrels scampering across glass. "Mudwhistles!" she said, balling her hands into fists. "I thought I had it, but the best I could do was redefine the closing parameters to one-point-seven-seven meters instead of one-point-eight." I twitched a whisker in confusion. "I can't open or close it," she said. "All I could do was make the door think it's all the way closed when it isn't. They might not even notice, the gap is so small. Just a crack." I laughed, and I think Ana Sofía recognized the way my tail moved as something we do when we're happy. "Oh," she said. "Is that good?" I patted a bit of the sock that covered her calf and gave her a claws-up. "A crack is all we need," I said. True to her word, when we broke back into the mall and arrived at the floor-door, it was open. Or open enough, anyway. It was a tight fit for Big Sissy Hotlegs, but she's used to scamper holes made for more petite squeaks. A narrow set of stairs led down from the floor-door to a hallway lined with human-size lockers. At the end of the hall, an archway opened into a darkness my squirrel eyes couldn't pierce. A draft blew in through high wall vents. I glanced at Chive Alpha, who had already seen it. I nodded, and the little squirrel scampered up the wall like a spider. Or a squirrel. A spider-squirrel. In a moment, she was through the metal grating and into the ductwork. Chomp Style started biting locks off lockers, and Big Sissy Hotlegs popped the doors open. "Nice weather for a break-in," said Fuzz Fountain Cortez. "Like a cool autumn night atop a full hoard," I said. As Cortez, Chomps, and Sissy tossed the contents of the lockers, I scampered past to the dark end of the hallway. Narrow beams of light crisscrossed in the threshold. Lasers? Like the ones in the floor? I picked up a fallen scrap of paper and tossed it through. Nothing happened. No burning or alarms or anything. Carefully, I put my paw through. "ORGANISM DETECTED," a robotic voice declared from a speaker on the wall. I looked back at my team, who had frozen in their tasks and stared at me, wide-eyed. "WORKER UNKNOWN," the voice continued. "STATE YOUR SECURITY-AUTHORIZED NAME." Something mechanical within the walls made a clunking noise, and a panel slid open. A weapon-looking thing extended through the hole. "PROVIDE YOUR SECURITY-AUTHORIZED NAME WITHIN FIVE SECONDS OR BE DESTROYED," the voice commanded. My teeth clenched. I do not take kindly to threats of destruction. "My name is Tippy-Toe," I said. I scampered up the wall to perch on the barrels. "And my authorization is JUSTICE!" I bit through the housing at the base of the barrel and tore it from the wall. "'CHK-CHKKA-CHT' IS NOT A SECURITY-AUTHORIZED NAME," the voice continued. "YOU WILL NOW BE DESTROYED." Three more panels opened, revealing new weapons. I zigged and zagged out of there as beams of burning light erupted around me. My team was already waiting for me at the top of the stairs, their mouths full of stuff they grabbed before they ran. Cortez glanced up at a vent, and I knew she was telling me that Chive Alpha was still in there. A ball of fire bursted from inside a vent. "HOT HOT HOT HOT," Chive Alpha shouted as she ran past us and through the gap in the door. Cortez and I followed, locker-room lasers firing at our tails with a fzzzzzz fzzzzz. We fled Victor's Secret and darted through the mall. Men's voices were shouting. We didn't turn to look. We scurried so fast through the passage Chomp Style made in the mall wall that our faces were in the bums of the squirrels in front. Like we practiced, we scattered in the parking lot, no straight line to follow, each of us disappearing into adjoining lots. We met up again at Ana Sofía's camp. Chive Alpha was steaming in a puddle, and she sighed. "I hope she's okay," Ana Sofía said. "She didn't seem to want my help." "Chive Alpha?" I asked. "You okay?" "Peaches and nuts," she said. "But that thingie burned off some of my bum fur. If Chomp Style has any spare underpants, I'll take them." "Earned your ham-pants today, I think," said Big Sissy Hotlegs through a full mouth, her cheeks stuffed round. "Maybe I'll change my name to Little Sissy Hotbum," said Chive Alpha. "NO!" we all said. Not that it wasn't a right decent squirrel name, but we couldn't take another change. I patted her tiny head. She moaned, but her tail flicked a smile. The rest of the team emptied the loot from their cheeks, piling it up at Ana Sofía's feet. She sorted through it, seemingly unconcerned by squirrel spit. Doreen chose her BHFF wisely. "Ooh," she said. "This looks incriminating. And this—wow, Tippy. No smoking gun, but enough that I think I'm ready to tell Squirrel Girl that we've officially got ourselves a Hydra problem." WHAT SQUIRREL TEAM SIX STOLE: • tin of Red Skull–brand brand chewing tobacco • pamphlet titled Obedience & Hatred: The Foundations of Success • two sticks of Barnyard Chicken–flavor chewing gum • a burned sock • Food Heap Cafe rewards card, two punches remaining • one signed photograph of a donkey or small horse named Fig • a dead beetle (possibly was already in Chomp Style's cheeks before the raid) • a receipt for twenty-five pounds of lard and a cowboy hat • cheddar-flavored mouthwash (travel size) • one "No Evil" kit containing noseplug, earplugs, and a mouthplug (eyeplugs missing) • gardenia seeds • Serpent-B-Gone–brand snake repellent • a piece of blueberry waffle (also possibly previously in Chomp Style's cheeks) • one baggie of Chafe Master–brand rubber-suit powder • and a flyer for a suspicious party ANA SOFÍA: I'm in the tree house Ana Sofía turned on the tree house lantern to shove away the heavy, ominous feeling of that night, a night she now was certain lurked with Hydra agents. She sat on the weather-worn boards with her back to the thin wall and waited. And tried to ignore the buzzing in her belly and that generally sick feeling that assured her she should just run away from any social encounter and wouldn't it be nicer to not have any friends whatsoever and move into that sequestered attic she'd been dreaming about? Yes, she believed Hydra was right in her own neighborhood. And yes, she was more worried about having a conversation with a friend. She even started to get up, but Tippy-Toe chose just that moment to hop onto her lap. A squirrel was so much lighter than a dog or a cat, but she felt that familiar comfort of a pet—a small, fuzzy, warm, alive thing that chooses to be near you. It felt like an honor. She lightly petted her back, the fur tickling her fingertips. Tippy-Toe's five squirrel friends from the mall break-in gathered around, too. One of them set to arranging their treasures on the tree house floor, the flyer in the center. It didn't take long. Within moments of receiving the text, Doreen leaped out of her second-story bedroom window and hopped across her backyard lawn and up through the tree house window. "Hey—oh, hi, everybody! Wow, is this a party?" she said. Or at least, Ana Sofía thought that was what she said. Doreen had signed some of the words. Ana Sofía adjusted the tree house's battery-powered lantern to more fully hit Doreen's face. "Doreen," said Ana Sofía, steeling her nerves, "I think the new mall really is being built by the real Hydra, and my reasons are—" "Oh no!" said Doreen. "And you said that Hydra is the evilest of evil. That means we've got to stop them like A-SAP!" "Wait, say that again?" Ana Sofía said in case she'd misunderstood. Doreen repeated herself. "So you believe me?" said Ana Sofía. "Of course I do!" said Doreen. "If you say it's Hydra, then it must be Hydra. Oh wait, I interrupted you, didn't I? Sorry! I think I'm always doing stuff like that. Interrupting. Being difficult. Crap, sorry. You probably wanted to show me how you figured it out, and I really do want to know." "Oh! Okay." Ana Sofía had imagined it might take some convincing. She'd prepared herself for the chance of laughter. She hadn't once run through in her mind what to do if Doreen just believed her outright. But she presented her discovery of the anagram as well as the evidence the squirrels found in the mall basement and her reasons why each item pointed to Hydra. "So…that's what I think." Ana Sofía paused. "You're the awesomest detective friend I ever had," said Doreen, signing, her expression glowing, her signs big and empathic and full of emotion. Ana Sofía blushed. "I guess." "So why does Hydra want to build a mall anyway?" asked Doreen. "Like, what is their evil plan?" "Honestly I have no idea," said Ana Sofía. "I guess we should tell the Avengers and they should come take care of it, right? Now that this is legit evil mastermind-y Hydra?" "Yes. Totally. I'll do that." Ana Sofía nodded. They were both quiet for a time. The squirrels seemed to communicate with each other and then began gathering up the evidence to store in whatever way squirrels do. "So here's a funny thing," Doreen said when the squirrels were gone. "I thought my English teacher was a Super Villain, but turns out she's just easily annoyed with me." "Schweinbein?" said Ana Sofía. "Yeah, I looked into her when she transferred mid-semester and figured out she came here because she's a huge Squirrel Girl fan." "I should have told you my weird suspicions! It would have saved me so much time!" "Me too," said Ana Sofía, and then, though she hadn't once pre-run through this conversation in her head, she dared to say, "But you laughed at me." "I did?" Ana Sofía nodded. "I told you I thought maybe the mall really was Hydra and you laughed. That's a thing for me. I really, really don't like it when people laugh at me." "Dude, I'm so sorry. For real. I don't even remember. I probably thought you were kidding. But clearly you were right." "It's okay. Also, when I didn't understand you and you said 'Never mind'—I know you didn't mean it like a big deal, but just thought you should know, that's a thing that…hurts me. It's like you're saying that repeating something I wasn't able to hear the first time isn't worth the trouble. That because I'm deaf, I'm not worth the trouble." "Oh, wow. I am so, so sorry." "It's okay." She gulped. This was getting way too revealy for her personal comfort, and she smiled like it was nothing. "I'm just weird about some things, I guess." "No, that's not a weird thing, that makes total sense." Ana Sofía's smile felt more real. It wasn't nothing. It was a big deal to her. What a relief that her friend took it seriously. "And anyway…" Doreen held up her flattened hand. "Hello! I'm weird about so many things!" Ana Sofía lifted her hand and allowed a high five, even though the concept of high fives was one of those things she was weird about. "From now on we talk, okay? Me too. Even though conversations like this are strangely super-hard for me. Even if our thoughts are embarrassing." "Especially if they're embarrassing!" Doreen laughed. "Oh, sorry, I'm not laughing at you." "I know," said Ana Sofía. "There's a huge difference." Suddenly Ana Sofía felt so tired. Sometimes it happened like that, snap, and she'd hit the bottom of her ability to keep trying. Reading lips, examining expressions, working so much harder than a hearing person to try to communicate and understand. The miraculous thing was, Doreen seemed to notice immediately. She took out her phone. DOREEN: I'll walk you home k? Ana Sofía nodded, and they texted each other as they walked. ANA SOFÍA: So that flyer. I think the victory party is supposed to be celebrating the success of whatever hydra is planning to do in shady oaks DOREEN: Their victory party plan is a little premature imho ANA SOFÍA: Right. But I think d-day is mall opening day. And that's the day after tomorrow DOREEN: I'm really hoping d stands for donuts. Or dinosaurs. Oh man why don't I get to regularly fight dinosaurs? Or ride them at least? Moon Girl gets all the fun ANA SOFÍA: All the PR pushing to get people there opening day I think hydra has something big planned DOREEN: And bad. I'm guessing it's bad ANA SOFÍA: Since it's hydra that would be a logical assumption: Also I found a thread on a baddit forum of supposed mall employees and one literally said "Saturday is d-day and it's gonna be bad" DOREEN: Don't worry I'll tell the avengers So we promised to share embarrassing thoughts. You got any? Escorted through the dark neighborhood by a squad of furry rodents, they shared embarrassing thoughts all the way to Ana Sofía's house. SQUIRREL GIRL: Hey Avenger pals! So my best human and squirrel friends believe it really is real Hydra for real setting up a mall for bad guy reasons. Can some of you come and, you know, avenger them out of my neighborhood? IRON MAN: Sorry can't help now. I'm in space fighting Thanos. BLACK WIDOW: I'd love to help. But I'm also in space. Fighting Thanos. CAPTAIN MARVEL: Literally in space rn fighting Thanos SPIDER-MAN: So am I! I'm totally in outer space! Like the actual real outer space that's not on earth but in the sky with the stars not even kidding! Also fighting Thanos too. Not just sightseeing. Contributing like a team member: Making real legit contributions so probably officially an Avenger now or something ROCKET You know how you sound, right? Like, you can hear yourself after you hit send and are capable of feeling shame? SPIDER-MAN: …yes ROCKET: Also I'm in space fighting Thanos GROOT: I AM GROOT. ROCKET: Yeah, Groot, she knows you're in space fighting Thanos too, where else would you be? GROOT: I AM GROOT. ROCKET: Solid point, I stand corrected. WINTER SOLDIER: I'm actually pretty free this week if anyone needs help clearing out a Hydra cell. Or you know traveling to space to fight Thanos. SQUIRREL GIRL: Oh dang winter soldier i didn't mean to bother you with this group text never mind pretend you never saw this ha ha THOR: Were I not at this moment in the black nether battling the foul monster Thanos I would fly to thy side! SPIDER-MAN: I just don't want you to think I'm only tagging along or anything. Because I'm actually physically fighting Thanos. Like right now. Or any second now. ROCKET: Please stop. You're making me laugh so much it's getting hard to fight Thanos SPIDER-MAN: Is it possible to delete texts once they're sent GROOT: I AM GROOT. ROCKET: Yeah, time travel is your only option, and time travel ALWAYS works out great for everyone, so good luck with that IRON MAN: Wow, Squirrel Girl, here you are again asking for my help! I guess we must really be "advice buddies" as you said. Maybe even "pards"! SQUIRREL GIRL: For sure! I want to be there for you iron man whenever you need a friend. Sometimes I feel so sad when I think about you and how hard it must be to be just the guy in a robot suit when like captain marvel is around and just soooo powerful? CAPTAIN MARVEL: Dying IRON MAN: I appreciate the friendship offer, Squirrel Girl, but I think I've been unclear. I see our relationship as the wise and powerful battle-scarred soldier mentoring the novice fighter SQUIRREL GIRL: You are the sweetest! I have seen a few battles tbh but I don't think you need to call yourself a novice. Black widow says you really are a real hero and I believe in you too! CAPTAIN MARVEL: This is my favorite conversation ever BLACK WIDOW: Agreed. Rethinking my anti-group text policy SPIDER-MAN: Dude Tony I so know how you feel right now IRON MAN: I believe you, and yet I find little comfort in that CAPTAIN AMERICA: Everyone off this delightful group text. Time to focus on fighting Thanos in space SPIDER-MAN: Aye aye Cap SQUIRREL GIRL: K luck in space fighting Thanos! No prob I'll take care of hydra! WINTER SOLDIER: So I remain available SQUIRREL GIRL: Um yeah? WINTER SOLDIER: I stand ready, willing, able, and actually quite eager to permanently dispose of any Hydra agents in your vicinity and anyone else that might get in the way of my awesome metal arm of justice SQUIRREL GIRL: It's probably not hydra after all thanks k bye! The Grand High Sub-Lieutenant of Hydra operations in Greater Shady Oaks and Lesser Union County first heard the phrase "lizard brain" from his oma. He had come home early from kindergarten one day because everyone in his class, including the teacher, had gotten "sick." Everyone except him. "Vhat kind of sick vas it, boy?" his oma had asked. She had an accent where she pronounced w like v. He liked it. "The kind when everybody stabs each other with crayons and screams. That kind," he said. "Ah," she said, as if she had seen it before. "Ze lizard brain." At first he had thought "lizard brain" was the name of a sickness, like mad cow disease or bird flu—something rare and terrible and animal-adjacent. But after a riot in his play group, repeated lunch tray fights in the cafeteria at school, and countless days when the kids with desks near his curled up and shivered, he realized "lizard brain" was something everyone had: a core part of themselves that needed to either fight or run away. And occasionally, just being near him brought that out of people. "You are special," his oma told him the day he returned home after being expelled from middle school. His lab partner had nearly burned down the building, and he had also been blamed as a co-conspirator, though all he'd done was watch and laugh. Life and the unfairness of it! "Because of the lizard brain stuff?" he said. He had not been fully convinced of his special-ness. It was entertaining to watch people try to hurt each other, but he was only ever a spectator, strangely invisible to the people during their brief primal bouts in his presence. "I haf made you some-zing," his grandmother said, handing him a bundle. He unfolded a leather jumpsuit, stitched together from the hides of reptilian animals. "It is a BEAST suit. A BATTLE suit," she said. "For me?" "For ze Lizard Brain," she said. "For ze man you vill become." Many years later, the Grand High Sub-Lieutenant of Hydra operations in Greater Shady Oaks and Lesser Union County wiped away the condensation building up on the inside of his shower stall. He had finally become that man his oma had seen. The Lizard Brain. And he demanded all who served him recognize that fact. This was no ordinary shower. It was the Hydra SloughCatcher 2000, designed to collect what was special about him, the very thing that made people lose their minds—his musk. Tubes snaked away from the drain of the shower and carried the nectar of his musk into giant titanium storage tanks. And from those tanks his minions synthesized the gas that would allow him to share his Very Special Aroma with a larger audience. And it would all begin with the upcoming mall massacre. Hydra had made it possible, of course. Sweet, sweet Hydra. They had been the ones to identify the special pheromone he exuded that short-circuited people's brains. They had taken him in as a teenager, trained him to control when and how much musk he secreted. When people breathed in his musk, their higher brain functions shut down. Their threat response amplified. People became primal. Raw. Reduced to the basic survival instincts that lizards possess in their tiny ancient brains. When under his power, people would either run away screaming or tear each other apart. His odor was power. His sweat was like gold. That is, if gold was a thing that made people go bonkers and try to kill each other. Which, he supposed, it was. He chuckled at his own thoughts. He was a funny guy, and he enjoyed a good laugh. Someone tapped on the glass. He wiped away the fog from the shower again. Regular Shallow Sub-Lieutenant Barry peered back. Barry wasn't his real name. These names were all assigned at the beginning of field duty. Barry glanced down at Lizard Brain's only article of clothing—black swim briefs—and then quickly away. Lizard Brain had had them modeled after Namor the Sub-Mariner's tighty shorts. He felt certain they looked quite fetching. "What's up, Barry, my man?" "The scientists say the rate of musk retrieval is nearing zero, Grand High Sub-Lieutenant, sir." Lizard Brain smiled patiently. "Try that again, Barry." Barry took a deep breath. "The mad scientists say you've showered long enough, er, Lizard Brain, sir." Yes. That was who he was. Who he had become. The honor bestowed upon him by his grandmother so many years ago. The mantle he had finally taken up. Also, for practical purposes, "Lizard Brain" was much simpler than, say, "Grand High Sub-Lieutenant of Hydra operations in Lesser Union County." "Oh, you know how the mad scientists are," said Lizard Brain, pushing open the stall door. He liked buddying up to the lesser agents, complaining about management and such. He was certain it made them more devoted to him. "Mad, sir?" Barry asked. He held out a plush green robe—a little too quickly for Lizard Brain's liking. Almost as if he wanted to cover up the sight of his fetching Namor shorts. "Yes!" Lizard Brain said, slapping Barry on the back. "Mad!" "Er…they also say it will take longer to distill the gas if the musk-to-water ratio goes beyond one to one thousand." "I'm sure they do," Lizard Brain said. He had no idea what that meant. He was not the mad scientist of the organization. He was the power. The architect. The brain. The Lizard Brain. Lizard Brain quizzed Barry about different aspects of the Hate Initiative as they descended from the shower spire. When Barry got something wrong, Lizard Brain bopped him on the nose. It was funny! He wasn't uptight and stuffy, like some in this organization. He was a fun boss. Weirdly, Barry didn't laugh. No sense of humor, probably. A sense of humor was genetic, Lizard Brain was certain. In the bunker's command center/dressing room, Lizard Brain shed the robe. He glanced longingly at the patchwork leather suit that hung on a nearby peg. Oma's battle suit. He reached for his dress uniform instead. Soon it would be time for the battle suit. Soon. Not until he was fully dressed did Lizard Brain realize he'd forgotten to take off his wet Namor shorts. Barry glanced down at the wetness already seeping through the seat of his pants. "Warm in here, isn't it, Barry?" said Lizard Brain. Maybe he wanted wet pants. Maybe he liked how they felt. Maybe they were an efficient cooling system. A screen on the opposite wall flickered to life, resolving into the face of his immediate supervisor. Barry, in the process of retrieving the bathrobe, dove to the floor to get out of camera range. He was frightened of the Grand High Sub-Supervisor for Special Projects. Lizard Brain didn't understand it. The supervisor was a lovely gal, a real go-getter. "REPORT!" the Grand High Sub-Supervisor bellowed from the screen. Lizard Brain smiled. "All is going according to plan, Madam Supervisor." He always said those exact words to superior officers, no matter the context. It was one of the first things they taught in the academy—a civility, like saying "Fine, thanks" after someone asks you how you are, even if you're ecstatic or miserable or currently being bitten all over by rabid red ants. "You have stored sufficient musk to blanket the entire mall?" "Yes, Madam Supervisor," he said. "Everything we are collecting now is extra. Gravy, you might say." She raised an eyebrow. "It will be enough to saturate the entire premises?" "Yes indeedy! We experimented with other delivery systems first. The mad scientists managed to create a stable version of the musk that could be coated onto objects, like our mall T-shirts. But the effects are minimized, merely irritating those who wear them and making them slightly more violent than normal. To get the whole effect, people need to be saturated with the musk in a closed environment." "We shall see," she said. "And the resistance?" "Resistance, madam?" "The squirrel creature," she said. "As I understand it, her presence was one of the reasons you requested this post." "Oh yes, the Squirrel Girl," he said. "You know, I studied genetic hybridization in the academy before moving to management. Humanimals are something of a hobby. Dog-Lord and Mistress Meow were a fun find in the old A.I.M. storage facility, not necessary to the plan per se, but definitely adding some pizzazz!" Since the hybrids he'd been able to get were a cat and dog, he'd chosen those two animals for the mall mascot race. How serendipitous, he realized after, the symmetry of the two beasts, a symbol of constant battle. If he was successful, Shady Oaks and Listless Pines would indeed be fighting like cats and dogs. "But the squirrel hero defeated them," she said. "Pfff. She did exactly what I wanted her to do—engage them in a destructive, public battle that would make a lot of people angry and stir up fear and hate." "Toward dogs and cats?" "Well, yes, and by extension, toward their supporters. These two neighborhoods already disliked each other. It's not difficult to tip that over the line into hatred." "And does the Squirrel Girl herself present a threat?" Lizard Brain stifled a laugh. "No, madam. I'm pretty much an expert in animal hybridization; I can say the only combination less threatening than a 'squirrel girl' would be something like a 'mouse baby.'" "Very well, then," she said. "In two days' time I will be expecting the national news to be using words like 'catastrophe,' 'tragedy,' and 'horror' to describe the opening of your mall." "Don't worry, I've got it covered," Lizard Brain said. The Grand High Sub-Supervisor nodded curtly and ended the transmission. Lizard Brain reached to turn off the screen when he noticed a small text message in the lower corner, blinking red. MMV20: you are so screwed Lizard Brain narrowed his eyes. Someone named "MMV20" had been hacking texts to his computer from the moment of his transfer to Shady Oaks. At first he'd worried that S.H.I.E.L.D. or some other silly hero initiative had infiltrated the network, but tech support confirmed all traffic was internal to Hydra. "MMV20" was likely some bored kid at the academy trolling for fun. Or Barry. Probably Barry. LIZARDBRAIN: No you are the one who is screwed MMV20: oh man thats the best you got almost feel sorry for you LIZARDBRAIN: You haven't even seen my best it is amazing MMV20: listen i want to see you toasted but for the sake of the organization you need to stop LIZARDBRAIN: Haters going to hate MMV20: go dark. pull out. open up shop anywhere else just NOT SHADY OAKS LIZARDBRAIN: Payers going to pay And by payer I mean me. I am a payer that is going to pay the piper! MMV20: you are hopeless. squirrel girl is going to straight up destroy you The connection dropped. Lizard Brain pushed the keyboard away, feeling grumpier than he usually permitted himself. He checked his pockets and discovered a single Mento. Strawberry—his least favorite. He threw the Mento at the screen. "Up yours, Em Em Vee Twenty, whoever you are," he said. "No squirrel can destroy me. No girl can destroy me. And definitely no squirrel girl. FOR I AM LIZARD BRAIN! AND I AM MONSTROUS!" Barry cleared his throat, standing in the doorway. Lizard Brain spun around, a new smile pasted to his face. "Sorry to disturb you, sir," Barry said. "But your Hot Pockets are ready." Lizard Brain's fake smile widened into a gleeful grin. De-musking always made him hungry. And how he loved a good Hot Pocket. ANA SOFÍA: The avengers really can't come? SQUIRREL GIRL: They're all in space. Fighting Thanos ANA SOFÍA: D-day is tomorrow SQUIRREL GIRL: Yeah and no avengers to save the day. Dude what should we do? ANA SOFÍA: I don't know. ur squirrel girl SQUIRREL GIRL: Yes I am. I am squirrel girl. i am the hero that says not today evildoers. Not in my neighborhood. You may have terrifying evil plans for tomorrow morning but too bad so sad not gonna happen cuz i will stop you tonight! so there! ANA SOFÍA: YES!!!: Tho for real I don't think hydra is something either of us can just take on SQUIRREL GIRL: But space. Thanos. ANA SOFÍA: This is hydra SQUIRREL GIRL: I know ANA SOFÍA: I'm not sure we can just fight hydra SQUIRREL GIRL: I know But what else can we do? ANA SOFÍA: Fight hydra I guess. Should I contact the squirrel scouts SQUIRREL GIRL: No ANA SOFÍA: This is hydra SQUIRREL GIRL: Yeah this is hydra. They're not ready for hydra ANA SOFÍA: We're not ready for hydra SQUIRREL GIRL: Omgosh we're so not ready for hydra but we're so doing this anyway you are the best ever ANA SOFÍA: I'll ask my dad if I can meet you at the mall SQUIRREL GIRL: Yeah. I'm nervous. But I'll meet you at the mall in 20. If I can get permission ANA SOFÍA: Me too. If I can get permission Doreen slipped her secret secure Squirrel Girl phone into her skirt pocket and walked into the kitchen. Or moseyed, really. Strolled. Meandered. Sooo casual and calm, nothing whatsoever squirrelly about her at all. "So, hey there, parental units," Doreen said, still über-casual. "Whatcha doing?" Dor and Maureen were putting together a puzzle of a kitten and a puppy playing together in a box of yarn. "Why? What's going on?" asked Maureen. "Hmm? What?" said Doreen. "Nothing. A puzzle, huh? Well, it's not squirrels, but still pretty cute." Maureen's eyes narrowed. Dor's mouth twitched. "In all my years, Maureen," he said, "I never thought our daughter would start to lie to us." "I know, Dor, I know," said Maureen. "To us, of all parents! After all, we're so understanding. And reasonable." "And adorable," said Dor. Doreen plopped down into a chair, elbows on the table and her chin on her hands. She had been planning to lie but hadn't even gotten that far yet. Dang it all, she was terrible at this. "So Tippy-Toe and Ana Sofía figured out that an evil organization is behind the mall and they're planning on doing something awful on opening day, so someone should probably go stop them." "Tonight?" asked Maureen. "Well, yeah," said Doreen. "I mean, it's not a school night." "What evil organization?" asked Dor. "Hmmda," Doreen mumbled. "What was that, angel?" asked Maureen. "Hydra," Doreen whispered. Maureen jumped to her feet. "Hydra? Am I to understand that you are asking permission to go out after bedtime to singlehandedly fight the most destructive, heartless, hateful, bigoted, sinister world-spanning organization in human history?" "It's just one tiny branch of Hydra, not like all of it ever," Doreen said. "It's not that late, and it's not even a school night. And I'm not trying to defeat them alone. Go ahead, ask me, 'You and what army?'" "She'll say 'My squirrel army,'" Dor whispered. "Yes, I guessed," said Maureen. She sighed. "Dang it, when am I going to get to use that line?" said Doreen. "You're fourteen—" her father started. "And so I'm too young to take on Hydra even if I do have the proportional strength, speed, and agility of a squirrel?" Her parents nodded. "Yeah, you're probably right," said Doreen. "But there's no one else. Like, everyone is literally in space fighting Thanos. And they didn't ask me to go to space to fight Thanos because, you know, I'm only fourteen, and I'm only Squirrel Girl…." "Hey now," said her father, "you're not only Squirrel Girl. You've never been only Squirrel Girl. You're also Doreen Allene Green, and that's someone to be proud of!" Doreen nodded, and she tried to just let it go, but what he'd said made her chest feel all squeezed and her chin all quivered and her legs all noodle-loose, and she sat down hard in a chair. "I don't know," she said. "Know what? What don't you know?" Now Doreen's nose felt all sniffled. "Lately, it's easier to be Squirrel Girl than to be…Doreen Allene Green." And then she sniffed some more, and her eyes felt hot. She took a breath, and the promise she'd made Ana Sofía about talking stuff out made the words inside all hot and liquidy and they just poured out of her. "School's not going so great with all the homework and no time to do it with all the Super Heroing, and there's a teacher that's always annoyed with me even though she's the one with a secret and illegal barnyard in her basement, and I am part of a group of friends who love Squirrel Girl but kinda overlook Doreen, and Ana Sofía is awesome of course, but it seemed like she was pulling back lately from our friendship and I think I super hurt her feelings without even realizing it by never-minding her, so how do I know how to not, like, permanently damage a best-friendship when I do bad stuff without even realizing, and I think we worked that out, but you know me with friends that don't last unless they're small and furry and, I don't know, like, I feel better and do better when I've got my tail out and I'm talking criminals out of criming or, you know, punching them, and I don't feel fourteen then, I only feel fourteen when I'm Doreen and Doreen doesn't know what in the heck she's doing!" She cried some. And she felt her parents put their hands on her shoulders, on her head. "Can I tell you a secret?" Maureen said. "We don't know what we're doing either." "Well, yeah," said Doreen. They laughed, and Dor cut into the butter pecan cake he'd baked earlier without knowing how much they'd need it now. "You know you're doing great, right?" said her father, his mouth full of cake. "You know nobody knows what they're doing and we're all just figuring out how to be us as we go along." "So it's okay that I have no idea how to defeat Hydra so I should just go jump in and figure it out as I go?" Her parents sighed again. "Too soon?" said Doreen. "We worry," said Maureen. "There's no parenting manual for this, no How to Be a Good Parent to a Super Hero in Twelve Easy Steps—" "Ooh, maybe I should write that," said Dor. It was Doreen's turn to sigh. "There's no How to Be a Super Hero When You're Fourteen either. But there's no one else. Someone once said with great power comes great accessibility—no wait, that doesn't sound right. Trust me, it was a good phrase and, like, really inspiring. Anyway, I've got to try. Being Squirrel Girl is the only thing that really makes sense right now. And what if I did nothing and people got hurt tomorrow or even died?" Her parents exchanged looks. That was a good sign. All this practice talking criminals out of criming had increased her persuasive conversation skills in everyday life! "I'll be careful, okay?" said Doreen. "Middle school years are weird," said Maureen. "I was terrified anyone would notice me, and yet I wore a tiger-ears headband every day for, like, a year." "I formed a rock band," said Dor. "None of us knew how to play our instruments. We didn't realize that until we were onstage in the school talent show." "But it gets better," said Maureen. "Please be careful and come home safe so that you can see that it does get better." They hugged. They ate cake. And then Doreen Green put on the hoodie with the little ears. She laced up her sneakers. She fluffed out her tail. And she ran. There were no security guards at the mall. That was the first thing. The parking lot was empty. The lights were off. The GRAND OPENING banner hung from two ropes over the front doors, twisting in the wind and slapping against the concrete front with an eerie whump whump. But if this was a brand-new mall full of merchandise, why weren't there any guards? Because they're not worried about breakins, Ana Sofía thought. Maybe because there is no merchandise, and it's all a hoax. Or maybe because they have other forms of security. She hid behind a bush on the empty lot next door and waited for Squirrel Girl to find her. Somehow, she always found her—by smell, she presumed. Ana Sofía was lucky to have made it there at all. Gracias a Dios her mom was working tonight. Her mom held pretty tightly to Mexican cultural norms about curfews and protecting daughters. Before Doreen, Ana Sofía had rarely been permitted to even go to a friend's house. Her dad on the other hand was second-generation Mexican American and was generally more lax. She knew her mom just wanted to protect her, and she generally preferred staying in and playing on her laptop anyway, but the maternal protectiveness was really inconvenient when she was needed to take down a Hydra cell operating out of the local mall. Guilt gnawed her. She hadn't lied to her dad about her plans, but she had been vague about needing to "meet up with Doreen for a project." She really, really had to try to not get killed or she'd be in so much trouble. Ana Sofía felt the ground vibrate behind her. She whipped around. Squirrel Girl had just jumped down from a tree and now stood there, fists on hips, outlined in silver moonlight. In bushes and trees behind her, the leaves trembled. "So you think you can take down Hydra, huh?" Ana Sofía said. "You and what army?" "This one," Squirrel Girl signed. The shivers in the shadows leaned forward, dozens of blinkless squirrel eyes reflecting back the city lights. Then more and more, a hundred, two hundred, the tree's boughs bending beneath the weight of them, the night's shadows ragged with their shapes, the breeze carried by their breath. Squirrel Girl doubled over, laughing quietly and saying something, most likely thanking Ana Sofía for setting up the awesome line. And then she hugged her. Hugs were not Ana Sofía's favorite thing, but Squirrel Girl was in her top five, so she didn't hate it. "You're welcome," she said. And then without a word they set off across the dark parking lot. Two girls, two hundred squirrels. Tippy-Toe was there, of course, her pink bow a slash of gray-purple in the night. She loped off in front, the five other squirrels from last night surrounding her, running in sync. The rest of the squirrels followed en masse, flowing behind them like a great black fuzzy river. The mall doors were locked, of course. Squirrel Girl pulled on one. Then she pulled harder. And then it was open, dead bolts curved like bendy straws. It was moments like these when Ana Sofía remembered that, whoa, her best friend Doreen was a legit Super Hero. She smiled at her and signed, "Good job, Squirrel Girl." Squirrel Girl made the signs for "shy" and "embarrassed," but her posture was straight, her eyes sparkling, and she looked ready to tear down the mall by hand. They entered the giant cube of a building, the dark rodent bodies surging around their feet. It smelled like a mall. A smell Ana Sofía couldn't place exactly—not just paint and wood and electricity, but some other unique odor. Maybe malls sprayed bottles of Genuine Mall Scent so they could all smell the same. Note: Malls are eerie after hours. Avoid entering dark, empty malls in the future. It looked like a typical mall. The dim emergency lights cast dull orange shadows over the center court, the still water fountain, the escalator frozen in the moment. The storefronts were closed, the names on their signs familiar—sort of: Off Topic, Clot Dog on a Stick, Trick-fil-A… Something was not quite right. "This place isn't…quite right," Ana Sofía said. She hoped she said it softly, but whispering wasn't her strongest skill. Anyway, it was hard to sneak into a place quietly after you've torn the steel doors off their hinges. The squirrels took the lead, and soon they were at that door. The impossible door. The hack-proof door. The squirrel-proof door. The solid some-kind-of-rare-and-impossible-metal door. But an unopenable door was not The End, not in Ana Sofía's mind. It was a problem. And problems have solutions. "I have an idea…" Ana Sofía said, signing. She swallowed. She frowned. She wished she could take back the words. "I'm not going to laugh," Squirrel Girl signed back. "I promise." "Okay," she said aloud. "Well…you seem to have the proportional abilities of a squirrel, right? I did some research. By some metrics the jaw muscle is the strongest muscle in the human body. Our bites can create two hundred pounds per square inch of pressure. Well, squirrel bites are capable of seven thousand pounds per square inch." From the corner of her eye, she saw two squirrels high-five. "So…if squirrels can bite with seven thousand pounds of force, what would your proportional biting strength be?" Squirrel Girl closed her eyes, as if calculating in her head. Her eyes popped open. "Wait, are you telling me to chew through this door?" Ana Sofía felt her face go hot with embarrassment, but she said, "Squirrel Girl, I am telling you to chew through this door." Squirrel Girl seemed to need a moment to take this in. Then she whispered a word. Ana Sofía thought it was probably "Awesome." Squirrel Girl put her hands against the door, she opened her mouth, and…what happened next was unlike anything Ana Sofía had witnessed before. There was gnawing. There was chomping. There was nibbling. There was even climbing, as she maneuvered around to get the right angles. And by the time Squirrel Girl stood back up, there was a hole about two feet in diameter in the center of the door. And flecks of metal on her lips. "That was hard-core," Ana Sofía said. Squirrel Girl wiped the metal off her mouth. And smiled. "Squirrel power!" she said in ASL. "Oh, dude, you broke a tooth!" Ana Sofía pointed to one of Squirrel Girl's front teeth, which was broken off halfway to its root at a ragged angle. "That's okay, they grow back. Also, high five that I got you saying 'dude.'" Ana Sofía high-fived very reluctantly, but Squirrel Girl had just chewed through several inches of solid metal, so a little indulgent social celebration wasn't unthinkable. Squirrels poured through the chewed-through hole. Squirrel Girl went next, her hips, thighs, and tail area barely squeezing through. Ana Sofía paused before the hole. Behind her was the cavernous, dark mall. Her hearing aids buzzed, picking up indistinct sounds. Had Dog-Lord and Mistress Meow escaped S.H.I.E.L.D.'s pound and come back? Was it Hydra guards? Other things? She peered back into the dark, and it seemed to move. She peered through the hole Squirrel Girl had chewed open, which led into the underground lair of the most evilest organization on the planet. See previous note about avoiding dark, empty malls. Add new note: best practice is always to stay with Squirrel Girl. She took a deep breath. And she dropped through the hole. There were narrow stairs, and then a narrow hallway lined with lockers. It even smelled like a middle school locker room. Squirrel Girl and the squirrels sniffed and scowled, no doubt in agreement. "Tippy says there's some kind of scanning machine down there at the end of the hall, and it shoots lasers if it doesn't recognize you," Squirrel Girl said. "So that's probably the entrance to the rest of the underground base." "Right," Ana Sofía said. She sat on the floor and pulled the laptop out of her backpack. She took a deep breath, typed and tapped and began to worm her way past security using the path she'd created last night. Eventually a field prompt came up, a way to insert names into the database of those people with approved access. "This is the tricky part," said Ana Sofía. "I need to input a name for everyone as we pass through the scanner so the system believes we're authorized and doesn't set off an intruder alert." "I love that you know how to do that and maybe can you teach me how you do it sometime when we're not actively breaking into a Hydra secret base?" Ana Sofía gave her a thumbs-up. "I can type in the names if you want since I know everyone," said Squirrel Girl. Ana Sofía took a deep breath and handed over her laptop. Her precious laptop that she had earned by doing a year's worth of chores for the extended family. Her laptop was not just a toy or a tool, it was often her primary means of interacting with the world. Handing it over felt like tipping backward in a trust fall, and her heart beat painfully, but she did it. Squirrel Girl smiled. "Thank you," she said, as if she understood what it cost Ana Sofía to trust her with it. And honestly, that helped. As the squirrels scurried over the threshold one by one, Squirrel Girl lightning-speed typed their names into the hacked database of Hydra workers. The robot voice of the scanner announced them as they passed through. "Tippy-Toe," said the scanner. "Fuzz Fountain Cortez, Curd Spiderwhey, Cartwheel Kate, Elbow Hides-in-Fur, Stink Pampershield, Chet the Mound King, Lorraine Cuddlywink Cink, Timp Weaselrider, Stephan the Mud-Monger, Maxwell von Snort, Samich the Uneatable, Gary Branch-Walker, Handsome JJ, Marieke the Unblinking, Titus Glittersnoot, Sniffle Sidepockets, Teeter Furflint, Totter Furflint, Vegan Podburglar, Cellophane Sally, Pete Flipperpaws, The Innsmouth Creeper, Prince Ramon the Sub-Earther, Imperious Tex, Davey Porkpun, Dewey Decimate aka the Librarian, Platypus Kate, Bartleby the Scamperer, Calendar Earl, Kurt Poundofguts, Tablecarver Tito, Chomp Style, Millicent the Uncouth, Emo Pat, Shawn Swingsinger, Toot Trainskimmer, Squirm the Exceptionally Comfortable, Mighty Micah Fuzzfist, Thistledown Kistleback aka the Sizzler, Zoë Twig-Hunter, Violet 'Spectrum's End' Nutsworn, Peggy Eggsbane, Polymorph Patty Who Was Once a Gerbil, Rebel Tablescraps, Indistinguishable Ben, Distinguishable Ben, Amy Danderbags, Joggy McSweatscourge, Tail-Pinned Pudu, DG Leaps, BATRA the Unforgiving, Jessica Harmfist, Sir Reggie Fuzzface, Spencer the Brave, Babs the Bubble Witch, Little Sissy Hotlegs, Big Sissy Hotlegs, El Fantástico, Campbell the Unsoup, Rich Reeders, Stu Swarm, Stony Germ, Grinbumm, Roxie the Rock Proxy, Ms. Gnomer, Edfur Cullen, Jacob Blackfuzz, Abbot Shamescuttle, Hotcap Hugglebum, Alexander Hamsandwich, Pardon Menot, Rictus the Screamer, Parking Strip Sue, Bedbug Ballyhoo, Startlekins the Unwieldy, Gary Gardenguard, Meep the Misunderstood, Lady Sportswear, Dirk Stircrazy, Jamie Grizzlechops, Dawn of the Bread, Lefty Girl, Not-That-Stark, Skylar the Twitchy, Skylar the Twitchier, Chive Alpha, Liberty Mel, The Muttering Scallop, Wiggy Nubknees, Puck Tenclaws, Gore Soupstain, Alias the Under-Toad, Pillbox Matt, Speedo Strutfuzz, The Last Empress of Pillbugs, Gordon Soondead, Gordon-Still-in-Waiting, Kit Hulu, Star Spawn of Kit Hulu, Hashbrown the Unspeakable, Diggen Fishlips, Horsebelly Hat, Gayle Bagley, Illum I. Naughty, Spot Welder, KURGAN, Purrmaster Nottacat, Pip Elf-Eater, Keebler the Unbound, Twitch Perfect, Moxie Spectacular, Plexiglass Jones, Fiddler Three, Stinky Boots, Mr. Lumpkins the Grave, Standard M. Lee, Catsy Walker: Halecat, Trespassers William, Silver Streak, Captain Tennille, Ryan of the North, Erica: Son of Hender, Precious Bagginses, Ellen Shuffleclaw, Lana 'the Librarian' Shelfstalker, Shannon Pursepaw, Gnome Chompsky, The Laundry Ghost, Humdinger Nelson, Nancy Grew, Bear Bodkin, Danger Mouse, Jessica O. Berrybits, Henry Manbug, Josephine Cream-Hoarder, Oliver Nutton, Kristen Shawl-Skulker, She Who Must Not Be Named, Thing One, Thing Two-and-a-Half, Gwynn Rummy the Card Shark, Fitzwalnuts Darcy, Michael S. Hat, Woodness Gracious, Flip Furstinger, Kip Furslinger, Pip Fursinger, Melon Brawl Betty, Slicktongue Tablescrap, Tillie Badmeal, Tasha 'the Haunch' Middlesbury, Gordie Gizzardfist, David S. Pumpkins, Humpty Skysword, Big Nod Jellyheart, Pam the Wig Ninja, Carlito Sway, Buddy the Branch Wizard, Keratin Bouquet, Wet William: Formerly Known as M.O.I.S.T., Slim Slickery Suit-Muppet, Table Chaw, The Marble Nugget, Glasstooth Wildebeest, Fuzzhopper Frogskin, Stepback Eyeneedler, Timothy Muffin-Crouch, Captain Ice Weasel, Unidentifiable Blur Junior, Shaka Wall-Faller, Orange Scream Machine, Westminster Wally, Chudslayer Rex, Marty 'the Elephant Among Us' Walnut, Six-Pack Miffy, Five-Pound Baggins, Stimpy Ape-Soul, Savannah Gnarl-Paw, Gravy Chickenskin, Cube-Gleam Kennedy, Creaky Speakeasy, Melanie Neverblink, Herbert Mustard: Crawlspace Commissar, Stevie Stippleback, Fabrizio Furslough, Electric Cashew-aloo, Judy Plume, Ana Sofía, Squirrel Girl." Once through the scanner, they nestled together in a narrow entryway, barely space for two humans and a couple hundred squirrels. Tippy-Toe volunteered to venture first into the unknown. After a few seconds she poked her head back to chitter at Squirrel Girl. "She says when we go in," Squirrel Girl said, signing, "be careful and stay close to the wall." Ana Sofía put her laptop into her backpack and didn't hesitate this time to follow Squirrel Girl. Partly just to escape the locker room smell, but also because if her mother could see her, after Teresa Romero exploded with anger that her daughter would put herself in this situation, she most definitely would advise her to stick close to the girl with squirrel powers. Ana Sofía passed through the dark, narrow passage and through an arched doorway toward a rush of fan-driven air. She clung to the wall as instructed and was immediately glad for it. They were in a circular room about forty feet in diameter, standing on a narrow ledge. Except for that ledge that wrapped around the wall, there was no floor. She held fast to a knob on the wall and leaned a little, looking down. It was a legit Star Wars kind of shaft—metal and plastic walls, blinking electronics, going down, down maybe a hundred feet. There were no stairs. There did not appear to be a ladder. "So, about those proportional squirrel abilities?" said Ana Sofía. Her voice felt trembly in her throat. "Did you know squirrels can fall twenty feet and be fine? Well, if a squirrel is one foot long and takes a twenty-foot fall no problem, and you're about five feet long, then proportionally you should be able to fall one hundred—" Beneath her hand, something clunked within the walls, and Ana Sofía got no further in her analysis of squirrel super powers. Apparently they'd been detected. Robotic arms shot out of the wall at ankle height and began sweeping along the ledge. Squirrel Girl had walked around the ledge to the other side of the shaft. When the sweepers hit her feet, she leaped up, clinging with her claws in the wall. Squirrels, too, leaped out of the way, popping up around Ana Sofía like popping corn. Ana Sofía jumped over the sweeping metal arm, but no sooner had she landed back on the ledge than a second arm shoved against her ankles. She fell. Fell into the chasm, face-first, staring at the dark gray spot where she would no doubt go splat in a few seconds. She fell and fell. In the two and a half seconds it took to fall a hundred or so feet, her adrenaline-spiked brain went through every stage of grief about her upcoming death: 1.denial (No way I am seriously falling into this random chasm!) 2.anger (Stupid Hydra, I'm going to tear them apart!) 3.bargaining (I promise I'll never lie to my parents again if somehow this isn't happening.) 4.depression (Cruuuuuuud….) 5.and finally, acceptance (Um…) Never mind; she didn't quite make it to acceptance. She pivoted back to anger, a space of comfort and familiarity for her, and when one is falling to their death, one really yearns for some comfort and familiarity. Ana Sofía Arcos Romero was royally cheesed off to be dying at age fourteen before she did all the amazing things she was sure she'd do, and in such a stupid way. Stupid Hydra. If she wasn't about to die, she would totally make them pay. Leap before you look. That was Squirrel Girl's motto. So she leaped. And then she looked. She was falling down a smooth metal shaft, about forty feet wide. One hundred feet down? Maybe it was. It sure looked like more. Did she really have all the proportional abilities of a squirrel? Could she take the impact? Welp, too late to stop now. She dove, arms forward, hands in prayer position, head and tail tucked in to be sleek, aerodynamic. Ana Sofía had fallen a half second before her, but she flailed as she fell, and Squirrel Girl was able to catch up. She grabbed Ana Sofía's long black hair and pulled her into a tight hug. Now she fluffed up her tail, hoping to slow their speed. This was a daring rescue for a hero without flying ability. So much talk about flying squirrels! But they'd been born with awesome skin flaps connecting wrists to ankles so they could glide. Where were her awesome skin flaps? As the floor came rushing in, just a couple of seconds after she'd leaped, her adrenaline-zapped brain thought of a million things at once. Had she finished her history homework? Wasn't that essay due on Monday? How did Ms. Schweinbein feed all those animals on a teacher's salary? The second season of That's So Speedball! really wasn't as good as the first, and the subplot about his cat, Hairball, didn't really go anywhere. And even if she could take the jolt of landing, could Ana Sofía? So in midair, she tossed Ana Sofía up. Squirrel Girl landed on her feet, her knees bending, her head whiplashing back, her every bone vibrating, her tail out straight to balance her jarring touchdown. A millisecond later, Ana Sofía came at her. Squirrel Girl caught her, letting her arms dip with the weight to ease her impact. Then she set her friend on her feet. "Whoa," said Ana Sofía. Her eyes looked wobbly in her face. "Yeah," said Squirrel Girl. Or more squeaked. Her voice seemed to be having trouble. Probably because she'd spent the past several seconds screaming. The bottoms of her feet were hot, her spine felt compacted, the landing kind of squishing her all together. Honestly she wouldn't be surprised if she was a couple of inches shorter than she had been. She lifted up one leg, shaking it out. Then the other. Lifted her arms and stretched. "I'm sorry, miss," said a voice in the darkness. "You must have mistaken our high-security underground lair for a yoga studio." A man stepped forward into the light of the shaft. He was wearing full body armor with a helmet, all pea green, the chest emblazoned with a yellow Hydra emblem—not the smiley face of the mall, the real one with the tentacled skull. And he was holding a glowing blue weapon that Squirrel Girl figured must have been a plasma gun because that's the sort of thing guys like that preferred to tote around. Behind him, a dozen more people stepped up. They were all men. All pale-skinned, and all wearing green shirts with yellow belts and yellow suspenderlike stripes to form big Hs on their torsos. "Aha, so you detected our clever break-in!" said Squirrel Girl. "Um, yeah," he said. "High-security underground lair, you know." "Also because of all the screaming, sir," a guy at his elbow said helpfully. "Yes," he said with great authority. "Also because of all the screaming." "Riiiight," said Squirrel Girl. "Screaming. Ana Sofía, remind me to work on my sneaky skills." "Uhhhh," said Ana Sofía. She was patting herself all over, as if feeling for any missing parts. Squirrel Girl didn't have a lot of experience in nearly-falling-to-her-death, but she suspected Ana Sofía was going to need a few moments. She turned back to the Hydra guy, who on closer inspection was wearing a name tag that identified him as "Garry." "Garry!" she said, super-friendly. "What?" he said, sounding like a grade-A grump, in Squirrel Girl's honest opinion. "Garry, you're in charge here. That's so great. I bet you felt like a million bucks when you got promoted to head-Hydra-guy-thing, huh?" Garry shifted uncomfortably. "Not like I was promoted recently or anything, I've been in a managerial position for years," he said, speaking over his shoulder as if for the sake of the guys flanking him. "In fact, I was recently given this brass tentacle pin for all my loyalty and ingenuity and stuff." "Again with the pin," another agent mumbled. "I bet this whole mall idea was partly yours?" said Squirrel Girl. "I bet you were an integral part in this clever scheme." "Well…I definitely added to it," said Garry. "I said, there's got to be a fountain, people will rush into a place that might be dangerous as long as there's a soothing fountain, and, you know, they did listen to me and added a fountain into the mall's main massacre plaza." "Hey, Garry, isn't there a rule against confirming Super Heroes' clever deductions of our evil plans?" asked a guy behind him. "Totally," said another, pulling a small white booklet from his pocket and flipping through the pages. "Here it is! Article Two, Section Nine, Paragraph One Thousand and Twelve: Under no circumstance should an agent fall for the trap of 'monologuing,' i.e., revealing to a captured Super Hero our devious plans, or to in any way confirm said Super Hero's postulations of said plans—" "Yeah, yeah," said Garry, "but it doesn't matter now, because they're about to die." "We are?" asked Squirrel Girl. "Yep," said Garry. "When?" asked Squirrel Girl. "Now," said Garry. He shifted his feet. He cleared his throat. "And now"—Garry raised his plasma gun—"you will die!" "Wait!" said Squirrel Girl, both hands up. "Can't we keep talking for just a minute? Um, so, you like green, huh, Garry? I like green. I also like shelling and eating nuts. And amateur cobblery. The shoe kind. Well, also the fruit kind. Nothing like a piping hot peach cobbler, am I right, Garry? So…what hobbies do you enjoy?" "Actually," said a Hydra guy, "I really do like peach cobbler—" "Silence!" said Garry. "There will be no chitchatting. We are Hydra and we will destroy you!" "Well, I'm a Super Hero," said Squirrel Girl, "and since Hydra is a super-evil organization—" "Thank you," he said. "—I am here to take. You. Personally. Down." "Oh yeah?" he said. "You and what army?" Oh. Oh! Oh-oh-oh! He said it he said it he totally said it! And, even better, at just that moment Tippy-Toe chittered a plan from one hundred feet up. So Squirrel Girl lifted out her tail and fluffed up its fur, just as one by one squirrels leaped from above, landed on her tail, and with a trampoline-y bounce, shot back up a little ways and landed feetfirst on the floor. Within moments, she was surrounded by two hundred black-eyed, blinkless furry warriors. "THIS ARMY," said Squirrel Girl. "Ah," he said. "Yes," she whispered to herself. "YES. Nailed it." Tippy-Toe jumped onto Squirrel Girl's shoulder and ticked her tongue at the green-clad gathering. "Chkt-icky-tickt," she said with an eye roll. "I hear you, Tip," she whispered. "But there are a dozen of them. With plasma guns—" Tippy-Toe chittered something rude about men and their fondness for plasma guns. "And I don't want Ana Sofía to get caught in the cross fire. Give her a guard, okay? I don't think talking them out of it is going to work here. We'd better—" "CHKKT!!!" said Tippy-Toe. She leaped, and dozens of squirrels leaped after her, claws out. They landed on the Hydra agents and began to chew holes into their shirts and cowls. The agents screamed and fought, plasma guns firing randomly. Ana Sofía ducked. Squirrel Girl was busy dodging Garry's blasts, all aimed right at her. "These…squirrels! They're too much!" shouted one agent. "I toss one off and two more take its place!" "Impossible!" yelled Garry. "That's our thing!" Tippy-Toe leaped at Garry, gnawing on his helmet. She chittered madly. "Squirrel-proof armor, you say?" said Squirrel Girl. "There's no such thing!" Her favorite character to play in the video game Ultra Maria Sisters was a leaper, jumping on top of heads to squish evil fungus men into submission. So, like Savage Princess Maria, Squirrel Girl leaped. Plasma bolts exploded around her, fizzling in the metal walls where she'd just been. She landed right on Garry's head, perched there like a bird. He crumpled beneath the force of her landing. "That's the spirit!" she said. Mostly to herself, but also to him for gamely collapsing just as she'd hoped he would. She leaped from the now-prostrate Garry onto the head of the next agent, and the next. "Sproing," she said with each leap. "Sproing…sproing…" Behind her they all fell to the ground, knocked out by her impact. "Oh, man, now I totally want a Squirrel Girl video game. I would dominate! Sorry, Mr. Evil Hydra-Man," Squirrel Girl said, stepping off the shoulders of the Hydra soldier who had just crumpled beneath her. Another green-suited man scrambled up to her and she readied to pounce, but instead he dropped to the ground beside his unconscious comrade. "HIS NAME WAS LARRY! LARRY!" the newcomer shouted. "AND HE LOVED JAZZ! Jazz…and…and the sound of monkeys in the rain…." "Um…" Squirrel Girl said, looking around. It appeared as though Larry's friend had been the last of them putting up a fight. A turret-looking thing high on the wall was still randomly shooting plasma around, but it wasn't doing a very good job hitting anything. The last few conscious Hydra people were either pounding on the locked doors, trying to escape squirrels or doing whatever Larry's friend here was doing. "WHY? WHY? WHY COULDN'T IT HAVE BEEN ME, LARRY?" the man wailed from beside his friend. "You…uh…know he's not dead, right?" said Squirrel Girl, as she dodged a plasma bolt from the turret. The man wiped his eyes with the back of a green-gloved hand. "What?" he sniffled. Squirrel Girl leaped closer to check Larry's pulse, just in case. "Nope," she said. "Just unconscious. I was super-careful." Larry groaned beneath them but did not open his eyes. "Larry!" the man gasped. "You scared me half to death! How could you do that to me? You're cruel, Larry! Cruel!" Larry, still unconscious on the ground, lay still as his friend shook his limp body. A plasma bolt struck the ground next to them, scorching the metal floor. "You know, maybe don't…" Squirrel Girl said, climbing up the wall and tearing plasma guns out of the turret. "I mean, he's already down. I think I heard somewhere that it is bad to shake unconscious people." The agent let go of Larry as if stung. "Right! Of course. Of course. I'm so sorry, Larry!" The door at the end of the corridor, the one the remaining conscious agents had been pounding on, finally slid open. Beyond the door were dozens more agents dressed in heavy armor. Agent "Larry's Buddy" saw the reinforcements and grinned. He drew a plasma pistol from a holster at his waist, and Squirrel Girl leaped back. "Whoa!" she said. "Hey now! I thought we were sharing a moment here! You know, poor Larry, let's not shake poor unconscious Larry be—" He fired. There was nowhere to hide. Behind them was the metal wall of the chasm where Ana Sofía had fallen. Ahead, a corridor now swarming with new Hydra agents firing plasma guns while fighting off swarms of squirrels, the floor littered with the unconscious Hydra agents downed by the unbeatable Squirrel Girl and her mighty leap. She watched as Squirrel Girl dodged a direct plasma shot then leaped onto the agent's shoulders, downing him beside his comrades. How long could she keep it up before one found its mark? Nowhere for Ana Sofía to hide. And nothing to do to help Squirrel Girl. She leaned her back against the wall and breathed. The only lights came from below—yellow emergency lights in the baseboards shining upward, casting shadows, making their faces look skeletal. There was a low, constant buzzing, though Ana Sofía wasn't sure if it was ambient sound or if all the electrical equipment was reacting oddly with her hearing aids. Or maybe the buzzing was coming from inside her own body. Her stomach certainly felt like it was full of angry waspy butterflies. Her pulse pounded in her temple and shook her vision with every beat. She blinked hard, trying to clear her eyesight. A couple dozen squirrels had formed a circle completely around her feet. When she stumbled back, they moved with her every step. A furry layer of protection, like socks, once-removed. Their presence made her feel braver. Note: presence of friendly squirrels increases sense of both safety and belonging. Ana Sofía took out her phone and began to record. If they didn't make it out of here, she wanted someone to know what had happened, at least. She'd videoed for just over a minute when a plasma shot burned into the wall right by her head. She crouched lower and hurriedly uploaded the video to her TuberTV channel. Now if they died, at least there was some evidence. At her back, she felt a closed door. Ana Sofía tugged on the handle. Locked. The squirrels at her feet all stood up on their hind legs as if responding to some warning she hadn't noticed. Reinforcements had arrived: several Hydra agents marching down the corridor dressed in the "squirrel-proof" armor. The intimidation factor of robot-like body armor and full helmet was lessened somewhat by the green color. Like pea soup, Ana Sofía thought. Like Abuela's sofa. But they still looked pretty alarming. The alarming effect was in no small part due to the horse-size plasma canon they were setting up. It fired. A huge plasma glob streaked through the dim basement, as bright as deep-sea jellyfish. In the exact moment the glow-in-the-dark blue ball of fiery plasma shot out, the plasma cannon was knocked awry by several squirrels slamming into the tip, pushing its aim slightly off. Instead of burning a hole right through Ana Sofía's head, the blast hit the door, burning a circle where the door handle would have been. She stared at the hole in the door as the plasma cannon fired again, the ammo whizzing just above her head. I should go to there, she thought confusedly. But thinking seemed to be an entirely different function from actually moving. Her whole body felt made of hard plastic, like a molded toy with no moveable parts. Instinct should make her run. She'd never before imagined that when in great danger, she'd freeze instead. She looked down at her legs and glared at them, glared so hard they just had to be frightened of her. Glared so hard she got them to shuffle her forward. Ana Sofía leaned against the damaged door and fell in, away from the blasts. It appeared to be an office—concert posters for Your Racist Uncle adorned the walls, a bouquet of dusty plastic daffodils sat sadly on the desk. And…yes! There was a computer. She sat down and got to work. "You okay out there?" she called as she typed at super-speed, trying to hack her way past the passcode. Got it. Squirrel Girl replied with words she couldn't make out but the tone seemed cheery. Through the doorway, she could see Squirrel Girl leaping around, landing on Hydra agents' heads, knocking them flat. In her periphery she saw one agent pulled down by so many furry bodies he appeared to be wearing a bear suit. Unless it was a Hydra agent actually just wearing a bear suit, which she supposed wasn't out of the question. The most recent folder opened on this computer was titled Hate Initiative. The folder locked when she tried to access it without the right password. So she searched for those words in the e-mail program.  From: Team Leader Gamma  To: Undisclosed Recipients  Subject: Hate Initiative  Hey, team!  Great work out there. As we head into our final week before d-day, make sure you keep your squirrel-proof armor at hand, your plasma gun  nozzles clean, and keep working the comments sections of news stories and Friendbook posts. We need to up, up, up the animosity!  Remember to take excellent notes. This is just Phase 1, after all. After the Hate Initiative destroys Shady Oaks, we will be taking it wider. "How wide?" you ask. Why, from sea to shining sea. ;) Easiest way to destroy something is to trick it into destroying itself.  metaphorical hugs,  your Boss This e-mail message may contain confidential material. If you are not an intended recipient, please destroy all your belongings in a fire and run as far away as you can. We enjoy the chase. "Oh no," Ana Sofía said aloud. The Hate Initiative? D-day was at the mall tomorrow. And what happened there would destroy Shady Oaks. And then the entire country? This was way, way huger than what a couple of middle schoolers could handle. A blue plasma ball sizzled through the wall. Ana Sofía ducked a moment too late, and felt the heat of it pass over her head. "Everything okay?" she called. She couldn't detect a reply, but she could see squirrels and Squirrel Girl still leaping around out there. Holy crud. What on earth were they doing? This really was the real Hydra, and she thought they could somehow take them on? They needed an adult hero STAT! ANA SOFÍA: Hydra is planning to unleash something called the hate initiative on my town and then the whole country and we don't really know how to stop them? So prolly u shld come to the basement of the mall and save the day before everybody dies? THOR: Can't come. Presently. Texting between: Punches ANA SOFÍA: Who is getting punched you or them THOR: Both. Tis a veritable punch fest ANA SOFÍA: Ok just thought i'd check THOR: You and squirrelly friend. Are powerful. You will be vic Sorry interrupted by punching YOU WILL BE VICTORIOSAS ANA SOFÍA: Gracias Thor Yeah, thanks a lot, Thor. How in the egg-shaped world was she supposed to take care of this? She was definitely not powerful. And sure, her squirrelly friend had the proportional abilities of a squirrel, but what was that when faced with a Hydra army shooting plasma cannons all over the frickin' underground lair? She searched around through the parts of the Hydra security system that she could access. Both the mall and the basement lair had microphones in the ceilings to pick up voice-activated commands—commands like shutting and sealing all the mall's exterior doors at once. That felt ominous. Also extinguishing all interior lights, setting off fire alarm systems, and turning on disco lights. The code for that last one was "Let's party, bros!" Ana Sofía rolled her eyes. Probably for their victory bash. Most of the command codes were linked to the voice of an individual marked as LB. She couldn't remove the codes entirely but managed to change a couple of words in the commands, for what good that might do. She peeked her head out the door, wincing in case of plasma blasts. No blasts. All quiet on the basement front. Several dozen armored Hydra agents were lying unconscious on the floor. Plasma burn holes decorated the metal walls with black craters. Squirrels crouched on various prostrate bodies, breathing hard. "Whoa. You did it," said Ana Sofía. "How did you do it?" Squirrel Girl shrugged. "These poo-green jerks needed to be stopped, and I was here, so…" Ana Sofía nodded. Her neck and back ached, and she realized she was hunched over. She'd taken up a permanent crouch posture ever since falling into the basement lair, half-ducked in case of sudden weapons fire. Párate derecha, she seemed to hear her mother say, reminding her to watch her posture. She had become more slouchy the taller she grew—four inches in just the past year alone—and tended to curl in on herself even when she wasn't in a Hydra lair ducking lethal plasma shots. She straightened. Her spine aligned. She took a deep breath and felt a whole lot more Ana Sofía than she had a minute ago. Gracias, Mami. A firm decision began to fill her up. Her mother was working the night shift at the hospital, unaware that her fourteen-year-old daughter was in a Hydra lair. Thor and the Avengers were in space. Who knew if they'd ever come back? But Hydra had to be stopped, and they were here. She was here. Ana Sofía Arcos Romero was most definitely here. Wobbly knees and all, goshdarnit. "What now?" asked Squirrel Girl. "I don't know exactly what Hydra intends to do," said Ana Sofía, "but I know it's bad, and this is their base. So…so I guess we need…" She cleared her throat. "Squirrel Girl, we've got to shut it down." Squirrel Girl's smile nearly split her face in half. She looked around at the metallic walls, the shut and locked doors, the control panels with flashing lights. "Squirrels?" she said. Hundreds of black, blinkless eyes stared up at her. Squirrel Girl nodded once. "Smash," she said. We surged forward like light at the break of dawn, covering the floor, the walls, and everything on them. One of the downed men either screamed or laughed hysterically as we passed. I couldn't tell the difference, and I didn't care. I am the best there is at what I do. And what I do isn't very nice. My dear departed uncle, Skiptama Lou, may he rest in trees, always said that a squirrel's body is simply a delivery system for claws and teeth. And claws and teeth, they aren't for being cute. They're for tearing and cutting. For ripping apart. But my pink bow, that is for being cute. Don't let anyone tell you that you have to be one or the other. You can be both. Chomp Style ran, gouging chunks out of the wall at regular intervals. Others followed behind, darting into the holes to chew and claw everything within. The walls sounded like a tree trunk with a bad case of borer beetles. Big Sissy Hotlegs broke into rooms, scampered across desks, slammed into anything not nailed down. As I watched, she kicked a monitor with her back legs. It toppled, crashing to the floor. A green-suited agent yelped as Chive Alpha poked him with a sparking wire she pulled from the wall with her teeth. She noticed me watching. "He was quick-snatching for a gun!" The agent scrambled away, slipping on broken glass. "RUN, VERMIN!" Chive Alpha chittered at his back. "FLEE FROM YOUR DESTRUCTION! I AM THE FIRE AMONG YOUR BRANCHES!" "Alpha!" The young squirrel gave me a look. "Keep it up," I said. She gave me a slow smile, and that girl sure looked like she had more teeth than most of us. There was joyful noise as we worked. Scampering, skittering, chomping, and scratching. The sound of nature being fulfilled and good honest destruction being done. The walls rattled with the passage of my people behind them. Lights flickered, electronics sputtered and died in our wake. The pads that controlled the doors out of the bunker were a shattered, sparking mess. I surveyed the field of battle, and was hard-pressed not to declare our victory right then. Doreen had left dozens of the green-suited men unconscious on the ground, and those left standing pounded on metal doors that would not open to them, trying to escape the terror of our work. Those men were overconfident. With their machines and their size and their ignorance, they had forgotten to fear the squirrel. Behind the hiss and rattle of battle and the screams of terrified men I became aware of a new sound. A wrong sound. The squeal of squirrel fighting squirrel. Fuzz Fountain Cortez tumbled out of a hole in the wall, wrestling with Wiggy Nubknees. A chunk of Cortez's ear was missing and Wiggy was snapping and scratching like he'd got the mange. I pounced, anchoring my rear legs around Wiggy's tail and twisting my forepaws under his and back around his neck. I pulled him off Cortez as he struggled crazily. "Wiggy!" I shouted. "Wiggy!" "Stink-rot in the walls!" Cortez chittered frantically. "A tube. Wiggy gave it a gnaw and got a snoutful of gas!" "Die! Die! Die!" Wiggy yelled, finally making some sense. Sort of. "Wiggy!" I shouted. "You're with friends! This is your nest!" "DIE," he said, and then fell limp in my arms. "Is he…" Cortez asked. "Still breathing," I said. All around me the noises of squirrel destruction stopped, heads turned toward me. Toward Wiggy. We squirrels do fight each other, sometimes. But never like this. Even when warring against other clans, it's about dominance. There's no murder among squirrels. Something had happened. Something wrong. My cousins eyed each other nervously, and I knew I was not the only one to feel it. Something was in the air. Something was coming. It was like the click-clack of dog paws behind you. It was like the smell of a tree on fire. It was like Little Bobby Furflint stealing your first harvest acorn. And a man was coming. A human man was there, bad air hissing off him in plumes, smelling so strong I could almost see it. Odor of rot and grease and fear fear fear. I turned to attack him, but he was gone. How not there? Now only they were there. All those black blinkless eyes staring. All of them, trying to get me, trying to kill me, trying to stop me. <Stop me.> <Can't stop me.> <Fear! Rage! Will tear, will rend.> <Swipe and claw, strike and bite.> <Who skulks> <no> <get you first> <I'll chktt> <chktt> <chkit> <kkkktt> Half the squirrels stopped mid-destruction, as still as prey in the grass. They all looked over toward Tippy-Toe and those around her. Squirrel Girl paused just before biting a pipe in half to see what had caused the alarm. The rest of the squirrels were still swiping and biting, breaking and tearing, but now their destruction was not focused on Hydra's base but at fuzzy, adorable each other. "Squirrels! What in the heck are you doing?" said Squirrel Girl. "CALM THE FREAK DOWN!" Many of the affected squirrels climbed into holes in the walls—holes most likely created by Chomp Style's stylin' chomps. Others shivered or ran back and forth or curled up with tails over their eyes and shivered. But Tippy-Toe and Fuzz Fountain Cortez were engaged in full terrifying buck-toothed-and-tiny-clawed squirrel combat. Squirrel Girl grabbed them by their tails. They continued to writhe and claw at each other. She held her arms farther apart. "Tippy! What's gotten into you?" Chive Alpha climbed up to Squirrel Girl's shoulder. "CHKTT-ITI!" she scolded the two squirrels. But they didn't seem to hear her, still squealing and twisting. "I've never seen them like this," said Squirrel Girl. "I'm afraid their higher brain function is halted. Ha! You know, assuming they had any to begin with!" She whirled around at the sound of the voice. The squirrels reacted, too, running up her arms to shiver on her shoulders. A shadow emerged from the dark end of corridor, where berserker squirrels had already destroyed the emergency lights. Slowly he moved into one of the un-squirreled, remaining lights. "Bryan?" Bryan Lazardo smiled. He was not dressed in the cargo shorts and T-shirt he'd used in the promo video. Instead he had on a gray-green mottled leather unitard that wasn't quite big enough for him and wrinkled around the elbows, stacking up at the knees over his green galoshes. "Sooo, look, I know this is totally a weird time to ask, what with the fighting Hydra and all and the sudden squirrel freak-out," said Squirrel Girl, "but what, um, what are you wearing?" He held up his arms to admire his outfit, and the sleeves slid back to his elbows. "This?" he asked coyly. "This is my battle suit!" "Sweet!" She cinched her hood a little tighter and patted her shoulders. "This is my battle suit! We have more in common than you think, actually. Maybe. So we should talk about that, all the things we have in common." She took a step closer but stopped. Even though Mr. Lazardo didn't look regular evil-guy dangerous, he still worked for Hydra and was probably troubled in some way. A Super Hero had to exercise caution. "Oh, yeah…sorry, but I don't think we're at all alike," Mr. Lazardo said. "What with you being a little princess of, you know, vermin." "Mixed feelings about that," she said. "On the one hand I'm super-glad you're not one of those bad guys that says 'We're not so different, you and I' while, like, at the same time eating puppies or destroying countries or something. I mean, sure, we're all human and all have our struggles, but eating puppies is in a totally different category—" "SILENCE!" yelled Mr. Lazardo. Squirrel Girl jumped. It was just a startled little jump, but when you have legs with squirrel strength, little jumps are like five feet in the air. "Yow," she said to the marketing executive in the leather jumpsuit. "You spooked me with the way you said SILENCE! and pointed and all. It was like you saw something horrible behind me, and either it was named Silence or you were telling me to be quiet so it wouldn't eat me. But that wouldn't make sense because you were yelling and if the monster thing ate noisy people it would eat you first—" Mr. Lazardo began jogging in place, which was so distracting, Squirrel Girl forgot what she was going to say next. So she said, "Um…" Now Mr. Lazardo was windmilling his arms, like they tell you to do in gym class to stretch out. "We don't have to fight," she said. "I said this is my battle suit, but actually I consider it more of an adventure suit. So we don't need to exactly do battle." The man sagged. "Don't tell me you're giving up! What? Already?" "Well, no. I'm not going to let you keep doing your evil plan or whatever. I just hoped we could talk about it and see if there was another way to make you happy besides, you know, whatever crafty and diabolical plans you have for mall opening day, which apparently includes killing lots of people? Not cool, man." Squirrel Girl checked herself. She was supposed to be Building on Common Ground. "But first let's start off with kudos for coming up with such a thorough plan, complete with the whole underground lair! I know it's so hard to stop a project right in the middle, like this one time when I was building a Lego Ferris wheel—" "Oh, I'm not planning to kill anyone," he said, taking a step toward her. She could see perspiration on his forehead. His leather one-piece was probably pretty hot, especially with those little exercises he was doing. "Good," she said. "We've made progress already!" He took another step closer. "No, see, this is the amazing part! You will be doing all the killing yourselves. I won't have to lift a finger!" Ugh. He was close enough that she could smell him now. Really smell him. He already smelled like stinky boy and dusty leather. She could tell that from a distance. But now she could smell his sweat. And not only was it gross, it was wrong. Her throat involuntarily clenched at the odor, and she coughed. "There it is," he said. "You're picking up the first whiff of it, aren't you? How about a more pointed blast!" His suit had some kind of bellows built into his underarms. When he flapped his arm, the air that had been inside his suit puffed out of a spout at his wrist and straight at Squirrel Girl. She coughed harder. The smell was so familiar….The rally! And the mall T-shirts her parents had been wearing. "There we go!" he said. "You can't cough it out, though. It's in you now." She took a step back, covering her mouth with the back of a hand. "What?" she asked. "What is in me?" "My musk," he said. Gross, she thought, and then the world tilted around her. Wait, what was gross? She'd just thought that something was gross but already forgot it. And who was she talking to? Oh yeah, Bry. He was standing right in front of her. How had she not noticed him for a second? He was a bad guy. She should probably do something. But her thoughts felt slippery as wet worms. Her heart pounded. Her chest felt tight, her legs wanted to run. They liked to run. She liked to run. And kick. She wanted to do anything but just stand there. Tippy-Toe and Fuzz Fountain Cortez had jumped off her shoulders. Were they fighting each other again? She couldn't focus enough to look. Ana Sofía had come out of a nearby room to see what was happening. And Squirrel Girl felt a powerful instinct to kick her. Kick her, kick her hard, make her go away. Make everything go— No! Squirrel Girl looked down at herself, disgusted by these thoughts. Her legs started to tremble beneath her with the effort of staying still. "Look…" Her breath was coming quicker now, erratic. "Mr. Lazardo. Bryan. Bry. You don't have to do this, whatever it is you…you're—" He crept closer. Part of her knew that he was there, that he was getting closer, but he also kept slipping her mind. She started to back away—not from him but from Ana Sofía. That random kicking idea was way disturbing. "I'm not Bryan Lazardo," he said. "That guy no longer exists." He flipped a green leather hood over his head. Two large plastic eyes were glued onto it. They look like Kermit the Frog eyes, she thought, and in her slippery-thoughted confusion she feared this man had killed Kermit and taken his eyes. "THERE IS ONLY LIZARD BRAIN!" he declared. And then he began to laugh. She wanted to laugh, too. She liked laughing. But she couldn't. She could only scramble backward. She had to get away. Away from…from her friend—what was her name again? Away from this room. Away from everything. She was far, far underground and was suddenly aware of the huge mall above her. She had to get out before it broke through and suffocated her. Who was making her so scared? Who was trying to hurt her? She needed to kick! She needed to claw her way free! She ran to the nearest wall and tried to climb, her claws scratching the smooth metal surface. She should have been able to climb, but she couldn't. Something was wrong. Something was wrong with her. She turned back to the source of the wrongness. The Muppet-killer. But he was gone. Wasn't he? She couldn't see him anymore. Then she forgot what it was she was trying to see. There was only heat and heart pounding and fear, fear, her breath choking, her limbs shaking and everything angry and afraid. Claws out. Tail low. All fours. Smell fear. Smell others. They will hurt you unless you hurt them first. Hurt. Gnaw. Kick. Fight. Flee. Flee. Flee Squirrel Girl's thoughts slowly shook themselves awake and began to shiver and stretch and crawl around. The pounding of her heart slowed, and her limbs shook off their shakiness. She tilted her head back and forth, as if to dislodge something stuck to it that was making it hard to think. Hard also to see and smell and hear. And basically just to feel like herself, i.e., the unbeatable Squirrel Girl with amazing squirrel powers. She concentrated on opening her eyes before realizing they were already open. What was the matter with her? For another thing, her nose itched really bad and she couldn't seem to scratch it. Every time she tried, her wrist hurt. Even with cloudy thoughts, she felt certain that itchy nose should not equal ouchie wrist. Finally she was alert enough to notice the massive iron bands around her wrists and ankles. She was shackled to a wall. Well, that explained a whole lot. "Hey there, sport!" said Lizard Brain, leaning over to talk right in her face. "Aha! I see a twinkle in your eye, like you've got some higher brain function going on in there. Your fuzzy pals worked out of it already, but your skinny friend is still curled up and shaking." He laughed. "Sorry, it's just so much fun to see how the musk affects different people! She basically collapsed in a heap, while you were ready to tear your way out of here no matter who got in your way. Even her." Squirrel Girl gasped and looked Ana Sofía over for signs of injury. Had she hurt her? Because that was the most awful of all awfulness that she could possibly imagine. Ana Sofía appeared intact, but as Lizard Brain had said, she was curled up tight as a fist on the floor, her hair over her face, her body visibly shaking. "Ana Sofía, it's okay," Squirrel Girl said without hope of her friend hearing. "It's going to be okay. We'll…We'll save the day…still. Somehow." Lizard Brain giggled. "See, now I know the musk has worn off! 'It's going to be okay,' you say!" he snickered. "No, it isn't! Humans are so good at telling lies to themselves!" Squirrel Girl pulled on the metal bands, testing their strength. "Uh-uh," said Lizard Brain. "Not a tremendous idea, nope. And I'll tell you why. Shall I tell her why?" "Yeah, tell her, Lizard Brain!" answered one of the two Hydra agents flanking the reptile-suited PR manager. They were in full armor, now with gas masks fastened over their nose and mouth. "I'll bet you can guess why," said Lizard Brain. "It starts with mmmm and ends with ssskk and you know what's in the middle? You are!" "Your musk," Squirrel Girl said tiredly. "It's your musk. You're threatening to musk me again if I try to escape and then there's a chance I wouldn't be in control of myself enough to keep from hurting my friend, so you know the threat of that will keep me still even if I could get out of these stupid bands." Lizard Brain frowned. "Well, yeah, but it was really my turn to tell you." "Sorry, Bry," she said. He shrugged like it was no big deal even though clearly it bugged him. Squirrel Girl glanced at Ana Sofía but looked quickly away, her body shivering with panic just at the thought of what she almost did to her friend. What she still might do, with her dangerous squirrel strength. Curse her dangerous squirrel strength! She shivered harder, unable to look at Ana Sofía again. "Anyhoo," Lizard Brain said, "about my musk. Essentially it reminds people of their true selves and makes them return to it. Primal. Instinctual. No lying to yourself when you're an animal. Groovy, isn't it?" "Yep," said Squirrel Girl, taking a weak stab at the whole build-on-common-ground thing, though mostly she just wanted to punch him in the face. "Do you know what your true self is?" Lizard Brain asked. "What everyone's true self is? Selfishness. You run to preserve yourself. You attack anything that is weaker than you. That's what the mighty musk reveals! Humans are, in their hearts, in their primal brains, selfish beings. It's civilization that lies to you that you have to care about anything besides yourself. For example—" He made a flourish with his leather-sleeved arm. One of the Hydra agents jumped to attention and wheeled in a cart with a cage built of thick chicken wire. At first glance, Squirrel Girl thought there must be some sort of terribly sad llama in there, lying down all miserable to be in such a small cage. But a few tails twitched, and there was a bright pink bow. All the squirrels were lying on the bottom of the cage, looking sluggish, tuckered out, spent, and generally exhausted after their musking and the ensuing flight-or-fight mania. "Tippy!" said Squirrel Girl. "You okay? Chomps, can you move? Is Gnome Chompsky okay? Please be okay. Cortez, can you check on Gnome? And Shamescuttle? Oh, and Spencer the—" "Yes, all right, yes, so many squirrels, so many names," said Lizard Brain. "Anyhoo. Fun fact about my musk. Yes, it temporarily clouds higher brain function, turning on the fight-or-flight instinct in creatures, but in order to inflict some real damage, you need to set up ideal conditions. First, an enclosed space." He gestured to the squirrel cage like a TV salesperson showing off fine jewelry. "When there's nowhere to run, there's no flight, see? There's only FIGHT." He began to giggle again. "And imagine…imagine how much worse the fighting—how positively lethal—if all the creatures in the enclosed space already kinda despise each other?" "Like in the mall tomorrow," said Squirrel Girl. "You got Shady Oaks and Listless Pines all mad and hating on each other with that stupid cat versus dog stuff and then when they're all inside the mall you'll lock them in and use the ventilation system to gas them with your nasty sweat odors, which will make them need to fight and they'll kill each other, and the mall security footage will show them doing it to each other as if in a frenzy of shopping mania, so you'll keep opening more malls or other buildings all over the country where you can get people riled up and enraged and then lock them in together and gas them, spreading hate and fear and destruction and death." Lizard Brain stuck out his lower lip. "Again, it was my turn to tell it!" "Oh!" said Squirrel Girl. "You laced the Team Dog and Team Cat T-shirts with musk, didn't you? When people wore them, they were more prone to fighting. Also, Dog-Lord and Mistress Meow had musk bombs. But they were used outside, and the musk dissipated in the air too quickly to cause any real harm. That's why you need the closed environment of the mall—" "ANYHOO," he said, "we've worked so hard on this plan, Squirrelly Girly. I just need to be one hundred percent super-positive that it will go off without a hitch, so here's the sitch: tell me everything you've told the Avengers about this plan, or I musk your squirrel pallies in that confining little cage and you get to watch them tear each other apart, mm-kay?" Squirrel Girl blinked. "Avengers? What? Who are the Avengers? Oh, you mean the Super Hero people on the TV? I don't know the Avengers, ha-ha, why would you think—" "'Hey, Avenger pals!'" he read from her phone, which was clearly no longer in her utility belt but in his greasy gloved hand. "'So my best human and squirrel friends believe it really is real Hydra for real setting up a mall for bad-guy reasons. Can any of you come and, you know, avenger them out of my neighborhood?'" "Crap," she said. "I've read the texts," said Lizard Brain. "What I don't know is what else you might have told them in phone calls or in person. I assume you heroes all pal around together." "Totally," said Squirrel Girl with the best straight face she could muster. "Fine, then talk. TALK! Or the squirrels get the musk." He pointed his wrist spout at the cage. "TheAvengersdon'tknow," said Squirrel Girl superfast. "They don't know anything, seriously! Leave the squirrels alone, they didn't do anything to you. Well, except attack all your agent friends and gnaw through half your base, but they didn't do anything to you personally!" "The Avengers don't know where we are or what we plan?" he asked. "I haven't talked to them," said Squirrel Girl. "Just the texting, I swear." "I believe her, boss," an agent said through his gas mask. "She seems like a terrible liar." "True," said Lizard Brain. "Hmm. Good enough, eh, folks? Let's get this Hate Initiative going. What fun! And speaking of fun…" He pointed a wrist spout at the cage and worked his armpit bellows, sending a cloud of visible brownish musk at the squirrels. "NO!" said Squirrel Girl, pulling on her shackles. She winced, afraid to see the horror that would come next. The exhausted squirrels began to twitch, again breathing in the musk. But instead of tearing and clawing and biting, they nestled closer, wrapped tails around necks, nuzzled and hid and chittered. They were afraid. And yet they nested together. Even Tippy-Toe and Fuzz Fountain Cortez, who had attacked each other when first exposed to the gas, seemed to handle it better now, perhaps because they knew what to expect. They lay side by side, their tails entwined. "Encaged but not enraged," said Squirrel Girl. She looked at Ana Sofía again and felt certain that there was no way, no chance, nohow that anyone, least of all Lizard Brain, could make her hurt her BHFF. Lizard Brain squirted another puff at the cage. He turned to an agent. "They were fighting, right, Harry? The squirrels? I swear they were fighting each other before." Ana Sofía had uncurled and sat partway up, the musk seeming to loosen its hold on her at last. She met Squirrel Girl's eyes and finger-spelled words one-handed, down by her side to avoid notice. She was pretty quick and the lighting was dim, but Squirrel Girl thought Ana Sofía was asking if she was strong enough to get loose. "Maybe," Squirrel Girl finger-spelled back. She turned her head to see if she could reach her wrist with her teeth. She could. Typical non-squirrel-powered villain mistake: they always overlook the teeth. But if she did get free and Lizard Brain musked her again, what if she hurt Ana Sofía? How could she risk it? "Can…Can I say something?" Ana Sofía's voice warbled when she spoke. Either the musk was still thick in her, or else she was just super-afraid. Yes, say something, Ana Sofía! thought Squirrel Girl. You are the smartest and the bestest and I know whatever you say will help us win the day and make everything better! Lizard Brain looked at her pointedly, clearly still irritated at the lack of violence in the squirrel cage. When she didn't talk, he sighed and said, as if to an imaginary camera, "This is Bryan Lazardo reporting to you live from the Chester Yard Mall basement lair, where some girl apparently has something super-important to say from her crouched position on the floor, urgent enough to demand the attention of the mighty Lizard Brain! Go ahead and tell us, trembling girl. The audience at home is waiting!" Ana Sofía cleared her throat. She said, "Hydra rocks." Huh. That was not what Squirrel Girl was expecting. It wasn't even close. "Um, yes. That's true," said Lizard Brain. "Anyhoo—" "Hydra rocks," Ana Sofía said louder. "Hydra rocks!" Squirrel Girl was no clearer on what her BHFF was doing. And she felt that she should know. Ana Sofía couldn't possibly be sincere in her complimentary exclamation about the evilest organization on the planet. Was this a secret clue Ana Sofía was giving her? Was Squirrel Girl failing a test? And did this mean that they weren't suited for best-friendship after all? "If you're trying to convince me you're switching sides," said Lizard Brain, "I don't believe it. I'm not giving you a job, so don't even try." "Don't you think so, though?" said Ana Sofía. "That Hydra rocks?" "I already said I did!" said Lizard Brain. "Then why don't you say it?" asked Ana Sofía. "Yeah, boss," said an agent. "Why don't you say it?" "Yeah, Hydra rocks!" said another, holding up his pointer finger and pinky. "Say it, boss!" Lizard Brain shifted in his leather suit. "Fine. Hydra rocks." Tik-tik fffshhhhhh…Sprinklers on the ceiling shifted on and began spraying water droplets on their heads. Squirrel Girl had seen no fire, smelled no smoke that would have set them off— "Ohhhhh," said Squirrel Girl to Ana Sofía. "Earlier you must have hacked into their security system in the awesome way that you do that seems like a legit super power, and set a voice-activated phrase to turn on the fire sprinklers. You chose 'Hydra rocks' because it seemed like something these jerks would be likely to say, but it didn't work when you said it because there must have been a voice-recognition component, so Bry here had to be the one to say it and oh my heck that's so clever!" Squirrel Girl realized she'd been talking really fast, and with the water and all, Ana Sofía likely hadn't been able to read her lips. So she tried to sum up: "You're amazing. I'm really glad you're my friend." Ana Sofía smiled. It was pretty stellar having a best friend to fight alongside you a hundred feet belowground in a secret evil lair. "Wait, what's happening?" asked Lizard Brain, pulling his hood forward in a vain attempt to keep his face dry. "My best friend just cracked your shell," said Squirrel Girl. "And now I'm gonna eat the pistachio." "Sprinklers off!" Lizard Brain shouted at the ceiling. Nothing happened. Squirrel Girl turned to her right wrist shackle and started to gnaw. "Don't even try to get loose," said Lizard Brain. "Those shackles are squirrel-proof." The squirrels flicked tails and chittered. The water must have washed away the musk effects for them, too. "They're laughing," said Squirrel Girl, her mouth full of metal. "There's. No. Such. Thing. As—squirrel-proof!" The shackle snapped under her teeth, and she immediately bent to the one on her other wrist. "Stop!" said Lizard Brain. "Cease!" Squirrel Girl pretty much didn't stop or cease. "I'm warning you!" he said. He pointed his wrists at her and valiantly pumped the bellows under his arms. If his musk was shooting out through the spouts on his wrists, it went nowhere but down in the rain-filled room. The second shackle broke under her teeth. She bent and pulled open her ankle shackles. "STOP!" said Lizard Brain. "Nope," said Squirrel Girl. And she sprang. First she grabbed her phone from his hand and stuck it back in her utility belt. Then after dodging a couple of plasma blasts she thought maybe getting her phone shouldn't have been step one. But still. It was her phone. "Rethink your villainous ways!" she said, grabbing a plasma shooter from one agent. "Find some real friends!" she said, yanking a shooter from the other. "Contribute in a positive manner to the society in which you live!" she said, opening the side of the cage, releasing the squirrels, and stuffing the two agents into it. "You can't stop Hydra!" said Lizard Brain. "If you cut one of us down—" She punched him in the face. He fell down. She watched him for a second, looked around, and shrugged. "Weird," she said. "I thought two others were supposed to take your place." He clambered back to his feet and looked at her with great intensity, as if willing his musk to overwhelm her. But the downpour continued to neutralize it, pulling the gas particles into the droplets and down to the puddles on the floor. She ran a claw down the back of Lizard Brain's battle suit, ripping the leather open, and then tore it off him so he couldn't gather and spray musk with it anymore. Underneath, he was naked but for tight black swim briefs. "Gross," she said. "Shows what you know," he said, his soaked hair dripping water into his eyes. "All the coolest guys are going to be wearing these at the beach this summer. Just you wait!" "Um, okay," said Squirrel Girl, already feeling a little bad for him, all wet like a lost puppy and sniveling in defeat. He looked about as scary as a wilted carrot. But still. Take no chances with bad dudes! She hauled him to the wall and snapped his ankles into the unbroken shackles. "Game over!" said Squirrel Girl. "Final boss defeated. New high score: USGAA!" "USGAA?" asked Lizard Brain. "Unbeatable Squirrel Girl," she said. Two hundred sloppy wet squirrels gathered at her feet, climbed onto her legs, shoulders, head. She smiled. "And army." "Did we win?" asked Ana Sofía, standing up. Even her socks were soaked, and they squished unpleasantly inside her boots. She'd taken off her hearing aids to protect them from the water, and they were dry and safe tucked into a plastic baggie she kept in her jacket pocket for just-in-case-of-rain, and now also for just-in-case-of-heroic-fire-sprinklers-in-Hydra-bases. Squirrel Girl said something that Ana Sofía didn't catch, so she lifted her wet hair to show her she wasn't wearing her hearing aids. "Yes!" Squirrel Girl signed. "We saved the day! There is no more day-saving to be done!" They stood smiling at each other, drops of water plopping off the tips of their noses. Ana Sofía had enacted more smiles since becoming friends with Squirrel Girl than probably the rest of her life combined. Her cheek muscles didn't even hurt anymore. "Honestly I wasn't too hopeful for a bit there, but WAHOO!" she said in a very un–Ana Sofía way, her fist punching the air. Squirrel Girl laughed. "You are the best BHFF a Super Hero ever had." "True. But my cheering was not an invitation to get sentimental, please." "Right," Squirrel Girl signed. "Sorry. I just love the stuffing out of you, is all." "Enough." "Got it. No problem. You awesome, amazing person." "Aaa!" Lizard Brain said something, and Squirrel Girl laughed. Ana Sofía didn't hear, but Squirrel Girl told her later he'd asked to be set free, and she'd said, Nice try, Bry. You're staying here till we figure out what happens after the end of the final boss battle in real life. In video games, this is the part when the game turns off. Ooh, this is exciting! Ana Sofía led them all away from the indoor rainstorm, down the corridor they'd come, and into the open shaft room. At last away from the water, the girls squeezed water from their hair and clothes. Ana Sofía replaced her hearing aids. "Is everybody here?" said Squirrel Girl. "Anyone hurt? I feel like we're shy a few squirrel friends." Tippy-Toe chittered something, shaking her fur till it started to dry. "Yeah, I guess you're right, Tip. Wet squirrels take up half the usual space. You all look travel-size. Adorbs! So…now what?" Squirrel Girl looked up the shaft and signed, "I don't see a ladder." Ana Sofía investigated an elevator. "It appears we did such a good job of destruction that we cut off electricity to the elevators." "Oh." Squirrel Girl and the squirrels looked around. "Huh. Well, that was some good smashing, squirrels." And then the roof above the hundred-foot shaft broke, and through it fell Thor. He landed on his feet. Ana Sofía didn't even blink. This was her life now, she guessed. And she liked it. "And thus I come to save the day!" he said, his hammer held aloft in his mighty arm. "Where are the villainous vermin? They will feel the sting of Mjölnir!" "Hey! Hi! Great!" said Ana Sofía, suddenly feeling super-embarrassed. "Well…this is awkward. We already saved the day." Thor lowered his hammer. He looked around. "Thou didst?" "Yep!" said Squirrel Girl. "Like, just now. Literally two minutes ago I said 'The day is saved!' and then you dropped in." "Oh," he said. "Sorry," said Ana Sofía. "I didn't mean to make you come all the way from space. I would have texted you not to bother but I didn't think you were planning on it." Thor's shoulders stooped. "'Tis okay," he said. "The son of Odin had every confidence in thy day-saving abilities. I just wanted to help." Tippy-Toe leaped onto Squirrel Girl's shoulder and chittered in her ear. "Oh, hey, Thor! You could be really useful still, though," said Squirrel Girl. "Tippy says when we were…um, smashing up the Hydra base, we kind of disabled all the escape routes. The elevators. Even the stairs. You know squirrels," said Squirrel Girl with a shrug. Ana Sofía didn't quite catch that exchange the first time and asked Squirrel Girl to repeat it. "Oh! Yeah!" said Ana Sofía. "Elevators and stairs! We're, like, stuck down here! And since you can fly…or sort of fly—hammer-fly—can you give us a lift?" Thor straightened up. He smiled. They decided to do it all in one trip. Thor held on to Ana Sofía with one arm. She felt like a little kid again, as light as a toddler lifted up by her father—if her father was wearing full-body leather and metal armor. She couldn't help giggling and hoped nobody noticed. Squirrel Girl rode piggyback, batting his long red cape out of her face. And two hundred squirrels attached themselves like tree frogs all over his bulky frame. Amazingly, he had enough surface area to support them all. With his free hand, Thor whipped his hammer around in circles, shot it straight up, and suddenly they were all shooting straight up. "Uhhhh…" Ana Sofía said before the rush of air stole her breath completely and her stomach seemed to stay behind. The fall up felt faster than the fall down. Thor shot through the hole he'd made and then alighted on the mall roof. Squirrel Girl and squirrels leaped off him, but Ana Sofía still clung on. She looked firmly at the firm ground, and very firmly ordered her hands to let go. They weren't in midair anymore. They were safe. But still her hands gripped Thor's cape and a buckle on his breastplate. She could feel his chest rumble with a laugh. "I fell," Ana Sofía said. "Earlier, I fell. A long way. Squirrel Girl caught me. But it was—" SCARY! It'd been really, really scary, and frankly after a fright like that, not to mention fighting all those Hydra agents with their sploidy plasma guns and the horrible, bone-deep, gnawing primal terror she'd felt with the musk, she couldn't convince her desperate, trembling hands that clinging to a large, very strong Super Hero wasn't the best place and only safe space in the entire world, and that once you were there, the wisest course wasn't just to STAY FOREVER. Ana Sofía felt Thor pat her gently on her head. Tippy-Toe climbed onto her shoulder. She wiped her already-dried tail over Ana Sofía's brow. It should have tickled, but instead it was soothing. The squirrel chittered something at her and pointed. On the ground at Thor's feet, all the squirrels had gathered into a tight red, orange, gray, and black mass. Their tails were fluffed up invitingly. Ana Sofía glared at her gripping hands until they were ready to obey her. She took a deep breath, and she let go. Two hundred squirrels caught her. It was like jumping into a pile of freshly washed socks, all cozy and soft and surprisingly good-smelling. They slowly released her till she was sitting on the solid roof. "Someone always catches me," said Ana Sofía. Squirrel Girl was typing on her phone. "Black Widow is in space fighting Thanos," said Squirrel Girl, "but I think someone from S.H.I.E.L.D. will be—" She was cut off by a loud clacking noise that messed up Ana Sofía's hearing aids so much she just switched them off. A sleek black helicopter landed on the roof, and a tall, broad black man wearing an eye patch hopped out. Whoa, that's Nick Fury, Ana Sofía thought, frankly shocked that after all she'd seen and done with Squirrel Girl anything could still shock her. The S.H.I.E.L.D. commander was followed out of the helicopter by a half dozen men and women in black outfits who immediately rappelled down into the hole Thor had made. One agent carried a long pole with an electric loop on the end, like a high-tech dog catcher. She seemed to know Squirrel Girl, and they exchanged a few words. "Look out for a guy in swim briefs shackled to a wall—he's surprisingly dangerous!" Ana Sofía called out in case no one else had warned them. "Keep your gas masks on around him!" There was conversation between Nick Fury, Thor, and Squirrel Girl, which Ana Sofía completely missed until the helicopter blades stopped. "Nick Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D. will clean up the Hydra stuff," said Squirrel Girl, catching Ana Sofía up when she had switched her hearing aids back on. "Oh, good," she said. "Just FYI, if there's a way you can do that without blowing up the mall, that'd be great. I mean, everyone was really looking forward to having a mall in the neighborhood. Also for the jobs it would create." Nick Fury nodded. "I'll see what I can do." "Thanks," said Ana Sofía. "Even Vin was excited about the mall. He'd mentioned maybe coming here together sometime…not that he ever follows through or anything…." "Who be this Vin?" asked Thor. Ana Sofía shrugged and wished she hadn't brought it up. Was there a Super Hero who could travel back in time and erase awkward conversations? Because that was a power she longed for. "Vin Tang is this guy who is sort of friends with us," said Squirrel Girl. "And he—" Ana Sofía slugged her in the shoulder, but Squirrel Girl kept talking. "—he kind of asked Ana Sofía out but then he never set a date and never brought it up again, so it's weird, right? I mean, you guys are guys—do you get guys when they do stuff like that?" Nick Fury's cheeks darkened, and he said something like "…I don't have daughters for a reason…" before turning away and becoming suddenly very busy with a tablet computer. "Vin. Tang." Thor scowled. "I will have a word with this Vin Tang." Thor had certainly jumped right into his tío role, as overprotective of Ana Sofía as her mom's brothers were. Honestly, she'd almost think he was Mexican American instead of Asgardian. "Don't you dare, Thor," said Ana Sofía. "I mean it. It's seriously not a big deal." He scowled at her. She glared back. He was a pretty good scowler, but honestly no match for her glare. He broke first, looking away. "Fine, then. I will probably not visit this Vin Tang and speak to him most sternly." Ana Sofía sighed really, really hard. "Well," said Thor, "I suppose I should go back to space now. To fight Thanos." "If you've defeated Thanos by next Saturday, we're having Marquito's birthday party, and Mom wanted me to tell you she's making a lot of empanadas and also pastel de tres leches." Thor's brow furrowed thoughtfully. "Saturday. Well, then, I must save the universe by Saturday. I will inform the Avengers of our updated timeline." With a crack of thunder, he was gone. "He's such a show-off," said Ana Sofía. "We should get home," Squirrel Girl said to Nick Fury. "Parents. You know how they are." "I can offer you a lift," he said, gesturing to the helicopter. "No thanks!" said Ana Sofía. She climbed down a ladder attached to the roof, her legs trembling until she reached the firm ground below. She began to run toward home as soon as her feet touched asphalt. A squirrel army escorted her all the way. Ana Sofía Arcos Romero was not a person who collected phobias. She preferred to believe she chose what she did and did not do based on cool-headed reason with no other influences. But maybe, she admitted to herself, just maybe, she had a thing about heights. The Monday after the failed mall opening, Doreen woke up to her phone alarm declaring in Hulk's voice, "WAKE UP OR HULK WILL WAKE YOU UP." She immediately regretted downloading that Hulk alarm app. She turned it off and tried to get up, but her tail had other ideas, lying over her head like the coziest blanket in the entire universe. Doreen started to drift back to sleep— No! She had to get to school early. Squirrel Girl was victorious, but Doreen had an outstanding problem. She threw on normal clothes, speed-ate three bowls of cereal, stuffed her tail into her pants, and ran to school only slightly faster than humanly possible—at least when anyone was looking. She arrived just as the doors unlocked, and she bolted up to her homeroom. She was in luck. Her teacher was already there, and the other students were not. She stared at Ms. Schweinbein's back as the teacher erased the chalkboard. She's kind of a Todd, Doreen thought. Laser Lady would totally get me right now. Doreen took a big breath and tried to remember what she'd planned to say. Her mind was blank. That talk with her parents on Friday had felt helpful, but to be honest, most of what they'd said she couldn't even remember anymore. She just knew that she had told them everything, and that they'd listened to her. And that she'd felt pretty good about it all—hopeful even. Also the cake. She remembered the cake. So maybe the most important part of talking it out was not the talking but the listening. She stretched, readied her listening muscles and "I" messages, and then cleared her throat. Ms. Schweinbein whipped around, startled, and her expression was visibly disappointed when she saw Doreen. "Yes?" "Ms. Schweinbein, I feel like maybe you don't like me so much. I was wondering, did I do something that I should apologize for? 'Cause I'm one hundred percent into apologizing." Then she waited. Trying not to fidget, to show how sincerely she was listening. Ms. Schweinbein started in on one of her possibly-award-winning sighs, but stopped midway through. "You are the kind of student, Doreen, that rubs me the wrong way. Your outbursts, your attempt to pace alongside me as if mocking me, your comments about my odor…" Doreen very much wanted to interject with a detailed explanation of why and how and that's not what she'd meant…but she shut her mouth and kept on her listening face as Ms. Schweinbein outlined all her faults. "Teaching is a challenging profession, Ms. Green. And being mocked by students is not a perk." Doreen's heart had begun to pound. Sweat gathered on her forehead, feeling prickly and unpleasant. Her muscles heated, her stomach was sick. She inhaled through her nose. No scent of musk. Nope, this was just normal panic. First came the flight option: she should run away and never talk to her teacher again. The fight option perked up, too, by suggesting she had the strength to throw her teacher through a window. No, no, that would not do. Especially not now, not after she'd seen Ms. Schweinbein at home. She was a real person with a real house and real pets, and an odd and probably illegal barnyard in her basement. That was kind of cool. Maybe Doreen could be the one to have a little understanding. After rejecting both flight and fight, Doreen discovered a third option, a kindness one, a bonding one. After all, base animal instincts didn't just include flight and fight. There was also building of community: nests of squirrels, packs of wolves, adorable little caveman villages with top-notch cave wall paintings. "Never mind," Ms. Schweinbein was saying. "I didn't get into teaching to make BFFs, so I'll get over it. So, anyway…" She started to go through papers. "Ms. Schweinbein," said Doreen, "I am really sorry. I didn't mean to mock you, but I totally see that that's how it seemed. I feel awful that I ever made your day worse." "Oh," said Ms. Schweinbein, seeming surprised. "That's…that's okay." "Also…" Doreen pointed to the sign on the wall: WIGGLING IS INAPPROPRIATE HUMAN BEHAVIOR. "Maybe if you thought of us as animals, that would help. Like how when something rolls by a cat, they can't help but want to paw at it? And if something smells interesting, a dog is going to want to sniff it? Well, sometimes human kids need to wiggle. Or say things that aren't just right and perfect, and stuff. If you thought of me as an animal, do you think you could like me bett—" "YES," said Ms. Schweinbein a little too quickly. "Oh, good," said Doreen. "Because animals are awesome, which is an opinion that I think we both have in common, and having things in common is good, but anyway I'd love to listen to anything you have to say on that topic as I'm a pretty good listener working on my listening skills?" "I love animals. In fact…" Ms. Schweinbein dabbed the inside corners of her eyes. "When I was little, I wanted to be a goat." "A goat? Huh. That's really interesting, Ms. Schweinbein. I never met anyone who wanted to be a goat before. And I just want to say, I think it's really sad when dreams don't come true, but really cool that you're doing your best anyway." "Thanks, Doreen," said Ms. Schweinbein, sounding like she really meant it. "And, hey, I was thinking about your…um, I mean, you know Squirrel Girl? She asked me to pass along a message to you." "WHAT." The teacher dropped her papers to the floor. "I kinda know her, no big deal," said Doreen, gathering up the papers. "But she was thinking, if the mall opens up, it could really use a petting zoo. Not sure what she meant by that exactly, since I'm not her and therefore don't have access to all her thoughts, though I'm sure they're grade-A thoughts, but just passing along a random message." Ms. Schweinbein's eyes twinkled. For a second there, Doreen thought she might even hug her. But the early bell rang and students started coming in. Doreen took her seat and made a mental note not to comment on how people smell anymore. And one time when she raised her hand, Ms. Schweinbein even called on her. So Doreen was feeling pretty good when she headed to lunch. She was starving, having run out of the house that morning after only three bowls of cereal with almond milk, and was the first to the Squirrel Scouts lunch table by the frozen-yogurt machine. Vin Tang arrived second. He looked even paler today than usual, with dark circles under his eyes. He sat down and stared at his bagged lunch without opening it. "You okay?" asked Doreen. Vin startled, then nodded. He leaned closer to Doreen to talk under the noise of the cafeteria. "I…Last night Thor showed up at my house. He was holding a hammer bigger than my head. He told me I'd better be nice to girls or he'd know about it." "Ah, yeah…so he's a personal friend of the Arcos Romero family? And Squirrel Girl mentioned to him how you asked out Ana Sofía but then never set a date or called her back—" "Oh!" said Vin. "I was waiting for her to tell me when. Isn't that how it works? A guy asks a girl to go out and then she takes care of everything else?" "Um, I don't think so," said Doreen. "Dude, I don't know. But probably you should talk to Ana Sofía about it?" "Okay," he said, nodding vigorously. "Okay. Hey, so she isn't friends with any of the scarier heroes, right? Like Hulk or Ant-Man?" "Ant-Man?" "Ants are scary, Doreen! Have you seen them up close? They're like MONSTERS!" "Yeah, okay, well, just talk to Ana Sofía, okay?" "Hey, Vin. Hey, Doreen," said Heidi, arriving with her usual entourage of friends. "Since the mall still isn't open, this weekend we're getting together at Dennis's pad to talk Squirrel Scout strategy—" "Hang on," said Dennis, "not everyone's invited, you know." "What are you talking about, Dennis?" said Heidi. "The party is for Squirrel Scouts, isn't it?" "Exactly my point!" he said. "WHAT ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT, DENNIS?" said Janessa. "Doreen is a Squirrel Scout, isn't she?" "Oh yeah!" said Dennis. "I forgot that you were! My bad. How come you don't come out with us to fight beside Squirrel Girl?" "Parents," she said vaguely. "Middle school." "Dude," he said and gave her a high five. "See you Saturday?" "Sure," said Doreen. Her stomach warbled like it was full of wasps and her palms itched and sweated, though she played it pretty cool. She still wasn't 100 percent sure how to be Doreen Green. But she reminded herself that Ana Sofía would be there. It was incredibly awesome having a best friend to fight alongside you a hundred feet belowground in a secret evil lair. But it was just as awesome having a best friend to stand beside you as you walked into a middle school party. As the LARPers and Somebodies and the rest of the Squirrel Scouts sat down, Doreen stood up. "So I spoke to Squirrel Girl," said Doreen. They all stopped talking and looked at her. Huh. That line had worked on Ms. Schweinbein, too. She needed to use it more often. "She wants me to tell you guys to calm the freak down." They nodded wisely. "That sounds like her." "Forsooth." "You guys are getting hurt and being way too violent just generally," said Doreen. "And Squirrel Girl is not hip to it. Like, I know that, uh, we all want to fight evil and crime and stuff, but we don't have to be the punchers, right? Let's leave the punching to the girl with the squirrel powers." That was the speech she'd been preparing, and unlike in her daydreams, there didn't appear to be any fallout. Dennis, who had a sprained wrist from Mistress Meow, was nodding emphatically. "So we should figure out what being a Squirrel Scout is going to mean going forward?" said Heidi. "Maybe we need to train more in combat," said Jackson. "Some of us are well trained," said the duchess. "No, I think we should be more of a fan club, right?" said Dennis. "And cheer for Squirrel Girl and stuff from a safe distance?" "At least there should be regular parties," said Janessa. The discussion got going, and Vin live-texted it on the Squirrel Scouts thread so the Skunk Club at the high school could see it as well as Ana Sofía. By the time she arrived, they'd moved on to other topics, and she was well-informed. Ana Sofía sat beside Doreen and opened up her laptop. "So we keep talking about me teaching you computer stuff but never do it 'cause there's never free time," she said. "But I don't want computers to just be my thing because if I teach you what I know maybe we can get into the same college one day and major in computer science together and basically just keep being best human friends forever and ever, so how about we just start right now?" "Heck yes," said Doreen. She sat across from her, opened up her lunch bag, and tossed Ana Sofía the string cheese her mom had packed for her. She took a handful of raisin-free trail mix, munching while listening to Ana Sofía's in-depth explanation of databases. She hoped no Super Villain chose today to show up in Shady Oaks demanding to fight Squirrel Girl. She was looking forward to a full day of being Doreen Green. Three weeks later, Doreen was back at the mall for the first time since Squirrel Girl punched a bunch of Hydra agents till they didn't want to be bad guys anymore. If it didn't exactly create a perfect harmony of love and acceptance, the result could still be classified as "music." A huge banner proclaimed it OPENING DAY OF COMMUNITY MALL! Beneath the banner, on the dais, Pepper Potts spoke into the microphone. She was a petite light-skinned woman with bright red hair, dressed inconspicuously in a blue pantsuit, but her voice was commanding. "When we at Stark Enterprises heard about the tragic situation here in your community, we saw not only an opportunity to make a great business deal but a chance to help you keep your mall. Your own Squirrel Girl contacted Mr. Stark to ask for his help. Mr. Stark could not be here today as he is currently lending a hand to the Avengers—" A man in a black suit came up to Pepper Potts's elbow and whispered in her ear, handing her a folded piece of paper. "Oh," said Ms. Potts, unfolding the paper. "It appears Tony Stark sent a message he wants me to read to you. "'We at Stark Enterprises are happy to help Shady Oaks and Listless Pines keep their new mall after potential disaster was averted, thanks in no small part to Squirrel Girl. And if she's there, I just want Squirrel Girl to know that a lot of people like how I wear my facial hair. I get compliments on it constantly. And I don't have any reservations about my facial hair choices, nor are they covering up any deep-seated insecurities, just FYI.' "Okay, so that just happened," Pepper Potts continued, refolding the paper. "In the future, I'm just going to scan Tony's memos to myself before reading them aloud. Anyway, Union Junior student Ana Sofía Arcos Romero has been instrumental in saving this mall and has worked with me personally to find businesses to open shops, including Shady Oaks Shades, Schweinbein's Petting Zoo, Socks Socks Socks, Somebodies Froyo, Professor Nutty's Nut Emporium, and Burger Frog. I've asked Ana Sofía to say a few words." Ana Sofía stood up at the microphone. She looked so small up there, squinting out and frowning at the crowd. By now, Doreen was literate in her BHFF's various frowns, and this was her I'm Nervous But Determined frown. "YEAH, ANA SOFÍA!" Doreen yelled. The Squirrel Scouts shouted, too. "Ana Sofía! Represent!" "That's our girl! Go, Ana Sofía!" Ana Sofía read from a paper. "Thank you, Ms. Virginia Potts, CEO of Stark Enterprises and one of my personal role models. Ahem. Greetings, people. I'm honored to be here today and first want to convey a message Squirrel Girl asked me to pass along. And I quote: 'Yes, dudes! We totally wiped out those jerks! Hydra is the worst. The literal worst. For real. So let's stop being jerks to each other and enjoy some tasty froyo flavors and play on the escalators!'" Some in the crowd laughed, some applauded politely. Ana Sofía looked up and folded her paper. "Look, I've seen the message boards. I know some of you still don't think it was really the real Hydra. Even though I videoed the really real Hydra agents attacking Squirrel Girl with plasma guns in their secret underground lair. It seems super-strange how some believe and pass around the weirdest conspiracy theories and then deny hard, scientific facts and actual evidence—" Pepper Potts made the wrap-it-up signal with a circling finger and smiled encouragingly at Ana Sofía. "Anyway," said Ana Sofía. "Squirrel Girl risked her furry tail for you. And I did, too, actually, now that I think about it, only not my tail since I don't have one. Ahem. But the least you could do is try to be nice to each other, okay? It's so arbitrary anyway! I mean, yeah some of us live in one neighborhood and some the other, but like Squirrel Girl says, we don't have to be jerks about it! So, thanks, Ms. Potts and Stark Enterprises." And she promptly walked off the stage. Doreen wasn't sure how much of the sincere and enthusiastic applause her friend could hear. So she lifted her hands in the air, twisting them in the ASL sign for applause. The Squirrel Scouts around Doreen switched from clapping to the applause sign as well. And the sign quickly spread. Clapping quieted, hands rose, and soon a thousand people in the crowd were signing their applause. Ana Sofía glanced back and her mouth opened. She wiped an eye and hurried off. Vin was waiting for Ana Sofía as she got off the stage, clapping and smiling. They had a plan to go walk around the mall together. Doreen was going to meet them at the nut shop in an hour. "Hey, Pepper Potts, read the results from the mascot election!" shouted Heidi. "RESULTS! RESULTS!" Dennis tried to start a chant, but no one else picked it up. He fake-coughed to stop and then ran his fingers through his hair. "Aye, the definitive results of our civic duty!" yelled the baron. "Prithee," said the duchess, "announce them to the eager masses!" Pepper waved and opened the ballot box, scanning the various papers with something that to Doreen looked like a Star Trek device. "I've tallied the results and we have a clear winner," Pepper Potts said into the microphone. "Most of you chose to write in a candidate, and most of you chose to write in the same candidate. Wow, this is truly amazing. The mascot for your new Community Mall is a SQUIRREL!" The crowd cheered. Doreen gasped. She caught Ana Sofía's eye from across the crowd and signed, "Squirrel wins." Ana Sofía smiled. Most people wouldn't be able to tell that she was actually smiling, but Doreen could. A squirrel! Tippy-Toe was going to be stoked. Doreen's secret phone buzzed. She ducked out of the crowd to see who was texting her. SHE-HULK: Hey I'm on the east coast for the weekend but all my friends are apparently in space fighting Thanos. Are you free to go grab a smoothie sometime? SQUIRREL GIRL: ………Yep SHE-HULK: Cool see u soon SQUIRREL GIRL: Sure no problem since grabbing smoothies with fellow heroes is a thing I totally do on a regular basis and basically the norm for me is what I'm saying. So is there a way to unsend already sent texts? Anyhoo see u soon fellow hero SHE-HULK: ;)

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 1

 "The wise man judges the new by the old." —SOPHOCLES  "The value of life is measured by its beauty and not by its length." —PLUTARCH  "The times do not wait." —THUCYDIDES

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Greece, 480 B.C.

Proud Xerxes, Emperor of Persia and King of Kings, invades Greece with a million soldiers. He leads thousands of ships and is helped by dozens of allies, among them the charming Queen Artemisia. Against him stand a few Greek fighters and two determined men - Leonidas and his three hundred Spartans on dry land, the personification of bravery and patriotism; and Themistocles and the fleet of Athens on the sea, the incarnation of ingenuity and strategy.

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Prologue

[ Fifty eight years earlier ] [ Babylon, 538 B.C. ] Cyrus the Great, ruler of all Asia, grasped his gilt scepter and swept the landscape before him with a direct and focused gaze. He beheld the endless plain of Mesopotamia watered by the imposing river Euphrates. In the distance, a few miles away to the right and left of the river, six miles long and five miles wide, lay the greatest and most glorious city he had seen in all his years of conquest. It was the only city that had resisted until now, the only one he had not yet added to his possessions, the only thorn in the soft underbelly of his vast empire. "Babylon… the city of cities…" the emperor murmured to himself, impatient yet filled with awe. He sat on his golden throne atop a wooden platform supported on the shoulders of fourteen dark-skinned carriers. His eyes were squeezed almost shut, like his tight-pressed lips—narrowed not just against the glare, but from anxious concern. Babylon had the best system of defense of all known cities in the world, even better than the renowned Nineveh. Its famous limestone and granite wall was a hundred and fifty feet tall and a hundred feet wide. Two four-horse carriages could run side by side at full speed along the top of that wall, and they would still take quite a long time to cover the fifty-three miles of its perimeter. In front of the wall ran a great trench, sixty feet wide and ten feet deep, filled with water from the Euphrates and encircling the city. The wall was pierced by two huge gates through which the river entered the city from the north and left it at the south, after passing through the whole city. The gate on the north side opened every morning to let in boats filled with every kind of merchandise from all over Asia. It was a gigantic, double gate with one door leading to the world outside the wall and the other to the city inside. When both doors of the gate were closed, its bottom part touched the surface of the river. This made it impossible for anyone, whether mounted or on foot, to get into the city since no one could have swum underwater against the strong current for a hundred feet, the thickness of the wall. At the center of this rich city with its terrific defenses was the greatest prize any conqueror could desire, the famous tower of Babylon, one of the so-called wonders of the world. Seven floors tall and two hundred and thirty feet high, it dominated not only the city but the whole plain and the two great rivers, the Tigris and the Euphrates. It was the golden temple of the great Babylonian god Bel Marduk. In it served the twenty-four priests who, together with the king, ruled Babylon and all its wealth. Cyrus blinked his eyes. The glare from the golden roof of the temple blinded him and simultaneously enraptured his mind, while the light glancing off the thousands of blue bricks that adorned the temple stained his face cyan. He dragged his gaze away from the city, stood up and turned around. Immediately the two generals standing at the back of the throne fell to their knees, bowed their heads to the floor, and touched their foreheads to his feet. His vast army spread out before him from the manmade hill where he stood to the dim reaches of the plain to the east, where sight lost itself in the dull veil of swiftly approaching night. Five hundred thousand front line warriors and five hundred thousand assistants, tens of thousands of workers, servants and merchants, cooks and prostitutes, brought here from all the ends of the empire. His army covered an area greater than the area of Babylon itself. The Persian emperor raised his golden scepter and held it out, pointing at the city behind him whose image was fading slowly in the soft light of sunset. Then he raised his head imperceptibly towards the heavens and gave thanks in advance to his god, the winged Ahura Mazda, for the conquest of glorious Babylon. This conquest would make him lord and master of all of Mesopotamia and consolidate his empire as the only power in all of Asia, from the Mediterranean Sea to India. When his prayer of thanks had ended, he returned his scepter to vertical position and struck the wooden floor of the platform three hard blows. The two generals kissed his feet, stood upright and took up their positions before the army. The attack on the unassailable city would begin that same evening. His plan, inconceivable for a common mind, went into effect the moment the sun hid itself and continued in an unbroken, feverish rhythm until dawn. A great distance from the unassailable walls of the city, massive boulders were dragged to the Euphrates by elephants and thrown in, lessening the flow of its waters. A short way below this curious dam, for a length of several miles, hundreds of thousands of men were lined up, one next to the other, on the two banks of the river. In their hands they held basins woven of reeds, covered with leather and sealed with pitch. Behind them stretched two deep trenches, many miles long, constructed by imperial engineers in the previous weeks. As soon as it became dark hundreds of thousands of basins were immersed in the now-calm water at the same time and they began rapidly and efficiently emptying it. In a few hours the level of the Euphrates had sunk by several inches. By the time the night was at its darkest, just before dawn, the level of the waters was at the height of the knees of a man of average size. The glorious moment had arrived. The two generals led foot soldiers and cavalry to the riverbed and drew them up facing the city's great northern entrance. The water lapping the lower edge of the enormous gate had sunk, leaving six feet of empty space. There was enough room for a soldier with all his gear or a horse without its rider to pass through. Within a short time thousands of Persian soldiers had entered the city. They seized it suddenly, taking inhabitants and defenders in their sleep. The next morning the gold and blue radiance of the tower of Babylon reflected the light of the morning sun and shone on the face of the emperor who stood at its top, surveying the famous hanging gardens. Cyrus lowered his head and looked at the thousands of Babylonians who had gathered below the tower, silently awaiting his decree. Around him, along the sides of the roof, kneeled the twenty four priests of the Babylonian god Bel Marduk with their heads bowed. The emperor raised his imperial scepter and showed it to the crowd. He held it high for a short while, like a flaming sword, for all to see. Then, with his gaze on the far-away red and gold horizon of the dawn and the bright light of the new day, he lowered it suddenly. With it fell twenty-four sharp swords. The heads of the priests were cut from their necks and fell into the void. Their headless bodies followed soon after, bathing the townspeople in their sacred blood. The kingdom of Bel Marduk had ended. Babylon the Great had fallen. The Persian Empire dawned with the sun.

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Athens, 514 B.C.

The music of kitharas could be heard in all the neighborhoods of Athens around the Acropolis, in all the narrow streets, in all the one-storied and two-storied houses. In every garden, in every temple and in every grove of sacred olive trees. The procession of the Sacred Veil of the great Panathenaia festival was about to start. Earlier, gymnastics competitions had been held in the three great gymnasia of the city. A little later, the most important music competitions followed. Then there were contests in reciting passages of poetry from the Homeric epics, the Iliad and the Odyssey. Now everything was ready for the festival's grand finale. The police and the Agora overseers had removed all the prostitutes and drunks from the streets and had personally supervised the cleansing of all the shops, especially the ones that sold meat and fish. The fountains were cleaned, the altars of the gods were purified, the temple of Zeus was polished and the street that led to the walls of the Acropolis was newly strewn with gravel. Outside the walls the inhabitants of Athens and the foreign visitors waited impatiently for the festivities to begin. For the procession to start and to reach the Acropolis and the temple of the goddess Athena, high above the city. For the animals to be slaughtered and the ceremonies to be solemnized. And then for the sharing out of roasted meat and wine and the great celebration with singing, music and dancing that would follow. Outside the Dipylon, the west gate of the wall of Athens, a great chariot in the shape of a boat had been made ready. The four chosen virgins, who for a year had been weaving the Sacred Veil they would present as a gift to their favorite goddess, had taken their places on the wooden boat with wheels that symbolized Athens' naval power. They wore simple white robes that left one shoulder bare and their heads were adorned with wreaths of olive branches. In their fingertips they held the golden-yellow veil they had woven with their own hands. The veil showed scenes from the Gigantomachy and the Titanomachy, the great victories of Zeus and the twelve gods of Olympus over the Giants and the Titans. When the hot sun of July reached the center of the sky, the sign was given for the procession to start. The four virgins raised the veil and set it up on a pole in the center of their wheeled boat, so that it looked like the sail of a ship filled with wind. The wheeled boat moved slowly up the street, its wheels crunching on the gravel. Behind it came young men leading the hundred oxen for the sacrifices, young women carrying woven baskets full of gifts, musicians with their instruments and citizens of Athens bringing amphorae filled with oil, honey and wine. The middle-aged Aristogeitonas and the youth Armodios watched the procession start and held their breath. The first stretched out his right arm and put it tenderly around the shoulders of the second. Armodios pressed his lips together and nodded his wreathed head decisively. He looked his beloved Aristogeitonas in the eye and grasped the handle of the sharp knife hidden under his white tunic. The two lovers were ready. The boat with the stretched veil passed through the gate and entered the city. At a sign from the head of the procession, the two wreathed oxen pulling it turned to the right and took the Panathenaic Way that led through the Agora and ended at the gates of the Acropolis, where the priests of the temple of the goddess Athena were waiting. Slowly and steadily, the head of the procession approached the sacred precinct dedicated to the female deities and the pedestal standing in front of it. On the pedestal stood the governor of the city, the tyrant Hipparchus, together with his brother Hippias. Their father, Peisistratos, had seized power fifty years before and imposed a brutal tyranny which now, after his death, was carried on by his oldest son. The tyrant Hipparchus was dressed in his glamorous official clothes and looked down with conceit, arrogance and contempt on the people of Athens gathered outside the walls. But when the sacred veil reached his pedestal, he bent his head in a show of humility and respect for the goddess. The moment had arrived. The lovers moved quickly on both sides of the pedestal. While the tyrant's guard was busy with the ceremony in honor of the sacred procession, first the youth Armodios and then the middle-aged Aristogeitonas climbed quickly onto the wooden pedestal. When they reached the top, they pulled out the knives hidden in their tunics. Aristogeitonas grabbed Hipparchus by the throat and immobilized him. His youthful lover raised his knife and, with a quick movement, buried it in Hipparchus's unprotected chest, twisting it with hatred. The heart and lungs were shattered instantly. The tyrant of Athens fell dead. Democracy had returned to the city that gave it birth. "The Baptism of Blood"

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

ARTEMISIA

[ Sardis, city of the Persian Empire ] Are you sure?" "Yes…" "It's expensive" the merchant murmured, looking with distrust at the girl standing before him. "It's only for archers and wrestlers." "And me" she answered arrogantly, and commanded her nursemaid to take out the daric, the golden Persian coin that glittered in the light of dawn. That convinced him. The merchant took a clay cup and filled it up with the black liquid he had been stirring all evening in a huge pot over a low fire. It was the famous broth of Sardis. A thick liquid mixture of blood, wine and honey, flavored with poppy seeds from Mount Tmolus. An expensive tonic that wrestlers drank before matches and warriors drank before going into battle. Letting go of the nursemaid's hand, the girl grasped the clay cup firmly in both hands and drank down the warm liquid in one gulp. She greedily drank three heavy clay cups full, though even the ferocious athletes of the palaestra were satisfied with just one. She dried her mouth with the back of her hand, sighed in satisfaction and paid for the expensive drink with the golden coin, one of ten that her father had given her for the journey. Only then did she raise her eyes and meet the disapproving gaze of her gray-haired governess. "What are you looking at me for? Didn't we come to honor the goddess of plenty? If the goddess Cybele is known for anything, it is for the good things she gives to those who are faithful to her." "Yes, but..." "Besides, in a way we're relatives. I have the name of a goddess too." "Of Artemis... The goddess of hunting." "A goddess who is known for never forgetting and never forgiving" the girl answered her with a grim look. "So be careful what you say..." she added, smiling. "It's your money..." the nursemaid murmured deferentially, bowing her head. "Right. Mine. So now let's go and hunt for the gift for my father, the most beautiful golden ring in this whole city." She gave her a kiss on her wrinkled cheek and pulled her towards the marketplace where there were shops that were famous throughout the vast Persian Empire, the shops of the goldsmiths from Sardis who got their gold straight from the river Pactolus. "The sacrifices start when the sun is an arm's length up in the sky" said the nursemaid, and threw an anxious glance to the east, which was already rosy. "Perhaps we should wait until the afternoon?" "We'll be done in time." "We have to go to the baths before we go to the temple for the sacrifice." "I know. We will, I promise. We didn't make a ten day journey to come before the goddess with our bodies unperfumed and our hair unoiled." "Ritual cleansing is required before the ceremony of Taurobolion." "Really, tell me about this famous ceremony" the girl shouted, pulling her over the rough tiles of the marketplace. "I've heard so about it much in our city, Halicarnassus. Is it true what they say about the red bath?" "You'll see for yourself with your own eyes…" her nursemaid murmured, and she smiled for the first time, secretively. "Do you promise?" "You are the daughter of Lygdamis, Satrap and King of Halicarnassus. You will have the place with the best view during the ceremony." The fourteen year old girl's enthusiasm translated into a warm embrace. And a warm, tender kiss that made the nursemaid smile broadly, showing the bare gums hiding behind her usually tightly closed lips. "Besides..." she added, pushing down her conical Persian cap and raising her pleated caftan in order to walk faster, "you'll experience it yourself when you go into the pit for the baptism of blood."

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 6

Dust and choking heat. The air was like the air in a blacksmith's workshop. As the sun climbed higher in the sky, foreheads were moistened with sweat and faces turned red from the burning rays. And from excitement. Thousands of people were crowded together under the rock where the Persian fortress and the headquarters of the governor of the city were located. From the western beaches where the Ionian cities were to Susa, the capital of the Persian empire two thousand miles to the east, people had come to Sardis for the annual festival in honor of the Mother Goddess. All those who were faithful or just curious had gathered around the great pits, holding leather bags full of water in their hands and with their heads wrapped in linen cloth soaked in water for protection from the sun. They waited patiently, expectantly, as hour after hour the air grew more and more suffocating from the smell of meat being roasted by the hundreds of peddlers and the odor of thousands of sweating bodies. Pilgrims were everywhere. On the roofs of the imperial limestone buildings, in the branches of the few little trees, crowded together on the surrounding hills, even clinging to the rocks on the hill where the fortress of Sardis was built. The girl and her nursemaid were not among them. Their prominent places had been chosen by Artaphernes himself, the Persian satrap of the whole province. They sat on bleachers made out of thick canes from the river, right in front of the place of sacrifice. Next to them and around them sat ambassadors of the Persian emperor Darius who had come there from the capital, advisors of the Satrap Artaphernes, commanders of the Persian army, gold traders from Sardis, owners of mines, large landowners and stockbreeders, and all the power and authority of the satrapy. The girl was worried. She had gone to the baths where they had carefully cleansed her with warm water, had rubbed her skin with the metal scraper, massaged her body and hair with cool water, and perfumed her with sandalwood and incense in all the hidden spots and folds of her unripe body. Finally, her nursemaid had dressed her in her new garments, a colorful Persian robe of cool linen and a high conical hat to protect her head and her clean hair. Her eyes could not get their fill of the strange and new scene, the immense crowd that filled the whole valley and the hillsides, the proud stances of the guard of the honorary delegation, the plumed costumes of the officials, the precious jewels shining on their bodies. The priests of the goddess, the mystics and their followers. The sanctuary workers who were now setting up special wooden racks above the great pits and the dozens of bulls that waited, shut up in a corral, bellowing and stamping the dry ground with their hooves. The whole time, her hand stayed in the old, familiar, tender hand of the dear nursemaid who took care of her night and day, and who had been her shadow from the time her eyes first saw the light of day fourteen years before. She as strict as a tutor should be and as tender as any mother, and she was just as absorbed in the scene before them as her charge was. She watched without speaking. For all of her beloved little girl's begging, not a word came from her mouth. Words had no value, they would only cheapen the glorious spectacle that was to follow. Now and then she glanced at the girl's overwrought face and smiled fondly. The fate the gods had assigned to the nursemaid had been hard. She was barren and infertile, alone and unwed, but in the end, her reward had been the precious gift that sat beside her, the girl who had made the years of her old age beautiful from the first time she held her to her breast until now. She was her one and only nurse. At that moment the girl glanced worriedly at the sky, half closing her eyes against the blinding light. "The chariot of the sun runs faster than Hermes, the swiftest of the gods. It is already in the middle of the sky." "Don't worry. Everything is arranged, provided and measured out by the priests." "Will they have time?" "Don't worry" her nurse repeated. "The blood will flow in its time..."

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 7

The bull bellowed frantically. Tied with five thick ropes of braided strips of hide and with a forged chain around its neck, it was dragged by ten men while several more goaded it on the rump with sharpened canes. The uproar and the dust kicked up by the maddened brute covered the whole of the little valley, because on this day the god Aeolus had closed up his bags of wind and the city was without a breeze. Just before the bull arrived at the wooden grate, a man waiting at the edge of the pit stripped off the white tunic he was wearing so that he was naked, smeared himself with aromatic oil and, amid the celebratory chanting of the priests, climbed down into the pit, which was deeper than he was tall. There he kneeled to the earth, prayed to the goddess, and prepared for the ritual cleansing that was to follow. When the chanting of the priests had stopped, complete silence spread out over the hill. It was as if all mouths had closed at the same time so as not to insult the Mother Goddess with their voices. The girl looked on, fascinated, unable to speak because of suspense and the rapid beating of her heart. This was the great hour of sacrifice. The hour for which she had travelled to Halicarnassus in Caria, to the capital of the satrapy of Sardis. When the thick ropes were tied to the five stakes thrust deep into the earth around the pit, and the chain on the bull's neck was stretched by the strong arms of temple servants, the bull was immobilized on the wooden grate. Its bellowing and the stamping of its hooves shook the air, foam came from its mouth, which opened desperately, and thick saliva ran down its snout and neck. Its brown coat glistened with sweat, its great eyes stared and its tail waved back and forth feverishly. Perhaps it foresaw the end that was approaching. The girl was sure that the bull knew what was coming. The high priest made three complete circles around the bull, speaking the sacred words of cleansing and sprinkling it with palm oil scented with vrentheio, the Lydian perfume of musk and lavender. Then he stood in front of the animal, grasped its two horns firmly in his two hands, and raised his voice which pierced the air like the howl of a wolf. The naked man in the pit below the grate raised his head, reciting a hymn to the Great Mother. The horns sounded loudly. Another man, dressed in calfskin, climbed up to the wooden grate and took up position under the bull's head. In his hand he held a double ax. With a sudden movement, amid the bellowing and the sound of hymns, he raised the ax and cut the muscles and tendons of the bull's neck. Then, with a long and broad knife, the man cut through the animal's jugular vein while the priest pulled the horns, stretching the head so that the blood rushed out. The baptism of blood was well underway. The man in the pit received the waterfall of steaming animal blood ecstatically. His naked body was covered in the hot red liquid and his head was stretched back so that his face would receive the life-giving offering. Above him, the sacrificed animal trembled and shook in a desperate attempt to hold on to life. The bellowing had ceased and had been replaced by a death rattle. The life-giving power of the invincible bull flowed onto the faithful man along with the goddess's blessing. Until the bull fell lifeless on the grate, all the blood drained from its body. "Unbelievable..." the girl murmured, her eyes wide. "Ritual cleansing is a great gift from the goddess. It is life and good fortune itself" her governess commented calmly. Then she abruptly became serious. "Don't be afraid" she urged, feeling the trembling of the hand she held in her own. "I don't..." "Calm down. You're number eighteen." "I... I don't think I can..." "The baptism of blood is a gift from the goddess. You can say the prayers we have learned to calm down. You still have time. But you must do it. Your name is already written in the catalog of the temple and the priests have read the wishes on the sacred alter of her temple. If you do not do it, your hubris will be punished and her wrath will fall upon you. Bad fortune will follow you until the end of your life." "I don't know if..." "There isn't any if. You cannot get out of it. Your fate has been decided. Today you will bathe in blood."

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 8

The tenth bull had been sacrificed. The hour was approaching rapidly. Luckily her hands had stopped trembling. As the sun sank into the west, as the pits filled up with blood, the girl felt her body dry out and the beating of her heart slow down while her mind relaxed. It was not just that she was getting used to the sight and her first reaction was fading. The poppy milk that her nursemaid had given her to drink had had a calming effect. After the first few swallows she felt her limbs relax, her spirit strengthen and her will expand, like the sail of a ship with the wind at its tail. The eleventh bull and she was already anxious to get into the pit herself, to receive the baptism of blood. Yes, the truth was exactly what her nursemaid had just told her. On this day she would bathe in blood. She would receive the goddess's gifts that would accompany her for the rest of her life: well-being, abundance, good fortune. She had to do it. She was impatient to do it. At the sacrifice of the twelfth bull they were going to leave the seats to go to the sacrificial area. At the fourteenth bull they were going to take their place next to the pit. At the fifteenth bull the priests would take off her robe and cap, leaving her naked, and the temple women would rub her with the perfume of musk and lavender. And then would follow the hymns, the descent into the pit and she would be sprayed with the life-giving blood that would seal her destiny with the gift of the goddess's favor. "Come on, let's go, it's time..." She and her nursemaid climbed down the seats made of canes, took the path between two lines of guards with their scaly armor and their long, embroidered trousers and came to the door of the dressing rooms where the faithful gathered to receive the first blessing from the initiate and to prepare for the ceremony. With the poppy milk flowing through her veins, enhancing her excitement, with the murmuring of the priests ringing in her ears like a divine incantation and with the scent of perfume and incense thick in the air, a sacred inebriation filled the girl. Inside her, in her stomach and her heart and out to the tips of her fingers, she felt the beginnings of a new force and power, and this too was a gift of the goddess, a sure sign of her favor. Her spirit was already flying above Mount Tmolus, it rose to the heavens and reached the kingdom of the gods, the boundless ether. Her feet did not touch the ground. Ecstasy had taken her. She did not think of earthly things or hear words from human lips. She only felt the touch of her nursemaid, pushing her slowly but surely towards the dressing room where they would take off her clothes and prepare her naked body, and wrap her head in the ceremonial cloth dipped in perfume of musk and lavender. And then it happened.

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 9

First they heard the horn from the top of the fortress, from the city's watchtower. It was a strident, shrill note that stopped the hearts of the people gathered there. Then, before time could erase the piercing note of the horn, they heard the noise of galloping horses, metal clashing on metal and men's voices shouting in an unknown language. Battle cries echoed through the valley and got louder moment by moment. Feet thumped the dry ground as they ran up the valley's sides. Finally came the crying accompanied by piteous sobs from the crowd, terrified cries and heartbreaking screams from women wailing as they picked up their children and ran down the paths like a flock of frightened sheep. Panic. Pushing and trampling. That brought the girl back to earth. She raised her head in surprise and opened her eyelids. In the time it takes an arrow to leave the stretched string of a bow, her eyes widened and almost started out of their sockets. In the distance, towards Sardis, thick smoke was rising on the horizon. It was not the smoke of roasted meat, nor was it from the cooking fires in the central rooms of the thatched houses. It was burning houses. Sardis was burning. First at two or three points, then at five or ten more, and then very quickly the whole city was engulfed by fire and havoc. Down the sides of the long and narrow valley descended hordes of soldiers howling and brandishing their swords and spears. They ran passionately and quickly in lines one next to the other, sweeping animals and humans along as they passed like a giant broom of dry sticks. Their beaten copper shields formed a solid wall that advanced quickly towards the place of sacrifice. Their vanguard had already hit the gathered crowd, slaughtering, hacking, and slicing. The Persian soldiers were taken by surprise. Before they had time to form in defensive lines they felt the full impact of the attack and they scattered without offering resistance. One after another they fell dead from the short swords of the warriors that had attacked the city. Severed heads, opened breasts, bellies with the guts spilling out. The scent of musk and lavender had given way to the brackish odor of blood and the foul stench of defecation and death. The few Persian soldiers who managed to escape the onslaught were drawn up around the seats of the officials, while ten of them, the personal guard of Artaphernes, had already pushed the Satrap and his family to the exit, put them on horses and led them to the short, steep path that ran up the hill to the impregnable fortress of the city. The girl looked curiously at the fighters attacking. She had heard about their battle dress from sailors in the harbor of Halicarnassus. She had read about it in the parchments of her father's library. She had imagined it when listening to rhapsodists recite the Iliad and the Odyssey. They wore crested bronze helmets with nose and ear protectors and openings for the eyes. They had linen breastplates with metal plates sewn on them and leather wings to protect the ribs, blue mantles around their shoulders, and tall bronze greaves from their ankles to their knees. They carried iron pointed spears in their right hands, short swords in sheaths at their belts, and metal shields with short woolen screens underneath to protect against arrows on their left arms. On most of the shields an olive branch was carved or painted, or else two entwined serpents, the symbol of the goddess Athena, the beloved daughter of almighty Zeus. "They are soldiers… Athenian soldiers… They finally did it, they made an alliance with the Ionians to rebel against the Persians…" the girl murmured to herself and felt her limbs grow numb, not from sacred inebriation this time, but from fighting agitation at the sight of the enemies of her father, a subject of Darius. "Athenian soldiers… Do you hear?" But her nursemaid heard nothing. She stood as if turned to stone and looked at the burning city with a lost gaze. Her face was drawn and livid. She looked like an aged shroud. Her lips were dry, her mouth hung open, doomed and witless, as if she were waiting for the fate Atropos to cut the line of her life from one moment to the next. "Do you hear?" the girl said and shook her vigorously. "They are the Athenians and their rebel allies from Miletus and the other Ionian cities. They will kill us! If we stay here they will kill us!" The hysterical screaming of the crowd, together with the girl's shaking, brought the nursemaid back to the present. She turned, looked at her and pulled her into her arms. Then she threw a frightened glance beside her, behind her, around her. She saw bodies strewn around the valley like the moist reddish leaves of fall, slaughtered. Mothers covered in blood, holding their children under their lifeless bodies in a desperate attempt to save them. Men with severed arms, with missing legs, with crushed skulls. The wounded dragging themselves along the ground, leaving streaks of blood in the dirt like slugs. Priests praying with their last breath. Decapitated workers flung into the ceremonial pits. And a few soldiers from the Satrap's guard, fighting desperately. There was no salvation, there was no mercy. Only above, high up behind the bleachers where the rugged Athenian soldiers had not yet reached, on top of the steep hill of the fortress, was there still hope for salvation. A line of Persian soldiers was deployed at its base to protect the path that led to the summit. There, high on the hill, the thick walls could hold off the enemies. And they had the right to go there. They surely had that right. They had been officially invited by the Satrap Artaphernes himself. "Let's go to the fortress" the nursemaid shouted as if she had suddenly recovered from paralysis, and she started to pull the young woman toward the bleachers. "That's the only place we'll be safe."

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 10

They moved with what little strength they had left in their stunned bodies. Their legs trembled from fatigue and from the trauma of the slaughter they had seen. They ran desperately, striding barefoot over fallen bodies and around those who were kneeling, about to die, without noticing the cuts on their soles from the sharp pebbles and with no interest at all in the pain in their traumatized joints. They got no farther than the base of the great central platform. Before they could reach the path leading upwards, they saw Athenian soldiers racing toward them from the left. In a little while they would be upon them. The path was steep and hard to climb, and their feet were slow from fatigue. The soldiers would take them at the beginning of the path and kill them without mercy. "No! Back!" The little one's cry stopped the nursemaid in her tracks, and she stood and looked to her side. She to saw the formation of Athenian soldiers running towards them, clashing their swords on their shields. Their faces were twisted with fury, their hands red with blood. "To the city..." the nursemaid murmured, trembling. "Let's go to the city to hide." But when they turned their faces toward the city, the city wasn't there. It was all in flames. Thick smoke covered Sardis, a black haze blotted out the sun. The houses, the stores, the groves, even the temple of the god Ahura Mazda built by the Persians after the conquest of Lydia, were burning. Everything was on fire. The nursemaid looked around her in despair. Her lungs were blocked, feeling the end. Her heart had almost stopped beating. Her mind was paralyzed. "But by Zeus, we're finished..." "No..." Unexpectedly, the great god's name had brought an idea to the girl's mind. She looked away from the east, from the burning city, and turned west, to the end of the valley, to the hill where the temple of the goddess Artemis stood. "The temple. The Greeks will not strike the temple of one of their own goddesses. It is the greatest sacrilege. They won't dare. We'll hide there and ask for protection as supplicants.

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 11

The idea was simple. Simple and hopeful. Mostly, though, it was the only idea they had. The girl knew from studying the works of Homer and listening to singers recite his verses, that for Greeks the greatest sin was to insult the gods. The inside of the temples was sacred, with everything that word implied. Asylum could not be violated. Their feet grew wings. Stumbling, pushing and shoving each other, they ran back to the pits of sacrifice and started to climb the sacred road, the little street that led to the temple standing out, untouched, amid the fire. Its surrounding wall, its altar, the double row of columns and the limestone roof, shone incongruously white in the black smoke and mayhem of battle. Paradoxically, they managed to reach the surrounding wall relatively easily and without being in danger. Inside the walled courtyard the priests who had escaped the slaughter had gathered. They kneeled at the sacrificial alter in front of the temple and prayed to the goddess to save their lives. Among them were some Lydians in their characteristic yellow cloaks and some Persians in their many-colored robes. The nursemaid pulled the girl into the courtyard, led her behind the altar, embraced her protectively and made her kneel beside her so they could sing a hymn of thanks together, to the goddess for their salvation. They did not have time for that. At that moment the Athenian cavalry charged the temple. Four white horses jumped the low surrounding wall and started to trample the people who had sought asylum in the arms of the goddess. At the same moment, a phalanx of soldiers stormed the courtyard with swords in their hands. The first to fall under the blades were a group of Lydians who were huddled together in the corner with the statues dedicated to the followers of the goddess. They were all slaughtered, men, women and little children. Under cover of their screaming and howling, the others scattered like a flock of birds after a murderous strike from an arrow. They ran frantically in all directions, some trying to jump the wall and be lost in the hills, others struggling to run into the priests' quarters behind the buildings, and still others fleeing towards the central temple building, to hide behind the huge columns of the façade. Now the nursemaid seemed to have lost all hope. Her head bent, she murmured some verses to the god of the underworld, Hades, in a trembling voice. She beat her hands on the ground so that he would hear her prayers. Her face was contorted from the anguish of impending death and her cheeks were wet with tears. The girl wrenched herself from the deadly embrace of her hopeless nursemaid and stood up. She looked hurriedly around the area and tried to think. Quickly. Urgently. There was not a moment to lose. Around them people were falling, wounded, bloody, and hacked to pieces. "The temple... Only in the temple..." she murmured, as her eye made out the white tunics of a few priests running to the east side, where the vestibule and the central entrance were. Without explaining or waiting for agreement, she pulled her nursemaid upright and, almost dragging her, headed for the temple. She chose to enter by the walkway on the long side, where the columns gave some protection. From there, running more easily on the marble floor and taking cover behind the thick columns, they might reach the east side, get into the temple and demand asylum in the sacred and inviolate space belonging to the goddess, where even condemned criminals were protected. They got to the covered walkway, climbed the three terraces, and sheltered behind the wide, square base of a column. They stood there for a little while to catch their breath and find the strength to continue. The nursemaid seemed to have recovered and that made things easier, because the girl's hands were red from pulling and her arms hurt unbearably—she felt like a mule dragging a load of stones up a steep hill. "Thank the great god..." she murmured and left the hiding place, giving the command to run to the east side. Impossible. Before them two soldiers in blue capes were dismembering a Persian merchant with a colorful caftan and farther back the walkway was filled with the bodies of Persians and Lydians. The two women stood frozen in the middle of the walkway, unable to move. "From the back. We'll go around the temple from the back and get to the east side from there. It'll take us longer, but we'll make it" the girl shouted and started to push her nursemaid. But before they turned the corner they heard the noise of heavy steps. The two soldiers had finished with the Persian and now they were coming after the girl and her nursemaid. It was just a matter of time before they reached them and plunged their iron swords deep inside their bodies. "They're coming! They're behind us! They'll get us!" the nursemaid cried in terror. Turning the corner, they stumbled over two dead Athenian soldiers. Their bodies were pierced by the arrows of Persian archers, who were famous throughout the empire. They stopped, but the steps behind them grew louder and louder. And then stopped abruptly. The girl stood at the corner for a moment and looked around. The two soldiers had stopped to strip a body of its golden coins. In a little while they would finish their plundering and run after them again. At the opposite corner, more Athenian solders were looting a chariot that had come to the temple full of offerings for the goddess. They were trapped. Both directions were cut off. There was no way of escaping, there was no salvation. It was not just a cry of terror any more. It was a resigned wail from the nursemaid. "They will kill us... We will die..." "No!" "No?" "Not me!"

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 12

The girl ran up to the first dead soldier. She quickly examined his helmet, his breastplate, his leggings and blue cloak. Then she looked at the other soldier. His breastplate was pierced by an arrow and so was his helmet. No, that wouldn't work. The first one was better, his gear was in better condition. She quickly bent and turned him over. She took off his helmet, then undid the clasp of his cloak, under the throat. She stood up and put the long blue cloak over her own shoulders and fastened the clasp around her own throat. The she took the helmet in her hands and tried to put it on. Impossible. It was too small. The dead man's head was smaller than her own, even without the abundant masses of braided hair arranged around it. No matter how hard she pushed, the helmet stayed halfway down her head, and it wouldn't cover her neck. She was sweating from her feverish effort, her face had taken on the color of a flaming pyre. Behind her, around the corner, she heard the heavy steps again. The Athenian soldiers had finished. They were coming. Any moment they would be at her back with their pointed spears and sharpened swords. The girl did not hesitate for a moment. With the sharp blade of the sword she cut off two thick braids of her hair. Then she tried the helmet again. It was impossible to pull it down so that it hid her face. She raised the heavy sword above her head and used its flat side to push it down with all her strength. With one strong blow to the bronze crown, the helmet went down to her neck, taking the tips of her ears with it and making her eyes water from the pain. At the moment the Athenian soldiers turned the corner and saw them in the walkway, the girl had her back turned. The soldiers saw a blue cape and a helmet with the characteristic double crest of an Athenian officer. The girl did not speak. She had taken the stance for a blow, as she had been taught by her military tutor. Completely motionless, her feet at shoulder width, her arm stretched out and her palm firmly grasping the grip of the sword. The metal blade of the sword was held out vertically in front of her and its point touched the breast of her nursemaid, who stared at her, dumbfounded and terrified. "Artemisia?" she stammered, feeling the point of the sword between her breasts that had withered up with feeding this girl who was now pointing a sword at her. "What are you doing, my child?" The girl did not answer. She stood motionless, holding her breath, and listened to the exhausted panting of the two men behind her. Until she heard their steps begin again, hesitatingly. "I am saving my life..." she murmured softly, looking into her nursemaid's eyes. "The fate Clotho has already spun yours out and you are close to death now. The sin is not so great..." she said softly, and with a decisive movement she plunged the sword into the nursemaid's body, piercing her heart and lungs. The conical Persian hat fell from the aged head. The body wrapped in its colorful robe fell to the ground. The nursemaid's eyes were wide open and they still looked as if she could not believe what was happening. Male laughter, hideous laughter, sounded behind the girl. "You lost the bet, Pitya" said one of the soldiers behind Artemisia's back. "Our officer didn't take pity on the old woman. You owe me two cups of wine..." "Damn... And she was wearing jewelry..." "We can't do anything about that. The officer who killed her will take the jewels." "Too bad..." Then there were steps walking away. Until complete, deep, deadly silence fell. At least, it fell in the mind and soul of the girl, Artemisia from Halicarnassus, the only daughter of the Satrap Lydgamis. "May the gods forgive me..." she murmured and kneeled next to the lifeless body of her beloved nursemaid, closed her eyes, and covered her motionless forehead with the sacred ceremonial veil, dipped in the perfumes of musk and lavender. Then she kissed the wrinkled cheek once, took out a silver coin, opened the governess's mouth and placed it softly on her tongue. "To pay the boatman who carries you to the kingdom of the underworld..."

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

THEMISTOCLES

[ Athens, Greece ] Dozens of voices sounded together, high up on the rock of the Acropolis, before the sanctuary of Athens. The eighteen-year-old youths of the city were giving the Ephebic Oath.  I will fight alone and with others  and when die I will leave my country  stronger than I received it.  I will willingly obey those who adjudicate  and whatever the people establishes with a joint decision... A short time before, on the hill across from the Acropolis where the democratic assembly of Athens met, they had received the highest title of honor, the title of Citizen of the Athenian Democracy. That same day they received their honorary weapons, the shield and spear. Now, dressed in white cloaks, they were lined up before the temple, right hands raised. They proudly repeated the words of the official oath of the democracy, read out from a papyrus by the wise adult man appointed by the assembly to supervise them. Immediately after the end of the ceremony, each of those eighteen year old youths would officially be considered an Athenian citizen. The next day their military education would begin, and they would have to become soldiers as well. "I can't wait..." "It won't be long, Alkamenes. You can wait until tomorrow morning" Themistocles answered sourly. "I don't think I can wait that long." "The important part is today." "For you." "For everyone. The most important thing is for us to become citizens of Athens. Equals among equals, with the same rights and obligations to the city..." Equals... It was a word that had come out of Themistocles' mouth thousands of times in all those years they were growing up together. Alkamenes laughed. He had those words, his friend's obsession, dozens and even hundreds of times before. Themistocles had been repeating them continuously since the time they all learned to read and write, and later, when they were sixteen and wrestled together, naked and oiled, in the same palaestra. "I know that it's your dream to be elected by the people, to have permission to speak and address the assembly. To cover yourself with glory..." he said, teasingly. "You're wrong. My dream is simply to serve the city and more importantly, to serve the democracy and the people of Athens" Themistocles murmured irritably and then added in a bitter voice, "If the nobles and the aristocrats like you let me of course, because I don't..." "Oh no. Don't start that again, please" his friend cut him off impatiently.

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 14

After a day of wild celebration, going from one wild symposium to another, and a night of debauchery, going from one hetaera to another, the six hundred youths of Athens who had been sworn in the day before were lined up with all their military equipment at the northwest gate of the city's wall and, singing military hymns, began their march towards every Athenian citizen's first duty. They would perform military service for two whole years away from the city, far from their families, friends and lovers. Their backs loaded down with eighty pounds of military equipment– helmet, shield, sword, breastplate and greaves – they strode north, singing verses from the Homeric epics they had memorized in their first years in school. Before them walked the wise old man who would supervise them. At their side and behind them, with severe expressions and walking with short, quick steps, were the trainers who would teach them maneuvers and hand to hand fighting, the armed warriors who would direct the infantry exercises, the spearmen who would teach them to throw the spear, and the archers who would teach them archery. The young men were dressed in black and wore sandals of the same color. They did not carry bedding, nor did they have warm clothes or boots for the winter. They did not carry any kind of supplies, food, water or wine. They were alone. And they would have to survive alone for two years, guarding the northern borders of the territory of Athens, high in the mountains. After three days hard going they arrived at their destination and made camp high up on the mountain of Parnitha, on what everyone called the Black Earth because of their clothes and because of the psychic testing brought by two years of military training and complete isolation. "Companies, take formation!" The abrupt order sounded as soon as they arrived. The young men put aside their armor since they wouldn't need it except for exercises and in military training. They were divided into groups of forty and met their head trainers. Then each group started out for the point on the border for which it would be responsible, where it would be trained. "Two years is a long time..." Alkamenes laughed, lying on a bed of cut branches. "Don't feel bad, my friend. Our democracy won't be lost in two years. The assembly will stop in its tracks and wait for you to come back. And one day, who knows? Maybe you'll become a general, if the citizens vote for you." Themistocles sighed heavily. He understood the importance of military training, but—if he could only have been closer to the city. If he could have met his philosophy and rhetoric teachers and talked with them at the market. And even the gymnastics teachers, the ones from the gymnasium of Cynosarges who prepared boys that were not pure Athenian citizens and were not from old aristocratic families. A couple of times he had tried to get into the gymnasia of the Academy and the Lyceum where the offspring of aristocratic families trained, and they had thrown him out without an explanation as if he were some slave beaten and dishonored in war. And that humiliation, one of the many he had endured all these years because of his humble origins, he still could not stomach. "One day..." Every time Themistocles thought about his childhood, his fellow students and his teachers, he felt the same bitterness. When he was growing up the city had not been a democracy as it was now, but a tyranny. Then, no one had had rights as a citizen, equality and freedom were unknown concepts, and the old noble families hung on to the city offices tightly. They made sure the dividing lines were clear, even between themselves and the rich merchants and seamen if they were not descended from the old aristocratic families. His father Neocles was a rich Athenian merchant but his mother Euterpe was born on the other side of the Aegean Sea in Halicarnassus, on the shores of Asia Minor, which was under Persian control. Euterpe was the sister of the satrap Lygdamis, who ruled the city with an iron fist. Even though Euterpe, hard and relentless like her brother, had always been in charge in Themistocles' house, she was nothing but a foreignor outside their door, without full rights or equality before the law. Her son had inherited her impetuosity and her stubbornness, and he felt the same wounded pride at their treatment at the hands of the pretentious Athenian aristocrats. "One day what?" Alkamenes asked him, after waiting for a long time for their conversation to continue. Themistocles did not answer. He liked discussion, he was talkative by nature and had been taught the art of rhetoric by some of the best teachers, but he preferred to speak later, one day, with his works and not with his words. The problem of his humble descent was the only thing that could stop his irrepressible tongue. Then, his impetuous and passionate character retreated and he obeyed prudence and wisdom. He was cautious. He thought. And waited. "Esset imar…" he murmured Homer's verse from the Iliad. "The day will come…" "The day will come for what, Themistocles?" "For them all to get their answer…" His mind went to the words of Clearchos, his teacher, when he caught him in his seat, which was strictly forbidden. Just eleven years old, he had climbed up into the chair and was standing in it and passionately lecturing his fellow students, trying to convince them that the resourcefulness of Odysseus was a more important virtue than the bravery of Achilles. Clearchos, who had just taught them the opposite, had sat down unnoticed under the pilaster of the door and quietly listened to the whole of little Themistocles' speech without interrupting. Afterwards, he entered the room applauding. He praised Themistocles for his arguments and his bravery, and then told him to raise his robe and bare his bottom. He set him before the seat in front of the whole class and gave him twenty blows with the cane to punish his hubris and impudence against a teacher's authority. "You have to know that insolence is always punished. Hubris is not related to the correctness of the action. Nemesis comes to everyone, young man" Clearchos said after he finished beating him. "I know, teacher" answered Themistocles, and then bent and kissed his hand with respect. "I know..." Clearchos put his hand on the boy's short, curly hair and looked at him in surprise. "You, Themistocles, my child, are born for great things. For good or bad, time will tell." The he pulled down his robe again and, shouting for the slave who served him, he sent the young student home so his mother could take care of the deep welts left on the tender bottom. There, at home, Euterpe made him go without food and water for twenty four hours for his insolence to his teacher. After that punishment she prepared for him the most sumptuous meal ever eaten by an eleven year old boy, with her own hands. "The day will come for what?" Alkamenes repeated the question. "When it comes we'll both learn what it is, my friend. The training starts tomorrow before dawn, so good night…" he answered Alkamenes, and fell to the dry ground with sealed lips, thinking of the Homeric verse. "The day will come when..." Until then, he was determined to wait patiently. But the chance he was waiting for would be given to him much sooner than he imagined.

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 15

Two years rushed by like the waters of a spring high in the mountains. Spear, bow, sword. Tactics of war and the art of making camp. Survival in the hot sun of summer and the freezing cold of winter, without any equipment because their armor was in the cave they used for storage. So the months of their isolation in the mountains passed. They had to kill what they ate by themselves and to discover sources of water to drink. Their shoulders became broader, their chests deeper, their hands full of calluses and their faces lined from the sun and rain. But most of all, they turned into real men, soldiers able to defend their city against any enemy. As with every anniversary or celebration, the circle would be closed with the established games before the Athenian soldiers returned to their families and their tasks. All the young men of the same year gathered together on a little plateau formed by the three snowy peaks of the mountains behind them. They were still without weapons or helmets, and they carried no war gear. They wore only their black robes, faded and torn from the hard use of the last two years. They had only their bare hands and a short sword. And when they left the next day, they would want to have a myrtle wreath on their heads. That was the emblem of honor for the best among them, the emblem that would make them proud when they passed through the city walls again. The title of Athenian citizen would be conferred on the most able, the most thorough, the bravest, and those who would win in that day's games, even if their parents did not belong to one of the ten official tribes of Athens. Victory in the games would bring glory and the most important of the privileges of Athenian democracy: the right to be elected one day to one of the more important city offices--the right to govern. After the sacrifices to the gods, the old wise man who had supervised them for two years now, explained the tests that would follow. They were not very different from the games that the same men had participated in while they were adolescents. They were contests centered around the educational triad of Athens: letters, music, sport. Sitting behind his friend Alkamenes, who was pure Athenian, Themistocles thought that he could only hope to distinguish himself and prove his worth in letters and gymnastics. He had never been very good at music. He had played chords on the kithara until his fingers bled, many times, and he had blown on the reed pipe until his cheeks were swollen, but he was no good at them. But in letters he had always distinguished himself and now, after his training on the battlefield, he had become an expert gymnast. While their leader explained the rules of the games, Themistocles observed the opponents next to him. On his left was Aristeides, a blond man, gentle and delicate, who came from a noble family and lived in the richest neighborhood of the city. He had clashed with him many times, but only for rhetorical showmanship and on political issues. Their battles were merciless, but Aristeides was never underhanded. He never used his wealth or his aristocratic origins to win. On the other side, his right, was the man Themistocles hated more than anyone else, the arrogant and passionate Lambrias. He also had rich parents and he came from an aristocratic family that boasted that they were descended from the hero Thyseas himself, the founder of Athens. Large bodied, powerful and aggressive, Lambrias was always scowling with his lips pressed together. His courage, strength and perseverance were legendary. Until now, Themistocles had never confronted him or competed with him because they belonged to different companies and had lived in different areas of the mountains for those two years. "So, besides the established pentathlon of running, spear throwing, archery, discus and jumping, what will count more than all the others together in determining the winners, is the two and a half mile race on a real field of battle. That is, it will be run not on a clean and smooth surface but in the woods, with all the natural obstacles, wearing armor and carrying full military gear. That is because endurance is the most important quality for foot soldiers like you," the leader finished, and he gave the order to the gymnasts to explain the rough road race. "Damn! God damn it to hell!" Alkamenes turned around suddenly when he heard his friend's disgusted exclamation. "Blasphemy is not the best way to start a competition" he rebuked him calmly, in the meek and bland style he kept to even under the worst circumstances. "The race is not my best competition" Themistocles explained, and then he pointed covertly to Lambrias. "It's his." "What do you mean?" "I've seen him running in the stadium. He can do twelve miles without stopping, like a lion, even when he's loaded down like a mule." "That's the point of the games, though. To show who is the best of us, so the city will know when it needs help in time of war or danger" Alkamenes murmured. Months ago, with the self-knowledge that characterized him, he had given up hoping to be crowned with a victor's myrtle wreath. "The best person for the city in time of war is the one who can run fastest with his mind, not with his feet. Otherwise they wouldn't elect men to be generals. They'd elect horses..." "Turn around and face front! Stop your chatter!" The leader shouted sternly, and then ordered the gymnasts to hand out the heavy military equipment and the musician to play on the reed pipe to give the signal for the start of the games. When the young soldiers got up and stood at attention with their ankles together and their knees locked, completely motionless and silent like marble statues, Themistocles turned his head to the right. It was perhaps the last chance he would have to study and weigh his great opponent, Lambrias, undefeated in wrestling and in racing. At that moment, as if a spirit had gotten into Lambrias's huge chest and warned his heart, Lambrias turned his gloomy face and looked Themistocles in the eyes. Themistocles did not hear the words he said. They were said without sound and without sound they crossed the ten feet between them. But he saw his lips move. "I will beat you, you miserable bastard..." Lambrias murmured with his eyes fixed on Themistocles, full of hatred like the piercing eyes of Zeus getting ready to dart like a terrific thunderbolt from the summit of Mount Olympus. "I will crush you, son of a barbarian bitch from Halicarnassus..."

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 16

For the first thousand yards the whole group ran together like a pack of wolves falling hungrily on their prey. The eighty pounds of bronze armor seemed like a light sack and their feet flew over plants and branches, stones and pits. Besides, the first thousand yards were the easiest. They were still in the cleared valley, on an even and level field. But after a mile the way became steep and the path wound through a thick forest, climbing the mountain. Fewer than a hundred of the six hundred runners remained in front when the forest gave way to dry, bare stones with sharp edges that could cut a runner's foot from end to end. Now the eighty pounds of armor felt more like a hundred and eighty, the muscles of their shoulders ached from exhaustion and their heads leaned toward their chests from the weight of the bronze helmets. Lambrias was in front, just as Themistocles had predicted. In full armor, holding the heavy spear in one hand and the iron sword in the other, with his back straight as a statue's, he strode forward confidently and securely. Neither the dry branches that threatened to flay his body nor the sharp rocks that could cut his feet managed to slow him down. Several yards behind him came Themistocles, gritting his teeth, and with him ran about ten other athletes. To his surprise, when he looked to the side to assess the situation he saw the delicate Aristeides, red from the effort but running with a steady rhythm. Physical strength and endurance were not his strong points; in spite of the palaestrae, his body had not become tough and well-knit. But on that difficult day Aristeides was the living proof that sometimes, as the philosophers say, spirit rules over matter. In spite of his surprise, Themistocles smiled. For him, Aristeides was also the proof of his own argument that the mind and the will always come before physical strength. At this moment, his permanent opponent in the rhetorical competitions was also a model for his own attempt to overcome Lambrias's physical superiority. Themistocles turned his gaze to the front again. He saw with dissatisfaction that Lambrias had increased the distance between them while he was looking back. The front runner had already reached the great trench with the steep drop. He stood at the edge for a moment and then, balancing his body, threw himself into the void without hesitation. He tumbled down the steep slope curled up like the wheel of a cart and stopped softly at the bottom of the gorge. He got up and, plunging his sword deep in the earth, pulled his heavy body up. Then he raised his spear and stuck it in, pulling and raising his heavy muscles that twisted like the roots of a hundred year old tree. Imitating his example, Themistocles curled up and jumped into the void. However, his attempt was not so successful. When he landed on the bottom of the gorge and tried to stand up, he felt pain so intense that he thought his left foot must have been torn off and stayed on the slope behind him. And his left arm was in no better condition. When he stood up and examined himself, he found a deep wound in his ankle. He must have hit a stone or something while he was going down. Clenching his teeth and limping, he hobbled to the beginning of the steep slope on the other side of the gorge and thrust his spear into the ground as Lambrias had done. But not with the same success. In spite of his best efforts, the tired muscles of his arms could only pull him up slowly. It was almost more than he could do to balance in this new, higher position, and he could not hang on with one arm to thrust the spear in with the other. "Use your legs" he was astonished to hear Aristeides' advice coming from behind. "My left leg is useless. I can't move my ankle." "Your knees... Use your knees... Carve out a place for your knees before you raise the rest of your body." It took him a long time, but he made it. When he reached the top he turned his body and rested until he felt the sharp pain in his foot recede and the hammering in his breast quiet down. When he got up again, he saw that only three other athletes had made it across the gorge, one of the worst obstacles in the race. Aristeides was one of them, but now he was lying on the ground with his face sweaty and twitching and his chest rising and falling like a boat in a storm. His arms and legs trembled uncontrollably and his nails were scratching the ground. Unfortunately, Lambrias was nowhere to be seen. With his eyes Themistocles carefully searched the bushy area that stretched out for half a mile in front of him and ended in a thick forest of pine and plane trees, but he could not make out the huge, running figure. Finally, a great distance ahead, he saw Lambrias advancing confidently. With disappointment Themistocles had to admit that, except if some miracle happened and Hermes lent him his winged sandals, the race was lost.

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 17

Someone else might have given up. Not him. Not the young man nicknamed mule, not the personification of stubbornness and perseverance. Biting his lips, he picked up his sword and spear from the ground and started to run towards the thick forest. His bronze breastplate was an unbearable weight, it felt like a tombstone on his chest, it made it hard to breathe and it was burning hot from the summer sun. He thought about taking it off to make moving easier, but that would be impossible. Those who finished without full military gear were disqualified. Things got better when he got to the forest. There, the thickset trees offered shade from the burning sun, the air was cooler and his flaming lungs felt the relief, allowing him to lengthen his stride. A wave of optimism passed through him. If the protection of the shade and the soft ground continued until the finish line, then he would be able to speed up and, by Zeus, he might still win the race. The smile that had etched itself on his cracked lips for about half a mile started to fade when he heard a strange clamoring noise. Step by step the noise increased, while the air grew moist and suffocating. His skin grew wet and in his eyes he felt fine drops of water like spring rain. When he got to the end of the forest and saw the source of the sound, his legs felt weak. In front of him and to the right was a swift waterfall, at least a hundred feet high. Its waters gushed out and fell to the earth with a demonic noise, churning up foam like a winter gale on the sea. A few feet away from the spot where they fell they became calm, of course, but they formed a lake almost a mile long and half a mile wide. An insurmountable obstacle that Themistocles couldn't get around, because at the end of the mile, a steep gorge created a second waterfall. His burning legs froze on the bank of the mountain lake, his arms fell limp at his sides and in his sight, the landscape was drained of color like the sky before a storm. He sat down in despair on the green grass and looked dispiritedly at the waterfall. A little to the left of the foaming water a steep path climbed the slope, but he would have needed the abilities of Pan, the goat-footed Arcadian god, to climb it. It reminded him of an enormous snake that wound back and forth about twelve times from one side of the cliff to the other as it climbed before disappearing under the waterfall, tunneling into the cliff and passing to the other side of the river. At some points it narrowed to a palm's breadth and a human foot would barely fit there. It was scattered with huge boulders and sharp rocks and at some points the smallest weight would have made it crumble away. On that path, loaded down with his military gear, Lambrias was walking carefully, and he had already reached the third turn. His sword was sheathed and he had tied his spear inside his robe. Themistocles was overcome with boundless sorrow. He was not strong enough to attempt such a difficult and dangerous climb. He would be almost certain to fall and be crushed on the rocks below, especially if he had to drag his heavy military equipment with him. "Oh Goddess Artemis, protector of the forests, guide me, give me strength..." he murmured abjectly, since only a miracle could give him the victory he so desired, the victory that would turn him from a bastard into a real Athenian citizen with full rights in the elections, that would allow him to realize his political dreams of glory and power. A quick glance showed him that Lambrias had reached the fourth bend in the path and was climbing steadily. Themistocles calculated that he himself would not be able to reach the summit of the path before the sun set. At that speed, given his arrogant opponent's monstrous strength, how could he overtake Lambrias on the way down and reach the finish line first? "It was not my destiny to be equal with the others..." he murmured bitterly. "Even democracy has its limits..."

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 18

He sat without moving and watched the water in intense frustration. The large lake was an insuperable obstacle. His mind was paralyzed, he had fallen into a languor in which scenes from his childhood played before his eyes, sights he had seen in the Agora when he was going to his teacher's house and even earlier, in stories and myths he had heard from his father's friends in the courtyard of their house. Looking at the reflections of the sun on the water, a Babylonian myth came into his mind. It was a story told to him by their Persian slave Sanacheirim before he was forced to change his name to a Greek one and call himself Sikinos. The myth told of the creation of the world and the two great Assyrian gods of water, Apsou and Tiamat, who sent endless rain to the earth in an attempt to kill their children because they were making a lot of noise and wouldn't let them sleep. All of the children of the gods drowned except for Marduk, who managed to survive by clinging to the trunk of a tree that floated on the water. When the rains finally stopped, Marduk found a dry place, stepped on the ground, and was safe and sound. Themistocles suddenly raised his head and looked at the water that spread out before him, blocking his way. He pushed himself up with his hands and took out his sharp sword. He went back a few feet into the woods and looked around feverishly, with dilated pupils. He chose four small pines with straight, tender trunks, and struck them with his sword just above the ground, near their roots. The green wood gave way quickly under the sword strokes, and the trunks fell to the ground. He cleared off the branches, grabbed them and pulled them to the lake, where he laid them one beside the other. Then he looked up and down the shore. He saw small plane trees, tall pines and low willows. The willows would work for him. He cut an armful of their longest and most flexible branches, the ones that fell from the top of the tree to the bottom like a woman's hair. Then he went back to the pine trunks, cleaned the leaves off the flexible branches so that they looked like thick cords, and tied the trunks firmly together. When his makeshift raft was finished, he pulled it into the water and climbed onto it, carrying his sword and long spear. The trunks rocked under his weight and sank about two feet at first, but then came back to the surface and stabilized. Themistocles smiled in triumph. A shout of victory burst from him. He felt he had conquered the water. Mind against muscle. Human ingenuity against brute force. Resourceful Odysseus against fearless Achilles. That was his strength.

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 19

He used the spear to push the boat, sinking the point to the bottom of the lake and poling steadily and firmly. The raft started to move towards the opposite shore. At that slow speed, though, it might take hours to cross the distance of half a mile. While pushing on the spear with all the strength he had left, he raised his eyes and looked along the path. He saw that Lambrias had reached the last curve in the path and was starting slowly towards the waterfall. If he managed to pass under the water and come out on the other side, everything would be over. With his eyes following his opponent's progress, he tried to speed up the raft. He sank his spear more quickly and pushed harder. The raft swayed but continued on its course. When Themistocles had reached the middle of the lake, Lambrias had reached the edge of the foaming falls and was preparing to pass through the narrow gap between the cliff and the arc of water. Themistocles bent his head and concentrated on what he was doing. In his mind he heard the rhythmic beating of the drum that gave the tempo in every warship. Sweat dripped from his face, his legs were going numb and the muscles of his arms were going red. It had to work. He had promised himself. Victory. In his mind there was only victory. Until he heard a screeching cry that echoed in the rocky valley. He stopped poling with his spear and raised his head, wondering. There wasn't a soul on the shore in back of him, nor in front of him, on the far side of the lake. But the cry came again. He looked to his right. And then he saw him.

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 20

Lambrias was hanging from the vertical cliff like a bunch of grapes from a vine. His hands gripped an outcropping of rock and his body swung a hundred feet above the water of the lake. The path had crumbled away underneath him, pulling him with it. Lambrias's hands were trembling uncontrollably from his desperate attempt to hold up his two hundred and twenty pounds and the eighty pounds of gear. His feet were searching desperately for a support, but the cliff under him was sheer and steep so they only scratched its surface. His agony lasted ten minutes. Then his fingers slowly but surely slipped to the edge of the outcropping and then fell away completely. A last scream was heard and then a splash from the huge body falling into the water. Themistocles watched without moving, as if turned to stone. He looked at the shore behind him. It was empty and deserted, no help could come from there. Then he looked at his destination, the place that would give him his victory, the shore across from him. In fractions of a second the vile mean words filled his mind: I'll beat you, you miserable bastard… I'll crush you, son of a barbarian bitch from Halicarnassus..." the shameless words that had come from Lambrias mouth a few hours before, as he looked at him with hatred. It was in his mind to pole to the opposite shore without giving another thought to the arrogant aristocrat, to let him meet the end he deserved. When you came right down to it, the gods punished the sin of hubris severely, you could see that in all the tragedies that played in Athens every year. But if he let him drown—which was sure to happen because of the armor—wouldn't that be the sin of hubris, too? Hubris and mercilessness? Wouldn't he become an indirect assassin? Didn't that bring the ire of the gods with it, and severe punishment under the law? The words of Clearchos, his teacher, came to his mind: pride is not related to the correctness of the action. Nemesis comes to everyone, young man… He shifted his weight to the right side of the raft, plunged his spear in the water and turned the raft in the direction of the waterfall. Stronger and stronger, faster and faster he poled, trying as best he could to make out some sign of life in the water, a head or hands sticking out, someone trying to come to the surface for air. When he got to the point where Lambrias had fallen, he stopped the raft and pulled out the spear to let the water calm down so he could make out Lambrias's bronze armor. He saw him a few yards further on. His huge body had sunk to the bottom and didn't seem to be moving. Themistocles pushed the raft one last time with his spear. Then, hesitantly, he poked the bulky body with it. Nothing. No movement. Lambrias's body floated a little and then was still again. He looked like a monstrous nymph of the waters swaying softly in the dance of death. "I came too late... his soul is already with the boatman, waiting to take the last great journey..." Themistocles murmured numbly, and relaxed his grasp on the spear. Then he felt the pull. It was weak, but at least it was a reaction. He bent down and saw that Lambrias's hand was grasping the pointed end of the spear. He kneeled on the raft and, bracing himself with his leg, he pulled with all the strength he had left. Slowly he managed to detach the three hundred pounds from the depths and bring it to the surface. He pulled Lambrias's limp body up and dragged him until his head and neck rested on the raft. He undid the leather fastenings of his armor and freed his chest. He started to push his chest with short, sharp jabs. A few moments of motionlessness and suspense. Then, suddenly, the shut mouth opened and water rushed out. Then he was sucking in the air in great, choking gulps and his broad chest started to spasm. "Thanks be to Artemis..." Themistocles murmured. Then he turned back to the raft, almost dead himself from exhaustion. He looked up at the sun that had reached the third quarter of its path through the heavens. There was no way, now, for him to finish the race before the sun set. All was lost. Then he heard a familiar voice from the shore. "Themistocles... What happened?" When he turned his head he saw first the blond hair, the color of sand. Then the features. The blue eyes, the white skin and the delicate physique. "Lambrias. He almost drowned, Aristeides. He fell from the waterfall" shouted Themistocles, pointing to the crumbled path high on the cliff. "Bring him here and go finish the race." "I won't make it. The sun is already setting. Aristeides looked up though the thick leaves, under which it was already getting dark because the weak rays of the sun could not pierce them. "You're right... It's too late..." "It's all right. I lost the crown of victory in the race, but I gave Athens a valuable soldier for time of war, which won't be long coming." "We're at peace." "Not for long. Not after what happened at Sardis. The Persian emperor will not let that insult go unpunished. Nor will his empire, and he's at its borders now…" "Only the gods know that. And maybe the Pythia at Delphi…" Aristeides murmured, smiling. "But we'll find out later. Now we have to think about the present. The games and the prize." "That I lost…" "You haven't lost anything, Themistocles. There is a prize that is more important than the ones they give in the military competitions. The prize for great deeds, the sacred olive branch that the city awards every year at the Panathenaic feast. Themistocles laughed. "The prize received by Theseus and the other heroes who saved Athens from destruction?" "That was in time of war. In time of peace, like now, they give it for lesser achievements. And you, by Zeus, with what you managed to do today, could very well be chosen for that honor." "I can't go to the assembly and talk about what I did, and try to convince them to give me the olive branch. It would be arrogant and besides..." "Not if I do it." "You would do that for me?" Themistocles asked his implacable opponent and future enemy in the city's political life, since Aristeides was a declared follower of the Oligarchs and he was a follower of the Democrats. "Yes. I'll stand up and speak to the assembly." Aristeides added "I don't like it that I'm going to honor you, but I have to do it because it's the right thing." Themistocles looked at him closely. There was no ironic smile, there was no mockery in Aristeides' face. It was more serious than the face of a priest performing a sacrifice to the gods. He meant what he said. He meant it honestly. "Aristeides... Aristeides, my enemy..." Themistocles murmured and then, with unfeigned admiration at the ethos of the man, he gave him the nickname that would follow him for the rest of his life. "Aristeides the Just..."

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

XERXES

[ Susa, capital of the Persian Empire ] The summer heat in Susa, capital of the Persian Empire, was unbearable. The place was bare of trees and the low shrubs and rocks heated up under the burning sun. The Choaspes river ran near the city, very close to the emperor's complex, but the coolness brought by its waters was too weak to overcome the fiery sun. The bases of the walls caught fire and burned like sacrificial altars. But that particular morning, the heat was not the reason the King of Kings woke up soaked with sweat. It was the dream. For the third night in a row now, he had had the same dream and heard the same words. And it was the face. The knitted brows, the pursed lips, the words uttered slowly, falling one by one, heavy as lead, casting doubt on the decision he had made just three days ago. The man who came to him in his sleep was huge, dressed in expensive royal robes. With a wide pleated caftan and a high cylindrical hat, holding in his hand the scepter topped by a winged lion. The same curly black hair, the same conical beard. Hooked nose, thick brows, eyes like coals. Undoubtedly it was his forefather, the founder of the Persian Empire himself, Cyrus the Great. Xerxes got out of bed and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Mechanically he stretched out his hand to the cord hanging from the right side of his bed and pulled it hard. Before he could take his hand off the cord the double door of aromatic cedar wood opened and his personal servant came into the bedroom with small, noiseless steps so as not to disturb the king's morning serenity. On his right arm he carried, carefully folded, the mantle embroidered with winged lions, and above it the spiral gold necklace with the head of the sphinx. The symbols of the power of the Achaemenids, rulers of the Persian Empire, the greatest power the world had ever known, that stretched from India to Egypt. In his left hand he held a carved gold chalice, full of the blessed liquid prepared for him every morning by the priests of the god Ahura Mazda, the famous Persian Mages. Arzanes, the old royal servant that Xerxes had inherited from his father, Darius, came towards him with bowed head so as not to meet the eyes of the king without his permission. With slow, studied steps he came before him, his arms outstretched, softly murmuring wishes for prosperity and health, in a fixed ceremony that he had carried out every morning for thirty years. He had carried it out since the day when, still a youth, Darius had chosen him for his personal servant. The years he spent by the side of the great king, splendid years during the conquest of India and gloomy years when the king was defeated by the Athenians at the battle of Marathon, had weighed down his shoulders and whitened his hair. But even at this advanced age, when his hands had started to lose their steadiness and his legs were tired before the sun had lighted up the whole palace, he still carried out the ceremonies down to the last detail. It was his role. It was his world. Without that, his life would have no meaning. He waited, holding his breath. He kept his eyes low. He looked at the naked feet of the king. His arms hurt, but he kept them stretched out. His gaze had not yet received permission to be raised from the ground. Xerxes was thinking. One image after another went through his mind. Images he had lived through himself, images painted like the palace reliefs, images he had imagined listening to stories of old battles of the empire. The best of these was the conquest of Egypt by Cyrus the Great. The worst: the great defeat in Greece, six years before. When his father Darius learned from messengers of the crushing defeat of his army, he went out to the palace courtyard, bent the great royal bow and shot a flaming arrow toward the west, towards Greece and Athens. At that same moment he promised the Greeks that they would pay the most terrible price the world had ever known. He passed the obsession with revenge to his son Xerxes, who swore on his father's deathbed that he would keep his royal promise to the full. Now, after he had suppressed the rebellion that had broken out suddenly in Egypt, the hour for revenge had come. Decisions had to be made. But the recurring dream that had oppressed him for three nights in a row, would not let him make them or announce them to his advisors or the officers of his court. Xerxes clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. Until his nails dug into the soft flesh of his palms. Until he felt his rage recede, flow away and be lost from his clenched hands. Only then did he allow the burning air to leave his chest. Only then did he open his eyes. Only then did he extend his right arm and take the golden scepter that symbolized the glory of the Persians and his own power over the world. The servant saw the king's movement out of the corner of his watchful eye. It was the sign he was waiting for. Like a well-trained animal, he immediately took a step forward and stretched out his left arm holding the liquid, blessed by the priests of Ahura Mazda, that gave strength, wisdom and health to every one of the king's days. After the feet and the hands, the lips of the servant moved. Slowly and steadily he pronounced the same phrase he said at every sunrise, on the orders of Darius himself, so as not to allow cunning sleep to soften his hatred and his will to take cruel revenge. "King, do not forget the Greeks and Athens." When he heard that phrase, Xerxes' left arm shot out straight and then to the right with the strength of rage. The chalice was swept from the servant's aged hand and clattered on the tiles. The blessed liquid spilled on the floor. Arzanes' hands started to tremble, his legs almost collapsed under him, his few white hairs stood up on his uncovered head. "A bad sign, my king..." he dared to stammer, looking at the spilled liquid and shuddering with fear of divine rage at this terrible sacrilege. "A bad sign..."

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 22

The men in the hall of hearings were standing upright in a line with their heads bowed, waiting for their king to call them near him and speak to them. The first was Xerxes' aged uncle, the wise Artabanus. The second was his advisor Mithrates and the third was the general Mardonius, his childhood friend and commander of the imperial army. Xerxes had chosen them well for the matter he wished to discuss, the expedition to Greece he had promised his father. The emperor sat on his golden throne on its marble base, at the end of the long and narrow hall. To his left and right burned aromatic myrrh and frankincense in high metal censers, intended to propitiate the god Ahura Mazda for the disrespect and contempt he had suffered that morning. "Approach..." Just one word, and that in a low tone. The Great King did not stand as he usually did, with his chest thrown out, his head high and his spine straight. He was not even holding the royal scepter in his hands. He sat hunched over, his shoulders bowed, his eyelids drooping and the corners of his lips turned down. They went in and stood before him. Upright. As one would stand before one's god. They waited with bent heads, full of respect and obedience, for the order to raise their eyes and look him in the face. Xerxes' words came from his mouth with anguish: "My heart is heavy, my thoughts are confused. For three nights in a row a man resembling the glorious Cyrus in form and in stature, has come to me in my sleep and spoken to me." "About what?" old Artabanus asked, puzzled. He always had the right to speak first because of his close family relation to the king and his advanced age. "About the expedition to Greece." "What does he say to you?" "To put it into practice immediately, as I planned at the beginning, and not wait a few years so that my army could rest after the war in Egypt, as you advised me. Or to give it up completely, as is Mithrates' opinion. That is why I called you here today, to hear your opinions again and to decide. Speak freely, because the power of every king is founded on correct decisions and correct decisions are made with good council." "I will start first, son of glorious Darius" said the aged Artabanus, and began with slow words, each of them weighed carefully. "A few days ago, when we were gathered here for the same reason, you listened to my words. You thought that it was not time for hasty movements, and you decided to wait. You were correct. After the great battles in Egypt, the army is not yet ready. He who hurries makes mistakes and finds disaster." "Yes, that is what I thought, Artabanus, but my dream and the words I hear every night are urgent. So the idea came to my mind of changing my decision and starting the expedition as soon as possible. "And you will do well, King of Kings," said General Mardonius. "Announce to the Persians today that you will conquer Greece and Europe and extend our empire so far that from the point where the sun rises to the point where the sun sets, it will shine upon no other country foreign to us. That news will give great glory to your name." "Great glory or great hubris to the gods, son of Darius?" interrupted the self-possessed Artabanus. "Because everyone knows there is no greater hubris than for someone to allow his spirit always to want more than he has. The gods punish arrogance and forbid pride, except for themselves. "No, do not listen to him, that is a mistake, King of Kings. First of all because you promised your father at the moment of his death, and such a promise is sacred, it may not be broken" Mardonius was ready with his arguments at once. "Second, and just as important, everyone knows that Cyrus and Darius, our emperors before you, subjugated all known nations in their victorious wars and made them our slaves. The only thing you should think about, the only thing worthwhile, is not to be less than your ancestors but to extend the power of our empire even farther. And there is only one way to do that. The West. Greece and Europe. And from information I have received, the Greeks always start wars out of foolish egotism, without any strategy. They rush into battle without thought or planning and do not even think of sending ambassadors to resolve their differences with diplomacy, even though they speak the same language and can understand one another." Xerxes thought to himself for a little while. "And you, Mithrates? What do you say of all this?" "I say that it is foolishness..." "Foolishness?" asked Xerxes, wondering at the insulting word his advisor had uttered. "Yes. Foolishness, audacious foolishness. For the danger of such an expedition is great. The distance to Sardis alone is three day's journey. And then? You must land on shores inhabited by Greeks subject to us, then you must cross a sea and journey for another three months to get to Greece. How will such a great army as ours be kept alive for so many months? With what food and what water?" "Foolishness..." the great king muttered to himself, as if he could not believe the insulting word. Or as if he could not get used to it. "And the promise I gave to my father?" he asked, gloomily, trying to conquer the uneasiness rising inside him. "You said it yourself, Great King. It is nothing but a promise. A foolish promise like the promises sons usually make to their fathers. A promise you are not obligated to fulfill, all the more so because the glorious Darius is not alive anymore, and therefore you do not have to answer to anyone. That is my opinion on the expedition to Greece." "Are you sure, Mithrates? Are you sure of what you just said?" "Yes. I am sure." "Then I am sorry, but you are not looking at things in the right way. And if you are not looking at things in the right way, then you have no reason to see at all." "What do you mean, my king?" Xerxes did not answer. He simply made a sign toward the door, calling the leader of the Immortals, his personal royal guard. The leader came up to him and bent to hear the commands Xerxes whispered in his ear. Then he stretched his arm toward the end of the hall where the guards stood, brought it down suddenly and pointed at Mithrates.

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 23

Two guards approached swiftly and held him tightly by the shoulders. A third held his head steady, pressing the temples with his open palms. Without wasting time, the leader of the Immortals reached out his hand to one of the two censers, took the metal tongs with which the lighted coals were stirred, and without hesitating for a moment, touched them to Mithrates' eyes, first the left and then the right. The horrifying screams slashed the stale air and shook the guts of Atravanos and Mardonius, who stood on each side of the unfortunate royal councilor trying to fight off the nausea they felt as the red hot iron melted the tender flesh and the balls of the eyes. Immediately afterwards, dragging the blinded Mithrates who was uttering heartrending screams, the guards left through the double door with its golden ornaments. The scent of frankincense and myrrh was gone. The whole hall smelled disgustingly of burned skin and cauterized flesh. Xerxes arranged the double golden chain across his chest, wet his hands in an ivory cup filled with rose water, and washed his face and his bald head. Then he turned to Mardonius who was standing before him with his head lowered, trying to hide his smile. His greatest enemy, his most certain opponent in his attempt to convince the king to carry out the expedition, had got his lesson and was out of the way. "I realized what you said earlier, Mardonius. I have heard it too. That the Greeks are not one great, unified state but little independent cities that argue, conflict and clash with each other continually, without ever being able to agree on anything" Xerxes said calmly. "That is exactly why I am thinking to start the expedition as soon as possible. Because the discord among them is our greatest ally. It will make it easy to conquer their cities and destroy them for revenge. Then there will be no obstacle to me becoming ruler of all the countries that spread out to the west of Greece. The dream I had is the command of my glorious ancestors, that I shall make the empire they gave to me even more glorious..." "My thoughts are the same as yours, King of Kings. We must move as quickly as possible, without doubt or hesitation. We shall crush them like an insect under our foot, or a worm on the ground." "And you, wise Artabanus? What do you say?" The old man did not speak for a long time. He was still trying to overcome the nausea that churned his insides, to hold down the liquids from his stomach that were rising into his mouth, pushed by the hideous odor of burnt flesh. "What you are thinking is correct, son of Darius, I have no doubt of that" he said in a quiet and measured voice. "But my opinion is that you must not rely only on a dream for such a serious decision. The dreams we have at night are nothing more than the thoughts we have during the day that take refuge in our souls. And just precisely because this expedition is in your thoughts these days, that is why you have that dream." "What are you trying to say, Artabanus?" "I believe that one must think carefully before making a decision. Then, if something goes wrong, fortune will be to blame. Otherwise, if from the beginning the decision was a bad one, even if fortune favors us the thought will still be bad. The Greeks humiliated us once at the battle of Marathon. And that was only the Athenians. What will happen if they make an alliance amongst themselves? Do not forget what they did to Troy when they were united." "Centuries have passed since then" Mardonius reacted immediately, knowing that the words of the old man affected the king. "Athens and Sparta are nothing but little unimportant towns..." he said abruptly, and then he suddenly raised his hand and pointed to the gallery behind the throne. "Go outside your palace, great king, and look at the horizon from the East to the West and from the North to the South. Thousands of peoples and innumerable men. Think of the territories and the peoples you have conquered until now. Think of the power and the supplies that they can provide. What power of men and what insignificant cities could withstand such a crushing army?" For the first time, Xerxes smiled in satisfaction. "Everything you say, Mardonius, fits with the dream I had and the words I heard while in the embrace of the god of Sleep." "The god of Sleep, however, is the brother of the god of Death" Artabanus murmured thoughtfully.

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 24

The two of them stood there. Uncle and nephew. They stood alone on the porch and watched the river running slowly before the great palace. "I want you to do something for me, Artabanus" murmured Xerxes. "To a god and to a king, no one says no." The king's swarthy face lighted up with self satisfaction at his uncle's words. He liked the comparison. God, the king of the world. Xerxes, the king of men. "I want you to become me..." "Forgive, me, but the passing years have not given me enough wisdom to understand. What do you mean, son of Darius?" "Exactly what you just said. I want you to become the son of Darius..." Artabanus fell two steps back and looked at his nephew. His face looked serious, his lips pulled into a straight line, his eyes clear. "I do not understand." "Do not look at me strangely. What I am saying is simple. It is about the dream and the words I hear every night." "I still do not understand." "Mardonius is sure of our crushing victory and the dream confirms his words. But whoever does not listen to the voice coming from white hair has not done everything he needs to do to make sure he makes a wise decision. And I do not like to make mistakes." "You can wait, as I advised you." "I heard that. But I did not mean your white hair. I meant that of my forefather, the glorious Cyrus. Something you said earlier, in the hall, made me think. Can the dreams that come to us at night really be moved by the matters of the day that occupy our minds? Do you believe that, Artabanus?" "Surely. I have observed the same thing in myself." "Then there is only one way to learn if the words of Cyrus are true or if they come from my own deeds and are of no importance." "What way?" "You must become me." Artabanus thought of the court doctor, the famous Greek Ctesias from Cnidus who had offered his services to the king after he was taken captive. Of course, after Ctesias, it would be a good idea for him to see his nephew, the Great Mage of Ahura Mazda, to confirm the doctor's opinion. And all this must happen before the king made his decision. Xerxes looked at him and understood what was in his mind. "Do not worry, Artabanus. My mind is still in the right place." "Son of Darius, in all this heat even..." "I mean that you yourself must tell whether this dream is real" his nephew interrupted him in a serious voice. "You must wear the king's garments, sit on my throne, hold my scepter for one day and then sleep in the king's quarters and in my bed. If the dream appears to you as well, it will mean that it was not simply a fantasy but an important prophecy and a clear command from my forefathers." "Son of Darius, King of Kings and my nephew..." Artabanus started softly. "Of course I do not believe that we need to exchange clothes and beds to prove what you say, because it is impossible that the spirits of your forefathers would be so mindless as to believe that I am you, just on account of the clothes. If you insist, however, that things must be as you say, I will do exactly as you wish, for the wish of the king is a command to all of us and no one has the right to disobey or doubt it. But will you not tell me at last, what were the words that Cyrus said to you in your dream?" "I may not have white hairs on my head, but I have enough of a mind inside it not to tell you beforehand" he answered, smiling.

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 25

And yet Artabanus's suspicions and his fears for his nephew's health dissolved like a cloud of dust in a strong wind. It was Cyrus. Undoubtedly it was Cyrus, founder of the dynasty of the Achaemenids. He recognized him from the painted reliefs on the palace walls. He stood over the bed and his words fell like great rocks in a steep gorge, carrying everything before them. So you are Artabanus, the one who wants to transgress against my wish and persuade the king to put off the expedition against Greece? You will not be able to change what must happen, either now or in the future. Xerxes knows what awaits him. I told him myself. And now I say it to you. If you insist on your opinion tomorrow, that will mean that you do not see correctly. And since you do not see correctly, there is no reason for you to see at all. Red hot iron. That is what awaits you. Artabanus woke up bathed in sweat. And not only from the suffocating heat. He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. He looked at the window open to the east. The heavens were still black, but he wanted to rush straight to his nephew to tell him the works he had heard, and that he had changed his mind about the expedition against Greece and Europe, and about his belief that Athens and Sparta would be swept away by the imperial army and would become ashes. The next day the oracle Onomakritos was called in haste to the great court of the palace. He must read the omens as quickly as possible. The decisions of men and the wishes of ancestors must be validated by the gods. Without divine validation, without their favor, they were worthless. Onomakritos took his place at the center of the great tiled court, which was open to the sky to make communication with the gods easier. His aged face with the deep wrinkles of thought and his shaved head, pockmarked by the years, were bent reverently over the metal chalice filled with burning coals and incense. His lips were tight, he breathed in deeply through the nose, and at times sighed deeply like a bull getting ready to attach. His limbs remained still, his hands encircled the burning metal chalice. Suddenly, strange words began to come from his mouth. Words that no one understood, not only because they were in an unknown language but because they were out of order, mixed up, without any pauses. Disordered, as in delirium. At the end the oracle stopped abruptly, his limbs began to tremble and saliva fell from his opened mouth, sizzling on the lighted coals. He seemed to have lost all contact with the tangible world and to be enduring, all alone, unbearable torment. With one last spasm that shook his scrawny, hunched body, the oracle turned abruptly and fell unconscious, face down, on the tiles of the courtyard. His chest rose and fell in exhaustion, his tongue hung out of his mouth and his fingers trembled like leaves in the north wind. It took him a long time to recover. He stood up, trembling, and with difficulty walked the few meters until he could stand on the red carpet spread before the throne where Xerxes sat, awaiting the verdict of the gods. The oracle fell to his knees and lowered his head until his forehead touched the carpet. With his hands stretched before him with open palms, he resembled a dog bowing before its master. "Well?" asked Xerxes calmly, hiding the agony growing inside him from his courtiers. "What did your gods say?" Deliberately slow and deep, trained by sixty years of experience, the voice of the oracle Onomakritos gave the divine verdict: "You will crown the East with the West, Great King. The image of you given to me by the gods shows you wearing a wreath in your hair. A wreath of olive branches. But the most important is the last word they gave me. That you will unite two lands that are divided by a sea..." With a nod of his head, Xerxes indicated his satisfaction with the oracle and commanded him to withdraw. Onomakritos withdrew, bent over and walking backwards so as not to turn his back to the Great King, opened the wooden door, and went out into the courtyard. There, he straightened his body, which had grown stiff with bending for so long, and walked hurriedly, shaking his limbs. He crossed the great hall with the reliefs, came out on the square, turned left and came to the apartments where guests of the court were housed, where his lodging was. But he passed his own door without stopping. He paused thirty feet farther in front of another door. He knocked three times slowly and then twice quickly. The door opened and behind it there appeared an old man wearing the characteristic white chiton under a cape bordered with the meander embroidered in gold, the geometrical pattern that adorned temples, houses and clothes in Greece. The old man's eyes looked at Onomakritos anxiously. He nodded. "Everything happened as we agreed. Xerxes will be convinced of the expedition..." The old man in the white chiton smiled, took out his leather pouch, and counted five gold darics into the oracle's hand. Onomakritos immediately closed his hand and made the golden coins disappear. Then he bowed and withdrew without another word. The old man closed the door, leaned his back against it and smiled broadly. His eyes shone, his face glowed with a bright inner flame. It was Hippias, the last tyrant of Athens. And the hour he had looked forward to for so many years had come. The hour when he would take back power and have vengeance against the city that had expelled him.

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 26

Shall we call our own Mages, great king?" "No. It is not necessary..." The Persian Mages of the royal palace were not needed to explain anything. The meaning of the vision and the oracle's prophecy were clear for all to see. Everyone knew that the olive is a tree that does not grow in Persia but grows in abundance in Greece. And everyone also knew that Asia and Europe are divided by a sea. It is called the Aegean Sea at its broadest point and the Hellespont at its narrowest. It was the sea he must cross. "Unite two lands that are divided by a sea..." repeated Xerxes ecstatically, almost seeing the vision before his dazzled eyes. "Could there be anything clearer than that, Artabanus?" he asked, looking behind him. "No, son of Darius... the words of the gods are clear... You must crown your head with the olive, the sacred tree of the Greek goddess and the city that bears her name, Athens." "In a very little while Athens will not exist anymore. Nor will the temple of the goddess on the rock of the Acropolis. In its place I will build a temple to the god of the creation of the world, Ahura Mazda. And next to that, the Persian palace of the satrapy." "Greece is a small and poor country." "So what?" "There is not enough wealth there to support a satrapy." "Greece is only the beginning. Behind it, in the direction of the setting sun, there are other, strong and rich countries. I have heard of them from the Phoenicians, who sail their merchant ships to all the seas. Syracuse, Italy, Europe. Our empire will conquer the whole world. Just as Mardonius said, from the moment the sun appears until the moment it disappears, it will shine its light only on the territories of our empire. Believe me, Artabanus. The cities of Greece will only be the beginning. The countries of Europe will follow immediately after" Xerxes cried, beside himself with joy. Then he suddenly grew serious and gloomy. Rage distorted his face. His gaze darkened. "But before that I must keep the promise I gave to my father. To wipe Athens off the face of the earth. To conquer it and punish its inhabitants without mercy for the defeat and the insult we endured at Marathon. "And so are we ready, son of Darius?" "We have the wish of our forefathers. We have the omens of the gods. And we have the best and most powerful army the world has ever known" said Xerxes and rose. "What else do we need?" That same evening ambassadors were sent to the great palaces. In a grandiose ceremony, they were each given a silver vase and a small amphora. The vase for earth and the amphora for water. The ambassadors would ask the Greek cities, the separate little states that functioned all over Greece, to give the messengers of Xerxes "earth and water", a proof of submission and obedience to the Great King. The next day, besides the ambassadors who left for the Greek cities, hundreds of royal messengers scattered to every corner of the vast empire, riding swift horses and taking the three great imperial roads. The eastern road that led to India, the southern road that led to Egypt, and the western road that led to Sardis. They carried the order of the King of Kings to all the nations of Asia and the peoples he commanded. To gather an army and a fleet the equal of which the world had never before seen. The die was cast.

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

"The Gates of Fire"

[ When the Earth was Hidden ] The news reached Athens in advance of the official ambassadors. Sailors on Phoenician ships, mercenaries from Thrace, textile merchants from Egypt, porphyry exporters from Phoenicia, exiled Greeks at the court of the Persian king. They were all talking about the terrible gathering of the Persian army, bringing consternation to the little scattered cities of Greece. A mere seven years after the magnificent victory of the Athenians in the battle of Marathon in 490 B.C. and the expulsion of the barbarians from the sacred soil of Zeus and Athena, no one believed that the Persians would return so quickly. Especially not the victors, the citizens of Athens, who considered themselves safe. "No one is safe, Aristeides. Neither the aristocrats like you nor the simple citizens like me. Everyone says that Xerxes is preparing..." Themistocles had made a secret appointment with his greatest political opponent in the little storeroom he kept on the harbor of Athens, Piraeus. He used it as a commercial office, having followed his father in his business, the importation of goods from all over the Eastern Mediterranean. Since he was always at the harbor, he came into close contact with captains and sailors of ships from all the harbors of the Mediterranean. The aristocrats of Athens avoided such contacts. Being landowners, they despised the sailor's trade with its pungent ocean smells. To them, it was necessary only on account of the perfumes and incense it brought to Athens and the porphyry for dying their clothes red. The enclosed space of the market and their own estates, isolated in the countryside, were the only places they frequented besides their houses, where they gave their famous symposia. In spite of that, Aristeides the Just, though an aristocrat, had a curious relationship of mutual hatred and esteem with the rich but humbly born Themistocles. It was not easy for him to refuse the invitation, despite his revulsion for the place of the appointment, and despite the fact that Themistocles had convinced the citizens of Athens to ostracize him to the island of Aegina. He got there secretly and came inside with his face covered so that no one would recognize him, and also to filter out the harbor smells. Piraeus stank of fish, salt and sweat, and was full of dives, thieves and prostitutes. "The mouths of sailors are larger than the holds of their ships" Aristeides commented phlegmatically. "Xerxes is having trouble in fertile Egypt where there is a revolt, everyone knows that. Why would he be interested in a little country like ours again, full of high mountains and dry land?" he wondered, with good reason, when he heard the bad news. "The wealth of a king is not in the coins he has in his treasury. Nor in his golden statues and his huge palace. Much less in his fertile and fruitful territories. The wealth of a king is in his reputation. It is the only thing that allows him to hold on to power in a vast empire." "So what? What reputation could a little city like Athens give him? Or a little country like Greece? The distance between the two ends of the empire is fifty times the distance between Athens and Sparta. He rules over a thousand times more people than all the Greeks together. Why would he run the risk of another defeat with an exhausting campaign? What motive could he have?" "To wipe out his humiliation. A humiliated king is weak, no matter how much gold he has in his imperial treasury. A king with no glory among his people stands naked…a decorated but empty vase…" Themistocles explained in a slightly sarcastic tone. "I don't understand what you want from me" Aristeides frowned suddenly, feeling the sarcasm and adopting the haughty attitude he had been used to since he was born, having learned it from his parents. "I want your support" Themistocles with audacious candor. The blue eyes of Aristeides widened with surprise. "Where?" "In the assembly of citizens." "For what? For the last seven years we haven't agreed even once in the debates and the voting. We live in the same city but we belong to different worlds. As soon as you became master of the political situation, you made a point of limiting my power and finally, you exiled me. Why should I help you now?" "Because I'll revoke your exile. You'll return to Athens with all the honor you had before." Aristeides looked at him suspiciously. It was difficult to believe. He simply raised his eyebrows without speaking. "And because we'll both be destroyed if the army that Xerxes is gathering in Sardis crosses the sea and reaches Greece" Themistocles continued impetuously. "If Persia wins, there won't be any democrats like me or any oligarchs like you either. Neither common people nor aristocrats. We'll all be destroyed." "Do you really believe all the rumors that sailors bring to the harbor?" "Yes. It's better to believe them and be prepared than to be surprised. At heart, you know that from our teachers and our philosophers. The way to protect peace and freedom is to always be prepared for war. "Of course I don't…" "I know I'm right" Themistocles interrupted him before he could go any further. "Xerxes is gathering an army. A great army from all over his empire. And I didn't learn that just from the open mouths of sailors." "You learned it from their closed mouths too? They talk to you in sign language?" Aristeides grew ironic, with the inborn haughtiness of an aristocrat. Themistocles paid no attention. He had just been elected general for his tribe and he hadn't needed either parchments showing aristocratic descent or the swagger and arrogance of racial purity to do it. He had done it by talking to simple citizens, helping them, advising them. He had done it with his simplicity and his affability. He had done it with his personal charm and his rhetorical ability, with persuasion. As a method it was more tiring than subservience, but it was more effective in the long run. He took a few deep breaths and continued more calmly: "They don't speak to me in sign language. I didn't find it out from there. I observe the sea traffic. That's my work." "The fish tell you?" "The lack of wheat tells me. It's not arriving from Egypt any more. The lack of copper tells me, it's not arriving from the mines of the Black Sea. The lack of guts for bowstrings tells me, the lack of bronze for helmets and boiled hides for shields. Where do all those goods go, the ones that used to be used to make weapons and feed armies?" "Maybe the merchants found better prices elsewhere" Aristeides suggested indifferently. "I advise you not to make that argument to the assembly before the citizens" Themistocles said sarcastically. "If they hear something like that they might exile you again for naiveté…" "What do you believe?" "I don't believe anything until I see it with my own eyes" Themistocles suddenly became serious. "But prevention is better than cure." "Is this another of your games to impress people, to stand out and charm your beloved mob?" "No. What I'm saying is not a political maneuver or an attempt to impress. You know that. If I wanted to impress people I wouldn't have called you here to talk alone, far from curious eyes. I would speak at the market for everyone to hear. And I wouldn't intend to revoke your exile, nor would I humble my pride to ask for your help." Logical. In spite of his arrogant conceit, Aristeides was an intelligent man. He grew serious and came to the point. "And what do you want from me?" "I want you to convince your friends, the oligarchs, to agree that the assembly should approve my trip to Asia so that I can see what is happening with my own eyes." "That is, if I understand you right, you're asking for the city to pay for your trip from the public funds?" "No. I have enough money and I don't mind spending it for the common good. Anyway, I will not go with an official escort or in a procession. It'll be just me as a merchant, and my slave Sikinos, who is from Persia and knows the languages of Asia." "Then why are you asking for approval from the assembly?" "So that you oligarchs do not take advantage of my absence and slander me to the citizens as a friend of Persia. So that you do not spread unfounded and sycophantic rumors about me. Or, simply, so people will not think I am a spy of the Persian king and exile me when I come back from the journey. I want to remain a free democratic citizen when I return." Aristeides laughed. "You're exaggerating a bit…" "Exaggerating? Put a Greek by himself and you have a good merchant. Put two, and you have a good fight. That's the way we are. In a bad light, of course." "That is hubris against the race of Greeks." "It will be hubris if we allow the city to be destroyed and the barbarians to burn down the temple of the goddess Athena out of our own negligence." "They won't manage it so easily. Especially not after Marathon" objected Aristeides. "With the five hundred thousand soldiers Xerxes is gathering?" Aristeides' blue eyes widened again. This time from unpleasant surprise. "Five hundred thousand?" he asked in a trembling voice. "I got that information from the sailors you despise. And not just five hundred thousand soldiers. Thirty thousand horse as well. And two imperial fleets." "How many ships are there in a fleet like that?" "Six hundred in each one" Themistocles answered him gloomily. "And we only have two hundred. Some from the time of Marathon. Skewed and rotten. They're good for nothing but washing troughs. You understand now why I insisted for so long that we had to create a fleet capable of going into battle and launch new warships? They're the only thing that can help us fight off the invader." There was a heavy silence while Aristeides deliberated. The numbers were crushing. In the famous battle of Marathon, Athens had thrown in all its forces but it had only succeeded in putting ten thousand soldiers on the field, without cavalry or ships. "Five hundred thousand?" Aristeides asked again, indecisive. "It seems impossible to me." "Nothing is impossible for an empire with twenty million subjects… He can gather enough soldiers to hide the earth…" Themistocles murmured gloomily, looking out the door at the open sea and the eastern horizon. "Well? Do you agree?"

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 28

Halicarnassus in Caria, was not the largest city on the shores of Asia Minor. Nor was it one of her greatest trading ports. There were many cities that were greater and more important. Miletus. Ephesus. Sidon. But Halicarnassus was the most familiar to Themistocles. He had never visited it in all the forty years of his life, but he had heard a great deal about it. About its sea, its streets, its houses, its palaces. His mother Euterpe was from Halicarnassus and from the royal family, the family that had ruled the city for years. She was the sister of the satrap Lydgamis. His merchant father, Neocles, had met her on one of his journeys, fallen in love with her, married her and taken her with him to Athens. "It is a beautiful place" murmured Sikinos, hanging on the gunwale, gazing at the shores of Asia as the merchant ship approached it. His mind travelled another fifteen hundred miles to the east, to the interior, to Mesopotamia and Persia, his homeland. He was moved and sad at the same time. Because he was bound by the oath he had given to his god, Ahura Mazda, before they sailed from Athens. He had lighted a fire, the sacred symbol of the god, he had burnt his aromatic offerings, had offered words of prayer and had made a sacred promise that he would not desert or abandon his master. He had also sworn not to betray him and to return with him to Athens. That was his part of the deal for Themistocles to take him with him on the journey, and for a Persian, faithful to Zoroaster, breaking an oath or telling lies was the greatest sin, bringing immediate punishment from the god and eternal condemnation. Themistocles' part of the deal was to pay a wage of five hundred drachmas a month for as long as he accompanied him as his guide and interpreter. But also to give Sikinos his freedom after five years had passed, and without any financial demands. "A beautiful place with beautiful women" Sikinos added, as the wooden hold of the merchant ship was tied to the pier of the harbor. "Although farther to the east, in Babylon, they're even more beautiful. Women the like of whom you will not meet anywhere in the world in beauty of face and in the art of love, and in their willingness to take care of a man." "For payment, from what I heard." "Well, what do you expect? Something for free? They have to live. Besides that, beautiful things cost a lot. You people in Athens know that better than anyone else. Your hetaeras are famous for the art of love." "The hetaeras are not prostitutes. And they are not famous only for the art of love. They also know the art of song, and the art of conversation. Many times that last is more pleasurable than love itself." "For you? I don't doubt that…" Sikinos laughed. Over the years he had learned Themistocles' habits and his preferences. "Anyway, I've almost forgotten about love. Politics and trade take up all my time." "So… it's been a long time since you…" the slave wondered. He did know his master's first preferences, but was not unaware of his secondary ones: good wine and beautiful women. "I have visited some hetaeras after symposia but… you know… only from need. That's not love… I'm not twenty years old anymore, I want something strong…" "Then you must go to Babylon on this journey" Sikinos answered him, as they put down the board that the sailors had thrown them to disembark from the ship. Halicarnassus had never been as famous as Athens, but there were so many people on the harbor that it made Piraeus seem like a little fishing village. The twelve piers of the harbor were all full, and at many of them the ships were berthed one next to the other forming wooden bridges with their decks. Slaves and free workers came and went in endless lines, carrying merchandise to shore. Large carts with four wheels yoked with huge oxen waited in a long line to be loaded down. "What are you looking at, master? Let's go, we don't want to be out in the midday heat…" complained Sikinos as they got off, carrying the two goatskin sacks filled with clothes, gifts and weapons. But Themistocles did not seem to hear him. His head did not turn, nor did his feet move. His gaze was riveted to the carriers and to the carts they were loading down. "What do the ships bring?" he wondered. "Why does it matter to you, master? You do not have your warehouse here." "And what are they carrying in the carts?" Sikinos raised his head and looked at the sky. The sun was still in the first quarter, weak, and its rays were pale. There was no way his master could have gotten sunstroke. "Are you dizzy from the journey, master? Do you want me to open the waterskin? Or shall I bring you some cool water from the fountain?" He didn't get an answer to either one of his questions. "Strange…" was all Themistocles said. "Strange and ominous…" "Why?" "Look at what's happening. The slaves and the workers are only unloading, not loading. And the carts come here empty and leave full." "Halicarnassus is a big city." "Wrong. It is a great trading city. And trade requires giving and taking. I only see taking here. There's no giving…" Sikinos laughed. "I am not a merchant. I am a warrior. A mercenary. I don't know anything about that." Then he suddenly became serious. "But I do know that when the sun reaches the center of the heavens, besides being a mercenary I will have to become a bull to carry these bags up the hill to the city." "And also" Themistocles added, even more seriously than Sikinos, "It's not such a big city that it would need so many supplies. If it was, it would have a larger harbor and more piers and the ships wouldn't have to be tied up one next to the other. What's happened all of a sudden?"

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 29

He hadn't managed to learn much about the current situation in Halicarnassus. The satrap Lygdamis, who was of Greek descent but a subject and friend of the Persians, had died the year before. Since then, the royal house of the city lacked a head and it was embroiled in quarrels and brawls. There was no heir because Lygdamis had not had a son, only a daughter. None of the courtiers, priests and officers in town even considered the possibility that the daughter might take up her father's position and become queen; that was rejected without being discussed. The courtiers did not have the authority to impose such a humiliating solution, the priests did not want a woman underfoot and the officers did not like the idea of such a direct solution to the problem of succession. Most of them had sons and hoped to gain the coveted position for themselves by means of marriage to the only daughter of the dead satrap. Until the problem was solved, the aged Sindos, brother of Lygdamis, acted as king. He was in his sixties and knew about city governance, since for all those years he had served as his brother's tax collector. He was a man experienced in wielding power, practical and diplomatic but cruel and merciless when those qualities became necessary. "I am so glad to finally meet you, my dear nephew. I am sure that the news you are bringing from your mother and my sister will fill my heart with joy. I could not wait for us to meet from the moment I learned that you had set foot in our city" Sindos said jovially when he received Themistocles in the portico of his palace. Then he coughed lightly and added with a meaningful glance: "You did come here as a relative and friend, I hope…" "Of course. Family is sacred." That set Sindos's fears at rest for the present. The two men smiled cordially as commanded by Zeus, the god of hospitality, and they embraced, kissed and exchanged the usual gifts. The atmosphere was warm, not just from the sun but from the meeting of close relatives, even if it was the first time in their lives they had seen each other. "And Euterpe? Why did she not come with you? Does my sister not want to see the city and the house where she grew up?" "Travel by sea is difficult, especially in this season with the winds that blow every summer from the north" Themistocles gave a garbled explanation. He had not told his mother where he was going because if she had learned, it would have been impossible to convince her to stay in Athens. "Besides, she's not so young any more…" he began, but stopped abruptly, afraid of insulting Sindos. They were brother and sister after all so they must be close to the same age, and he did not want to hint that Sindos was too old to be capable of ruling. "Right… And Euterpe is the oldest of us three… Much older than me…" his uncle commented, without losing his good temper at all. He gave him a tour of the palace, introduced him to the chamberlain and the advisors and then showed him his room, a large rectangular hall near one end of the complex of buildings, with a gallery that looked out on the sea and many windows to catch the cool air from the sea winds. "In the evening I will expect you for dinner" were Sindos's last words before he left him alone with Iasmi, the servant he had assigned to him, a young girl from Miletus with plump buttocks and breasts and a permanent smile on her fleshy lips. "We'll talk about everything there. When you've rested of course…" he said enigmatically, gave a meaningful smile to the servant and withdrew. Before Sindos had time to close the door behind him Themistocles sent the lovely Iasmi away, locked the door and went out onto the large gallery. What he had seen on the harbor bothered him. He found fault with himself. He should have been more careful. He should have observed more, understood more. Come to conclusions. He should have found out if his ideas were right or just the result of his fears. That doubt had eaten away at him from the moment he disembarked on the soil of Asia. But hard as he tried to watch the strange sea traffic now, the gallery looked to the north and the harbor was on the south side. As if that were not enough, its entrance to the harbor was at the lower part of the peninsula and in order to get in or get out, the ships had to make a circle at sea, more than half a mile away from the coast. It was a great distance for the human eye, almost impossible to make out details. Otherwise Themistocles, whose business was with the sea and who had spent half his life on the harbor of Piraeus, would have been able to learn something from the depth of the ships in the water. The main thing he was interested in. What he suspected. That they arrived loaded down and left empty. "There's a lot of traffic on the harbor." Sindos smiled broadly. "Thanks be to Hermes, god of trade. That means more income for the city treasury from taxes and duties." "Most of the ships are Phoenician, from what I could see." "The Phoenicians have dominated the sea for many years now. And whoever dominates the sea, dominates the world. You know that, you come from a family of merchants." Yes, he knew it. Themistocles had understood that for a long time. The ones who did not seem to understand it were the Athenian aristocrats who insisted on despising the sea and caring only about their farms, some pitiful, infertile fields full of rocks and boulders between the huge mountain masses. But the fields had belonged to the nobles since the time of the hero Theseus, and they wanted Athens to be a little, introverted town that praised only the gods and its aristocrats. That was what Themistocles was hoping would change now, with the establishment of democracy. "What do so many Phoenician ships bring to your harbor?" Sindos's eyes, painted with antimony, a Persian custom that had been adopted by the Greek cities of Asia Minor when they became subject to the great king, narrowed. He looked at Themistocles curiously. "Why are you interested?" "I am a merchant. You said it yourself, my dear uncle." "Anyway, they're not bringing wine or oil. As far as I know, that's what you trade in." "Then what are they bringing?" he insisted. Sindos didn't have time to answer. Because just then, although it was evening, Themistocles had the impression that the sun had risen again, came straight into the hall with all its light, and stopped in front of the table.

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 30

Let me give you some advice, cousin…" The voice that was heard in the royal hall of symposia with its colorful stones and gilded fountain, was not hoarse or heavy. It was not an old man's voice, like the voice of Sindos. It was as soft as light fabric fluttering in the breeze, tinkling and musical like the water of the fountain. It was serious and commanding, but at the same time charming and playful. It sounded like the delicate and harmonious voice of a singer, but also like an order from a person who is accustomed to command, whose words have weight. It was the voice of a despotic man trapped in the splendid body of a woman. Her jet-black hair fell to her waist like a silky night veil, in complete contrast to her eyes which were the color of emeralds on a cloudy day. Her body was wrapped in a light blue chiton decorated with golden embroidery and fastened at the shoulders with carved clasps. A short white cloak fell to the backs of her thighs. In spite of her expensive women's garments, her bare arms and legs were muscular and at every move the muscles showed as carved lines on her dark skin, tightened from training and burned by the sun. "Oh… Are you here, my dear?" murmured Sindos, and he got up from the couch with the cup of wine in his hand. "Didn't we agree that you were going to stay in the hunting lodge until the moon was gone?" "I didn't want to miss the chance." "Your chance to hunt foxes is now, when there is a full moon. When it's gone you won't be able to make out your own shadow in the forest." "I'm interested in another fox right now. One that doesn't live in the forest, but on the sea. As you said yourself, whoever dominates the sea, dominates the world" the woman answered. She embraced the old man and stood before the low table, looking at Themistocles. "Isn't that so, cousin?" Themistocles got up from the couch and came to stand before her, his limbs numb and his gaze fixed on the imperious beauty he saw. He stared at the woman in front of him, who reminded him of the legendary amazons, the mythical warriors of Thrace. He was stunned by this woman who had called him cousin. Her high cheekbones and her full lips, which naturally turned down at the corners, reminded him of his mother, Euterpe. Under her intense gray-green eyes, Themistocles felt like the phoenix, the bird that is reborn and flies swiftly, tearing the air. She smiled at his confusion, which was impossible to hide. Her curved lips rose and two dimples appeared on her cheeks. She came towards him and kissed him, touching him softly with her moist lips, and all of Themistocles senses were sweetly sharpened as if he had drunk a whole cup of the nectar of the gods in one gulp. "I am Artemisia, daughter of Lygdamis and niece of your mother. Welcome to Halicarnassus, cousin." "You haven't given me your advice…" murmured Themistocles as soon as he found his mind and his voice again. "I know why you have come. It didn't take much guessing to understand. My advice is to visit Miletus, it's only six days journey from here. Fifteen years have passed since their rebellion against the Persians, and the ruins are still smoking. That will be your fate if you raise your head and oppose the will of Xerxes" she told him calmly. The dimples from her charming smile were still showing in her painted cheeks. "The Persian lion will eat you in one bite, cousin…"

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 31

The dinner was not going as expected. His cousin, even though she had Greek blood in her veins, had become the most loyal subject of the king. It was not just her appearance that told him: her eyes ringed with black kohl, her eyelids smeared with powder of oxidized copper, her eyes dilated with solution of belladonna, and her lips colored with red ocher. It was also her scent: her lithe limbs were perfumed with Assyrian balsam and her hair was oiled with lotus oil. But more even than her scent or her appearance, her soul was Persian. Artemisia was not just a subject of the Persian king. She was a bandaka, a subject and at the same time a friend, a faithful member of the boundless empire. She believed to her core in the values Xerxes represented: eternal peace under the roof of the King of Kings. During the sumptuous dinner, his cousin promoted the superiority of the Persians better than a member of the great king's court could have done. Their architectural wonders in Susa and in Persepolis, their agricultural achievements in Babylon and Mesopotamia, their military achievements in India and Egypt. The prosperity and well-being that prevailed in the empire of Asia, the abundance and wealth its citizens enjoyed. "If you see the palaces built in Persepolis and the temples dedicated to Ahura Mazda, you will rub your eyes in surprise and wonder, cousin. Before them, our own temples, even your famous Parthenon, are nothing but huts and wooden houses. Themistocles' reply was a saying from the oracle of Delphi. A saying that governed all of Greek life and behavior: "Nothing in excess… All moderation is excellent…" Just before the slaves from Lydia and Babylonia brought in the desert, dried figs dipped in honey and flavored with cinnamon, Artemisia, perhaps dizzy from the sweet wine of Samos, began to talk with unfeigned admiration about the army of the Great King. In spite of Sindos' diplomatic attempts to change the subject, which was dangerous, and bring it into the calm waters of family matters and common customs, his niece was riding the chariot of Apollo and galloping forward in ecstasy. She spoke enthusiastically and rapidly about the Spanta, the famous Persian army. About the Immortals, the personal guard of the emperor with their blue uniforms and their javelins decorated by golden pomegranates, who never died or retreated. About the spearmen who put on their colorful garments and advanced, holding their iron spears vertically like an impassable fence of deadly metal. About the famous archers with their bright red uniforms who stretched the cords of their bows, which were as tall as a man, so tightly that their arrows reached the roof of heaven. About the swift horsemen who slept, ate and shot arrows from the backs of their horses and who galloped like the desert wind. "We beat all of those at the battle of Marathon. We can beat them again if we have to" Themistocles answered calmly, trying to choke down his anger at his presumptuous and annoying cousin. "You beat part of the army" Artemisia corrected him with a smug smile. "Not the whole army. This time, there will be so many Persian spears that a horse could gallop over them for three days." "That's good. We need roads for horses and chariots…" "And their ships will fill the whole sea from Asia to Greece." Themistocles' irony evaporated like water in the burning Asian desert. "How do you know that?" Old Sindos tried desperately to change the subject. To end this dangerous conversation. To stop his niece from answering before it was too late and his guest was irreparably insulted. To his great relief, Artemisia's excitement and enthusiasm worked in his favor. "You think, cousin, that we inhabitants of the Greek cities of Asia have to follow the traditions and the ideas of our ancestors who came to these shores four generations ago, and fight on your side when need arises. Our ancestors were needy and miserable when they came here from a country with nothing but mountains, rocks, olive trees and dry land. Poor people without a chance in life. And look at us now. Look at me. I have gold on my body and expensive clothes on my back. Look at the gifts of the Persian peace and the friendship of the great king. Why would I not fight with him?" she said with pride. "That's not friendship. It's subjection. It's not the same thing." She ignored his observation. "I have everything my body needs and everything my heart desires. Power, money and authority. What would I have if I had remained faithful to my ancestors and to Greece?" she asked with calm self-confidence. "Dignity." Artemisia was silent. She looked at him searchingly for a moment. Then she blinked her eyes as if she could not believe what she heard. "Dignity…" she murmured contemptuously. "Can dignity sweeten your palate at the feast? Can it dress you in precious fabrics and expensive jewelry? Can dignity give you wealth and power?" "No." "Well then you're not just dignified, cousin, as you implied. You're also reckless, stupid and pathetic. You have no hope before the emperor's army…" she commented, and then she smiled sadly, got up from the couch and, with her light veil fluttering in the air behind her, withdrew imperiously, leaving behind the scent of Assyrian balsam, her favorite perfume. "That is the recklessness of youth, and its naiveté. Young eyes see things without understanding them, and about ten times larger than they really are. And young lips magnify them a hundred times…" Sindos tried to make excuses for her to lighten the tense atmosphere. "Unfortunately, she was right about one thing… Xerxes' army is terrific. It's not just Artemisia that says so, everyone does…" Themistocles muttered gloomily. "On the other hand, the wise do nothing but pile up money. Great achievements are made by those who are reckless and courageous." "But if you have a large fortune, why would you want all the rest, my dear nephew? Is that not itself a great achievement?" Sindos asked cheerfully, and raised his cup of wine. "What is higher or more desirable than abundant food, good wine, bright gold and beautiful women? What else does a man need to be happy?" Themistocles' answer was one word. Only one word. "Freedom…"

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 32

He looked at the stars and thought about his life. Themistocles considered himself a lucky person, blessed by the gods. He hadn't been born an aristocrat, nor was he descended from noblemen, but he had lacked for nothing all his life. His father was a knowledgeable man, shrewd and circumspect. Although he came from a poor family who worked the earth, his mind and his character pushed him to become a trader, to work the sea roads and acquire a considerable fortune. That fortune got the young Themistocles an education from the great teachers and philosophers of Athens. It got him the opportunity to build up his body and his will in the gymnasium of Hercules. It helped him become a successful trader himself and gave him a comfortable life. All of this later brought him the political power he desired. The power to take part in the city's public life, to influence people for its good and, finally, to be elected to one of the most distinguished positions in the democracy of Athens, the position of general. He had lived free under the gods, as all men should. Frugally and humbly, but with dignity and pride. With the power to decide their own fate and that of their city by themselves. Looking at the black sky sprinkled with bright points and listening to the light rustling of the waves of his beloved sea, he felt his anger slowly fade and disappear, as a wave is absorbed on a soft, sandy shore. The last thing to fade was Artemisia's words: you are stupid. That was what bothered him most out of all her pretentious boasting about the achievements of the Persian empire, its boundless wealth and its unbelievable power. "Am I stupid?" he wondered out loud, looking at the star-embroidered heavens. "Am I stupid, Athena, goddess of wisdom? Am I?" He didn't have time to decide on an answer. A knock on the door interrupted his reflections and distracted him. It's Sikinos, he thought. Sikinos coming to ask when we are leaving tomorrow. The caravan for Sardis, the Persian capital of Asia Minor, would start the next day from the market of Halicarnassus, before the sun climbed over the horizon. He had arranged that they would leave with it. But when he pulled the latch and opened the wooden door, he did not see Sikinos before him. He saw Iasmi waiting on the doorstep. She was wearing a thin linen chiton that showed the rich curves of her body, her face was made up with red cinnabar and her body scented with heavy myrrh. Themistocles hesitated for a moment. It had been months since he had been with a woman. There were evenings when he longed to embrace and taste a perfumed female body. But tonight was not such a night. The conversation earlier at dinner had removed the erotic desire from his mind and brought gloomy thoughts instead. "No… No, Iasmi… Some other time, perhaps…" he told her softly, trying not to offend her. "You cannot refuse." Themistocles laughed. He had heard of the famous voluptuousness of the women of the east, who had inherited something from the unbridled hedonism of the women of Babylonia and something from the intense sensuality of the priestesses of Cybele, creating an explosive mixture of female lust. "But…" He was not allowed to continue his objections. Iasmi's hand covered his mouth and cut off his refusal. Then it left his face and went farther down. "You must follow me" she said, taking him by the hand. "I don't have the desire tonight. You are very beautiful and as attractive as Aphrodite. I am sure that no man with even one eye in his head could resist you but just tonight I…" Iasmi smiled broadly and cut his verbosity short. "Are you Athenians always such chatterers?" Themistocles laughed in spite of himself. "Just me. Well… And a few others... Anyway, we live in a democracy… But… Honestly, tonight…" "It's not about me. I have orders to lead you somewhere" she told him, and pulled him by the hand. They crossed the great hall with the Greek statues, climbed one more stair, passed a gallery decorated with colorful stones and lighted with dim lamps, came to another hall painted with forms of Aphrodite and Artemis, and came to its end, before a double door of aromatic cedar wood. "Here…" said Iasmi, and softly raised the iron latch. The door swung halfway open without a sound. The entrance to a half-dark room showed in the opening. Shadows flickered on the wall like moving paintings. A strong scent of liquid musk and burnt amber reached out to him from inside. "Who is here, Iasmi?" he asked, his heart thumping in his chest. The answer was not long in coming. But it did not come from Iasmi. "Come inside, stupid Athenian…"

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 33

The shapely figure stood upright next to two large couches. Lower down, on a wooden table decorated with ivory and terracotta, there were figs, walnuts, honey and sweet grapes, and a delicate amphora full of wine from Samos with two silver cups. Farther back, the doors to the balcony stood wide open. The light veils hanging from the roof fluttered in the evening breeze coming from the sea, bringing a pleasant coolness and the familiar smell of the sea and filling Themistocles with well-being and euphoria. Artemisia was wearing a full length caftan the color of sand, fastened with a golden clasp on one shoulder and leaving the other bare, while on the side it was tied only with fine cords. It was made of a soft, airy fabric that wrapped her body like a glove. Themistocles swallowed noiselessly, dumbfounded by the beauty he saw before him. Artemisia's face had lost the severity it had at dinner. She had rubbed it with aromatic oil and it shone in the light of the lamp. Her abundant hair was piled on the top of her head and caught with an ivory hairpin, showing a neck like a swan's. Her lips, painted with red henna and aromatic cream, were provocatively half open, showing two rows of straight, white teeth. "Do you not wish to sit, cousin?" "Ah…" "Or are you used to standing up, like on the rostrum of your famous assembly where you like to talk and orate by the hour?" "We talk about the city's business. So many thousands of citizens need time to be heard, to judge and make decisions." "Wasted time. That explains why Athens is just a village compared to our cities." "Is that why you called me?" Artemisia smiled. She bent down, took the amphora and filled the two silver cups with wine. "Will you not come next to me?" she asked him, offering the cup. "It is sweet wine from Samos. The kind you like…" "How do you know that?" "In the east, people have big mouths" she said, and smiled. "Especially the Persians, big and honest. Even if they are servants, the great god of creation, their one and only god, forbids them to tell lies. It is the greatest sin. When the time comes for them to cross the bridge of the Great Judge of souls, such a sin could send them to eternal damnation. That is why the Persians never send other Persians as spies…" she finished, meaningfully. "Sikinos told you?" "Yes, he told me… About everything, even the personal things. Especially the personal things. And as I told you before, Persians believe honesty to be a great virtue…" Artemisia explained, and her lips curved in a cunning smile. They sat on the couches next to each other, in the way Greeks usually sat at symposia. With one arm supporting their reclining bodies turned towards the low table, and the other serving the needs of the stomach and throat. "I am sorry about the silly things I said earlier. It was rude, unbecoming in a hostess. But you annoyed me, cousin." "I only told you my opinion. It is what I believe." "It is mistaken, nevertheless" Artemisia answered, smiling. "Think about what I said and you will see I am right." "You won't convince me with a little wine" Themistocles replied with a smile, and took a large swallow of the excellent, sweet, amber wine. "I know you have enough money, cousin. I know you are good at your work. My uncle told me about you. And your mother sends us news of your family every now and then, when she can find a merchant ship to take it. And I know that you're as stubborn as a mule and as wise as a fox. You know how to hold the helm steady, as I do. Also, we are relatives. The blood that flows in your veins from your mother's side has governed Halicarnassus for many years." "Where are you going with this, cousin?" "I am an only daughter. My father Lygdamis, king of the city…" "And slave of the Persian emperor" Themistocles interrupted her ironically. "No matter what you say, you won't spoil my mood" smiled Artemisia. Then she explained a little more seriously "Not a slave. You mean tributary. It's not the same. We pay some taxes to the emperor, we apply his laws and carry out his wishes, but in return we receive continuing peace and protection. Our trade has increased, our wealth has multiplied. You are a merchant too. Think about what I am saying…" "You are an only daughter, you say," Themistocles stopped her flow of words. "So?" "If I were a man I would already be king." "And?" "The nobles and the officers will not accept a woman on the throne. That means that the city is officially ungoverned." "I know that. But your uncle is acting as governor." "For now," she said, and looked him straight in the eyes. "I must marry for Halicarnassus to have a king." "I wish that for you." "You can do something better than wish." "Find you an Athenian?" he asked ironically. "Yes." "Who?" he wondered. "You…"

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Theo Papas

Chapter 34

Themistocles felt as if one of Zeus's thunderbolts had fallen next to him. He forgot all of his witty replies. His eyes started out of their sockets, looking at Artemisia. "What kind of game is this?" he asked, stunned. "It's not a game. Our house has governed the city for three generations. I do not wish to put some stranger on the throne now. And you are not a stranger. You were born and live in Athens, but your mother is my father's sister. In your veins flows the same blood as flows through mine." "Blood means nothing." "Blood means everything, cousin. With one word, you can become king" she urged. "When I learned you were coming I sent my men to the harbor, where there are some Athenian merchants. They asked about you and the news was excellent. They spoke highly of Themistocles, son of Neocles, from Athens. And so I weighed all things in my mind, and decided. All that is needed now is for you to decide as well. As I told you before, it is simple, and the throne of Halicarnassus will be yours." "I don't like thrones." "Don't start talking nonsense again. Everyone likes thrones. Who would refuse to be king?" "Tributary king" he corrected her. "But it's not just that. I was born and raised in a democracy. I like the assembly, as you said before. I like talking and chatting with my fellow citizens about city matters. I like it that decisions are not just the wish of one person, but the will of many. But more than that, I like it that a simple merchant like me, without aristocratic descent from one of the official tribes of Athens, can be elected general and hold one of the most powerful city offices simply on account of his worth as a person and the power of his words. Artemisia rose. Slowly, ostentatiously. She stood before him. Her face did not show anger, but solemnity and self-confidence. She raised her hands, undid the clasp at her shoulder, and let the chiton slip from her body with a light rustling sound. Even in that relaxed, voluptuous position the muscles on her shoulders, her arms, her belly and her thighs stood out, reminding Themistocles of the Spartan women who trained next to the men in the palaestras from a young age. But the resemblance stopped there. She also had femininity that the goddess Aphrodite might have envied: full breasts and rounded, vigorous buttocks. Her whole body had been carefully denuded of hair and it shone with aromatic oil in the flickering light of the lamps. "Perhaps you do not like me?" It was a rhetorical question. There was no answer. The stunned Themistocles stood still and sweated, and his face showed amazement at the beauty he saw. "I am offering you a rich throne and a young body like the bodies of Aphrodite and Artemis put together. Why do you not want them?" "Because I have learned to live free. And I think that is the greater good." "Free…" Artemisia chewed on the word. "So I am a slave?" "You are a tributary." "It is a fair return for the great goods the Persians bring. Marry me and you will enjoy them with me." "On my knees…" was all Themistocles would say. Not so much because he couldn't think of anything else to say, because his volubility and his rhetorical ability were well known. But speech was cut off by the sensuous body and the sculpted face before him. "I would enjoy it, but I would be on my knees…" he repeated slowly. "That's no reason. Everyone kneels at some moment, for some reason. You are a politician, you should know that. Even you kneel before the gods at their altars." "But not before humans. I prefer to die standing up than to live on my knees." "What an unrealistic view… Almost foolish…" she said, but now her voice was honey-sweet. "Why would you prefer that?" "Because power is not held by the one who kneels, but by the one who always stands upright." "Are you sure?" she asked in a sultry voice, and came even closer. "What are you doing?" "I'm convincing you of the opposite. I am using that persuasion you admire so much." Without saying any more, she bent her carven legs and knelt before his couch. She ran the ends of her fingers over his broad chest and tight stomach. Then she laid her whole palm on his body and caressed him farther down. She took his erect penis in her right hand and rubbed it, covered it with oil from her hand, then opened her lips and took all of it in her mouth, stroking the naked tip with her tongue. This special love play with the lips and the mouth was a practice of the women of the island of Lesbos. The women of Athens did not do it. Themistocles had heard about it but had never experienced it until then. It made his head pound and his body spasm with pleasure. A little later, when his head was empty of kings, armies and campaigns and his penis was competing with the anvil of Hephaestus for hardness, Artemisia took him by the hand and led him to the great bed, made of oak and sandalwood, which was already made up and waiting for them.

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Theo Papas

Chapter 35

Hours later when their bodies fell apart, soaked with the juices of love and the liquids of pleasure that had come many times for both of them, the sun had not yet risen over the horizon. The sea had just taken on the rosy color of dawn and the room was filled with pale light. Most of the lamps had gone out. Artemisia kissed him on both eyes and pushed back the curtains that hung down from the bedposts, concealing the bed. She rose from the moist linen sheets. She stood there for a moment, naked, watching him. The expression of desire had faded from her face and, in spite of the night of love-making, she looked as if she had just woken from a deep slumber. "It's still early, come back to bed…" Without answering his invitation, without saying a word, she went to a large wooden closet standing on one side of the room. She opened it and took out the last garments that anyone would have expected. Themistocles looked at her in surprise. "I am on a peaceful journey" he said, looking at the helmet and breastplate she held in her hands. "Thank you, but I don't need armor. Anyway, I have some in Athens. I wore it at the battle of Marathon." "It's not for you" Artemisia cut him off dryly. "Who is it for?" "For me" she answered him, putting on the breastplate of linen sewn with bronze plates that flashed in the light of the few lamps that were still burning. "Today I'm leaving for exercises on the sea with the flagship of our fleet, the Cassiope." "You?" "Yes. One day I will be made queen. Either by you, if you marry me…" "Artemisia… I explained to you that…" "Or by Xerxes himself, who can put the nobles in their place with one of his decisions and give me the power by royal decree" she answered him curtly. "I must command the fleet and the army. That is what kings do all over the world. Though that may be hard for you to understand, since you do not have a king in Athens. "We do have a king." "You said…" "We have thousands of kings. Our citizens." Artemisia laughed. "I can see why you are so successful in your city. You know how to choose your words and serve them up like a well-cooked dish." "What you are describing is called persuasion. It's the opposite of command. Persuasion…" "I know. I used it on you yesterday evening, you saw it with your own eyes. But when Xerxes' army reaches Greece and destroys your cities, then you won't speak of this persuasion with the same pride" she said with bitter sarcasm, since now that the excitement of love-making had faded the disappointment of his refusal returned with a vengeance. "I have learned that after this you will go to the capital of the satrapy. To Sardis." "Do you want to come with me?" Themistocles smiled. Artemisia's face became like the face of Thetida when her son Achilles was slain before the walls of Troy. Stone, like hard granite. "I will not set foot in Sardis!" "Why?" "Because of you" she told him, looking at him as if in disgust. "Because there, on account of the Athenians, I lost the person I loved most in my life. The only woman in the world I really loved. I was forced to kill her with my own hands to save my life from the swords of your soldiers." It was impossible to hide his astonishment. "What woman? How?" Artemisia did not answer him. She put on the helmet and fastened the sword around her waist with quick, experienced movements. "Think of my proposal on your way back, when you return to Halicarnassus. That is when I will expect your answer." "I told you my thoughts. You are very beautiful, you are really irresistible, but my answer is no." "Your answer may change, then" she cut him off icily. "It's very likely." "Why?" Taking in her hand the spear with its iron point and the silver pomegranate at its base, as Persian spearmen did, she opened the door and prepared to leave the room "Because you will not be able to get into Sardis, Themistocles. You will not even be able to get near it" she said drily. "Why?" he repeated in surprise. "Because Sardis is too small a city to hold all of the army that Xerxes is gathering there. Tens of thousands of soldiers are encamped throughout the whole valley of the Pactolus river, for miles and miles around the city. And those soldiers, cousin, are only the beginning…" she answered him, walking to the door. One step before she went through it and disappeared into the great hall, she turned and spoke to him one last time. "But you must decide quickly. You do not have much time. The ambassadors of the Great King have already started out for your cities, to demand earth and water…

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Theo Papas

Chapter 36

Days later, on the way back from Sardis, Themistocles was surprised to find that instead of thinking about the terrifying mass of the army he had seen, he kept thinking about Artemisia. Her moist eyes as she writhed in pleasure and her moist body that he pierced like the hard bronze ram of a warship. Her soft, full lips and her playful tongue that wrapped his hard penis and played with it like a hetaera with a flute. Her smooth skin that shuddered under his heavy body and her heavy breasts that pulsed vigorously when she rode him like a wild stallion, howling with pleasure. But also the striated muscles of her trained body, hard as the marble of columns and sculpted like the statues of temples. Since that night, every evening before he flung himself on the straw mat he carried with him and surrendered to the embrace of sleep, he had prayed to his beloved goddess of wisdom, begging her to visit him with some dream and give him her guidance. "Most wise Athena, goddess of wisdom, deliver me… Take the thought of Artemisia from my mind or help me to decide otherwise and make her my wife if that is right…" he murmured on the last evening before boarding ship to return to Athens.

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This is Sparta

The two naked boys turned and twisted energetically. In this competition all holds, all kinds of kicks and blows and every move was allowed. Their immature but hardy and muscular bodies were full of lacerations and old scars from their struggle for survival during their harsh education. And this was its peak: wrestling with no holds barred and to the limit, known to the Greeks as pancratio. The palaestra where the competition was held was twelve yards long and six yards wide. It was filled with rough sand from the bed of the river Evrotas. Reeds from the banks of the same river formed a barrier not to be crossed by anyone except the paidonomos who set the rules of the competition and was the final judge. Around the palaestra were rows of bleachers full of adult men. At the base of those bleachers, in the spot with the best view, the young trained warriors, fellow students of the two boys, were seated. Exemplification was the basis of the famous Spartan education. As the competition went on, the two twelve year old boys hit each other like rabid dogs. The thinner of the two was lying on the sand and trying to push his opponent off of himself, scratching deep bloody lines into his back. The second, sturdier boy had his knees firmly fixed in his opponent's side and was pulling his neck with all his might, trying to dislocate his shoulder or break his collarbone, while pointedly ignoring the pain from the gashes and the blood running down his back. When the boy who was lying on his back on the ground opened his mouth to draw breath, the boy kneeling on his chest let go of the neck, thrust his palm into the open jaw and pulled hard on the lower mandible, tearing the edges of the lips and dislocating the collarbone. Before the smaller boy could recover from the painful surprise, the bones of his nose were shattered by a vertical punch that fell on his face like a lead weight. His face had been turned into a formless, mutilated mass of blood, saliva and mucus. Screams of pain and gruesome wails filled the stadium, but no one got up to help. While the thin boy was still writhing like a wounded animal from the unbearable pain and the other one waited patiently over him with cold eyes and tight fists, the Athenian Cimonas jumped up in a panic from his place in the bleachers. The hand of King Leonidas, who was watching the games with him, stretched out and pulled him back to his place. "You can't…" he said calmly without looking at him. "The games cannot be interrupted except by the paidonomos and he has not moved yet…" Cimonas, agitated but silent, sat down again on the little bench, sparsely decorated with pine boughs and braided garlands of red cloth like that from which the characteristic red cloaks of the Spartans were made. He had come to the city three days earlier with a delegation from Athens. The delegation was headed by Themistocles, who had pretended he felt tired and weak to avoid appearing at one of the most characteristic ceremonies of the famous Spartan education. He admired that education because it was so effective, but at the same time abhorred its inhuman tactics. When a Spartan mother brought a young boy into the world, she immediately had to give him to be examined by a committee of elders of the city. That was the first of the four important stages in the life of the newborn child. If the elders found that the infant was healthy and able-bodied, they gave him back to his mother. If not, they left him all alone at a place in the Taygetos, the wild mountain that towered behind Sparta. There, amid the steep cliffs and shrubs, hidden by oak, maple and pine trees, was a steep ravine that the Spartans called the Keadas. On the sheer slopes of this chasm they left every crippled newborn boy to die or to be raised by shepherds and slaves, not, that is, by real Spartans, since he would not be able to serve the city as a soldier. If the child was able-bodied and healthy enough to pass this first test, at the age of seven the second important stage of his life followed. The boy left his family and joined a group called the Herd. For five years he lived with a group of boys of the same age, ate one frugal meal a day with them, was taught writing, wrestling and music, slept on a mattress of reeds from the river, and was encouraged to steal if he wanted more food. Not to make him into a skillful thief, but to develop his resourcefulness and ability to survive. In Sparta theft was not punished unless it was discovered, otherwise it was considered to be seizing an opportunity. At the age of twelve the boy became an adolescent, and after a series of ruthless wrestling matches against the most distinguished Spartans and his mother, he had to prove his worth on the field of battle. His adolescence started with the Krypteia, a hunt in the open air where all the adolescents of the same age, armed only with a small curved knife, had to hunt down rebellious slaves and to murder at least one each, in order to become familiar with death and to learn their purpose in life: to kill uncomplainingly and mercilessly when the city required it. During the six years of his adolescence, the young man lived day and night in a military group, ate only a nourishing liquid called Black Broth, drove out the fear of blood and death with physical and mental exercises, participated in exhausting ten-hour marches wearing armor, was whipped mercilessly by his superiors if he was exhausted and gave up trying and, most importantly, learned to blindly obey the adult man who was in charge of the whole of his education. He only had the right to one light chiton, the same one all year round, winter and summer. He did not have the right to wear boots or sandals on his feet and, besides the broth, he ate only rough barley bread, dried figs, olive oil, and cheese. Besides the military education, the group leaders also taught writing, dancing and music. The members of a group were linked by bonds of friendship and comradeship and all the groups were bound to their city and had the common values of respect, discipline, honor, solidarity, iron will, rejection of the fear of death, and spontaneous sacrifice for the good of the city. At the age of eighteen the adolescent became a young soldier, carrying the honorable weapons of Sparta and participating fully in wars, and even in time of peace he prepared for war by training every day and living frugally and with austerity. He had the honorary privilege of participating in a military unit, paying a contribution and eating with its members. Day by day, this strengthened the bonds with the comrades on which he would have to depend totally during war. He only returned to his family in the evening, to sleep in his house at night. He was a full-time soldier, the only one in the whole ancient world and full of pride in his own worth. The maxim of Sparta was: everyone knows their duty, but only Spartans carry it out fully. Finally, at the age of thirty, after an exhausting eleven years of education and twelve years of honorable military service, having earned the right with his actions, he became one of the omoioi or equals, a free Spartan citizen, a man with full rights to take part in the public life of the city and participate in the Apella. For one moment, the thinner boy writhing in unbearable pain on the sand of the palaestra, with a crushed nose, torn face and mouth full of sand, raised his hand, squealing gruesomely like a hog being dragged to the altar for sacrifice. Immediately, a sturdy woman jumped up from the bleachers opposite and started to complain in a loud voice, directing at the boy an angry jumble of reprimands, curses and prayers to the gods for punishment. "Who is she?" asked Cimonas in surprise, since the women of Athens did not have the right to go to the palaestras where the men competed naked. "His mother. She is trying to protect him" Leonidas answered calmly. "To protect him how? By scolding him? To protect him from what? The boy might bleed to death." "From dishonor, from asking for mercy, from giving up by raising his hand. From showing that he is not able to bear the pain and that he has not managed to defeat the fear of death." At precisely that moment, the women, whose muscles stood out clearly on her arms and thighs as they did in all Spartan women, raised her right hand and signaled the paidonomos. A man with a porphyry chiton and a rod in his hand came up to her, exchanged a few words with her and then went back to the palaestra and pulled the boy with the crushed face out. He pulled him to the column on the side of the gymnasium and set him upright with his face and breast against the marble. While his mother held his hands from the other side of the column, the man raised his rod and brought it down hard on the boy's back twenty times. That was the punishment for abandoning the competition and giving in to fear. "He will die…" murmured Cimonas, astonished and upset, looking at the savage beating of the boy's already wounded body. "If he dies that will mean he was not worthy of serving the law and the city" was Leonidas' calm answer. "But if he lives, our doctors will heal him and his mother will be proud of her son, and not ashamed because she could not give Sparta a worthy defender."

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Theo Papas

Chapter 38

Bare walls without ornamentation. Whitewash and a statue of the goddess Artemis. No decorations, no carpets, no couches with comfortable cushions. Wooden stools without backs and a long table fashioned from pine boards smoothed with a thin layer of wax furnished the official banqueting hall where the Spartans honored their guests in accordance with the command of Zeus, protector of travelers and wayfarers. Around the table sat the leaders of the military battalions, the imperious Spartans with their long hair and their red capes, upright, their spines like the trunks of pine trees. They did not speak loudly, but asked and answered each other in low voices and they ate slowly, without greed. A few pine resin torches burned in the four corners of the room, discretely lighting and scenting the place. It was the only perfume in the roomy but severe hall. The bodies of Spartans were never anointed with heavy perfumes and myrrh except in some of their religious ceremonies, in which all the citizens participated and which were maintained strictly and austerely. And the food was unspiced. It was chosen and cooked according to the dictates of physical health and not for pleasure of the palate. Even that night, at a formal dinner in honor of a foreign delegation, not a single dish had been laced with expensive spices. Simple barley bread, dried figs, white cheese, walnuts, almonds, boiled vegetables and of course, the main dish of the Spartans, the infamous Black Broth. Themistocles smiled faintly, looking at the tasteless and unsightly food waiting for him on clay plates. "Why do you not eat?" King Leonidas, who was sitting beside him, asked in a puzzled voice. Dinner was the only meal of the day, besides breakfast. "I am not very hungry." "At least our broth. We are famous for this dish. It accompanies all our meals" explained Leonidas, and pulled the deep basin with the black liquid towards him. "Here, try some…" Themistocles hesitatingly broke off a piece of bread and dipped it in his bowl. Then he slowly brought it to his mouth and chewed it without appetite, trying to hide a grimace of disgust. "Well?" "Now I understand why Spartans do not fear death" he murmured to Leonidas with a smile. "A thousand times better to lose your life than to be forced to eat this food all your life…" Leonidas laughed at the joke. He was an uncompromising, austere man, like all the Spartans, but he respected directness and honesty. He had met Themistocles a long time ago, after the battle of Marathon when he came to Athens as the head of a unit of Spartans and was impressed by the victory the Athenians had achieved over Persia. He himself, with Themistocles as his guide, had visited the field of battle and offered sacrifices and libations at the tomb of the fallen. Since that day, a close friendship based on understanding and respect had grown up between the two men. That was why, when the question arose of an alliance of Greek cities against the Persian invader, the Athenians had sent Themistocles himself as the head of their delegation to discuss it with Leonidas. "We have already launched two hundred new ships." Leonidas looked at him calmly. "That is very many. Does Athens have that much money?" "Half was paid by the public treasury of the city and the other half by citizens. With donations." "Donations? What are those?" The Spartan honestly did not know. He had never heard the word before, nor could he understand how a simple citizen could have enough money in his possession to pay for a whole ship all by himself. The concept of money was unknown in Sparta. Besides a piece of land and the slaves needed to provide the minimum food necessary for himself and his family, no Spartan owned any property in money, gold or silver. There were no coins and in the very few cases when it was necessary, they used clumsy, heavy iron rods as currency so as to discourage the tendency to amass money. Acquiring and possessing gold, except as ornaments for weddings and religious ceremonies, was strictly forbidden. Spartan law laid down merciless punishments for greed and speculation. Of course those punishments were almost never applied. Personal interest was incomprehensible to Spartan citizens. There was only the public interest of the city and the common good. "Every Athenian merchant has undertaken to build and equip one warship within the space of one year. The merchant provides for its maintenance and the wages of the crew and the rowers" Themistocles explained. "The wages of the crew? Aren't the crew soldiers?" "Yes. They receive two drachmas a day for their services." "Even in wartime?" asked Leonidas, unable to hide his surprise. He had never been able to understand Athens. "How is it possible for a citizen to accept payment for his services to the city?" "It would take a long time to explain, my friend. And we don't have time," Themistocles answered seriously. "What I came here to propose to you is an alliance of all the Greek cities, but most importantly an alliance between the two great opponents, Athens and Sparta. With our own fleet and our own army, we have a chance of beating Xerxes' hordes and staying free. Otherwise each of us will be crushed separately by the Persian forces." "We will have to think about it. We will have to ask the Senate. Alliance is something strange for us. We usually fight alone." "And what will you do? Will you shut yourself up behind your walls and wait for the Persians?" "Sparta is not walled because it does not fear anyone. Walls make soldiers feel safe, make them lazy. We always confront our enemies face to face on an open field of battle." "Is that what you plan to do with the Persians?" Themistocles asked gloomily. He could not hide his surprise. "The Spartan infantry has never yet been beaten" answered Leonidas proudly, but it was unnecessary. Everyone knew that about Sparta. "Of course not… But…" "But what?" "How many soldiers are there in your city?" "Four and a half thousand full soldiers of the front line. Fifteen phalanxes fighting as one. Many times we have beaten armies ten times our size." "So you have an army of forty five thousand soldiers?" "Perhaps fifty in good battles." Themistocles laughed. But not with his former optimism; it was the sad laughter of knowledge. "Xerxes has gathered such a large army that he would not need to send messengers to Athens. All he would need to do is to line his soldiers up in a row, one next to the other, and they would reach to here. Leonidas felt as if he had been kicked in the chest, but he showed no sign of surprise. Spartan policy was to show complete indifference to the numbers and strength of the enemy. And Themistocles continued undaunted: "If you don't understand I'll explain it to you with numbers, my friend, because I saw it with my own eyes. He has five hundred thousand soldiers in his whole empire, and more than a thousand ships, including three hundred Phoenicians…" he said slowly, emphasizing every word. "Think about it… Without the alliance we are all lost…" Leonidas was unaffected by Themistocles' dramatic tone and his unparalleled rhetorical technique. Anyway, Spartans did not understand rhetoric either. So he simply shrugged his shoulders. "Even if things are the way you say they are" he said, undisturbed, "there are ways to face them…" "So your answer to our proposal is no?" "We will have to think about it."

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Theo Papas

Chapter 39

When Themistocles and Cimonas opened their eyes, it was still completely dark even though it was summer and the nights were short. Trumpets were sounding from one end of Sparta to another, announcing the new day and summoning the people to rise. In Athens people got out of bed before sunrise too, although not for the same reasons and not while it was still completely dark. The Spartans were different from everyone else in Greece in this habit too. Winter or summer, they ate early and went to bed early, getting up at first cockcrow so that the sun's first rays would find them in the barracks next to their weapons and their comrades. Leonidas was waiting for Themistocles alone, at the exit of the guesthouse, holding a lighted torch of pitch and pine resin in his hand. He laughed crustily when he saw his friend's red eyes, and came up to him with good wishes for the new day. "Is the agora already open?" Themistocles asked sleepily. "There isn't any agora in Sparta because there isn't any money. Besides, we don't have any use for it." "And where do you shop for food?" "What do you mean? We take whatever we need from our land. If we need something we can go to the city's storehouses and get it for free. Our goods are available to every citizen who really needs them. "So then why did you get me up so early?" Themistocles asked in frustration. He had hoped to use his rhetorical skills on the simple citizens at the agora to influence the decision of the Spartan Senate. "We will visit the temple of Artemis and then go to the barracks together. Watching the morning drills is the best way for a stranger to understand our military technique. And don't imagine that we would put on a display like this for just anyone. We do it only in exceptional cases and it is a sign of my boundless friendship and esteem for a victor such as yourself." When the two men returned from the temple where they had offered sacrifices and libations for a favorable outcome of the quickly approaching war, the sun had still not risen but the darkness of night was gone, and a pure light filled the whole valley. With or without an alliance, it looked like a clash was inevitable. Xerxes had finished gathering his army and completed his preparations for the campaign in Greece. Even to isolated Sparta, without a harbor or trade, rumors had come more and more frequently, more and more ominously. "The truth is that I had already heard from other mouths what you told me yesterday. And with even larger numbers than the ones you gave. Some speak of eight hundred thousand and others of one million men" Leonidas said suddenly. "But if he has such a huge army, how will he get it here? How will he feed it? How will he supply it with water?" "With the ships that will accompany him, sailing next to the coast. In this war, the navy will be the most important factor. Without that, Xerxes' campaign will fail…" "If you do not dominate the land, you have not won the war" Leonidas answered him immediately. "The sea does not produce olives or wheat or grapes. The sea does not have cities. It has nothing but fish. It is merely water. And for Xerxes to dominate our land, he will have to fight us with his army and his solders, not with his ships and his navy." "Without his ships his army is lost. Five hundred thousand men are impossible to feed on enemy territory, there aren't stores of food that large anywhere. Without the supplies brought by his transports he'll be starved out before he can raise his spear and shield" countered Themistocles. "You're not wrong about that…" "Listen to me, Leonidas. Even if you manage to withstand him at the narrow pass of Isthmos, on the road that leads to your city, then Xerxes' ships can transport his army and bypass your phalanxes. And how long will your defenses last if the Persian disembarks his army to your south and you're surrounded? Even your famous phalanxes cannot fight on all fronts at the same time. Leonidas listened without speaking. Most Spartans only thought about one thing, but Leonidas had a reputation for being open-minded and knowledgeable. He was thinking. He weighed the words he heard from Themistocles. His face suddenly became as dark as the night that had passed. Deep lines of thought were carved on his forehead and his lips darkened as he pressed them together. But he did not open them. He said nothing. He neither agreed nor disagreed with the Athenian general. Brevity of speech and the ability to keep silent were considered great virtues in Sparta. Together with music and singing, they occupied second place in the hierarchy of the things Spartans valued, after martial ability and obedience to the law. "That's how it is, my friend…" continued Themistocles. "Sometimes, besides courage, it takes a little imagination to win a war." "If there is a war… We Spartans are untrusting by nature and don't put much faith in the words of men. From one mouth to the next they grow like clouds in the winter sky…" "It will happen, Leonidas. You must believe me. It's not just me who says it. The sailors on the merchant ships that come here from the other side of the sea say it too. Xerxes is already bringing his army from Asia to Europe across the straits of Abydos, just above Troy. In a few weeks they'll be here with hundreds of thousands of soldiers and one thousand two hundred warships." "Not even Ares, the god of war, could gather such an army and cross so many countries in a few weeks. No, I do not believe the situation is as bad or as urgent as some frightened sailors describe…" explained Leonidas seriously, before adding with a smile as he looked at Themistocles, "or even generals…"

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Theo Papas

Chapter 40

They met Cimonas just outside the barracks. It was a day of training, a typical day for the Spartans that is, and Leonidas believed that allowing his Athenian guests to watch the exercises would serve two purposes: it would raise their morale to see the famous Spartan infantry in action, and it would also impress them, making them less proud and less likely to resist the one unbreakable condition on which the Spartans would join any Greek alliance. Sparta would have to command the whole Greek army, both land and sea. On that day the Evrotas company was scheduled to line up on the field for exercises, but Leonidas had intervened and the Hercules company took its place. Hercules was the royal guard and it was commanded by Leonidas himself, one of the two kings of Sparta. Under the astonished eyes of Themistocles and Cimonas, the king himself went to the storehouse and met his personal assistant, Melegros. Unlike in Athens, where a soldier's armor and his weapons were his personal property, paid for out of his own pocket, in Sparta the city provided the expensive fighting equipment and every soldier got the same thing. The only difference between the king's armor and that of a simple Spartan soldier was that a king's helmet had three crests on it, while an officer had two crests and a simple soldier had one. "What are you doing, my friend?" wondered Themistocles when he saw him fastening on the heavy metal breastplate. "My company is exercising" Leonidas answered naturally. "What do you think? That I'm some barbarian king who sits on a golden throne and watches his men get killed?" Themistocles laughed. His friend's scornful reference to the style of the Persian king, who led bloody campaigns and watched them like a spectacle from the safety of his throne, lightened his mood and dispelled the clouds of worry that had gathered at Leonidas' ambiguous answers the night before. "Sit and watch the morning exercises" Leonidas told him, pointing to the little benches under the reed roof. "Melegros will bring you wine, figs and cool water from the well." Then the king strode quickly forward and took up his usual position on the right side of the phalanx, next to his soldiers who, without any sign of submission or fear, welcomed him into their ranks by taking a small step to the side in a completely natural and coordinated way. The round shields stood upright before the soldiers' feet, the pointed lower ends of the spears were thrust into the ground and the helmets were raised and supported on their foreheads. Complete stillness and silence. If the Athenians had closed their eyes, they might have imagined themselves alone in the barracks. "Arms!" With a single, curt word from Leonidas that seemed to create waves in the air from the intensity with which it was pronounced, a unique spectacle unfolded before the eyes of Themistocles and Cimonas. Like a well-oiled machine, like a single man, three hundred soldiers raised their shields from the ground and held them vertically before their breasts with their left hands, while with their right they raised the heavy spears from the ground and held them parallel with their bodies. The spears, lined up one next to the other, resembled the back of a gigantic hedgehog. It was as if the earth had suddenly sprouted hundreds of black needles. "Helmets!" The second one-word command from Leonidas sounded after a pause of a few seconds to allow the men to synchronize their breathing. It was a physical technique for driving away fear that they had been taught since they were small children. In one moment, without anyone moving his hand or putting down his weapons, with a short, coordinated movement of their heads, three hundred helmets came down over their faces, fencing them off with bronze and iron. The third and most impressive preparatory movement, however, was the one that followed. This was the one that caused the hearts of enemies on the battlefield to be wrung out like sponges from fear and their legs to walk backwards to avoid slaughter. "Phalanx forward!" First, with a sudden movement of the left arm, the shields were placed one next to the other and locked liked the doors of a treasure chamber, forming an impenetrable metal wall at the front of the phalanx. Next, in one movement, three hundred spears were raised horizontally above the shields, forming a terrible line of iron points six feet in front of the phalanx. Eighteen inches back and a little higher there was a second line of spears from the second line of soldiers, and then a third from the third line. A killing machine of staggered points supported by muscular arms and shoulders, moving slightly up and down to aim at the faces or the chests of the enemy. Finally, Leonidas raised his spear high. He waited for a moment and after turning his eyes to the left to check that the phalanx was in formation, he lowered it suddenly. The shrill sound of reed pipes sounded from the musicians behind them, a simple but rhythmic and piercing sound. The Spartans began to sing their battle hymn loudly in time with the music.  Forward, brave Spartan  children of citizen fathers,  with the left hand hold the shield,  with the right boldly lift up the spear,  without ever thinking of your lives  because that is a Spartan's traditional duty! Moving as one, their legs took the first step. And then they all moved together like one hand, one head, one body. They went straight forward, singing martial songs in coordinated rhythm. Step by step their voices became louder. A straight line of thirty-five men and behind them, perfectly aligned, another seven lines exactly the same so that every man in front led a file of eight men that followed him foot for foot, with a three-foot distance between them. When the pipes suddenly changed rhythm, without interrupting the steady pace of the formation, the five files on the left split off from the main body of the phalanx and marched faster, moving many feet forward. When they were more than a hundred and fifty feet in front and the formation looked from far away like a closed fist with the first finger extended, the music of the pipes changed again. Perfectly coordinating their movements, the five files turned to the right, with their shields to the front and their spears extended. It was the crowning moment of the exercise. This was the moment when they would hit the enemy phalanx from its vulnerable right side and throw it into disorder by attacking it from two sides simultaneously. "An outflanking movement" Cimonas stammered in awe. "I have heard about it but it's the first time I've actually seen it." "Thank the gods for that…" Themistocles answered him, looking with the same fascination at the soldiers moving all together as one to carry out a maneuver that required absolute discipline and complete coordination. "I would not like to be a Persian standing before the spears and shields of the Spartans." "Yes… Right…" murmured Themistocles thoughtfully. "Except that it would take thousands of phalanxes like that to frighten Xerxes and his five hundred thousand warriors, and the Spartans only have fifteen…" A shrill note from the pipes interrupted their talk. The advanced left part of the phalanx turned back with absolute discipline and took up its place in the formation again. Then the three hundred soldiers started to withdraw without turning their backs to the enemy for a single moment, first because that would ensure a safe withdrawal and secondly because the most dishonorable thing for a Spartan was to have wounds in his back. When they had all returned to their first position, the pipes fell silent. Leonidas, standing on the right side in his predetermined position, raised his spear high again, ready to give the order for the pipes to sound for the next exercise. But the sound they heard was not that of a pipe. It was the door of the barracks slamming. Melegros ran up, breathing hard, his face as red as Leonidas' cloak. Behind him came three of the five elders of the city council, their faces as black as their famous broth. "Leonidas…" shouted Melegros and began to run faster. "You must stop! Immediately!"

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Melegros approached his exasperated king, trembling with anxiety and also with fear. In twenty years with Leonidas, the old attendant had learned that no one, for any reason, interrupted military exercises. Melegros' white head turned leaned towards the king's rich braided crest and he began to whisper furiously in his ear. Moment by moment, listening to the assistant's words, Leonidas' angry face relaxed and finally, his anger at the interruption turned to concern at what he was hearing. "What is going on?" wondered Themistocles. "I don't know…" murmured Cimonas, looking around him. "Something unpleasant, though." "I hope it's not a sudden attack. I wouldn't like to be shut in here in Sparta. The assembly of Athens meets in ten days to set the strategy for war with Persia." "If there is a war and it's not all one of those rumors that turn people's minds." "Yes, of course, it could all be in our minds and nothing will happen…" Themistocles commented ironically. There had been no doubt at all in his mind since the moment he saw the Persian troops and denied Artemisia's proposal to follow the Persian king. "But if it happens…" "You want to be in command." Themistocles reddened slightly. In the years Cimonas had been with him since the death of his father Miltiades, he had learned exactly how Themistocles thought, his desires and his ways. Themistocles opened his mouth to deny having such an obvious and arrogant ambition, but he didn't have time to say a word. At that moment, Leonidas looked toward the gate of the barracks and made a sign to the guards standing to the right and the left of the gate, blocking the entrance. The soldiers stood to the side, and in the open gate appeared the many-colored trousers, the light blue caftan and the yellow hat of a swarthy man, his arms and neck loaded down with golden jewelry and with a gold medallion engraved with a winged lion shining on his breast. Behind him came two more swarthy men dressed the same way, but without jewelry on their bare arms. One of them carried the Caduceus, a special wooden rod held by official ambassadors which assured them asylum. The other held a silver vase and a small amphora, to receive the earth and water of the Spartans.

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Leonidas laughed. "What kind of a joke is this?" But the ambassador remained serious. "It is that which is requested by my lord and King of Kings, the Emperor of Asia." "A little dirt and a little water, that is?" asked Leonidas, as soon as his laughter had subsided. "Did you come all the way here for a little dirt and a little water?" The Persian made a sign behind him and his attendant came forward, holding out the small amphora and the silver vase. "It is a symbolic declaration of submission…" "Submission?" asked Leonidas, his face showing his aversion to the hideous word. "Yes, submission. By giving earth and water… That is what the Great King asks" repeated the Persian ambassador with complete seriousness. The Spartan stared at him in puzzlement. The demand he had heard was beyond all logic. How could the earth and water of a city be given? Those goods belonged to the gods and not to men. The gods gave them and took them back. No one else. "Ask Zeus and Apollo, the protectors of Sparta, for them" Leonidas said ironically. "But you'll have to climb to the top of Mount Olympus to do that." The Persian frowned and his expression became even more dry and formal. "The King of Kings demands earth and water from Sparta" he repeated intensely. "What does that mean, Persian? I do not understand!" Leonidas said in the same tone. "You will be subjects. You and your city. Your land and your people will be possessions of my emperor and will belong to him just as all the world from the Mediterranean Sea and Egypt to the Caspian Sea and India belong to him" he announced, taking the amphora and the vase from his attendant and offering them to Leonidas with his own hands. "How can humans become possessions of other humans without being beaten in battle and taken captive? How can they belong to someone? What you are asking, ambassador, is an insult to the Spartans. We are free citizens and obey only the law of our city. Nothing else! At least, not until we are defeated in battle!" "The Great Xerxes is not merely human. He is chosen by the great god. He himself is a god." "Blasphemy!" shouted one of the elders, who was also a priest in the temple of Apollo. "Hubris inside our city itself. Hubris for us and an insult to the god who is our protector!" Leonidas bent his head. And stayed that way, motionless, thinking, for several moments. Not even the breathing of the guards could be heard in the heat of the summer's noon. Themistocles and Cimonas watched wordlessly, holding their breath. If Leonidas gave a positive answer to save his city, or if he even tried to negotiate with the ambassador, Themistocles' whole strategy would collapse. The Greek alliance would have no chance without the Spartans. The only thing left for the Athenians to do would be to get into their warships and sail away from Athens, looking for another country. "What about ours?" asked Cimonas in a whisper. "What would they answer?" Themistocles was lost in thought and in his suspense. "What do you mean, ours?" "Since a Persian ambassador came here, one will have gone to Athens too. Perhaps one is already there, since our city is closer to Asia. What do you think they answered?" A new wave of suspense dominated Themistocles. Cimonas was right. In Athens there were many rich aristocrats who would like to see a deliberate surrender to the Persians so as to achieve their double purpose: to save their fortunes from destruction, and to dissolve the democracy. It was certain that Xerxes would bring in old Hippias, who for many years had been living at his court and nursing his hatred for Greeks, as its satrap and tyrant. Then everything the people had achieved—the right to vote, freedom, equality before the law—would be lost. Athens would become an insignificant province, an oppressive tyranny. "By Zeus… Everything is at stake now…" Themistocles murmured in a choking voice, looking at the Spartan king before him. At a certain point Leonidas raised his head and looked at the imperious messenger of the Persian king. The golden jewelry flashed on his arms, his legs, his throat and his breast. In his face, his eyes, painted with antinomy, stared straight ahead without moving an eyelash. He was like a statue of arrogance, insolence and contempt, all the qualities the frugal and austere Spartans hated most. The Persian waited. Leonidas smiled. Themistocles squirmed.

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Leonidas smiled for a long time. Then he looked away from the Persian. He looked first at the three respected elders of the city council who waited, standing a little farther back, for his decision. Then he turned and looked at his men, standing motionless in the lines of their phalanx like armored statues. At an almost imperceptible sign from him, the first file moved and its eight men ran towards him. They came up to the ambassador and grasped him by the arms, while they immobilized his two attendants. "You cannot touch us. We have asylum. We are official ambassadors and hold the Caduceus" said the Persian without losing any of his arrogance. One of the Spartans moved quickly and took the wooden rod from his hand. "Not any more…" said Leonidas, and came towards him. "You cannot do anything. We are an official delegation. It is great hubris if you hurt us." "The hubris came from you first. It was a very great impropriety from a guest." "What hubris?" "You compared a simple king with the gods. That is hubris to the gods. Especially in the city of Apollo." "We do not believe in the same gods" explained the Persian. He had lost some of his arrogance in the meantime. "That was not all." "I did not say anything else. If you hurt us, the great curse of blasphemy will fall upon your city. You know that." "There is no greater blasphemy, Persian, than to ask free men to become slaves of their own will." "There is the emperor and there are his subjects. That is how the world is made." "Not ours!" Leonidas said nothing further. He looked around him once more and then walked to the right, to where the altar of the goddess Artemis was located, and the great well of water with which they cleaned it after sacrifices. Behind him followed his men, dragging the Persian by the arms. Sweat from the burning summer heat melted the paint on his eyes and his light, many-colored garments were growing heavy with sweat. Only his jewelry remained as bright as ever, reflecting the golden light of the sun. "Shall we swear an oath to the gods?" asked the Persian ambassador with a weak smile, when they let him go behind the sacred altar. "Why do you not ask them yourself? In a little while you will see them." "How…" "You asked for earth and water, Persian" the Spartan told him severely, looking at the vase and the amphora that the messenger was still holding in his hands. "Yes…" "Go and get some yourself, then!" shouted Leonidas. "Because this…" He screamed, and the muscles of his face tightened, revealing all of his pent-up rage "… this is Sparta!" The next second his terrific arms shot out. The breast of the Persian received a terrible blow and fell backwards. His blood-curdling cry ended in a splash as he fell to the bottom of the well. He had gotten the earth and water he asked for.

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Besides the Thessalians, Thebes and the city of Argos that sided with the Persians out of long-standing enmity with Sparta, all the other Greek cities agreed to participate in the war effort. They sent soldiers and ships, and they swore to the gods to hold to their decision with all their might. The ships would gather as soon as possible in the dockyards of Athens, Salamis and Aegina, while the phalanxes of the Greek army would be drawn up in two defensive lines. The first would hold the pass at Thermopylae, a hundred and twenty miles north of Athens, and the second would hold Isthmos, forty miles to the south of Athens. One month after representatives of the Greek cities had gathered and the alliance had been formed, the Hercules company, the Spartan royal guard, bid farewell to its city. It was the ceremony that Sparta always organized for its soldiers leaving for war. First there were sacrifices to the gods, led by the archpriest who also commanded the expeditionary force, King Leonidas himself. Immediately after that, all the city's inhabitants lined up on the road leading to the city's exit. Men, women, children, even babies hanging at their mother's breasts stood by the sides of the road, wearing their black garments, to say goodbye to the soldiers, wish them a triumphant victory or honorable death, and listen to them proudly chant their battle hymn as they marched off to war. The supplies, pack animals and slaves that would accompany the Spartan phalanx had already left days previously to set up camp and makeshift kitchens. The soldiers would follow accompanied only by their personal attendants, who carried their personal belongings and their weapons. Fourteen hours quick march every day. One meal. Six hours of sleep. Three weeks to get to the field of battle, three hundred miles north of Sparta. Leonidas stood before his soldiers, raised his cup with the last of the wine, poured half of it on the ground as an offering to the gods, and drank the rest. He strode slowly towards the point where his wife, Gorgo, was waiting for him together with their children, and went first to his oldest son. He bent, caressed his head, and asked him to continue their line with dignity and honor. "Since the time Sparta was founded our wives, our mothers and our sisters have never faced an enemy sword. You must continue this tradition, my son. That is the inheritance I leave to you" he said calmly and in a steady voice. Then he turned, opened his arms, scarred from dozens of battles, and tightly clasped his wife, Gorgo in them. He felt the wild beating of her heart against his chest, smelled the aroma of her unbraided hair, and tenderly kissed her dry cheek. "I only have one wish and I want you to remember it and put it into practice. Choose a good husband…" he urged her, simply, and fixed his gaze on her large black eyes for a little while—for a last moment, something to remember from their happy life together. Beside him, behind him, the Spartan soldiers were saying goodbye to their wives and sons who would carry on their lines if they had the great honor of falling in battle defending their country—which, as everyone knew, was very likely to happen on this campaign. No tears were shed, there was no begging or regrets. The country was more important than anything else. And military honor was the greatest good. Those were their values. A little while later the soldiers returned to their lines. They took up their weapons and gave the order to their attendants to raise the rest of their gear from the ground. The time had come. The pipes sounded piercingly three times and then started up their familiar rhythm. The men began to sing loudly, led by Leonidas, and marched in formation toward the city's exit. Half an hour later, the golden wheatfields of the plain swallowed up their worn and faded red cloaks. Before they left, Leonidas had ordered that the men should not be given new cloaks so as not to unnecessarily burden the treasury. After all, most of them would not need a cloak at all after the battle. In a tomb there is no difference between an old cloak and a new one. After their departure the sound of their battle hymn faded quickly together with their image. Their rhythmic stride on the dry ground was soon lost. But the military body that left for Thermopylae was not the total of nine thousand first and second reserve soldiers that Sparta had. It was not the four and a half thousand first line soldiers that were usually sent on campaigns. It was not even the one thousand five hundred select warriors. It was only three hundred.

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The first line of defense, a narrow pass, was a hundred and twenty miles north of Athens. It combined all the advantages. To the east lay the sea and to the west was the high mountain of Kallidromo, impassable for a large army. Between them there was a strip of level ground, half a mile long and two hundred feet wide, the only passable road leading from northern to southern Greece. Whoever wanted to advance towards Athens and Sparta from the north would have to pass over that long and narrow piece of land. The pass called Thermopylae. The point selected was ideal for Themistocles' strategy of simultaneous battle on land and sea. Forty miles to the east of Thermopylae lay the sea straits of Artemisio, ten miles in width, between the shore and the island of Euboea. Two hundred and fifty ships from the Greek fleet lay at anchor there, while another hundred remained behind in the dockyards as a reserve in case the Persians decided to divide their fleet in two and attack the Greeks from the south. The Persians had the power and the numbers of vessels to make such an outflanking movement successful. They had one thousand two hundred fully equipped warships and hundreds of transports. The three hundred soldiers of the royal guard reached Thermopylae on the evening of the twentieth day after leaving Sparta. In the course of their journey they had been strengthened by military units from the cities they passed through, so that in the end they numbered four thousand in all. Leonidas sent a thousand soldiers from Phocis behind the mountain of Kallidromo to guard the Anopaia Path, which was a second way to cross the mountains. It would be impossible for a large army to pass over it, but a small, well-equipped military force might use it to outflank the Greek defensive positions. Another two thousand soldiers were sent to the heights around Thermopylae and the rest of them made camp on the south side of the pass, with the three hundred Spartans taking position at the center and the seven hundred soldiers from the city of Thespies arranged to their right and left. That same evening the Spartans erected an altar and made sacrifices to the gods to consecrate the field of battle. Then they set guards and sent out scouts, lit fires and withdrew to eat a few crusts of barley, some cheese and some figs, and to rest. They slept on the ground wrapped in their cloaks. Each soldier's attendant slept next to his master, protecting the military supplies he carried for him: needles and string made of intestines for stitching wounds, iron for cauterizing, linen bandages for blood, pyrite for lighting fires, sand and oil for polishing the bronze armor, emery stones for sharpening the swords and spears, cooking pans, pickaxes for opening trenches, images of the gods, family charms, amulets and mementos. Leonidas now held two of these in his hands and looked at them intently, breathing deeply but calmly. One was a braid of his son's black hair and the other was a white scarf embroidered in the center with simple red thread forming the name "Gorgo". They were both mementos and amulets. For a battle without mercy. A battle to the end, since it was well known that Spartans never retreated. They either won or died. The farewell wish of Spartan mothers and wives was the famous ancient Greek phrase: "either come back holding your shield proudly before your chest, or dead, with your body on top of it." The next morning the Spartans woke, as was their habit, before the dawn. Leonidas sent scouts to the north to find out what kind of condition the battlefield was in and how many Persians had already arrived. When the scouts came back to report that the plain spreading out beyond the pass was empty, he sent out groups of soldiers to destroy every house, uproot every bush, kill everything alive and poison every river and well with the bodies, thus depriving the Persians of food and drinking water. The next day he ordered all his soldiers to proceed to the narrowest point of the pass and to rebuild an old, ruined wall there, carrying stones from Mount Kallidromo. Soldiers, attendants, weapon makers and craftsmen formed a long human chain starting at the foothills of the mountain and reaching all the way to the level pass. Dienekes, Leonidas' second in command, was the first link in the chain high on the mountain, while the last link, at the other end where the wall would be built, was the king himself. He had taken off his chiton and was hauling rocks like all his men. By the third day after their arrival the wall reached three feet higher than the head of a strong man and Leonidas ordered that the work should be stopped. That same day at noon, the first Athenian messenger from the fleet anchored to the east, in the straits of Artemisio, arrived at their camp. It was Cimonas, captain of the Pallas, and his ship dropped anchor before Thermopylae to serve as a link between the Spartans and the Greek fleet. "You chose the right place to give battle" admitted Cimon when he arrived, embracing Leonidas warmly. "But…" he murmured skeptically, looking around him. "But?" "There are so few of us… the terrain will help but it will still be difficult to succeed…" "It is not just the terrain. We built the wall too." "The Persians have cavalry and siege engines. We Greeks never lay siege, but they say the Persian army acquired most of its cities by laying siege to them, even Babylon, whose walls were famous throughout Asia." "I know all that. I have taken my measures. For the cavalry we have dug dozens of pits. We buried large clay jars upside down in them and put the earth, stones and plants back in their place so that no one can tell where they are. The jars can take the weight of a man but not the weight of a horse. They will break and the horses will fall into the pits. We can fight before our wall, but their cavalry cannot. Cimonas' face brightened. He had always respected Spartan military techniques, but now he was filled with admiration. "And for the siege?" "I hope they do lay siege to us. That will delay them long enough for nature to decimate them." "What do you mean?" "Where will they find water and food for so many thousands of men? I have taken my measures. If you stop their transports on the sea and their provisions never arrive, their advantage will become a disadvantage. But even if our wall seems small to you and you are afraid it won't hold up to their siege engines" continued Leonidas in a rare moment of garrulity, "know that I have taken measures for that too. As you know, just above us are the famous thermal springs with their hot water welling from the earth that give this place its name. My men have made small dams there to stop their flow and collect the water. The Persian siege engines are large, heavy and cumbersome, pulled by slaves on wooden wheels. They are hard to hide and even harder to move. If they appear on the horizon, our men will break the dams and the pass will fill with water. The ground will become a mud sink and it will be impossible to drag the siege engines over it." "Excellent…" "It's not so great" Leonidas said shyly. "Every general makes the earth his ally. He has been trained to do that since he was a boy." "Not every general. Your generals…" Cimonas said in admiration. "Every Spartan general" Leonidas corrected himself, blushing. Then he hastily changed the subject. "Has the fleet arrived? Themistocles? Our plan depends on them. Without the fleet, everything we do here will be worthless." "We have anchored off the coast and pulled the ships up on the sand to dry them out and make them lighter and easier to maneuver. Themistocles has sent scouts out on the open sea. From what they saw and reported, he calculates that the Persian fleet will be here in three days. We have established naval formations on the islands opposite, to notify us as soon as they see a Persian ship on the horizon." "We do not have contact with the enemy yet. The field on the other side of the pass is still empty. Our scouts have not found even a trace of a Persian soldier." "Perhaps in Thessalia, to the north, they have changed their minds and decided to resist. That might explain the slowness of their army." "The Thessalians took no oath to the gods when we made our alliance. But even if they've decided to fight now, they won't have any chance all alone on the open plain where their cities are. The Persians will mow them down like a scythe cutting through ripe wheat. We are alone. If we do not stop them, no one will." It was late in the afternoon and they had finished their frugal meal, sitting and talking in the shade of an oak tree. Cimonas took out a worn linen cloth, spread it out, and was preparing to write Leonidas' commands to Eurybiades on it with a piece of charcoal. Eurybiades was the commander of the Greek fleet. On the day when the representatives of the Greek cities met at Isthmos to vote, Themistocles had accepted a Spartan as commander of the fleet even though Sparta had only sixteen warships and Athens had two hundred, for the sole purpose of making sure that Sparta was part of the alliance. In return, he had asked only one favor. He had asked Leonidas to promise that if he had trouble convincing Eurybiades to carry out a sea maneuver, then the king would help him. The commander of the fleet was above the other admirals like Themistocles and he did not have to obey them, but he would not be able to ignore a command from the king himself. "Well? What does our friend Themistocles want us to write to Eurybiades?" "He wants you to command him not to make all the decisions about the fleet's movements himself, but always to consult the council of war." Leonidas laughed heartily. Then he took the cloth and the coal from Cimonas' hand, threw them away, and picked up a cup of wine. "It's not necessary. It's a waste of time and cloth, my friend. Eurybiades never makes a decision on his own anyway." "Never?" "Never. Believe me, I've known him for many years. He always wants to have partners to share the responsibility and so he can blame them for his mistakes. His opinion is lighter than dry leaves in an autumn breeze. That's why I recommended him to the Apella as commander of the fleet. Themistocles can do whatever he wants with him…" Leonidas laughed long and loud and then picked up the cup to quench his thirst. He did not have time. Before he could wet his lips, a loud cry sounded from the watchers, who were standing on terraces carved every hundred yards all the way up the mountainside, carrying the message from the top of the mountain to the Spartan camp at its foot. "What is happening, Alexander?" Leonidas asked his second in command, although he already knew the answer. "The Persians are here."

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Chapter 46

A chorus of shouts came to their ears. Almost the whole Greek camp had climbed up on the wall or else the slopes of the mountain and was looking to the north, towards the depths of the plain. A large plume of dust rose from the low hills at its end. Just at the edge of sight, black dots moved in lines like great, supernatural snakes. It was the Persian vanguard that had reached Thermopylae. "Tell the allies" Leonidas said to Cimonas. "We have contact with the enemy. Nothing will happen today, and maybe not tomorrow either. A great army needs days to encamp and study the field of battle." "Then I can stay with you." "No. A great army also needs its fleet. It depends on it for food and supplies. You must leave immediately and inform Themistocles. By tomorrow at the latest, their fleet will be in these waters. Tell him to prepare and wait for him. And…" he stopped for a moment, looking at the horizon "tell him that Leonidas will do what he promised..." By evening the empty plain was flooded with men. The shouts of the Greeks had ceased. They looked in awe at the unbelievable number of Persians pouring in like a rushing river. The dust of their footsteps on the dry ground had filled the air not only over the land but over the sea as well. Their many-colored uniforms and their curious weapons were surprising. Even more surprising were the strange animals the warriors brought with them, animals that most Greeks had never seen before and that some had never heard of. Some with humps like the actors in tragedies in the Athenian theaters, and others the size of five horses with legs as thick as the columns of a temple. "Light fires." "It is early for dinner." "Not for dinner, Dienekes. Light fires everywhere. Behind the wall, on the coast, on the mountainside, on the hills to the south, light them as far as the eye can see. Fires that can be seen from the plain and the enemy camp, as if the place is full of our soldiers. And tell the attendants to polish the shields until they can see the hairs of their heads in them. There is no sight so fearsome as a line of shields flashing in the sun." Dienekes understood. He pulled back behind the wall and went to the attendants' camp. He gathered them together, drew a rough map on the ground, and told them where to light the fires. He sent them off with pyrite in their hands and the order to throw green wood on the fire so that the smoke would be seen from far away during the day as well as at night. Hours later, as the sun set behind Mount Kallidromo, the fires of the Greeks looked like dozens of lighted arrows shot into the ground by the god Hephaestus. "They must believe that there are many thousands of us. When fear nestles in the heart, then the sword does not nestle so firmly in the hand" explained Leonidas, looking at his companions. "But they are like ants, uncountable. Not even Zeus himself on Olympus could count them. Even if fear nestles in their hearts, they'd still stretch out endlessly" said Dimophilos, the commander of the seven hundred men from Thespies. "No matter how we fight, no matter how many we kill, they will defeat us in the end." "They can defeat us, yes. But they cannot defeat nature." "I don't understand you, Leonidas." "They have to move continually. Otherwise they are in danger of falling sick, and epidemics can spread very quickly if so many thousand men stay so close to each other in one place for days. They must also find fresh food and clean water. We have destroyed all the plain's resources and poisoned the rivers and the wells. If their transports do not come soon with their supplies, they won't last many days in one place. That is why our own fleet is stationed at the straits of Artemisio, to prevent theirs from getting here. If Themistocles manages it, we won't have to defeat them ourselves. Hunger will defeat them. All we have to do is to keep them here for two weeks." "Two weeks?" asked Dimophilos, stunned. "Two weeks is a long time to hold off that many thousand enemies. "I have the advantage." "What advantage? With three hundred men?" "Yes," Leonidas answered calmly. Dimophilos looked at him in amazement. Of course he had heard that Spartans were fearless in battle, but he had never yet heard that they were unhinged. "The pass is thirty yards wide from the sea to the mountain cliffs at its narrowest point, which is right before our wall. So they cannot put more than thirty men on the front line of their phalanxes. We can wait for them before the wall, where the pass widens a little, lining up sixty men in our front line. So we have an advantage of two to one on the field of battle, no matter what reserves the Persians are holding in the rear…" Dimophilos' mouth fell open, listening to Leonidas' reasoning. He could not think of any questions or comments. He was convinced. And to be as fearless as that, you need to be a little unhinged. The Spartans were both.

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Chapter 47

Then followed four days of waiting, with tentative moves by the Persian infantry and harassment from mounted archers who galloped up to the wall, shot a few arrows and then returned to their camp. The Spartans did not shoot back. They couldn't be bothered. Guerilla warfare was not warfare for them. They had not learned to fight while hiding like women. But underneath their bronze armor, their hearts began to swell with impatience. Waiting and doing nothing are perhaps the most difficult work of all for a man who has learned to throw himself passionately into the fire of battle from the first moment. Leonidas had given strict orders that all everyday activities should continue as if nothing unusual was happening. His men got up from their spread-out cloaks in the morning, arranged their long hair, ate their best meal of the day, breakfast, exercised their bodies as usual, carried out their military exercises and sharpened their swords and spears. "Who sharpens his sword sharpens his courage" said Leonidas to his subordinates. He insisted on his order being followed, even though it looked like the points might be ground down to nothing under the sharpening. "Messengers are coming!" the watchman from the advance guard on the left, higher side of the wall, had come running and the words came in quick bursts from his panting chest. "They are coming to the wall holding the Caduceus. They might be here already. But…" "But what?" asked Leonidas, wondering at the scout's sudden pause and his awkward glance. "They are headed by…" the scout swallowed. "by a woman…" "Are you sure?" asked Dienekes, wondering himself. "Yes. But she is not wearing women's clothes. She is wearing a man's armor." "Then how do you know it's a woman?" asked Leonidas. The scout swallowed. It had been many days since he had been with a woman. His body reacted in the normal way of a man who sees a beautiful woman. But there was no way he could admit something like that to his king. "It is a woman…" he repeated simply. Leonidas saw his red face and understood. He shrugged his shoulders indifferently. "All right. So what?" "A woman in war?" asked the scout, aghast. "The word manliness comes from the word man." "To go to war and fight you need courage, everyone knows that. But the only fear you need to face is the fear of dying or being wounded. Wounds and pain in the flesh. That is, nothing. But the women who send their men and their children to war while they themselves remain behind have to face wounds and pain in the heart. And that takes much more courage and manliness" answered Leonidas, and got up slowly. "There is something else…" murmured the scout. "Something even stranger." "What?" "The woman is not wearing Persian armor." "Is she naked? Even better…" joked Dienekes. "Just what we need to raise our men's morale…" "She is wearing Greek armor and she speaks Greek."

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Chapter 48

When he heard those words Leonidas clenched his fists to break his rage, as he had been taught to do in his training ever since he was a small child. For a Spartan, there was no failing worse than treachery. Without saying another word, he strode firmly to the wall, the gaze of all his men fixed on him. He climbed the rough stones like a nimble boy and stood on top of them with legs shoulder width apart, arms crossed on his chest and eyes forward. Now he could see her too. The woman was wearing a Greek helmet and not the conical tiara, the hat worn by representatives of the Persian king. She was unarmed and her arms hung relaxed at the sides of her breastplate. A few steps behind her stood her entourage. It consisted of two men in many-colored trousers and caftans that hung to the knee. One held up the carved wooden Caduceus, the symbol of messengers, and the other held a large roll of papyrus. "I am not thirsty…" the woman said suddenly, breaking the long silence. "What does that mean?" asked Leonidas, surprised by her words. "I heard that you threw the last person Xerxes sent into a well. Well, I am telling you that I am not thirsty." Leonidas smiled in spite of himself. "I would never throw a woman into a well. Especially not one dressed in the Greek manner. Who are you and what do you want?" "My name is Artemisia and I am the queen of Halicarnassus. I am here with my soldiers and five warships…" "Thank you, but we do not need help" the Spartan interrupted her. "There are enough of us." It was Artemisia's turn to smile. "I serve the Great King in the navy, but I also take part in his council of war. I am here today by his order." "For what reason?" "To offer peace to the Spartans in his name" she answered him solemnly, before adopting a more familiar tone. "I speak our common language and believe in the same gods. You can trust me, Leonidas." "A common language and the same gods do not matter when the mind thinks differently. Tell me what you want, you are keeping me away from my soldiers." "Xerxes informs you that he will respect your city and your law. We know that for you Spartans, the law is above everything." "If Xerxes respects our law, he has already trampled on it. Because our law does not allow barbarians to respect it." "He will not destroy Sparta, Leonidas, I know that well" she insisted. "You will have your own kingdom and…" "A kingdom like yours? That will have to campaign and make war on his orders, and not according to the law and the citizens?" "You will be masters of your own land" continued Artemisia, undaunted by his insulting interruption. "The Great King wants only an oath of obedience and his taxes from you. Nothing else. Think about it, Leonidas. Think about his proposal. You have nothing to lose except a few words and a little money." "We will lose something more important than that. We will lose our freedom. By giving an oath of obedience, we will trample on our citizens' most important right." "If you do not accept you will all die. What will your famous freedom mean after your death?" "And choosing when and how you will die is also freedom" Leonidas answered drily. "Besides, there is something more terrible than death…" "What?" Artemisia wondered honestly. "Death wipes out everything." "Dishonor. That is not wiped out even by death." "You will not be dishonored. Xerxes undertakes" she said, pointing to the man with the papyrus standing behind her "not to dishonor your women and not to desecrate your temples. If you abandon your position and the Athenians now, you will leave and return to your country safely." "This is our country too. Whether or not you have forgotten it" he commented scathingly. "But even what you are saying is dishonor, because there is no greater dishonor than to become a slave without giving battle." "You will not become slaves. It is enough to…" "Enough to what?" "Enough to surrender your arms." Leonidas remained silent for a little while. Then he drew his short sword from its sheath and held it high, the blade shining in the sun. "Come and take them!" he told her decisively. "Let him come and take them himself!"

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Chapter 49

That same evening sacrifices were made to Ares, god of war, to bless the Greek fleet, and to Hades, god of the underworld, to accept those who would travel with the boatman into his kingdom. Then the Three Hundred ate their scanty dinner together, each drinking a cup of watered-down wine so as to have their heads clear. Finally, after they exchanged the customary wishes for an honorable death, Leonidas stood up in the center of the great circle next to the fire so that all could see and hear him. "My brothers… My fellow warriors… Tomorrow the Persian will strike our position with all the power of his hordes. Tomorrow a great day will dawn for all of us. A day of blood and a day of glory. "Many of us, maybe all, will not return. Will never again see the high mountains of our sweet country, will never again embrace mothers, women, children and friends, will not make sacrifices of thanks to the gods in the temples of the city." "To protect everything we love, everything we swore to serve selflessly, everything that makes us men and free citizens, that is why we are here today. That is why we came to stand with our other Greek allies and brothers to fight the invader in a common fight. "The Persian has come in numbers difficult for a man's mind to grasp. He has come in numbers ten, twenty, a hundred, a thousand times greater than those defeated by the Athenians at Marathon. He has come like a god to sow destruction in a country that will not kneel before him because it kneels only to its own gods. "Listen to me, my brothers… The Persian is not simply a king like I am and like the others were before me. He does not take part in the battle but watches it, always from a safe distance. His companions and his men are not equal and omoioi as we are. They are his slaves and his possessions. Every man and every woman in the countries he rules is property of the king, worth no more to him than a goat or a pig. And when those men are led by the Persian king to battle and war, they do not go out of love for their country and their freedom, but under the whip of another slave and only from fear, not from virtue. "This king who comes here today has tasted defeat at the hands of the Greeks at Marathon, and that defeat was too bitter for his pride and his arrogance. He has come now to take revenge, not as a warrior worthy of respect, with daring, virtue and honor, but like a spoiled and wayward child having a temper tantrum. "I despise the crown of such a king, based only on terror and not on the acceptance and respect of his subjects. I despise it because he does not follow laws, but only his own stubbornness and his desires. I despise it because it is the crown of a barbarian who does not strive or struggle for anything noble, but to make all other men his slaves. "That is why we will fight him tooth and nail tomorrow. That is why we will never abandon our position. That is why we will never give up our weapons. Let him come and take them himself! "The struggle will be hard, my brothers. But when did we Spartans ever have easy struggles? And the men who will be lost tomorrow will always stand with us, in the first line of our hearts and our souls, to teach the Persian once and for all how free men live and die!"

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The Gates of Fire

The waiting was over. Early in the morning, before dawn, the Three Hundred and their allies from Thespies got up from the ground, washed their bodies, arranged their hair, polished their shields and helmets with sand, rubbed them with oil, put on their clean tunics, offered libations to the gods and their ancestors, and put on their armor. They formed into groups according to the scheme they had practiced hundreds of times in their gymnasia, and came out in front of the wall. They drew up their phalanx a hundred yards in front of it, at the narrowest point of the pass, on ground that had been carefully cleaned in the previous days for a space of five hundred yards, in the area where they had set the traps for the cavalry. Thirty men on the first line, and ten lines after that. A perfect and compact rectangle of leather, wood and bronze. They rested their shields upright on the ground, supporting them against their greaves, thrust their spears into the ground and waited with their helmets at their foreheads. A light wind was blowing from the north, the air was clear and at that precise moment the sun rose in the east. Immediately Alexander, Leonidas' second subordinate, came out of his position and checked the phalanx's arrangement and direction. Then he looked carefully at the sun and sent his attendant forward. With successive orders, he commanded the men to turn slightly to the right with their polished shields and then tilt them back until they reflected the sun and the attendant was completely bathed in light, shining like someone riding the chariot of the god Apollo. Then he raised his head and looked towards the Persian camp, far away on the plain. Even the large tents of Xerxes and his generals, that had been set up at the rear of the camp, were lighted up by the beam of light coming from all the shields together, reflecting and concentrating the rays of the sun. Shouts and cries suddenly came from the sleeping Persian camp. The earth shuddered like a mother giving birth from thousands of running feet. Exclamations and words of surprise were heard in dozens of languages unknown to the Greeks. But they did not need to know the words. The wonder and surprise were clear from the tone of their cries. The first goal before battle, the most essential, had been achieved. The fanatical and fatalistic men of the east would now believe that a great god, the god of the sun, was on the side of the Greeks. And that was an incomparable psychological advantage. "There is nothing more impressive than the flashing of polished weapons…" murmured Leonidas and raised his spear high, commanding the phalanx to close and to take up battle position. The shields were raised suddenly without changing their angle, then passed to the left arms and locked together, sealing the men's bodies behind a bronze wall. The spears were picked up from the ground and, in one movement, were raised over the shoulders and the shields. The helmets came down from the foreheads, closing he faces in a mask of hard metal. Leonidas, standing on the place of honor to the right of the phalanx of his men, suddenly lowered his sword. The pipes behind the warriors began to play in the strong rhythm of the Spartan martial hymn. The men of the first line took a step forward, stamping their feet. And then another. And another. Leonidas stretched out his spear to direct them. A chant shook the air as the phalanx prepared to march toward the enemy: Forward, brave Spartan children...

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Chapter 51

The structured formation of the Three Hundred advanced to the middle of the field of battle. Suddenly the shrill sound of the pipes accompanying the martial hymns was silent, and the phalanx stopped. Before them stood the first units of Persian fighters, consisting of the best of the nations participating in the campaign, the most faithful to the Great King, the Medes and the Sakas. They were clothed in scaly armor and trousers of sky blue linen fabric. They held shields that covered their whole body made of braided willow branches covered with boiled leather, painted in bright colors. The Medes were armed with spears and cutlasses tied around their waists, while the Sakas held a javelin in one hand and in the other, a huge, biconvex bow made of horn. From their shoulders hung their long quivers full of flat-headed arrows that were especially difficult to pull out of flesh. A large formation of three thousand Medes separated itself slowly like a long snake and came to stand across from the Spartans, leaving an empty space of two hundred yards. The ground had been cleaned of rocks and wood, it was level and smooth. Exactly as the Greeks preferred it for their battles. Leonidas had ordered that it should be carefully cleaned for that reason, in the days before the enemy arrived. An ivory horn sounded from the Persian side. It was a strident sound that was heard three times in succession. Immediately, the Medes raised their weapons and their shields, shouting the praises of the Great King who watched them from the hill next to his tent. Then a long-drawn out whistle was heard, ending in the blaring of trumpets, and the Persian army started to march toward the Greeks. At the same moment, hundreds of arrows were shot off by the Sakas, not so much to wound the bodies of the Greeks as to put a dent in their morale. The iron discipline for which the soldiers of Sparta were famous worked this time too in spite of the hail of arrows. Not a single foot moved, not a single arm was bent, not a single face grimaced. The Three Hundred remained unmoved in their position, upright like the columns of a temple, watching the thousands of soldiers marching toward them under the protection of thousands of arrows. The first Persian phalanx with a breadth of thirty men and a depth of twenty lines, approached them steadily with a rhythmic stride. Behind them, with Saka archers filling up the gaps, followed another four. The force of impact and pressure wielded by a formation with that much depth of men would be unprecedented, since the Greek phalanxes seldom drew up in a depth greater than ten lines. And Leonidas knew that. He had taken measures for that too. When the Persians were at a distance of twenty yards, the Spartan king stuck his spear into the ground as if he wished to surrender. Immediately, as if automatically, all of the soldiers of the phalanx stuck their spears vertically into the ground. But without moving their shields an inch. The approaching Persian lines seemed to lose their organization. The commanding officers looked with surprise at the Spartans leaving their spears, and then turned their heads back, to the place where their general Tigranis stood on a raised platform with wheels. He also was surprised to see the enemy laying down their arms. Mistakenly, he did not give the order to stop. Without their officer's orders, the simple Persian soldiers continued to walk, but their phalanx loosened. They thought that the gods had blessed them with an easy victory without a battle, since their opponents intended to surrender and give in to their terrific numerical superiority. Talk and laughter were heard from the Persian phalanx, and the shields made of boiled leather and willow wood broke up their wall. They had already reached fifty yards distance and they could not see any defensive move at all from their enemies, who stood still with their spears immobilized in the ground. But not their spirit. At forty yards, suddenly, Leonidas gave a piercing howl, leaned his body on the spear, took a step forward, raised it, and held it over his shoulder and shield while he ran like one possessed. Next to him and behind him, two hundred and ninety nine men did the same thing, running and howling like wolves. The Spartan phalanx moved with terrible speed, faster and faster, like a huge arrow with dozens of sharp points and a wall of bronze shields that flashed in the sun. Whatever they lacked in men, the Spartans made up for with their compact density, the metal of their shields and their terrific speed over forty yards. The clash that followed was terrible. The first line of Persians was swept away, many pierced by the heavy Spartan spears and still more trampled by the onslaught. Their wooden and leather shields could not stand up against the bronze Spartan shields and were crushed, dragging with them the bodies behind them. The first line of the Spartan phalanx did not stop to engage the few Persians who remained unscathed on the front line but continued to advance, pressing on with the strength of their muscles and the momentum of their speed. The men coming behind finished off the fallen soldiers, piercing their faces and breasts with their spears. The onslaught stopped at the fourth Persian line and then the real hand to hand combat began. But it was not an even match. The Spartans had the psychological advantage and that determined everything. Their intolerable slowness in the beginning, followed by sudden terror, cut the legs from under the Persians, who lost their grip on their shields and spears. The first line of Greeks pressed forward with their metal shields and stabbed them with their heavy spears, twenty inches longer than the spears of their enemies. In spite of that there were many lines of Persians still upright behind them. Young and rested warriors took the place of those hacked by Spartan weapons. The fray was terrible. Blood and earth. Dust and slime. Broken skulls and spilled guts, severed arms and legs covering every inch of ground. Mired in fallen bodies and severed limbs, the Spartan phalanx had stalled after its breakneck offensive. Leonidas turned and looked at Dienekes next to him. He made him a sign with his eyes through the two round openings of the helmet. "Now?" "Now." Dienekes raised his spear high while Leonidas and another comrade covered him from the sides. He swept it three times, its point drawing great circles above the dust of battle, so it could be seen from the rear. The whole maneuver took no more than three seconds. Immediately the five last lines of the Spartan phalanx broke off and started to move backward without turning their backs, facing the battle so as to be able to intervene instantly if necessary. They went fifty yards and then stood still with their shields and spears at the ready. Immediately, the pipe sounded shrilly. Three of the five lines of Spartans that were still in the battle turned one hundred and eighty degrees and started walking quickly backwards until they took up battle position behind the phalanx that had drawn up a hundred and fifty feet further on. The pipe sounded again with a piercing sound. Immediately the last Spartans, who were still fighting to hold the front, turned their backs to the Persians and began to run, stamping the ground to give an impression of panic and covering the battlefield in a thick cloud of dust. The Persians followed cheering enthusiastically, believing that their enemies were in disorderly retreat. They charged at them, thinking to take advantage of the Spartans' panic. Among the mangled and lifeless bodies of their comrades that covered the ground, their lines dissolved completely and they ran like a stampeding herd through the cloud of thick dust. The moment they passed through the dust cloud and came out into the clear air again, they faced an unpleasant surprise: the battle-ready Spartan lines that had reformed fifty yards back. It was now impossible to react. The thousands of fellow warriors charging forward at their backs pushed them with terrible force onto the metal wall of the phalanx that was waiting for them. The heavy Spartan spears were raised automatically above the shields. The first lines of Persians were skewered on the metal points. The human slaughter was complete. And it was only the first day of battle.

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Chapter 52

Rage. The thick cloth coverings of the imperial tent shook under Xerxes' voice. It was not the delay. It was not the failure of his plan. It was not the six thousand dead and wounded men in a single day. It was the humiliation. Xerxes had never felt that unpleasant emotion before. His army had always been victorious. Cities surrendered or were burned to the ground wherever he passed. No one had ever withstood until now. No one had ever beaten him. The rebellious Egyptians had become pyramids of headless corpses next to the pyramids of the Pharaohs. And now this humiliation. From a handful of men. "Prestige is a king's greatest weapon!" he yelled furiously at Mardonius, who was standing in front of the generals in the tent of the war council. "Sometimes fortune takes the side of the weak and makes them into superhuman beings. But fortune does not last forever. Tomorrow we will crush them." "You said the same thing yesterday, Mardonius." "We should not have clashed with them. We fell into their trap, we did exactly what they were hoping we would do" said Hydarnes in his usual cold way. He was the commander of the imperial guard, the Immortals. "I said that from the beginning. We should have waited and struck on our own terms." "We cannot wait. Our army has been here five days already and our fleet has not yet arrived. Our stores of food are exhausted" countered Mardonius. "The fleet…" the king muttered gloomily. "Only Ahura Mazda knows why Achaimenis, my brother who commands it, is taking so long." "The sea is not the land." The voice sounded from the behind the men of the war council. But it was not a male voice. "Who are you, woman?" Mardonius asked irritably. "My name is Artemisia. I am the queen of Halicarnassus, the ally and friend of the Great King." "That does not give you the right to interrupt the commander and…" Xerxes' voice cut through Mardonius' angry words. "Come forward…" Artemisia obeyed his order immediately. In spite of the familiarity and sympathy the king always showed her because she was the only woman in his army, she always kept a low profile and a humble attitude. She did not wish to provoke anyone. She knew that the generals could influence the emperor, that they could slander her or even conspire to make her disappear. In the end, Persian blood did not flow in her veins. She was only a vassal. "What do you mean, Artemisia?" "The mountains of the land, hard as they are to cross, stay in their place. But when the sea raises its own mountains they cannot be defeated because their power is terrible and they keep changing place." "I don't understand what that has to do with anything." "Let Artemisia speak, Mardonius. We are men of the plains. Her country is near the sea. She knows it well." "Two days ago, just after dawn, clouds gathered in the north, in the direction your ships will come from. A little later the thunder of Zeus was heard and a wind started up. The sun continued to shine but the sea, even in the protected straits, resembled a plowed field. That was not a good sign. In the open sea they would not be a ploughed field but a mountain range. It is not easy to sail with so many warships on such an ugly sea. They cannot find a good place to anchor. And for the heavier and slower transports, things will be worse. So it is difficult to predict when our fleet will arrive and what state it will be in." "What do you propose?" "That we rest the army to consume less food and military supplies and wait until we learn news of Achaimenis." "We have no time, Mardonius is right about that. Even without battles, the supplies of food, water and military gear will run out soon" said Hydarnes calmly. "If they run out, I propose that we withdraw to fruitful Thessaly where there are many rivers and storehouses full of grain, and return when the fleet has crossed the sea and can feed our army." "Impossible! A handful of people cannot defeat the hundreds of thousands of soldiers of the first line that we have here" Mardonius shouted in exasperation. He had planned the campaign. "They have already beaten thousands of our soldiers from the best nations. And they beat them alone. Three hundred men, alone." "Mardonius is right. Your thinking is correct, Artemisia, but if we withdraw now, my prestige will suffer a great blow" Xerxes said skeptically. "And if is learned that the emperor is not invincible, then many nations may revolt behind us in the territories of the empire. My authority is based on fear and obedience. Neither of the two will remain if we follow your advice." "What you say is right, King of Kings. But it is also right that back in Susa there is the wise Artabanus with thousands of reserves, ready for war, and he can deal with any revolt. Besides, who would revolt? The shepherds and the women? The best soldiers of all areas are here with us" Artemisia said, untroubled. "If, later, we defeat the Greeks and dominate Athens and famous Sparta, then this little retreat I am proposing now will not seem to be anything more than a simple maneuver that will be forgotten. Sometimes the means must serve the end. Wars are not won only by numbers but by thought, Great Xerxes. That is what wins wars. And thought says that we must put off the land battle for a little while." "That is impudence and an insult. Throw her out!" shouted Mardonius, calling his guards from the entrance of the tent. A sign from Xerxes stopped him. "What do you mean, Artemisia?" "That we must throw the weight of our military effort onto the sea battle. Everything will be decided on the sea." "She wants to humiliate you, Great King. Or she may be a hidden weapon of the Greeks. A snake in our bosom. Do not forget that her ancestors were Greeks. She speaks their language and she believes in the same gods." Xerxes raised his hand to stop him. "Nonsense… If Artemisia wanted to help the Greeks she would not have campaigned with me. She is a woman, no one forced her to do it. And yet, she is here with her best ships. Sometimes, Mardonius, your passion and egotism blind your eyes." At that moment, the cool Hydarnes chose to speak in the voice of logic. "If we retreat, the delay will be great. The rains of winter will overtake us before we reach Sparta. And it is impossible to move such a large army on wet and muddy ground. We cannot delay that much by retreating all the way to Thessaly. On the other hand, we cannot remain here without food. Famine will decimate our men. Unfortunately, our great army and our rapid onslaught have brought us to a dead end." "And what do you propose, Hydarnes?" "We must take the pass at all costs." "That is what I say too" added Mardonius, with satisfaction. "You will not achieve anything" Artemisia declared loudly for all to hear. "How do you dare?" "You will not achieve anything at all!" she repeated, ignoring Mardonius' rage and looking almost provocatively at the Great King. "When we throw the whole strength of our army at them, then we will crush their spine and…" "No, not in that way. We tried it today and lost six thousand men and suffered a humiliating defeat…" Hydarnes stopped the flow of Mardonius' words. "It is foolish to strike the ox on the horns with your bare hand. You must strike at his throat, where he is vulnerable. There you can kill him in an instant. It is enough to strike suddenly with a well-sharpened knife. That is what we must do." "What do you mean?" "Only a fool insists on mistaken tactics until he is proven wrong. An intelligent man changes them…" Hydarnes answered enigmatically.

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Chapter 53

"Wars are not won by repetition" Leonidas was saying at the same moment. "What do you mean?" "Wars are won by surprise. Tomorrow we will not draw up on the field of battle. Now the Persians know our tactics. Their generals will have studied our movements and taken their measures." "So we're not going to fight?" Dienekes asked, dumbfounded. "Who said anything like that?" Leonidas answered, smiling.

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Theo Papas

Chapter 54

The next morning the Spartans did not gather their phalanx, did not raise their spears or go out before the wall. The Persian scouts looked for them in vain from their raised lookouts. The sun was high in the sky but the area in front of the Spartan wall was still empty. Even the gate with the sliding wooden door at its center remained fast shut. Higher up, on the bastions of the Greek wall, not a single crested helmet could be seen. The place looked eerie and abandoned. "Maybe they have left" Mardonius said to himself when he read the reports from his scouts. "They fought one battle, caused some damage, and retreated to wait for us somewhere else. Or maybe they simply ran away when they understood they won't always be this lucky." "Yesterday they won a great victory. No one abandons a victorious field of battle that quickly" said Hydarnes, skeptically. "But the reports are clear. There is no one on or before the wall." "But behind it?" "Behind the wall they cannot fight. They cannot defend it. No one wins a battle by hiding" Mardonius insisted, looking at Xerxes who was sitting on his throne outside his tent and gazing at Thermopylae four miles away. "They have left. Their city is many days march to the south. It is more likely that they want to fight the next battle nearer their own territory. My agents in Athens and our friends from the city of Argos report that the rest of the Spartan army is barricaded in a narrow spot called Isthmos a hundred and fifty miles south of here." Xerxes did not speak. He looked at the battlefield and the narrow pass for a little while and then turned his gaze back to the camp. But he did not look either at Mardonius or Hydarnes. He looked at his servant, Patiramphi, who stood beside him holding the golden cup with perfumed water. "Go and call Dimaratos. He will solve the problem for us," he ordered him. The exiled king of Sparta, who had found refuge in Xerxes' court and was now repaying him for his magnanimity by following him and advising him on the campaign, came to the great tent wearing a simple white chiton without ornaments or jewelry. He bowed before the Great King and then retreated a few steps and stood to attention. A strange thing for a Spartan to do, even in exile, but ingratitude is also a great sin for a Spartan. "I am listening, King of Kings." Xerxes briefly told him of Mardonius' assumption and the objections of Hydarnes. Dimaratos did not hesitate for a second. He replied as if he did not need to think at all. "Mardonius is mistaken. A Spartan never abandons the field of battle. He either triumphs or dies." "How can you be so sure?" Mardonius was indignant. "You have been away from your city for ten years. Everything could have changed." "Fish may grow legs and horses may grow scales, but the law of Sparta does not change. It has been followed with iron discipline for forty generations." "You are sure, then, that Mardonius is mistaken?" "Absolutely. Spartan warriors do not leave." "Then where are your famous warriors?" Mardonius asked angrily, pointing at the empty field of battle. "Are they hiding behind their wall like chickens?" Dimaratos shrugged his shoulders. "I do not know. But I will give you a piece of advice, general" he said, turning his gaze to Mardonius. "Do not go to find them with stalks of wheat in your hands. You will need spears. Many spears…" "I know how to go and find them, Dimaratos" Hydarnes answered him, and came closer. "How?" "The same way they found us yesterday…" "Do whatever you want as you have planned it. The only thing I ask is to pass the straits and march quickly towards Athens. Even though yesterday it seemed very difficult to me" Xerxes muttered tiredly. Then he turned away and walked to his private apartments without saying another word. In spite of Mardonius' optimism and Hydarnes' plans, his mind was on a phrase he had heard a few hours before. A phrase said with certainty and courage in a woman's voice, raised against all of his generals: You will not achieve anything. Everything will be decided on the sea… "Everything will be decided on the sea…" he muttered now, thoughtfully repeating her words. "Bring Artemisia to me… And inform the bath attendants…" "To prepare the hot water and aromatic oils for you?" "Not for me. For Artemisia…"

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Chapter 55

He looked at the yellow cloth of the ceiling with the intensity of a priest before carrying out a ritual. His gaze motionless, his lips pressed together, lines of thought on his forehead. Not a word had come from his mouth for some time. Artemisia sat and turned towards him, looking him in the eyes. "Can I be of service to you, my king?" He did not break his silence or lower his eyes. The fabric of the ceiling continued to monopolize his gaze. Artemisia sat a little higher than his swarthy chest. She opened her red lips and passed her tongue over them to moisten and soften them. The she lightly touched his hairless chest and her hand slipped lower, to his penis that still shone in the half light of dusk, covered with her fluids. Her lips opened again and drew all of it in, her tongue playing upon it with the artistry of Sappho and her daughters as she had been taught by those who came to Halicarnassus from the island of Lesbos. In spite of the undeniable hardness of his member and the slight tremor brought on by his pleasure, the king touched her ebony hair and pulled her softly upwards. Artemisia sat up and looked at him in surprise. Unpleasant surprise. "Don't you like me anymore?" she asked in a trembling voice. Everyone knew what happened to the king's mistresses when he lost interest in them. Xerxes smiled for the first time in many hours. Faintly, but he smiled. "It's not that." "Then what?" He took his gaze from the ceiling and sat up on the pillows of the bed. "I lost many men yesterday…" he said dejectedly. Artemisia, who was still holding his penis in her fingers, felt it loosen like dough placed in warm water. She opened her palm and, with two quick kisses to his underbelly, she got up and sat beside him, looking at him attentively. "You will win, my king. Everyone knows it. No tree can withstand the sweeping wind, no matter how strong its roots are." "I will win, but at what price?" he answered with melancholy. "You have been right every time you have spoken so far, and you do not hesitate to risk your head by saying what you think in front of everyone." "It will not happen again." "Do not be hasty like Mardonius. You will make mistakes." "I do not understand." "I want you to help me." Artemisia sat up and looked at him, puzzled. "How?" "You are Greek…" "I am the queen of Halicarnassus and a subject of the empire" she hastened to explain. "Your roots are Greek, their blood flows in your veins" Xerxes continued undisturbed. "You speak their language and believe in the same gods. I want to learn about the Spartans. I want to understand. Tell me. I trust you, but I don't trust Dimaratos." "I cannot tell you much, my king, beyond what the whole world knows. They are fearless fighters, the best in the world. Many of our cities are descended from common ancestors with Sparta, but Halicarnassus has ties to Athens." She felt his muscles spasm when he heard the hated name. And his skin tighten like a ship's sail in the wind. "Tell me about Athens then." "Hippias knows it better." "Hippias is a dotard who thinks only of revenge and becoming tyrant again. He advised my father on the last campaign and the advice led to catastrophe. I will get rid of him when he ceases to be useful. Tell me about the Athenian soldiers. Are they like the Spartans?" "Athens is not famous for its army, but for its navy. Its ships and its sailors are its great strength." "Sailors did not beat us at Marathon." "They are neither such great fighters nor such upright men as the Spartans are. You do not have as many reasons to admire them in war. They talk a great deal and they quarrel a great deal, but just because of that they also think a great deal. That is their great advantage. Thought. The Athenians would never be in a battle like the one you saw yesterday and today." "Hippias and our spies in Athens have spoken to me of a certain Themistocles. Do you know him?" The muscles of her body tightened. She fought to hide the reddening in her cheeks and the fear in her eyes. She wondered for a moment whether the king knew something about herself and Themistocles. Whether someone had spoken to him. She tried to guess. It was impossible. His eyes were fixed on her and motionless, like black nails. "Do you know him?" Xerxes repeated the question insistently. "Yes. If Leonidas is the famous hand of the Greeks, Themistocles is their cunning mind. Ten times more dangerous, and he is not lacking in valor either. He convinced the Athenians and the other Greeks that they must confront you on the sea." "Foolish. If the Spartans stop our army and we cannot pass, then the sea will be irrelevant. If we defeat them and pass, then it will still be irrelevant." "Wrong" she answered curtly. She had refound her usual self confidence when the conversation left Themistocles and came back to warfare. "Wrong?" "If our fleet does not come in time, our army will not be stopped by Leonidas but by hunger. Whoever dominates the sea dominates the world. In this war, the sea will determine the victor." Her moment had come. Artemisia jumped nimbly from the bed, pulled the carpet that covered the floor of the tent to the side, picked up a rod and drew a map of the area on the beaten ground, as she remembered it from the relief on the table of the council of war. Then, using the rod, she showed him the positions of the Persians and the Greeks on land and sea. She explained her plan quickly, emphatically, persuasively. "If we use our fleet, we can outflank their positions, disembark our soldiers to their south, and surround them. No army can fight on two fronts at the same time. Not even the Spartans." "Intelligent…" "But there is one problem, my king." "What?" "To do that we have to destroy the Greek fleet guarding the sea straits and the passes that is lying at anchor at Artemisio," she answered emphatically. "We must first defeat Themistocles, its commander…" Xerxes sighed. "We Persians do not know the sea, we are men of the plains and deserts." "But the Phoenicians know it. They are the best sailors in the world and they are your subjects." "Exactly. They are my subjects. I do not trust them for such an important mission. Besides that, they are merchants. Men of money, born to buy and sell…" he added suddenly and fixed his eyes on her. "Whereas you…" "I am also your subject." "Not only that," he said meaningfully and stroked her head tenderly. "You also know about naval war. Your country is a sea-going state and you command your fleet yourself." "That is true." "Will you help me, then?" "How?" "By helping my brother Achaimenes and my fleet destroy the Greeks. I know you know Themistocles, the commander of the Greek fleet. I had reports from Halicarnassus. He came to your palace. That man now commands the enemy fleet." Silence. Heavy, intolerable silence. "Am I wrong, Artemisia?" "No, my lord." "Destroy him!" Xerxes said suddenly, his eyes shining with rage. "Destroy him and put your plan into practice." "Themistocles or his fleet?" "I am not interested in one man, no matter how big his reputation is. Without his fleet, Themistocles is naked, a man without weapons, without power." "I will do it," her answer came immediately and decisively. "But we don't have time, my king. You know that. We must hurry." "In the morning they informed me that our fleet is anchored at Afetes, across from the Greek fleet, half a day's journey from here by fast horse. Leave at once and do whatever you think is necessary. With you will come two royal messengers so you can inform me immediately. If we manage to destroy their fleet and transfer part of our army to the south of the Spartans as you propose, everything will be over soon." In a few minutes Artemisia had dressed and left the royal tent. With anxiety and a pounding heart. And not just because she was back with her ships again.

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Theo Papas

Chapter 56

The Immortals. The renowned, elite imperial guard. Professional soldiers, terrifically impressive, trained hard in many years of war from India to Egypt. But not all of them. It was only one of their battalions, one thousand out of ten thousand. They resembled priests at a ceremony. They were wearing their colorful garments—red tiaras on their heads, sky blue caftans to their thighs, porphyry cloaks and green trousers. When they marched together, they looked like a moving rainbow. Their eyes were painted with black kohl and their foreheads with green oxidized copper. On their necks, wrists and fingers they wore their best golden jewelry that flashed in the strong midday sun. The quivers, bows and arrows were slung on their backs, their sheathed swords at their sides, and in their hands they held their spears, engraved with the royal symbol, a golden pomegranate, shined to perfection by their attendants. It was an imposing sight, unquestionably magnificent, worthy of an imperial army. Behind them a wall of dust confused the sight and created an imposing background that heightened the impression. The attendants of the Immortals, who followed their masters everywhere, had been ordered to carry branches with them and to drag them over the dry ground. Farther back, the other nine thousand Immortals stamped their feet on the ground, stirring up even more dust and creating a rhythmical pandemonium as if the underworld were quaking. "Nobody move…" Leonidas gave the order softly to the watchers standing on the wall above them, watching the advance of the battalion of Immortals from cracks in the cliff, unseen themselves. Beneath the watchers, with their backs to the wall, the attendants were spread out. Soldiers who were not omoioi and equal citizens of Sparta, but helped the army as light infantry, armed with slingshots from which they shot round lead pellets weighing thirty grams, that were easy to carry in large amounts. Behind the double wooden gate in the wall stood a small phalanx of sixty Spartan fighters in a long rectangle with its narrow side four yards long, the length of the gate in the wall. A long way farther back, the rest of the Spartans were drawn up with all their gear, ready for battle. "Three hundred feet and closing" called the watcher from the wall. "Wait" Leonidas said calmly to the phalanxes of his soldiers. "How long? If they get too close and they have siege machines, the wall won't take it" asked Dienekes. "They can't. We broke the dams and the ground is muddy. They won't be able to carry them here." "They can carry ladders." "They won't touch the wall. They won't get there." "Two hundred feet…" "Load the slings" Leonidas ordered the attendants. Then he looked at the four files of warriors waiting for him behind the gate in the wall. Fifteen lines deep. Sixty men in the first, peculiar phalanx of the attack he was preparing. "A hundred and fifty feet." "Weapons at the ready." In one movement, without making a sound, the Spartans of the first phalanx behind the wall lowered their helmets, picked up their shields, and raised their spears. "A hundred and thirty feet." "Wait. Don't move. Surprise is everything." With a nod, Leonidas ordered the two hewn trunks barring the gate to be taken down. "A hundred feet." His last glance was to his back. Behind the first phalanx were four more, ready to follow the first wave of the attack. The double transverse crests of the officers' helmets waved in the light breeze. The vertical crests of the soldiers gave a magnificent height to their formation. Their shields flashed in the sun. Their spears pierced the heavens. Everything was ready. Leonidas lowered his helmet. "Sixty feet." "Now!" The gate in the wall opened. Dozens of lead missiles left the slings of the attendants simultaneously, like a torrential metal rain.

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With one volley every second, in just two minutes thousands of lead pellets struck the Persian formation and brought confusion and chaos to their lines. If they had worn heavy metal armor like that of the Greeks, the little pellets would not have pierced the bronze and caused wounds or death. But their shields were willow and leather, their helmets glued layers of linen, and their breastplates little metal scales to make them more flexible and so that they could be worn under the impressive uniforms of colored cloth. Dozens of Persians fell on the spot, their skulls pierced by the lead pellets that fell vertically from the heavens, weighing a hundred times more because of gravity. Hundreds of them lost hands and arms, the most exposed and vulnerable parts of their bodies. The whole sky grew dark with the metallic grey of lead. A piercing, eerie sound was heard from end to end of the battlefield. Confused and dazed, the Persians stood still like paralytics and watched the lead pellets mow down their fellow warriors and officers. When they had gotten to the wall without a fight they had been almost sure that the reports were right and the Spartans had abandoned it, but now they were disorganized by the volley of missiles they had never seen and discouraged by their inability to protect themselves with their shields. Immediately after the last group volley, the doors of the gate opened and Leonidas ordered the men of the first phalanx to charge onto the battlefield, stamping their feet to worsen the enemy's confusion. Behind them followed the second phalanx and immediately after that, the third. The fourth and fifth stayed inside the wall as a reserve, following the battle plan. "Forward, children of Sparta!" The first phalanx, only four men wide, fell like a huge wedge upon the disorganized lines of Immortals and opened a great schism, sixty feet deep. Behind them followed the second, eight men wide, and farther behind came the third with a width of sixteen men. Together they formed a kind of blunt point that punched a hole in the Persian formation like an arrow falling on soft flesh. The field of battle was covered with corpses. Some with heads pierced from the pellets, almost bloodless, lying like bodies resting in sleep, others with their faces and breasts pierced by Spartan spears, eighteen inches longer than the Persian spears. Most were missing legs or arms, had cut throats, crushed skulls, or slit bellies with the guts spilling out. Those with slight wounds were finished off quickly but methodically by men of the fourth and fifth phalanxes, who came last from behind the wall before stopping and forming the compact and rested reserve phalanx. Those of the famous Immortals of the first battalion who were still alive turned in disorderly retreat, rushing back towards their camp. A hundred, two hundred, three hundred yards of running, with sides, backs and necks slashed by bronze points and skulls split in two by the short Spartan swords. Colorful bodies adorned half the battlefield, although it was very difficult to make out the blue of their uniforms under the fresh red blood. Sitting on his pedestal in the rear of the Immortals and watching the slaughter, General Hydarnes smiled in satisfaction. His few remaining soldiers were running desperately, and the Spartans chasing them, shouting and cheering. He had achieved what he wanted, an appearance of disorderly retreat. They had copied it exactly. The tactic the Spartans had used yesterday was his today. "Ready!" he shouted his order to the phalanxes of Immortals waiting, rested and intact, to go into battle. Hydarnes took his gaze from his army and observed the field of battle as well as he could through the dust. At the same time he strained his ears to calculate the distance from the heartbreaking cries of his men and the thundering feet of the Spartans chasing them. "Soon they will be within range of our arrows" he observed and gave orders to Fernazi, his second in command. "Get the archers ready and order our fighters to start for the battlefield without much noise." The thousands of archers in the rear lines kneeled, set their great bows on the ground, took the arrows out of their quivers and stretched the cords, ready to let loose a volley of thousands of arrows. "Go…" With a single word, without the usual trumpet calls and piercing horn calls, thousands of Persian Immortals started to advance. Hydarnes smiled again as he saw his rested men marching, ready for war. Everything was going according to his plan. The Greeks had spilled out on the field of battle, chasing their retreating enemies, and everyone knows how vulnerable an army is at that time. At this moment they would have abandoned their weapons and would all be looting the bodies for their valuable weapons and golden jewelry. Exposed. Easy targets for bloodshed. "Attack pace" he gave the order and then, satisfied, stretched out his hand for a glass of cool white wine to celebrate his victory in advance. At the same moment Leonidas, from his position on the right side of the phalanx, turned his head, looked behind him, measured the distance to the wall, and then observed his men. All upright, all in their lines. No one was missing, no one was delayed behind some pile of corpses. The gold and jewels of the Persians meant absolutely nothing under Spartan logic. Spartans never plundered, never defiled the bodies of their dead opponents. Looting was unknown to them. The only thing they took from dead enemies was their weapons, for the prestige. But even that did not apply here, since these were not weapons of copper or bronze. Leonidas listened to the air, calculated the distance they had crossed once more, and raised his hand. Within fifteen feet the Spartan phalanx came to a complete stop, ceasing pursuit. "Retreat!" Immediately the Spartans turned and walked back at a quick pace. When they got near their wall they took up position behind the reserve phalanx that was waiting, ready to fight, its soldiers rested. The few minutes of complete immobility seemed like centuries. It was as if time had stopped and so had their hearts. It was a short period of waiting, the most disciplined period in a battle, the period that required strong nerves and iron discipline. But this time the waiting did not last long. Through the thick cloud of dust, jumping and striding over the hacked bodies and scattered limbs of their comrades, appeared the Immortals of the rested formations that had just entered the battle. They charged forward passionately, believing that they would have inactive, plundering soldiers to face, or else exhausted soldiers collapsing before their walls. They were wrong. As they soon understood.

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Chapter 58

He withdrew, enraged and frustrated, to his apartments, and lay on his bed thinking about the unexpected, unheard of defeat of his enormous army by a handful of fighters for the second day in a row. He lay still while the tears drew lines and made paths over his dark face. Not from grief for the lost Immortals, but from humiliation. Slowly, slowly, while time passed and the heavy hand of melancholy gradually loosened its grasp, Xerxes' mind turned to Artemisia's plan. The more he thought about her words the more convincing they seemed. Once more she was right. Things were exactly as she had said. There was no way out on the dry land, no matter how crushing his numerical superiority was. Her plan on the sea was perhaps the only solution, since in spite of his order that gold and silver from his treasury should be given to any local who could lead the army through the high mountains and take him around to the rear of the Spartans, no one had appeared that whole day. The tent's curtain opened suddenly, interrupting his thoughts, and his personal attendant appeared in the opening. "My king…" "Not now, Patiramphi." "Mardonius just arrived with someone and is asking to see you." "Tomorrow. Today has been tiring. More than tiring. Tragic. I lost many of my best men, nobles from the court of Susa, beloved friends and my brother, Avrokomi. I must mourn and perform libations to the Great God. My brother will pass the bridge of the Great Judge tonight. Call the priests…" But Patiramphi did not move. "Call the priests and the mages!" Xerxes repeated imperiously, surprised at his servant's slowness. Behind him, in the door of the tent, Mardonius appeared. He came into the bedroom and stood before the emperor, looking at him intensely. "I have told you that I do not wish to see anyone, Mardonius. Not even you!" "Then do not see me…" his commander in chief answered enigmatically. "But you must see the man I am bringing with me." "Why?" asked Xerxes, wondering at his general's insistence. "Because he will bring us the victory tomorrow." The emperor laughed sarcastically. "Are you bringing a god with you?" he asked. "No. I am bringing a Greek." Xerxes sat up in confusion. "A captive?" "No. Free. He came of his own free will." "A deserter?" "No." "Then what? Why did he come? And how did he get here?" "By your orders." "My orders? Who is he?" "His name is Ephialtes…" Mardonius said slowly, and smiled meaningfully. "And he is the one you asked for… The one who will lead us over the mountain…"

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Theo Papas

Chapter 59

The Persian camp and Xerxes' tent were far away, four miles to the north. But the Greek camp was right next to the field of battle, behind the slaughter. The whole triangle spreading out before the little wall looked like a meat grinder had ground up thousands of bodies from every nation and tribe in the last two days. The dry ground had absorbed the freely flowing blood and now showed dark and discolored. On the black earth were spread intestines from the torn bellies of fighters, severed legs and arms scattered and mixed up like the limbs of broken clay dolls, opened heads, spilled brains, and urine and feces from men meeting death in the worst way. From the sea to the vertical cliff on the other side it was impossible to walk on the ground. It was impossible even to see it. The bodies rotting in the hot summer sun covered the earth from one end to the other. A new wall of flesh had been raised on the field of battle, hills of human limbs and corpses were formed in the places where heroic hand to hand combat had taken place. Around and above that disgusting scene thousands of flies buzzed, feasting and blackening the horizon. The stink was overwhelming. It filled the air and neither the sea breeze nor the wind from the mountains could blow it away. A few yards to the south, behind the pile of rocks that was all that was left of their wall, the Spartans and their allies the Thespians tried to get their breath, rest their exhausted bodies, and revive their terrified minds. Drooping over their cloaks and shields, those who had gotten out of the superhuman struggle without wounds and those who had been wounded or who had lost one of their limbs were taking advantage of the night's hiatus to bring back their spirits for the next day's battle. At the center of the camp, before a fire where they were heating iron to cauterize the wounds of the soldiers, sat Leonidas with Dienekes and Dimophilos, the commander of the Thespians. Across from them sat Agathis, the captain of the messenger ship that had just arrived from the dockyard of the Greek fleet in Artemisio, bringing the news of the day and supplies. "They lost that many ships?" asked Leonidas, rejoicing inside at Themistocles naval prowess, since he knew who really commanded the Greek fleet. "Yes, it was a terrific battle. On the coast of Euboea the sea is still washing up bodies of sailors and pieces of wood from Persian ships. More than eighty of their ships have been rammed and sunk. If we count those they lost yesterday evening in the sudden storm, a fifth of the Persian fleet has been lost." "But still…" Dienekes murmured doubtfully. "They still have four times as many ships as we do…" "Why shouldn't we keep up the sea battles tomorrow? And the day after tomorrow? A loaf of bread can be eaten all at once or in pieces. That does not change the result. It will be enough if…" "If?" "If you hold the pass" said the Athenian captain. "Our whole plan of defense is based on good coordination. If the Persians get through here, the fleet will have to retreat and sail south to protect our cities, you know that, and then there will be no sense in holding the sea straits or trying to sink their ships." "We are not interested in sinking their ships. We are interested in keeping them far away from here, so that they cannot unload the supplies they are waiting for. Or bring the army south to surround us" Leonidas said with difficulty, because his jaw was dislocated and his mouth bloody from a blow with a nail-studded club that had not succeeded in knocking his helmet off. "As for whether we will hold and how long, only the gods know the future. We merely do what we can." His slurred words were drowned out by a clamor coming suddenly from the left side of the camp, where a spring with drinkable water flowed from the depths of the mountain. There were words of fear mixed with sighs of disappointment, and prayers to the gods, mostly to Ares and Zeus, but also to Apollo, the god of the sun. "What is happening?" wondered Dimophilos and looked around him uneasily. "Persians?" "It is night. No one fights at night, neither Persians nor Greeks. Everyone needs rest." Leonidas raised his head with difficulty and looked to the left, sweeping the whole camp with his gaze. Far behind him, the assistants and servants of the soldiers were hastily cleaning and repairing the weapons that had been damaged by war. Closer to him, the first line soldiers were resting in a boundless, otherworldly silence, looking at family mementos or tenderly stroking braids of hair. Now that the hours of heroism and furor had passed, now that the hours of valor and brave feats were over, now their thoughts went to their families—to respected parents, beloved children, adored wives. To a beautiful image, a warm caress, a tender kiss. Now that nostalgia and longing grew large inside the minds and hearts of his men, now was the most difficult time. "The worst time to hear whispers of disappointment and prayers to the gods…" muttered Leonidas. He leaned on his short sword and got up, moving his stiff limbs with difficulty. His first step was difficult. He clenched what few teeth he had left and fought back the paralyzing feeling of sharp pain, as he had been taught to do when a child. But after the first step he did not allow himself any indulgence, any weakness. He was the king of Sparta, their image and symbol. He had to walk as he did every day. He was the one who must support and revitalize his soldiers' morale. Exchanging words of sympathy with the severely wounded, words of encouragement with the abject, and familiar teasing with those who were simply tired out, Leonidas walked toward the edge of the camp, to the base of the spring where many men were gathered and whispering agitatedly together. When he got there and they saw him, those who had gathered moved to one side, opening a space for him to pass even though there were not only his own fighters there, but also soldiers from Thespies. At this point, where people came from did not matter. Only the spirit mattered. Leonidas walked with a wringing heart to the place where many soldiers were gathered, the place where he had heard the sighs of disappointment and words of prayer. At the center of this mass, all alone next to a half-extinguished fire, stood the diviner Megistias poring over the intestines of a vulture that had fallen from the cliff and been crushed. His face was drawn and worried. In his wide eyes, the irises had disappeared and only an uncanny white showed. His mouth was open and saliva ran from its edges and dripped onto his dirty beard. Dry foam on dried-out lips. He had just come out of the sacred ecstasy, the peak of his art. Leonidas looked at him, unable to understand. Then his eyes fell to the vulture's innards. He did not have the gift of divination, he did not understand anything. The intestines looked the same to him as they did every time, filthy and disgusting. He looked again at the diviner, silently wondering what he had prophesied that disturbed his men so much. What disaster he had foreseen. Or what hope had been erased with his words. Or had he perhaps misunderstood, earlier, and were the murmurings only thanks to the gods for the good omens they had sent? At that moment, as if just recovering from his trance, the diviner shook his head, waving his long white hair, stretched his shoulders and neck and turned to Leonidas. Without speaking. Barely breathing. "What did you see, respected Megistias?" he asked him after a little while. "What did the omens tell you?" The diviner was slow to answer. But when he did, even Leonidas felt the need to pray to the gods. "The Greeks will not see another dawn… Tomorrow will be the last…" answered the diviner in a trembling voice, but with certainty. "That is what the omens show…"

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Chapter 60

The moonlight gleamed on the ornaments as the figures walked hastily up the narrow path between the steep canyons of Mount Kallidromo. A few hours earlier, immediately after the night's trumpets gave the signal for silence, half the force of Immortals, having in the meantime replaced the huge numbers of men they had lost, had gathered as silently and secretly as they could at the edge of the Persian camp a few miles to the west. There, the five thousand men and Hydarnes, who had been made head of the enterprise, met Ephialtes, the Greek traitor who would lead them over the mountain for a leather purse full of gold from the Persian treasury. Now, while the moon was high, the Persian soldiers quickly marched over the Anopaia road that cut the mountain in half, crossing its gorges by passes carved in the rock by rushing waters from the winter rains. "How long will we need, Greek?" "About six hours, my lord. Dawn will find us on the other side of the mountain, behind their position."

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Theo Papas

Chapter 61

The small boy was still out of breath. The sheepskin he wore next to his flesh was soaked with sweat and the clay amulet hanging on his chest, carved with the form of the goddess Artemis, went up and down like a little boat on a stormy sea. "Are you sure?" "It is summer, my master's sheep are still high on the mountain. I watch them." "And you saw them?" "Yes. They went over the path. They were wearing strange clothes, colorful. They spoke a language I didn't understand." "Were there many?" "They walked by for a long time. Their voices woke me. I watched them, but I could not count them in the darkness and I was afraid to come closer." "Someone has betrayed us. It is impossible for the Persians to have known that difficult path" commented Dienekes. "It is easy for the tongue to be loosened when the eye sees gold" murmured the diviner Megistias. "Unfortunately, the omens were right…" "Perhaps the thousand Phocaeans at the exit of the path stopped them." Dimophilos, who knew them better, smiled bitterly. "Do not place your hand in the fire, Dienekes." Leonidas did not comment on what he said. "Gather the officers" he told Dienekes calmly. "The Spartans?" "All of them. We are all equal here in battle and in death." A little while later, around the extinguished central fire of the camp, the officers of the alliance, those that were still alive, gathered to make their decisions. Just before they started to talk, the scout they had sent out earlier arrived, dismounted from his horse and announced that the Phocaians had abandoned the exit of the path and had run away to the hill a little farther back. The Persians ignored them and marched towards the sea. In a few hours they would be there. Leonidas looked to the east, which was turning grey. "Before the sun climbs high, they will have closed off the road that leads south towards central Greece and Athens. They will have surrounded us." "Can we retreat before they close off the road?" asked Dimophilos. Dienekes looked at him as if he had just heard the strangest thing in the world. "Retreat?" "In a little while they will surround us. What are our chances?" "Chances?" This time it was not Dienekes who wondered, but the Spartan Maronas. His left hand hung lifeless at his side. The tendons had been cut and the fingers were dead. But his face was like his cloak, red with rage. "The chances don't matter. You cannot go into battle calculating your chances like a merchant at an auction. We can fight on both fronts. We can face them." "Until when?" shouted Philaretes, the leader of the Arcadians. "What does it matter whether we resist until morning or evening? Or even until tomorrow or the next day? In the end we'll be defeated. That's what logic tells us." Dienekes opened his mouth to disagree, but Leonidas' hand stopped him. "You are right, Philaretes…" Dienekes' mouth closed suddenly. He looked at his king in amazement. So did Maronas and his brother Alpheos, sitting beside him. The Spartans could not believe their ears when they heard those words from their king. Would the Spartans break their law for the first time in their history? Would they retreat?

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 62

The soldiers advanced slowly. First came the beasts of burden, pulling the severely wounded on makeshift carts, those who had been paralyzed by blows to the head or who had lost their legs or were unable to stand upright. Immediately after them, grabbing each other's shoulders like mismatched couples, came those of their comrades who had lost their eyes in the battle and were now being led over the ill-surfaced road by those who still had them. Lastly, behind those, came those with slight wounds who could still control their bodies. Immediately after that began the units of the allies. The Arcadians, the Locrians, the Myceneans. Those who were still alive. Soldiers who brought tears to the eyes of everyone who saw them. Exhausted, broken, dirty. Covered with thick, dried blood from head to foot. On their heads and their bodies, even in the folds of their torsos, their elbows and their lips, there was dust and dirt, black saliva from their mouths, a black veil over their chests and hearts. A few hours previously they had gotten the order to retreat. Only the allies, though. Not the Spartans. That was Leonidas' order. The king stood to the side and saluted them as they left the field where they had fought and found glory, the ground where they had left hundreds of dead fellow fighters and friends. Behind him the Spartans wrote, scratching their names on pieces of tile, tree bark and tablets of wax. Beloved Aristeas…" My honored son Myronas… My respected mother Kleoniki… They were their last letters to their loved ones, to mothers, wives and children back in their country. Although all the Spartans knew how to read and write—it was a required part of their education—some of them did not write a single word. They simply opened their chitons and took out the mementos and souvenirs that had been hanging at their muscular and wounded chests, or cut off a lock of their long hair and wrapped it tightly in pieces torn from their cloaks. When the messengers had received the letters to be delivered to the soldiers' families back in Sparta, Aristonas, the leader of the Arcadians, stood before Leonidas. "I have a request" he said. "Forget it. You must leave at once." "I have a request" he insisted. "If you do not hurry, you will not be able to cross the road. The Persians will close it off and you will be caught like a rabbit in a trap. Then, everything we have done and will do will be lost. You must leave and inform the rest of our army, deliver our last wishes to our families back in our city, and revenge us." "We want to first make libations on the tombs of the fallen" Aristonas told him. "The last priest was killed yesterday…" "At least let us pour a little wine on the ground that covers them." Leonidas took the flask with the little wine that remained, and without another word, went with Aristonas to the graves of the fallen, a little beyond the camp. "And now leave. Do not delay any more." Aristonas looked at the road that led to the south and was lost at the horizon. A cloud of dust was rising far away in the direction of the mountains. It was the Persians approaching. "You still have time to come with us. You can save yourselves…" Leonidas did not answer. He turned towards the wall and started to walk silently. Just before he disappeared among his men, he turned back to Aristonas. "From what? Save ourselves from what?" he asked softly, without waiting for an answer. And then he added in a louder voice. "Be well. We will stay on the field of battle to cover your retreat. Make sure that you stop them at Isthmos, since I did not manage to. That is all I ask… All the rest is unimportant…" Aristonas dried his streaming eyes, raised his hand high, giving the promise the king asked for, and then ran to join his last departing men. Leonidas watched them for a while, a long line of crippled, exhausted warriors who had given their last drop of strength before being forced to retreat. Not defeated. Not ashamed. Simply betrayed. Then his gaze turned inwards. His eyes looked into his naked soul. He saw three images clearly. The images he had learned to confront from a young age. The images of coming death. First his ancestors, the honored founders of the line of the Cleomenes, the kings of Sparta. Then Gorgo, his adored wife, and their children. And finally the gods, those who were on their side in the difficult hours of battle. Among them was Hades, god of the Underworld, whom he would meet before the light of this day went out. In his mind he said a last goodbye to his wife and children. Then he took his gaze from his soul and considered his body. A body covered in mud and dust, a vigorous but wounded body. He could still feel the eyes of his beloved Gorgo looking at him in adoration. He felt his knees loosen and his heart melt with love. His eyelids fluttered and he shook his head slightly. To his mind came the prophecy of the Pythia from the oracle at Delphi: Either Sparta will be lost or one of its kings will die... He raised his eyes and observed his men for a while, scattered about their camp, which was now empty and looked enormous. A hundred Spartan soldiers who could bear arms and fight. One hundred out of three hundred, who would soon go to meet the rest. Most were looking down at their hands, which were rubbing and shining the coin every warrior carried on him when he left for battle, the coin to pay the boatman of souls that would carry him to the other world. Some were carefully combing and oiling their hair, some were washing their faces with water and wiping their beards, and some were pouring their last wine on the ground, chanting prayers to the gods. They were preparing to die.

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 63

Leonidas was standing upright to the right of the phalanx, in the most dangerous position, the one that was not protected by the shield of any comrade. Next to him and to the left was Dienekes, then the two brothers, Alpheos and Maronas, and then followed, in the first line, all the Spartans that were left of the Three Hundred, those that could stand on their feet and bear arms. A hundred fighters in all. All the others were dead or dying. This time their phalanx was not drawn up in the narrow pass in front of their half-ruined wall. This time it was spread out a few yards to the south, at the widest point of the pass, so that everyone could be in the front line, the place of honor, face to face with the enemy. Behind them, in the second line, were the fighters from Thespies who were still alive and who had refused to abandon the field of battle of their own free will. They stayed to fight to the end with the Spartans. First, at the right end of their lines, was their leader, Dimophilos. In the third line was the light infantry, the attendants of the Spartan soldiers and the freed slaves. Leonidas himself had freed them and their families a few hours before and the messengers bringing the last letters and wishes of the fighters back to Sparta, also carried a royal decree of freedom for their wives and children. "So they can fight and die as free men" the king had said. "It is hubris to fight and die when you, your wife and your children are still slaves…" That was all. Four hundred and thirty warriors in all. The sun had already climbed high when the hordes of the Persian infantry appeared behind the wall. Tens of thousands of soldiers of every kind, shape and appearance filled the pass and the valley. To the south, the column of dust raised by the phalanxes of Immortals marching to surround them got closer and closer. The great hour had come. Seeing the nearly imperceptible murmur and nervousness of his soldiers at the sight of the huge mass of enemies, Leonidas left his line and came out in front of the phalanx. He turned his face to his soldiers, raised his sword high and, as well as he could with his wounded jaw, gave a war cry: the call that accompanied the pipe in an attack: "e, le, le!" It was repeated feverishly. Cheers of enthusiasm came from his men. Swords and spears were raised high in the air. It was a rare phenomenon in an austere Spartan phalanx, but a moment like this was also rare. The rarest in Spartan military history. The rarest in the military history of the world. Leonidas lowered his sword. The cheers stopped as if a knife had cut off the voices in air. The swords and spears were lowered. "Eyes on me!" ordered the king as he saw the eyes of the warriors, mainly those of the soldiers from Thespies and the attendants, fixed behind him, at the enemy in the distance who was approaching fast. "Only on me!" First his voice was heard. Strong and stentorian, in spite of his wound. Then dozens of voices were raised with it, stentorian in spite of their wounds.  Forward, brave Spartan  children of citizen fathers… They sang the Hymn of Bravery, the war hymn of Sparta, all together. For the last time. A little while before the bright summer sun was hidden by the thousands of arrows shot off at the same time by the famous Saka archers, the Kisian and Bactrian infantry marched forward at a fast pace. When they saw that they could finally cross the ground that had been drenched with their blood for the last two days, their lines dissolved and they started to run for the first time, cheering, without being whipped from behind by the Persian officers. They threw themselves on the few stones of the wall that were still in place and started to push and pull them in fury, until they had taken them all down. Now that the pass was open from one side to the other, they removed to the right and left, forming a wide passage. Then they stood and waited, looking at the few wounded and jaded men of the Greek phalanx who stood to the right at a distance, holding whatever weapons had not broken and some more they had managed to salvage from their reserves. Trumpets sounded piercingly, breaking the silence that followed the barbarians' shouts. A loud, shrill, long note from a horn was heard. From the left, six white imperial horses, covered with purple cloth and gold-embroidered linen, walked slowly down the passage formed by the Persian soldiers. Behind them they pulled a high golden chariot that flashed in the noonday sun. In the chariot, standing upright, was a tall, swarthy man covered with jewelry. His head was painted, his eyes outlined in black, his lips porphyry. The rest of his body was naked, anointed with palm oil and scented with balsam and myrrh. Xerxes stopped a few yards before the end of the passage. He raised his eyes and looked, motionless and silent, at the few Greek soldiers drawn up to face his army. His expression was sullen, but his eyes were triumphant. Without saying a word, he lowered his hand to the belt he wore around his waist and pulled a long, curved sword, adorned on its hilt with precious stones, from its sheath. He raised it high in the sunlight, and the polished metal flashed like lightning. The god of the sun, winged Ahura Mazda, had spoken. When the sword came down, the Persian cavalry waiting behind him charged forward.

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 64

A battle like the angry sea. Like the waves breaking on the shore, taking the boats with them or like a violent tide sweeping everything from its path. Even before the Persian cavalry reached the Greek's position, they had taken out their bows and shot dozens of arrows. They surrounded the phalanx and urged their horses in a circle around it, trying to disorganize it and raising a cloud of dust that completely obscured the field of vision. Then, in the dust, the formations of the Persian infantry appeared. Blue caftans, many-colored shields, swarthy faces. Spears held out, clubs with metal nails, curved knives of dark metal. And then time froze as the gods put the finishing touches on the image of human slaughter that would follow. "Close the lines!" ordered Leonidas as he took up position on the right side. "Forward march, shields held out!" Before the words were out of his mouth, the Sakas fell on the meager Spartan phalanx and battered it with their huge mass and the depth of their lines. It was wood on wood and metal on metal. There were broken javelins, torn shields, and slashed breastplates that left the chest uncovered. The Spartans took a hard blow, but they lasted. Many fell in that first clash, and others from the second line immediately came forward and took their place, reducing the depth and toughness of the Greek formation even more. The only piper left saw Leonidas' raised spear and played the rhythm for the free-for-all. The Spartans each chose an opponent and attacked in merciless hand-to-hand combat, this time without formations and lines. In this way, as the branches of the willow tree bend and absorb the force of the wind, they lightened the terrible pressure of the thousands of Persians pushing them slowly but surely towards the steep cliffs of the coast and the sea. Leonidas still had not used his spear, but his shield had been smashed in the conflict. He plunged forward, lowering his long javelin with its iron point again and again, and swept away the light, scaled armor of his opponents. Dienekes had thrown away his broken spear and drawn his short sword. Alpheos and Maronas, the two brothers, were standing back to back and fighting like a two-headed monster. All around them flesh was torn, guts were spilled from bodies and the earth was soaked with steaming blood. The shrill sound of the pipe was heard again. The Spartans pulled back together, giving the impression of flight. A hundred and fifty feet farther they stood and reformed, making a rudimentary phalanx and closing up their lines as best they could. Dienekes felt something hot running at his foot. He looked at his body, his abdomen, his thighs. They were not wet, they had not been painted red. Puzzled, he lifted his head and looked to his right. Leonidas, beside him, was the one who was bleeding. A deep cut on the left side of his uncovered chest near the ribs had exposed the bone and was spewing blood. One of the king's arms hung nerveless, and his jaw had left its place completely, showing his broken teeth. Before he had time to ask, before he could say anything, he felt the heavy Persian arrow in his thigh. It had been shot by the horsemen who were charging again, and it went all the way through his leg. For one moment he kneeled, bent to the ground, then he leaned on his sword and managed to raise his body again. With his free hand he pulled out the arrow and threw it away. The Greek phalanx kept its formation for only a few minutes. Its weak lines broke quickly. The tough and disciplined Greeks held, but the lines of the attendants broke. Irregular combat began again, far behind the wall and the pass. Suddenly, a trumpet call sounded from the Persian side and the Sakas retreated. The Immortals had arrived from the south and had closed the trap. Now, they would take over. The victory belonged to them, the emperor's chosen soldiers, the nobles and the pure-blooded Persians. Immediately after the Persian call, the piercing sound of the pipe was heard from the Spartan lines for the last time. The order was clear in the complete silence that had spread out for a little while. Battle in pairs. Rudimentary protection of the back and side. Dienekes turned to Leonidas. Not for protection from him, but to protect him. The king was deeply wounded, his head covered in blood, his chest bleeding, one of his arms useless. Leonidas pushed him away with his good arm. "Protect the man next to you. Not me." Dienekes stood for a moment undecided. He did not speak but looked into his leader's eyes, the bulbs that had completely lost their white color. One glance only. Of farewell. "We'll talk about it at dinner. Hades will host us in the Underworld" Leonidas said to him, as clearly as he could, and made a pitiful attempt to smile. "We didn't manage to stop them…" "But, Dienekes" he answered and for a moment he turned his gaze to the east, to the sea, where the Greek fleet was. "We will manage it… If Themistocles keeps his promise, we will manage it…" Dienekes looked around him in frustration. Hacked bodies, broken weapons, dissolved lines. The place reeked of blood and urine. Pieces of flesh and body parts were scattered everywhere. The faces of his fellow warriors were bloody, dispirited, exhausted. No eyes, noses or mouths. They looked like statues of the gods, made of earth and dust. "We have lost the battle, my king…" Dienekes told him in a heavy voice, his breath coming with difficulty. "The important thing is not who wins a battle, but who wins the war" Leonidas answered him slowly. "and the Persian will understand that soon…"

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 65

A short time later, it was all over. Lifeless bodies of Spartans lay everywhere on the battlefield, pierced by spears, cut by swords, stuck full of dozens of arrows. The area was full of fallen red plumes, red cloaks and red bodies. At a distance of five hundred feet, the earth had turned to mud from the blood. It was muddy higher up too, on the nearby hill where the last thirty Spartans had reformed, creating a circular defensive phalanx and dragging with them, like a precious offering, the dead body of Leonidas. Where they had stood without weapons, without shields, without armor, and where they were surrounded and raked with hundreds of arrows. Where they fell to a man, battling with bare hands, with nails and teeth. Just before the sun set behind Mount Kallidromo, the golden chariot made its appearance again. Standing on it was the emperor. The wheels bounced over the rough ground on the hastily cleared paths between the hacked bodies. He made the rounds of the battlefield and stopped before the hill where the last page of the terrible conflict had been written. Again he raised his sword to the sun, this time in triumph. Then he called the commander of the Immortals, Hydarnes. "Find me the body of their king…" After a few minutes the lifeless body of Leonidas was dragged out by the feet. Two ferocious imperial guards threw it in front of the golden chariot. Xerxes looked at the man lying before him. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it at once. He stood silently for a little while. Then, with a double axe in his hand, he descended to the bloody ground. He approached Leonidas, bent, grasped his long, muddy hair, raised the head from the ground and, with a sudden blow from the axe, cut it from the neck. Then he raised his trophy high and climbed back on his chariot. The emperor's charioteer lashed the ornamented horses and the chariot started back towards the Persian hordes. The breeze that suddenly started to blow from the sea stirred the bloody hair on the severed head of Leonidas. The guards, the soldiers and the subjects of the Persian emperor enthusiastically cheered his triumphant passage. When they reached the point where the Spartan wall had once stood, the emperor stopped suddenly. He looked around him, first east to the sea and then west, to the high vertical cliffs of the mountain. With a sudden movement, he threw Leonidas' severed head into the hands of Mardonius. "Put it on a spear and stick it high on the cliff" Xerxes ordered, his voice harsh with boastfulness. "So it can see the battlefield where it was defeated. So it can see our army marching towards Sparta. So it can see our fleet embarking for Athens. So it can see Greece swept away by the power of the King of Kings."

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

The Lion and the Scopion

In the heavy summer heat without a breath of air, humidity covered the coast like a damp veil as she sat on the mountainside and looked at Artemisio. Motionless. Absorbed. Ten miles of sea to the opposite coast was not much, even on a suffocating evening like this one. Neither were the dozens of lights twinkling in the depths, some moving feverishly and others that shone steadily as if reflecting the celestial dome. Nor were her own emotions. Two days after she arrived at the Persian dockyard at Afetes and two sea battles after boarding her flagship, the Cassiope, the Greeks had abandoned their dockyard at Artemisio and retreated. With them went Themistocles. Unharmed. Certainly unharmed. She knew that already and it filled her with relief. And with fear for the future. Because how could she face him again? In bed or at sea? Alone or with his ship, the Artemis? She shuddered when she thought about it. The first time they clashed she had seen her name written on the Athenian ship, above the two open eyes that were painted on its prow, as on the prow of every ship, to make it look like a live sea monster. It wasn't hard for her to read. She had spoken and written Greek since she was a small child, it was her language. But it was hard for her to understand. Why? Why her name? "Because Artemis has been my protecting goddess since I was a youth, since the days of my military education in the mountains" Themistocles had told her simply when they met in secret the evening before. "Why should I not have the same protection on the sea?" His cool answer froze her heart. She had hoped for something when she saw the name. She had hoped that he wanted her with him, not just as an ally in the fleet, but as a companion and regent at her side. But when she heard his conventional explanation she said had no words to say. "Of course, it's not just that…" Themistocles had continued, looking at her with his large, slightly protruding eyes and making her heart pound again. "What else?" she asked expectantly. He did not answer but only smiled. She understood immediately. Neither the darkness nor his thick beard could hide his smile. His eyes betrayed him, that warm, cunning gleam in his eyes. "My queen…" The rough, breathless voice brought her out of her daydream. She looked away from the sea's horizon to the beginning of the path climbing high up the pine-covered hill, where she had sat gazing at the opposite shore since dusk. As soon as her eyes got used to the darkness she could make out the Cassiope's helmsman, the mature man who had taught her the secrets of the art of navigation. "Tell me, Diomedes… What do you want?" "I don't want anything. The admiral has summoned an emergency council." "Now?" she asked, and looked at the moon, which was already high. "Yes, now. You must go at once. The messengers just arrived with the emperor's commands and the news from Thermopylae." "What news? We have known of the death of Leonidas and the Spartans since this afternoon. The fires and smoke signals on the mountain tops told us clearly. What does Achaimenes want now?" Diomedes shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. But the Persian is asking for you and if you want the opinion of a man who has served many masters, you would do well to go at once. He doesn't look happy, my queen." "What's wrong with him?" "He reminds me of a god who just drank vinegar and bile instead of nectar and ambrosia."

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 67

In the tent of Achaimenes' and of the Persian naval council the commanders of the fleets of the more important nations were gathered, those that were participating in the campaign with warships and transports. First came Mervalos, commander of the Phoenician fleet, the most powerful and experienced in seamanship. Next to him stood Kyvernes, commander of the ships from Lycia, and Amires, the Egyptian admiral. Farther back were the commanders from Caria, Cyprus and Cilicia. They all looked disgruntled. Most of all Achaimenes, brother of Xerxes. In his hands he held a parchment with a golden border. Flung on the table before him were the leather cord and the broken piece of lead stamped with the imperial seal. They were the orders Diomedes had spoken of. "Greetings, brother of the Great King and highest of the…" "What do you have to say about this?" Achaimenes cut her off rudely and showed her the papyrus he was holding. "I might have something to say after I have read it." "It is an imperial decree. It just got here with the rest of the decrees." "What does he decree?" "Something that concerns you." She did not like his tone. She did not like his manner. He scared her. "What has the Great King decreed concerning me?" she repeated slowly. No answer. Only silent disapproval. Her apprehension grew. It must be bad news. Probably bad news for her. The Persian admiral stretched out his arm, decorated with jewelry and painted with carmine, fluttering his fingers as if he was chasing away a cloud of flies that annoyed him. "Get out of here..." Artemisia turned to leave with the others. "Not you…" muttered Achaimenes grimly. "You stay… You and my guards…" When the place was empty the admiral commanded his soldiers to close the tent flap, sat on his raised armchair, called her to him and pointed to the empty space in front of the table with the open Phoenician sea charts. His widened nostrils audibly forced out the wind from the storm raging in his breast. His eyelids, outlined in black, opened and shut nervously. Lines of rage were carved on his face, which shone with oil. His fingers unconsciously squeezed and released the papyrus. "What did you do?" he asked her coldly. "What did you do to the emperor?" The color drained from Artemisia's face. What Xerxes did to mistresses who overestimated their power or became dangerous or simply bored him, was known to everyone. In that moment many images passed through her mind: beautiful severed heads with ebony hair adorning the signposts of the imperial road, shapely bodies buried whole in the desert of Lut, scattered female body parts torn by the imperial hunting falcons on the mountains of Alborz, and scattered bones whitening in the hot sun of the plains of Kabir. Perhaps now a similar fate awaited her. She had probably overstepped her limits in the war councils, making Mardonius or Hydarnes angry, and one of them had slandered her to the emperor. Or she had become too bold in the personal moments she spent in the Great King's tent, and brought his legal spouse's wrath down on her head. Or maybe Xerxes was just tired of her and would send her far away to get rid of her without creating any problems for the war effort. She could not know what exactly caused his rage. But the more she thought about it, the more possibilities there were. It explained Achaimenes' haste. It explained his grim face and abrupt manner. The decree concerned her and it would be carried out immediately. Unconsciously she brought her hand to the grip of the sword hanging at her waist and looked behind her. The Persian guards were still standing on either side of the entrance to the tent, making no move to come near her. Across from her, Achaimenes watched her coldly. "On the day you came, my officers were looking for you all over the dockyard after the Greek raid. They couldn't find you anywhere" he said drily. "Where were you?" "What?" Her surprise was complete. "I was battling on the sea with the rest of our fleet." "I mean later. That evening. You were missing, Artemisia. And your ship was missing with you." Now it was confirmed. Achaimenes knew her secret. And if he knew it, the emperor knew it too. That explained his confident decision. She swallowed. It was certain now. Her end would come soon. The imperial decree had arrived. Execution for treason. "Will you tell me?" asked Achaimenes and raised his hand to signal the officer of his personal guard, who approached together with the admiral's scribe and the huge black eunuch from Nubia who acted as executioner. "We don't have time…" In the moments before she heard the men's steps approaching her, her thoughts traversed the hours that had passed, hours of battle and hours of peace, hours with clenched teeth and hours with open lips, hours full of blood and hours full of love. She had gotten to Afetes in the afternoon, two days before. She arrived at the worst time. An alarm was sounding throughout the Persian camp. There was feverish, almost paroxysmal activity on the sandy shore where the strongest squadrons in the Persian navy, the triremes from Phoenicia, Lycia, Egypt and Halicarnassus, were drawn up. Neighboring bays held the ships from Cyprus, Cilicia, Thrace and Ionia. Some of them were already completely in the water, others were being pushed in by slaves and still others had thrown out rope ladders and were waiting for their spearmen and archers to climb on board and man the combat section of the deck, reserved for raids and assaults. The petty officers bawled out orders like rabid dogs in their attempt to board the crews quickly, the captains ran left and right around the wooden hulls checking the dryness and tightness of the vessels and the trumpets sounded piercingly for the last stragglers to hurry. The whole sandy beach was full of clashing, blending, competing odors. The cool scent of pine from the hill behind the beach, resin and pitch used to caulk the wooden joints of the ships, and secretions of unwashed male bodies full of adrenaline. "What is happening?" "The madmen…" a helmsman from Caria, dragging the double oars of his rudder with him, told her. "They're coming like sheep into a wolf's mouth…" he explained, and pointed to the sea. "The admiral of the fleet promised twenty golden darics to the first crew that sinks or captures a Greek vessel." Artemisia did not ask for more explanations. She just looked at the horizon to confirm the man's words. A formation of about two hundred vessels was coming directly towards them with furled sails. Then she looked around her at the ships of her own fleet. Her side must have more than six hundred battle-ready ships that could sail at once, perhaps more than seven or eight hundred if they could wait a little while longer. One Greek ship to three or four Persian ships. They would battle on an open sea ten miles wide, on which they could deploy a thousand or two thousand boats in full formation so as to take full advantage of their crushing numerical superiority. "They are mad, they come to the wolf's mouth of their own will…" she murmured in agreement, confirming the helmsman's words, and strode quickly towards the center of the dockyard where her own ships were berthed. She changed on board her flagship so as not to waste time. She took off her jewelry and her garments and, over a simple linen chiton, she put on the bronze armor that she kept in the little wooden storeroom at the bow of her ship. Then she took her place on the high platform at the stern. A wave of determination and excitement swept through her face and spirit. She inspected her rowers on both sides of boat. All three rows of men, one above the other, were in their places with their callused hands grasping the handles of the oars. Then her eyes went to the front end of the boat, to the bow. The signalman and the lookout who would oversee communication and navigation were standing upright in their places. Above them, in the two wide passageways of the deck, the five archers and ten solders who would protect the ship were standing. The petty officer ran back and forth among them in a fury, yelling orders at the rowers. The piper next to her waited with the mouthpiece of his pipe between his lips and his chest expanded. Diomedes was ready behind her, with the double oars of the rudder in his hands. A thrill of pleasure ran down her spine as she watched her ship get ready and breathed in the smell of two hundred male bodies packed together in a hundred and thirty foot wooden ship. Her other four vessels were already in formation next to her and were ready to start with her. She raised her eyes high and looked at the furled sail, tied carefully to the middle mast. The distance was short and the battle would start soon, and that meant moving only with the oars to build up power and speed, and also to avoid any disasters from the unpredictable wind. In sea battles with ramming, precision and coordination played the first and most important role. Satisfied by what she saw, she strove to remember any last detail she might have forgotten, but she could not remember anything. They were ready. The signal from the Persian admiral was given from the top of the hill when the great horn roared three times. Thousands of wooden oars were raised simultaneously into the air. The pipes of the ships sounded piercingly. The oars were buried in the water and pulled backwards with a loud bellow from the rowers. Then out again, in again, pull again, in a steadily increasing rhythm. The Persian armada sailed. Only one hour later they were quickly approaching the Greek fleet. Artemisia, at the center of the Persian formation with the Phoenician ships to port and the Egyptians to starboard, looked at the horizon and calculated their position and speed. The longer she watched the two hundred Greek triremes drawn up in a straight line across from them, the more she wondered. Their own formation stretched farther than the Greeks for about two hundred ships to starboard and another two hundred to port. They would outflank them and encircle them at once. The Greeks would be caught like a rabbit in a trap. They would be trapped and sunk before they could find a way to escape. "What is he doing? Is he that stupid? Or that brave?" she wondered, this time shivering with fear for Themistocles. "Or is he simply insane? Has he really put a little fleet like this on such an open sea? It is suicide…" she murmured, and the last word raised the black flag of grief inside her. The cries of her quartermaster, who stood with his polished shield on the bow receiving and sending light signals to the other admirals, interrupted her gloomy thoughts. The man on the other side shouted loudly, but his voice was drowned out by the sharp sound of the pipe and the clamor of the voices of the crew. Now he had put down his shield and raised his arms high, opening and shutting one hand hastily and pointing ahead. That meant that the signal had been given to sail at attack speed, the highest speed the rowers could manage, the speed for ramming. As the Cassiope's prow cut through the water, the wind blew the hair streaming from under her helmet and drops of sea water moistened her face. She loved this feeling of speed on the sea and the sense of coming battle, but it made it hard to hear and see. Artemisia stood up, holding on by the rail, and brought her other hand up to shade her eyes against the sun as she observed the Greek fleet. No, she was not analyzing the enemy's formation and their rigging to divine their battle tactics. She was not thinking about battle on the sea at all at this moment. She was thinking of him. He had not left her thoughts for a single day. After all that had taken place in her bedroom that summer's night, he would never leave them. Because the ties that bound them would hold for a lifetime. Her eyes darted feverishly from the prow of one Greek ship to the next, looking at the martial emblems of the Greek cities painted above the rams. Mermaids, dolphins, eagles, winged horses, entwined snakes, lighted torches. She searched attentively through them all. Her life with Themistocles might depend on her powers of observation. If she could make sure she ended up opposite him, the chances were better that he might survive the calamity coming to him and the other Greeks. She would make sure of that. She would do what she could. But no matter how hard she looked she could not make out images of snakes, owls or olive trees, the symbols of Athens and its protector, the goddess Athena. She was too far away and the hundreds of ships rowing in a frenzied rhythm raised a mist and a haze as if the winter rains had come. "Let whatever the gods wish to happen, happen. I did what I could. I offered him the hand of friendship and he refused. I asked him to marry me and he rejected me. I tried to save him before it was too late and he said no. And now he wants to destroy himself…" she murmured, and turned her attention from the prows of the Greek ships. But not from the ships themselves. That she now looked at in surprise, almost appalled. Just before the two fleets clashed mercilessly, each trying to disembowel the other side's ships with their bronze rams in the famous tactic of diekplou, the Greek formation started to change. Their oars dug into the water and pulled only on one side. The line of their bows opened and the ships spread out, leaving space between them. There is no worse mistake in a naval battle than to leave space between ships, because that way the enemy can sail into the space and ram the ships from the side. The Persians could not believe their eyes. The Greeks were turning their backs. Their formation was breaking up. They would not stay and fight. They had come out on the open sea in the hope that the Persians would not answer their challenge, and now they were running in fear from the unbelievable sight of six hundred fully armed ships rowing towards them at full speed. The commanders were dumbfounded. They felt a strange blend of enthusiasm and disappointment. Easy victory, little glory, few gifts from the emperor. Artemisia looked around her at the Persian armada. And then to the back of their formation, to the high ship that followed it, the ship with the porphyry sail with its golden border and the great kriari, the male sheep with the curled horns, as its figurehead. To the flagship of the whole Persian fleet, the ship of Achaimenes that was now giving orders with light signals: encircle the Greeks and attack them. Moment by moment, distress grew within her. This might be their great chance. To trap them, not to allow them to escape. To hunt down the Greek fleet and sink it, to dominate the sea routes and free up the movements of the Persian army. "But he can't be such a fool… Themistocles can't have made that big of a mistake… It can't be…" she repeated, feeling her ship gain even more speed. She could not believe it. "He can't be such a fool…" Not the Themistocles she knew, anyway. Not the one she had met and slept with. Not the notorious and resourceful leader of the Athenians. Before she had time to shake off her distracted thoughts, the two ends of the Persian fleet had already started to row forward in an attempt to close the sides of the pincers before the Greeks could escape. She watched the ships from Caria, Cyprus and Thrace hastily outflank the enemy fleet as a storm brewed inside her, an ugly foreboding that she could not tame. He raised her eyes and looked at the Greek fleet again. And then she understood. And a shudder ran through her. They had been wrong. The Greeks were not leaving. At that moment the Greek ships, the oars on their port sides working furiously and the oars on their starboard sides motionless in the air, their bows opening to the front and their sterns remaining still, completed their new formation. Like a giant sea daisy, the Greek ships formed in a tight circle with rams sticking out across the whole front. The image resembled a huge sea urchin spreading out its sharp spines. There were no exposed or vulnerable points anywhere, there were no sides uncovered. The center of the circle was completely covered by the sterns of the ships. With an unexpected and ingenious move, they had managed to transform the open sea into a narrow battlefield, and their disadvantage into an advantage. Before the Persian ships could hurriedly close their pincers and form their own, larger circle, the Greek fleet struck like lightning. At a signal given from some central ship, the Greeks started to sing their martial hymn in stentorian voices, and their ships rushed forward with all the speed their oars could give them. Artemisia rubbed her eyes, unable to believe what she was watching. The Greek ships shot out in all directions at once, with perfect synchronization and coordination, like the rays of the sun pulled by the mighty Apollo. The Persian navy was struck before it had time to complete its maneuver and draw up in battle position. But even if it had managed to do that, the circle it formed had such a large perimeter that its three-to-one numerical superiority did not help. They would have needed twice as many ships to close that circle. And now it was too late. Their ships were in loose array, their unprotected sides exposed to the Greek rams. "Our only hope is to sacrifice some of our ships to trap the Greek ships when they ram us. We have many ships, we can offer some for bait to slow them down, and then we'll strike with the rest" murmured Artemisia. Her ideas were correct, based on the tactic of ramming usually followed in sea battles. But this time they did not apply. Because the attack planned by the Greeks was not based on ramming enemy vessels. It was based on surprise, on instantaneous direct strikes while moving and swift withdrawals. By now the Greeks had achieved their first goal. It was time for the second: the instantaneous direct strikes. The Greek ships came forward with all the speed their oars could give them. According to the battle tactics that were usual at that time, they should now attempt the diekplou. That is, they would approach the enemy ship from the side at a short distance, as if they were simply going to pass it. When the two ships lay parallel to each other, with a sudden maneuver, they would turn vertical to the enemy and ram its unprotected side. They would strike with terrible force, delivering a deadly blow and opening a great hole in the wooden keel. Then the rowers would row backwards. The attacking ship would detach itself from the rammed one and quickly withdraw, before the enemy waiting on the deck could take advantage of the contact to storm its deck. "Archers at the stern! Soldiers left and right of the rowers! Weapons at the ready!" shouted Artemisia as she waited for the blow of the ram, planning to board the Greek ship before it could withdraw. Capturing an unscathed enemy ship was the only solution. The new ship would replace the one sunk by the blow. "Rowers on the port side row slowly, approach the starboard side of the ship and cover the empty space to…" Her words stopped abruptly. Her eyes were fixed on the fast-approaching Greek ship. It was only a hundred yards away. She could clearly make out the white sail tied to the mast, but also the wooden statue above its ram, a mermaid holding two entwined snakes, the symbol of the goddess Athena. "It's Athenian…" That was all she managed to say, as her eyes focused a little above the ram and the two painted eyes. On the ship's name, written clearly in red: Artemis. "It's him… It can't be anyone else… she murmured, the instant she felt the crash of impact. The few seconds of delay were crucial. The Artemis struck the Cassiope from the side and the flagship of Halicarnassus shook and shuddered as if in a raging gale. The impact was so strong that the seats of the rowers were almost pushed into the sea. The soldiers standing ready for battle fell overboard and, in their eighty pounds of bronze armor, sank like stones. The archers lost their quivers and arrows, the petty officer had fallen into the hold, and dozens of the rowers had broken fingers and dislocated shoulders from the violent smashing of the oars they held. But her ship held. And stayed afloat. Because the Athenian vessel did not strike vertically with its ram to open a great hole in the Cassiope and sink it. It passed right next to it with the oars withdrawn, and its hard wooden rail snapped off the Cassiope's oars like twigs, literally shaving them off. It was a calculated blow with controlled results. No ship was sunk, but the Cassiope lost all the oars on its starboard side and half of its rowers, who were unprepared for the blow and killed by their own oars. For one instant, as if time had frozen, the two ships stopped and embraced each other like long-lost lovers. But the same did not happen with the ships around them. Uproar and crashes came from dozens of points at the same time. The Greek ships charged into the empty spaces between the Persian ships, but they did not stop to carry out the maneuver of diekplou and ram them. They simply passed quickly by their sides, shearing off the Persian oars with their rails. The enemy ships became useless and many rowers were killed or lost their hands, legs or spines. The Greek ships did not even stop to board. They were satisfied with crippling the Persian ships and inflicting losses on their crews, while they themselves got away safe and sound. None of that happened to the Cassiope. The ship from Halicarnassus tried to recover from the clash, while the Athenian went ahead at a very slow pace, as if it was not eager to leave. "Go…" The voice from the stern of the Athenian ship caught Artemisia's attention. Her eyes opened, as did her mouth, but no sound came from them. She looked across to the overwrought face with the high cheekbones, snub nose and decisive glance. She looked at it and her heart longed for him more than it had before, when she was going into battle. She looked at him and her knees loosened worse than at the moment of impact. "Themistocles?" "Go. Turn back or take down your emblems. Our council of war has put a price of ten thousand drachmas on your head. All the captains of the Greek fleet will be hunting for you." "They don't need to hunt for me, I'm here. Let them come!" she told him, partly indignant, partly flattered. "Go!" Slowly, their ships drew apart. Artemisia looked at him without speaking as he withdrew in his ship, hanging from its raised stern. He shouted something to her, but she couldn't hear him anymore. Maybe he was repeating his warning. "That he put himself in danger to come close to me, to warn me and protect me…" she muttered, surprised herself by how moved she was. She made a trumpet with her hands before her mouth, ready to speak, ready to ask, ready to shout to him. She did not have time. The Athenian ship was too far away. Themistocles, standing at the stern, had stopped speaking. He was simply looking at her anxiously. She put down her arms in frustration. Shouts and groans were heard from inside her ship. Her ears were filled with the clamor from the sea battle raging around her. She wasn't interested. She wasn't interested in anything. The only thing that interested her at that moment was the man with the white chiton and the helmet, retreating from her and becoming lost in the mist and fog of battle. Whom she might not ever see again, whom she might never tell the secret she carried deep inside her. Before turning back to her ship and answering the agonized cries of her men, she saw the white chiton one more time. Themistocles had climbed all the way up the curved stern of the boat and was standing looking at her, gesturing with his hands. His hands were spread towards the northeast, moving emphatically. Then he pointed to the west, to the sun that was setting behind the mountains of Greece. Then back to the northeast. Artemisia turned in the direction his hand was pointing. She saw the island in the distance. And understood. It was dark. A moonless night and the heavens were embroidered with thousands of stars. But their light could not dispel the darkness. It could not make shadows. It was ideal. He got there first. He had come there early and was waiting. His ship was drawn up on the shore, its crew in their place, ready, alert. He himself had climbed down by the rope ladder and was waiting on the shore in the pitch-black darkness, looking towards the west where he was expecting her to come from. In his hand he held a lighted clay lamp, covered for the time being by his palm. A short while later he heard oars splashing softly. He did not hear a petty officer, or the shrill sound of a pipe. He uncovered the lamp in his hand and held it high, like a little lighthouse. The quiet splashing continued to come to his ears until his eyes, which had grown used to the darkness, made out the dark shape over through the water. Her ship appeared out of the darkness calmly, evocatively. The Cassiope moored next to the Athenian ship on the great sandy shore. Her sailors disembarked, dragged her bow onto the sand, and then climbed back in and lay low under the deck. With airy movements, Artemisia's lithe form climbed over the rail and jumped easily to the sand. Themistocles came quickly towards her and stood before her. "Did anyone follow you?" "Even if they had wished to they could not have done so in this darkness. I even had a hard time finding the island. Only the Phoenicians could do it, but they don't like to travel on the sea at night. You?" "No. If they had followed me, I would not see the light of day tomorrow." "Why did you tell me to come here?" she asked him, hoping for an answer that would save both her life and his. Metaphorically the first, literally the second. Not to mention a third who was waiting back in her country. "I want to talk to you, Artemisia." His imperative tone, stripped of emotion, made her feel disappointed. "Tell me…" She looked behind her, to her ship waiting with its sailors at the oars. "I do not have much time. They don't know I'm gone at the dockyard. Tell me…" "Not here." "But you told me to come…" she raised her voice, but stopped suddenly feeling one of his hands, rough with salt, cover her mouth and the other take her by the arm. She followed, not saying a word. Themistocles walked, pulling her behind him, and together they entered the little pine forest next to the sandy bay. They walked a good way, in the dark, until they felt the ground become hard and steep under their feet. They had reached the beginning of the pine-covered slope of the hill that towered over the beach. "Good. Now we're far enough away. Here they can't see or hear us." Artemisia felt his hand release her arm and at the same time she heard his mantle rustle. Her hand immediately went to the belt around her waist, to the sheathed sword hanging next to her body. "Don't be afraid. I have the reputation of being a cunning man, but not even I would go to the trouble to bring you here to kill you. If I had wanted to, I could have done that this afternoon, in the battle." "What then?" she asked, taking her hand off the hilt. "Contrary to what you believe, I came to save your life. I don't want you to die on this campaign." "Why?" "I don't want…" "Why?" she repeated stubbornly. "The Greeks have put a price on your head. They find it humiliating to fight and be defeated by a woman. They want to get rid of you, make an example of you, and send a message to everyone with your death." Artemisia laughed. "I'm here. Let them try." "Today five of the best ships in the fleet asked my permission to ram you. I refused. I said you belong to me. I won't be able to refuse forever." "Why did you do that?" "Because I don't want you to be killed." "Why not?" "You are very stubborn." "And you don't talk much for an Athenian. Why don't you answer? Why do you want to save my life so much, that you put your own in danger?" Silence. An empty space. And then, suddenly, Themistocles took a step forward and touched her neck, moving her ebony hair to the side. He pulled her to him and covered her mouth with his. His silent tongue sang between her lips like a nightingale in spring. They fell together on the bed of soft leaves and pine needles and their bodies entwined like sailor's knots. The caresses and kisses quickly gave place to feverish excitement. Their limbs tangled, their skin shuddered, their hands clasped tightly and caressed wildly. "Now… Don't delay… I want you now…" she whispered full of desire. He responded to her request immediately. He spread her legs and put his naked body between her naked thighs, his penis as erect as a bronze ram. "No…" "No?" he asked, dazed and confused. Artemisia pushed him away with her legs. Then she got up from the ground, supporting herself on one elbow, turned, got up and turned her back to him. "I thought you wanted to…" "Don't talk, fool" she rebuked him in a voice rough from passion. "This is not the orator's podium in your assembly." Then she put her palms on the ground and supported her body on her knees. She bent her waist and lowered her head until the side of her face touched the fallen leaves. She brought back her palms and opened her round buttocks, revealing the most hidden spot of her body. "This may be the last time I see you. I want to give you a gift…" she said slowly, with desire evident in every sound coming from her half open mouth. "Take me in the way you Greeks like so much…" Some time later, both half lying, they were looking at the stars in the sky. Their breath had slowed, but their skins still burned, their bodies were still damp. She was bending over his chest, one of her hands in his short hair, the other lower, stroking his soft and moist penis which, a short time before, had come out of her. "I don't want you to die either" she said tiredly. "Why not? You are now queen of Halicarnassus. You don't need to marry me." "Men are good for politics and war. But for all the rest, they need a woman" she murmured, trying to sound annoyed. But she didn't succeed. "I want us to live together. I feel desire for you, you've never left my mind in all this time." "We are enemies." "Now. In a few weeks the war will be over." "Don't be so sure. But even if it is over, I cannot abandon my country." "It will end. Xerxes cannot maintain such a large army and fleet forever. He will strike a crushing blow to bring the campaign to an end, so that winter will not find him on enemy territory. Then, when everything is over, come to Halicarnassus with me. That is your country too, on your mother's side." "I cannot leave Athens and my people." "Leonidas is dead. Thermopylae has fallen. In a little while, Athens will fall too. It will not exist anymore. It will be just a province of the empire." "If my city didn't exist…" "Your city will not exist, Themistocles. The question is whether you will exist… That's what I care about… And not just for my own sake…" "What are you trying to say?" "Tell me that you will leave the Greeks and come with me." He shook her off quickly. Her body was light, but the words that came out of her mouth were as heavy as lead. "Are you asking me to betray my country?" "To leave it. It's not the same thing. Just in time, maybe. Before your lifeless corpse is floating around in Poseidon's kingdom." "Why should I do that? Just to save my life? He asked sarcastically." "To be king at my side." "I grew up in a democracy. That's what I'm fighting for." "Nonsense. The world is ruled by the smart and the powerful. All the others just serve. That is how the gods made it." Themistocles got up and put on his linen chiton. Then he looked at the sky. "It's late. We must go back. Soon Apollo will be driving his shining chariot through the heavens." Before the words were out of his mouth he felt her nails raking his shoulder, then his waist and finally his buttocks. He shuddered with pleasure. But he did not turn towards her. "Xerxes has gathered the greatest army and fleet the world has ever seen. How long will you stand against him? With what forces and what reserves? Sooner or later, even the hardest rock is worn away by the waves. That is the truth. There is no way to defeat the emperor." He was silent, weighing her words. He stood looking at the stars, fighting to control his sorrow at the truth of her words and the desire growing inside him at her touch. Then he noticed the constellation of Leo and next to it, the constellation of Scorpio. People believe that lions win in war. But scorpions, though often overlooked, are more effective. Scorpions attack stealthily, without boasting or glory. They prepare for a long time and finally strike once, but they strike suddenly, effectively, fatally. He smiled and turned towards her, the smile widening. "What do you think I should do?" he asked. They say that smiles are catching. In that case, it happened to be true. Artemisia took her fingertips from his back, rose, stood before him and tenderly stroked his cheek. "Come with us. The Great King will reward you richly. In spite of the name of barbarian that has been given him, he knows how to value an intelligent man and an able warrior. If you swear loyalty to him and help him, he may make you satrap of the provinces of Ionia. Then, together, as legal spouses, we will govern almost all of Ionia, because the territories of Halicarnassus will double." "Two birds with one stone… Enslavement to the Persian and me as king next to you, on new territory…" he commented ironically. Artemisia's expression hardened. "The land is not the only reason I want you as my husband" she said, fighting to hide her nervousness. Themistocles, for his part, was trying to hide his smile. His irony had a purpose. If he accepted her proposal immediately, he would make her suspicious. He had to make her believe he was struggling, that he was trying to get around his objections, so that she would try to persuade him. That was the smartest way. He had used it many times on his opponents in the assembly of Athens. Even if you are a wolf, you have to learn to bleat every now and then to bring the sheep near you. That was what he always told his friends. "If I sacrifice Athens… What will I gain in return?" he asked drily, trying to look like a sharp merchant who only thought about profit. It took her several minutes to explain the emperor's generosity, giving examples. It took her even longer to analyze her plans for their kingdom It took her very little time to stand on her toes and kiss him tenderly on the lips. "I love you…" she whispered, her lips still moist from his. It was the right moment. Like a blacksmith who knows when the metal is hot and flexible, ready to be taken out of the furnace and hammered on his anvil, Themistocles said the words she so longed to hear from his lips. "So do I… I love you too…" he told her tenderly. "That's why I will do what you ask… I will do it for both of us…" "Not just for us." "And for your emperor." "Not just for him." "For who, then?" wondered Themistocles. "The time has not yet come for you to find out" she told him, laughing. "When will it come?" "After our victory." In spite of her fearless and dauntless character, she took his warning seriously. The next morning, after a few hours of sleep, she pretended to be sick and avoided approaching the fleet and its flagship. She explained her reasons for her absence to the Persian admiral and retired, first to her tent and then to the place where she had sat the first evening after she got there, on top of the hill above the anchorage. Achaimenes had ordered his fleet to leave late in the afternoon. The whole morning would be devoted to repairing the damaged ships and replacing the oars that had been broken by the Greeks' strange tactic. Then, in the afternoon, after the rowers who had been killed or crippled were replaced, the Persian fleet would sail to strike the Greeks before their own anchorage, on the opposite shore, at Artemisio. Mervalos, the Phoenician commander, who still could not stomach the thought of their defeat the day before, had proposed a commando raid to the Greek heart, at their base itself, and Achaimenes had accepted his proposal with enthusiasm. They would strike simultaneously from two sides. According to Mervalos' plan, some ships would disembark Persian troops a little to the east of the Greek anchorage, while the main force of the fleet would surround them on the side of the sea. The ships with the troops had already sailed so that the Persian soldiers would be able to disembark in time to march the distance to the Greek dockyard. The other ships would wait for the smoke signal from the mountain opposite them to sail. Thus they would coordinate and strike a crushing blow simultaneously from land and sea. Artemisia had to admit that it was a plan worthy of a Phoenician warlord. A plan that, if it worked, would deprive her of the great benefit of last night's success, the agreement she had made with Themistocles. On the one hand the glory of the victory would go only to the Phoenicians, and on the other hand Themistocles himself might be killed in the battle. "If things go well for Achaimenes, today everything will be over… Unfortunately…" she murmured thoughtfully. "Our victory will come without my contribution." Her heart tightened with fear, her chest swelled with anxiety. She sat in the shade of the pine and sighed deeply. The enthusiasm of the previous evening had been replaced by anxiety about the outcome of the battle that was about to take place. She sat and prayed devoutly to her protecting goddess, Artemis, to turn events towards the best solution for her, and it was a long time before she raised her eyes. Her reverent prayer was interrupted suddenly by the piercing sound of the trumpet. Then followed the harsh voices of officers and the clamor of sailors weighing anchor, although it was still too early for the fleet to sail. Puzzled, she raised her head and looked at their dockyard. And then at the sea before her. And then she saw them. "They are mad!" she muttered in surprise and admiration. "They really are mad, by Artemis…" The opposite shore was hidden. The Greek fleet had arrived at full speed and it had been drawn up opposite them before they even had time to sound the alarm. The rowers were still on shore and most of the officers were at the military council being informed. The few Persian ships that were manned and battle-ready at that moment, immediately began to row towards the exit of the anchorage, so as to create a security cordon and intercept the Greek attack. Artemisia looked over at the Greek fleet, trying to make out the white sail and the mermaid with the two entwined snakes, Themistocles' ship. But it was too far away. All she could do was to calculate the number of enemy vessels. Clearly fewer than on the previous day. She counted about a hundred and twenty Greek ships. There were about four hundred of their own, even after the departure of the two hundred that had left earlier to carry out the encircling maneuver by transferring soldiers. When they were manned and ready, they would have a four to one superiority. This time, no Greek formation could cover the difference. No heroism could turn it around. "They are mad…" she murmured again. And then, before the words were out of her mouth, the first line of Greek ships rushed forward to the paroxysmal rhythm of the pipes. At the same time, great stretched leather drums sounded loudly, shaking the air of the bay, as the trumpet calls echoed through the steep cliffs that surrounded it. Just before the enemy ships reached their greatest speed, the trumpet calls suddenly stopped and thousands of male voices were raised. The Greeks attacked frontally, singing their victorious battle hymn. "It's amazing…" Artemisia looked and could not believe her eyes. Ignoring every rule of war at sea, the little Greek fleet attacked first, not waiting for battle. The Persian vessels that had come out into open waters were swept by the first wave of the attack. Some of the Greek ships appeared to have achieved their purpose and sunk the Persian ships, others clashed with the heavier Persians and were damaged. The sea battle had an ambivalent outcome in spite of the prowess and daring of the Greek crews, and Artemisia did not understand why they were making this suicidal move. Because of this, when the time for the real battle came, the Greek fleet would have even fewer battle-ready ships. Her doubt was soon over. Forty of the Greek ships were engaged in battle, but the other eighty skirted the conflict and outflanked the Phoenicians who were protecting the dockyard. They gathered together, undisturbed, a little farther on, drew up in a straight formation and immediately rushed forward again at top speed. They were going to ram the Persian ships while they were still docked at the shore. It was very dangerous since some of the attacking ships might run aground in the shallow water off the coast, but the Greeks were fighting on their own territory and obviously they knew the waters. The Persians did not have time to sail away. They tried to pull their ships even further out of the water, using slaves and draft animals to take them out of the reach of the enemy rams, while at the same time their archers let loose broadsides of arrows at the rowers, trying to hit enough of them to lessen the speed and momentum of the attack. Before the sun had climbed over the mountains of central Greece, towering to the west, the Greek fleet withdrew as quickly as it had come, leaving behind chaos, panic and seventy destroyed ships. Although the damage to the Persian fleet was slight in absolute terms—it still had enough ships and crewmen in reserve—the damage to the morale of sailors and officers was incalculable. That same evening, Achaimenes publicly beheaded the officers on duty and two admirals as an example. Then, still full of rage, he summoned a war council. Not so much to return the blow as to find a victim that he could offer to his brother in atonement, along with the bad news. "Well?" Achaimenes asked again, returning her to the present. "Are you going to tell me where you were?" "I do not understand, my admiral…" The Persian sat down again, exasperated, still holding in his hand the papyrus with the imperial seal. "In addition to your strange absence that night, the next day you avoided taking part in the battle. Why?" "I was ill." "Where were you, Artemisia?" "Here. In the dockyard." "No one saw you." "I was high up on the hill." The Persian sighed. He raised his hand and gave the papyrus to the officer of his personal guard. "Carry out the orders of the Great King. We won't get a word out of her mouth." The officer opened the papyrus and ran his eyes over the words. "Very well…" he said finally, and his eyes sought the huge black eunuch. "When everything is finished, write a letter to the king. Say that his wishes were carried out immediately, exactly as he asked" said Achaimenes to the scribe of the admiralty. "What do you want me to tell you?" shouted Artemisia, as she sensed behind her the eunuch's heavy breath and the smell of blood coming from his gigantic body. Achaimenes sighed. "You know what I want you to tell me. I asked you before. Where were you and what did you do for my brother to make a decree like this?" He looked at her face impatiently. Then at the lamp that had almost gone out. "Don't take too long, Artemisia. I am tired." "I was with Themistocles". "The Athenian? The leader of our enemies?" The eunuch shook beside her. "Yes. We are relatives." "But enemies in this war" murmured Achaimenes through his clenched teeth. "Not any more. I will tell you. I will tell you everything." The admiral made a gesture to the eunuch, who withdrew. "Quickly though. Do not try my patience." "I made a deal with him. At the right moment Themistocles will come to us. Perhaps with the whole fleet of Athens." "Are you telling the truth?" asked Achaimenes doubtfully. But the excitement that had suddenly appeared on his face clearly showed his interest. Treachery was the best tactic for swift victory in war. It had been shown at Thermopylae the day before. Treachery would be the best gift for the Persian admiral's abject morale. "Are you telling the truth, woman?" he asked again, intensely. "Yes." "And what does the Athenian ask in return?" "To become my spouse and king of Halicarnassus." Achaimenes smiled. For the first time since the previous day. Then, as if he had suddenly thought of something, his face clouded over again. "When did you make this arrangement?" "Yesterday evening. I met him secretly on the island of Skiathos." "If that is so, why did the Athenian not warn us today? Why did he attack us with the other Greeks?" he asked nervously. "He will come to us at the right moment, that is what we agreed. Today was not the right moment. It was too soon, he did not have time to put our plan into practice. If he had not fought with them today, he would have caused suspicions and the whole plan would have foundered." "And when will the right moment be?" "At the decisive naval battle. Today, in spite of the damage they caused, they only destroyed a small part of our fleet. Most of our ships are still ready for battle…" "We have six hundred left. We have lost almost a third of our ships in storms and sea battles." "Still. We have the advantage on the sea and we completely dominate the land. What can stop us? If everything goes well with Themistocles, it is only a matter of time before we destroy the Greek fleet and become masters of the sea. And that honor will belong only to you, Achaimenes. History will memorialize your name for ever. Flattery is the shortest path to success. Everyone knows that. Although Achaimenes was a member of the Persian court and had used the ploy many times, he gave in to its seduction immediately. Anyway, this time he was not using it. He was its object, and that made all the difference. "I must admit that your plan is very good, Artemisia" he commented. "Perhaps that is what made my brother issue this decree. Were you perhaps gone today because you were secretly travelling to his camp at Thermopylae and telling him what you had accomplished with Themistocles?" "No…" she answered, really puzzled this time. "Take her" he ordered his officer. The eunuch moved toward her. The sword of the officer touched her back. "Without me there is no agreement" Artemisia reacted. "Themistocles will not commit treason for money or gifts, but only for my sake. If something happens to me, the agreement will be cancelled." "Why should something happen to you?" asked Achaimenes. "Now, after all you have told me, I applaud my brother's decree as well, although it enraged me at first." "What is his decree?" she asked in surprise. "He has appointed you vice admiral of the fleet." The officer's sword was lowered. The eunuch's thick hands withdrew. The scribe rolled his eyes. "Vice admiral?" "Together with Mervalos and Tetramistos, the Phoenician admirals. Immediately under me. That was the sudden and strange imperial decree that made my heart stop and filled my mind with doubts and questions… No longer… After what you have told me, I understand what he did and I agree…" murmured Achaimenes with satisfaction. "Women… Sometimes more cunning than the gods…" he added, smiling.

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

September, 480 B.C.

[ "The Fall of an Empire" ] [ The Decision ] A moonless night. And yet their anguished faces were lit up as they stood on the shore of the island of Salamis across from Athens. They watched with fear, awe and anger as their city burned. The shops and houses, the market, the gymnasia and the theaters had already fallen prey to the flames. But their indignant eyes were mainly drawn to the flaming temples of the Acropolis. When the Persian army reached Athens three weeks after the battle of Thermopylae, it had captured an abandoned city. All of the noncombatants, tens of thousands of people, had been moved to the nearby islands of Aegina and Salamis. The evacuation was completed in fifteen days and nights by the Athenian warships returning from Artemisio, together with merchant vessels and transports from the harbor of Piraeus. The fury of Xerxes had known no bounds. He laid siege to the Acropolis, where those who were too old or too disabled to move had taken refuge, and when he captured it he respected neither the temple of the goddess Athena nor the supplicants who had taken refuge in it. He slaughtered them all and set fire to the whole of Athens. "By Zeus… We don't have a country any more…" murmured Mnisiphilos, his voice shaking with grief, as he watched the destruction. "And yet…" "And yet what, Themistocles? Look. There are fires everywhere. Nothing is left of the Acropolis but the rock. Mnisiphilos is right, we don't have a city any more, we don't have a country" said Cimonas in a rage. "Yes, we don't have a city any more, but we do have a country." "Ashes and embers is all we have." "No. We have dry wood and strong hulls. Our ships are our country now." "What do you mean? That we are all going to live together in the holds, like rats?" Themistocles did not have time to answer Mnisiphilos' sarcasm. The messenger started to shout even before he reached the top of the hill where the three of them stood looking at the destruction. "Eurybiades wants to see you, Themistocles." "Where?" "On his flagship. He has called a war council." Cimon raised his head and looked at the sky. The moon was in the east, but this was the third week after the full moon and that meant that the night was far gone. "At this time of night?" he muttered, puzzled. "We're at war, Cimonas. There are no good or bad times" commented Themistocles, who was worried. "I am sure the Spartan has his reasons." "I'll come with you…" "No, Mnisiphiles, the soldiers of the infantry know and respect you. I want you to be near them because I trust you. I control the fleet. I'll take Cimonas with me." "Why Cimonas?" "If I need to leave the war council for any reason, I don't want to give Eurybiades and Adeimantos a chance to influence the leaders of the other cities against us. There must be at least one Athenian to protect our interests." "Why would they influence them against us? At Artemisio we all fought together as one." "Only for three days, Mnisiphiles." "What does that mean?" "That that's how long Greeks can remain unified" Themistocles said, uneasily, and he started to walk quickly down this hill with his heart hammering faster and faster from suspense. When he reached the bottom of the hill before the dockyard where the whole Greek fleet had anchored after leaving Artemisio, he stood still for a moment in surprise, hearing a strange noise and feeling the earth tremble under his feet. He raised his eyes, puzzled, and looked across the sea straits. A white cloud of dust several miles long was rising from the mainland opposite. Then he understood why Eurybiades had suddenly summoned the war council in the middle of the night. The Persian army was leaving ruined Athens and marching south. Towards Corinth and Sparta.

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 69

On Eurybiades' ship there was clamoring and great passion. Greeks shout and wave their hands even if there are only two of them together. Now there were twenty Greeks talking all together in a space only forty yards long, the length of a ship. "In this situation we cannot delay. We must leave at once." Adeimantos, the admiral of Corinth, the city just forty miles to the south, spoke curtly and decisively. His eyes shone like lightning, his face was wrinkled with anger and suspense." "We agreed to…" "I haven't recognized you, Themistocles!" Eurybiades stopped him angrily, striking the wooden deck with his staff. "You cannot interrupt someone who is talking whenever you want to!" "I can when what he says is the opposite of what we agreed." "The Persian army has started out from Athens. You saw it yourself as you came here. Corinth and Sparta are in danger. We must leave at once" Adeimantos shouted, upset. "My city was also in danger, and it was lost. But I sacrificed it because I believed in doing what we agreed, in anchoring here and fighting the decisive naval battle in the straits of Salamis." "Circumstances have changed. And when circumstances change, agreements must change too," Eurybiades said drily. "Correct…" Themistocles answered him ironically. "Anyway, for you Spartans agreements don't have any meaning. You did not send your whole army to Thermopylae and that's why the Persians were able to get through the pass and destroy Athens unopposed." "The Athenian envies us because we still have countries. We must not listen to him. And a man without a country cannot insult us in this way" raged Adeimantos. "I sacrificed it to protect yours! If the Persians had not slowed down to plunder Athens, you would not have had time to build a wall at Isthmos and defend yourselves!" yelled Themistocles, beside himself, and rushed at Adeimantos. Cimonas grabbed him by the shoulders and held him back. And that was a good thing, because at that moment the commander of the ships from Mycenae lunged at him to protect his friend Adeimantos. Spirits were suddenly inflamed and the famous curse of the Greeks, discord, had taken control of their irritable minds. The other commanders shouted, cursed and swore, each trying to be the loudest in defending the interests of his own city. The admirals from Corinth, Sparta and Mycenae wanted to leave at once and meet in front of their army, which was defending Isthmos. The admirals from the island of Aegina and the city of Megara wanted the fleet to stay at Salamis, since a withdrawal would surely condemn their cities to the Persian yoke. The admirals of other cities and islands were divided. Some wished to remain and fight the sea battle before Athens as they had agreed and others asked to return to their areas at once, to be near their families. In its hubbub and confusion, the war council resembled a quarrel at a symposium. Everyone shouted without asking to speak, some squabbled and others had already come to blows. Eurybiades thumped the wooden deck with his staff in vain, trying to get them to calm down and continue the council so they could vote on tactics. The face of the Spartan, unused to such unrestrained behaviors, had become as red as his cloak and his knuckles had turned white. "The Persian army has destroyed Greece, it is marching towards the few cities that are still free, and we are fighting among ourselves!" he shouted fiercely, trying to calm the exacerbated tempers. "Correct. We must think about defense and not fight among ourselves like roosters" said Ablemonas, the admiral of the ships from the island of Naxos, in frustration. "That is why our fleet must fight here, at Salamis as we agreed" shouted Themistocles, taking advantage of the momentary pause in the quarrel. "The sea straits between…" "It's not your turn to talk yet. I haven't recognized you" Eurybiades cut him off abruptly. "I don't need your recognition. The gods in whose name we took our oath recognize me and everyone will listen to me. You too, Spartan." "This is mutiny" Eurybiades shouted, beside himself, and raised his admiral's staff with the intention of bringing it down on the Athenian's head. "You will have the chance to speak when it is your turn!" "Hit me, but listen to me first" Themistocles said, and grabbed his wrist. "You know what happens to those who start the competitions early, Themistocles. The judges whip them!" taunted Adeimantos. "And those who start late never win!" he answered, holding Eurybiades' arm in a tight grip. "Let me go…" "You will listen to me first." "Let him speak." The voices were heard from one end of the ship to the other. Admirals and commanders from all the cities and islands demanded that Themistocles should be given the right to speak. "We want to hear what he has to say before we vote." Eurybiades thought for a little while and then nodded his head. "Very well, since the leaders themselves ask it… But after that, Adeimantos will speak…" The admiral sat down again, putting down his staff. Themistocles let go of his hand and climbed to the highest point on the ship, right next to the stern, where everyone could hear and see him. "Greeks… My fellow warriors… We fought hard together at Artemisio, that is how we managed to defeat the Persian fleet even though it was three and four times our size. Unity, decisiveness and spirit led us to victory all three times we clashed with them on the sea. But out of those three, the most important is unity. Without that, there would not have been any spirit because each of us would have felt alone and weak, or any decisiveness because everyone knows that weakness gives birth to fear and that gives birth to doubt, which is the great enemy of decisiveness. "My brothers… Think… I ask you… Would it be good to break up now? Can we do more if some of us stay in Salamis and others leave? Or would that be an unexpected gift to the Persians? I say that it would be an unexpected gift to our enemy, and he would take advantage of our disunity to destroy us all. That is why I will vote to stay here. You should vote with me too, for unity, so that you will not see your cities destroyed, as mine was. So that you will not see your temples plundered and your wives sold as slaves. Because if we break up, that is the future that awaits you!" "He is saying all that out of jealousy" Adeimantos shouted immediately. "From pure jealousy for those of us who still have cities, since he lost his own and is without a country. Without rights, house or fortune, which we have! That is why we will leave tomorrow, to defend our cities and our goods. That is also why you must vote to withdraw from Salamis." "Fool!" shouted Themistocles passionately. "We Athenians abandoned our houses and our fortunes because we believe it is not worth becoming slaves to save dead things like houses and lands. Because for us, freedom is more important than gold and wealth!

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 70

North of Salamis, along the coast of Athens, the army of Xerxes continued to march all the next day, the shuffling of tens of thousands of feet in the dry ground raising a cloud of dust. That was the sight that made the hearts of the men from Corinth and Sparta sink. They had gathered on the north coast of Salamis and were worriedly watching the Persian hordes march against their cities. The Athenians were gathered on the east side of the island. Across from them lay the ruins of their own city. Smoke was rising from the temples of the Acropolis, the hills of the Nymphs and the Muses, the market and the neighborhoods, everything. It was a heavy weight on the breasts of the warriors, who watched the terrible vengeance of the Persians without being able to do anything. "That Adeimantos was right. We don't have a country anymore." "We don't have a city, Cimonas. It's not the same thing." "Soon we won't have a country either. Not even the earth will be left to us to rebuild our city. We will have to abandon it. You heard it with your own ears, Themistocles. Adeimantos said it, even though we haven't voted yet. The ships from Corinth and Sparta will leave, their commanders are having a hard time keeping them here already. And if that happens, we won't be able to face the Persian navy on our own. We'll have to withdraw too." "What did you say?" "That the ships will leave. They would have left already if Eurybiades hadn't broken up the council." "Not that. After that. What did you say after that?" "That we will have to withdraw too if they leave." "That, yes, that might convince them to stay." "You didn't manage it yesterday with your fiery, passionate words, even though you tried all night. You spoke in the name of our common country and common gods. What makes you think that today you will be able to…" But Themistocles was not listening any more. He was thinking. Thinking of how sometimes cold-blooded blackmail is more effective than thousands of heated words. Without saying a word, he turned and began to walk quickly towards the shore, to the cove where the Spartans' ships, including Eurybiades' flagship, were drawn up on the sand. Pitiful, disgusting, bleak sights met his eyes as he climbed the hill and walked towards the dockyard, making his heart sink with sorrow and foreboding. He walked faster, lowering his head, but he could still see them. Women were pulling up the few edible plants remaining on the hillside, hungry children ran behind the rowers begging for a mouthful of the ration the fleet gave them, old people lay weakly in the sun because their strength had left them, lines of people as long as rivers stretched out from the places where drinking water was distributed, and people implored, weeping, before the stores of food and supplies. "Whatever happens, it will have to happen soon. Otherwise we will all die of hunger or disease. The island is too small to feed so many people and our supplies are dwindling. The Persian might not defeat us, but if we don't do something soon, hunger will" he said to himself as he arrived at the flagship of the Greek fleet. The Spartan guard blocked his way. "Inform your admiral that I am looking for him" he told him curtly. "He is sleeping." "Wake him up. He will have time to sleep when it's time for the boatman of souls." "I cannot break his orders." He did not wait to hear more but pushed the man roughly aside, climbed into the ship and started to walk towards the bow, where Eurybiades' sketchy accommodation was. The guard ran behind him but did not dare to touch him. He was a Spartan, brought up from childhood to obey his superiors and respect hierarchy. "Eurybiades!" Themistocles' voice sounded like a drumbeat in the enclosed space of the bow. "Eurybiades!" When the little wooden door opened slowly, a grim and weary Eurybiades appeared. His eyes were red and sunken in their sockets and his face more wrinkled than the leather coverings of the oarlocks on his ship. "I tried to stop him, admiral, but…" "I know, he's too pigheaded" muttered Eurybiades, and slowly stretching out his hand, he sent the guard away. Then he turned his attention to his visitor. "What do you want, Themistocles?" he asked icily. "I want us to make a decision together. Everyone who is alone is lost." "I know. That's why I didn't get a wink of sleep last night." "I'll be brief then, the way you Spartans like it. If you withdraw from Salamis, we will come with you." Eurybiades jumped in amazement. "You can't do that" he protested loudly. "We are still in alliance. We have sworn before Zeus." "We have sworn to be united in war and protect our countries together. But if you abandon Salamis, there will be no more country for us. Therefore there will be no alliance and no oath." Eurybiades looked at him carefully. He studied him. He weighed him. The Athenian was not a soldier like himself. He was a politician. A politician notorious for his cunning and his bluffs. "What do you mean?" he asked him, looking at him intently. "The oath is still an oath, you cannot break it." "The oath I gave when I took the title of Athenian General is the most important of all. To protect the citizens of the democracy. And I will do that. I will embark them on our one hundred and eighty triremes and we will leave Greece at the same moment you leave with your ships for Isthmos" Themistocles answered him in a strong voice, and then made one of his famous rhetorical pauses, of which he was a master. "Think about it, Eurybiades. We have a hundred and eighty of the three hundred and ten triremes of the fleet. The best and strongest. And the best trained crews. What chances will you have without us? The Persians will crush you. Your name will go down in history as a synonym for disaster. Xerxes will rule the sea and will disembark his army wherever he wants, bypassing the useless wall you built at Isthmos." Eurybiades was an undecided man, but he was neither stupid nor slow. He saw the deadly danger at once. "Come inside. These matters should only be discussed behind closed doors" he said, and stood to the side to allow him to enter.

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 71

All the commanders of the Greek fleet were on Eurybiades' ship for the new war council the admiral had called. But Themistocles remained on the shore. He walked back and forth on the sand nervously, his head turned anxiously toward the path from the interior of the island. He was alone. This time he had refused to have Cimonas keep him company, in spite of the fact that his friend and fellow warrior had offered to accompany him in the difficult struggle he would have to face again, to convince the war council to accept his proposal and fight as one at Salamis. "General?" Themistocles turned suddenly, before he even understood the word he had heard. The person he was waiting for would never dare to call him by his official title. "Ameinias? What are you doing here?" wondered Themistocles, seeing the Athenian captain in the Spartan camp. "Don't be afraid, I haven't become a Spartan" he answered with a smile. "I'm coming back from the watchtower. I was on duty at the cape of Kynosoura." "Any news?" "No. Their fleet is waiting at the coasts. They don't aren't moving because they want us to come out on the open sea, they don't want to come in and fight here, in the straits." Themistocles looked at the straits between the shores of the island and Athens. "Don't look at it" continued Ameinias, guessing his thoughts. "It's not even half a mile wide and only two long. No admiral commanding such a large fleet as the Persian one would go into battle in such a narrow space." "That is the problem" murmured Themistocles thoughtfully. "How can we convince them to do it?" "Why don't you go and talk to their war council, too?" said Ameinias with a ringing laugh. "What are you doing out here? Why aren't you up there with the other commanders of the fleet?" he asked, pointing at the Spartan ship with the high porphyry stern, a signal that their council had started. "I'm waiting for someone." "Cimonas?" "No." "Aristeides?" "No. He left this morning for the island of Aegina to bring the sacred statues of the Aiakides, and he hasn't come back yet." "Well then? Who are you waiting for?" he asked. His question was answered by itself. "Master…" Ameinias and Themistocles turned their eyes together high up the hill, to the place where they heard the voice. Sikinos ran, almost tumbling down the hill, gesturing and shouting. "What do you think he wants? Has something bad happened?" asked Ameinias worriedly. "No. Not yet…" "He acts as if lustful Pan was chasing him with his phallus raised like a stick" he joked. Themistocles did not even answer. He waited for Sikinos to come close, then turned and started to climb the rope ladder of the ship. "Was it him you were waiting for out here, general?" "Yes." "Why?" "I want him to be with me at the war council." "A slave?" asked Ameinias. "He is not just a slave. After he has stood beside me faithfully for so many years, he is more like a friend." "A friend from Persia, though" said Ameinias gloomily. "Exactly. He is Persian, he speaks their language and he served in Darius' army when he was young, so he might be able to answer some of our questions" Themistocles answered hastily. But he did not wait to give more explanations. He climbed up to the deck and walked quickly, with Sikinos following close behind. He found the other commanders in animated conversation, as Greeks usually are. They shouted, waved their arms and interrupted each other passionately. Without waiting for Eurybiades' permission, he climbed onto the stern and raised his voice, determined to say what he had to say as quickly as possible. A message must be given with decisiveness. A threatening message must be given with decisiveness and without hesitation. "We've come to a place where fine speeches won't help us, brothers. I won't waste my time today in words for closed ears. What I have to say to you, I will say once in front of you for all to hear, and I won't repeat it. If you withdraw from Salamis, we Athenians, together with our ships, will leave the fleet and the alliance and we will sail for Italy to found a new city." A stir went through the commanders of the fleet. There were anxious and fearful whispers, since they all knew that without the Athenians the fleet would be lost. "Let us vote…" said Pedaritos, the commander from the city of Mycenae, trying to prevent panic and find a solution. "If you are as democratic as you say, Themistocles, you will respect the decision of the majority." "You are an honorable man, Pedaritos, I know that. But fear is making you talk wildly. I serve democracy, but first of all I serve my country. Especially when it is in danger." "That is exactly why we want to leave!" shouted Adeimantos, annoyed, and then he climbed up on the rail and raised his voice. "Our brothers at Isthmos will be attacked by the Persians soon. We must be with them, we must help them!" "We will help them better by fighting here. Everyone can see that the straits of Salamis are the best field of battle for us" insisted Themistocles. "Exactly! But the Persians can see the same thing. They're not fools!" "Like yourself, you mean?" Themistocles mocked him, unexpectedly and unprovoked. Adeimantos seized him by the chiton and pulled him toward him in a rage. "Take back the insult!" "It's not an insult, it's the truth" insisted Themistocles, completely out of character. Adeimantos raised his hand to strike him. Eurybiades raised his staff to prevent the use of force. Behind Themistocles, Sikinos stood as if struck dumb. His master was not the kind of man who let himself be swept away by rage. He knew very well how to make compromises, to maneuver and sometimes retreat to get what he wanted. Without those virtues, he would never have survived in a system like democracy. "We will vote now!" shouted Eurybiades, ending the brawl and raising a storm of whispers." "I want to speak…" "No." Adeimantos was dumbfounded by the refusal of the man who, until the day before, had been his ally. He looked at Eurybiades with his eyes starting out of their sockets. "I want to speak!" he repeated imperiously. "You had your turn. You had many turns. Now the time has come for us to vote and make decisions. We don't have long" Eurybiades responded, and he stood up. "How many vote to remain in Salamis?" he cried loudly. Themistocles raised his hand before Eurybiades had time to finish his question. Hesitatingly at first, but then with more and more confidence, hands were raised one after another. It was not a majority, but it was a number that worried Adeimantos. "We are representatives of free cities here" he shouted, interrupting the vote. "Those who do not have a country do not have the right to vote" he screamed at the top of his lungs, looking at Themistocles. "Fool! Do you think I don't have a country because I don't have a house and land?" "He is without a country! He may not vote!" "I am without a country because I accepted to sacrifice for our common cause! I am without a country because for me, as for glorious Leonidas, it is not the battle that is important, but the final victory! I am without a country because I love freedom more than earth and stones!" howled Themistocles. "And I do not intend to sacrifice that here, for the sake of some blockheaded fools like you!" Adeimantos smiled nervously, seeing his excitement. He thought it was his chance to push Themistocles into leaving. So he ignored the insult and continued: "Only the rest of us will vote! Those who still have a country and want to protect it!" Themistocles appeared to be seething with rage. His broad forehead was wrinkled like the surface of the sea in winter, his eyes flashed like the furnace of the god Hephaestus. He stared at Eurybiades with those eyes, trying to see his nod of consent. "That's the end!" he shouted as soon as he saw it. "I won't sit in the council and listen to your insults any longer. I'm leaving now!" "We're not staying either. We're not interested in your votes. The ships of Corinth will leave Salamis tonight!" Adeimantos shouted, beside himself. That was what Themistocles was waiting for. After making sure that Sikinos was behind him and had heard the words of the commander from Corinth, he turned towards the prow and started to walk away with a quick, determined stride. "The Athenians withdraw from the fleet and the alliance. Vote and decide among yourselves! Let's go, Sikinos…" With a quick stride, paying no attention to the entreaties of the commanders of the fleet, he went towards the stern of the ship, hearing Eurybiades' words behind him: "We are interrupting this council to calm our spirits and give Themistocles' rage time to pass. We will meet again after dinner for the final decision…" They got off the ship and walked to the cape of Kynosoura without exchanging a single word. Themistocles walked to the edge of the narrow peninsula and stood near the steep cliffs at its coast. He looked at the grey afternoon horizon and then at the sea before it. Then he looked towards Athens and the fires lighted on its coast, at the Persian anchorage. Suddenly he turned and grasped Sikinos tightly by the shoulders. He looked him in the eye and spoke in a low voice, just as if he had not been shouting at the top of his lungs until then: "My friend… I have made my decision… Your time has come…"

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

The Trap

The little boat moved silently over the dark waters. Its oars were buried in the water and raised with care because they had to reach the shore without attracting the attention of the Persian outposts. Its keel was rubbed all over with black pitch, and its boatman was naked and covered in dark mud to soak up the sweat so his body would not reflect light. The single passenger was wrapped in a dark cloak given to him before he left Salamis. Sikinos was lost in thought. He hands grasped the wooden rail firmly, but his eyes moved continually back and forth over the endless Persian camp. Inside him, the sense of duty wrestled with his fear and his emotions. His heart fluttered like a bird from one nest to the next. His master's message was clear. By bringing it he would be helping both his master and his own country at the same time, but there was no way to tell if his countrymen would believe him. He had grown up in Persia and he knew very well what a terrible punishment would be waiting for him if they decided he was a spy or a traitor. He would be buried in the sand under the sun until his body dried out and he died of thirst in the best case, and in the worst case they would impale him on a sharp stick and he would die slowly, his guts dripping out with unbearable pain. But in spite of that, his spirit pulsed with excitement. He would speak his mother tongue again, the one with which he had grown up, the one in which he always prayed to Ahura Mazda, the Great Judge and his god. "May his will be done…" he murmured to himself, and opened his closed hand to scatter a little of the aromatic incense he carried with him in his pouch into the night air, finishing his ritual. "No one can stand against the will of the Great Creator…" When he stepped on the shore, his feet wet with sea water and his hands moist from anxiety, he would not have time to do more than shout an invocation to his god in official Persian before the guard pierced his breast with a javelin. That piece of advice was given him by Themistocles, and it saved his life. Hearing their language and the name of Ahura Mazda, the Persian soldiers lowered their spears and looked at him curiously. Then they took him gently by the arm and led him to their commander. From commander to commander and from officer to officer, giving explanations in flawless Persian, Sikinos reached the Persian war council one hour later. The council was in session, setting the strategy for the fleet the next day. "I wish to speak to Artemisia…" he said, looking with awe at the high-level Persian officers with their painted faces, colorful uniforms and expensive jewelry. "Me?" the queen asked, surprised. "Yes, my lady." "Who are you?" "Do you not recognize me…" "The question is where you know Artemisia from…" Sikinos turned to the back of the great tent to look at the person asking. He turned and was speechless. His face went white, his heart stopped beating and his legs trembled. The golden throne and the scepter with its precious stones and winged lion did not leave any room for misinterpretation. He fell to his knees, bent at the waist, lowered his head and touched his forehead to the ground. He was breathing with difficulty and his mouth had gone dry. "Great Emperor… King of Kings… My lord…" he managed to stammer out. "Who are you?" asked Mardonius curtly. "Now my name is Sikinos. But I was born with the name Mithranis…" "Are you Persian?" "Yes. I was once a warrior in the Spanda, the imperial army. I was taken prisoner in the campaign of the Great Darius in Macedonia and sold as a slave in Athens." "If you had a Persian mother and father, how do you know Artemisia?" asked Admiral Achaimenes, who was standing to the emperor's right. "I don't know her, I said that before, master." "Then why are you asking for her?" "I have a message for her." Before Achaimenes could ask his next question, Artemisia came forward and approached the prostrated Sikinos. "From whom?" "From my master…" he answered her in broken Greek, making her breast swell with suspense. "Who is your master?" she asked him, waiting for the answer with longing. She did not get it. "Throw him out. Take him to the eunuchs. He is a Greek spy" shouted Mardonius when he heard the words in Greek from Sikinos' mouth. Xerxes raised his hand. "No. Let him speak." Mardonius turned sullen, but he could not ignore the emperor's command. "Who is your master?" Artemisia repeated her question. "His name is Themistocles." Freezing cold. And smiles. The first on the face of Mardonius. The second on the faces of Artemisia and Achaimenes. "Has the right time come?" the second asked. "Yes. It seems it has" the queen answered. Mardonius looked at them with obvious hostility. Especially at Artemisia, his great competitor for the emperor's favor. "The right moment for what, woman?" he asked fiercely. "If we let him speak you will understand" Artemisia answered him with a boldness it was hard for her to hide. "Speak better, woman!" Xerxes abruptly raised the scepter to impose silence. "Speak, Mithranis…" he said slowly. "My master says that the right moment has come…" "What does that mean?" "He says that Artemisia will understand his words and that more explanation is not needed." "What does that mean?" repeated the Great King, now watching Artemisia with his jet black eyes. She looked at Achaimenes and waited. If she had managed to acquire the title of queen and a coveted place in the Persian war council, she had done it by flattering her superiors and showing absolute respect to the hierarchy of the Persian fleet. Now, in spite of the fact that she had made the agreement, the honor of announcing it must belong to Achaimenes, the brother of the emperor, the first level under the Great King. "The Athenian is ready to come over to our side, together with his ships. The Athenian division," Achaimenes explained immediately. "The largest, strongest and best trained in the Greek fleet. Themistocles is the…" "I know who he is" the emperor stopped him. "He is the one who humiliated us on the sea." "He is capable, intelligent and brave. If he comes to our side, nothing will be able to stop us anymore. If the Athenians secede, the other Greeks will not be able to last even a day on the sea" answered Artemisia. "And what is he trying to do? Why has he changed his mind at the last moment?" "It is a trap, Great King" shouted Mardonius. "The Athenian is cunning, everyone knows that, Hippias has informed me of him." "He does not want anything, my lord…" continued Artemisia, ignoring Mardonius. "He will be my husband…" The eyes of Xerxes gleamed. From enthusiasm or jealousy, no one could tell. "You are relatives…" was all he said. "Yes. In our veins flows the same blood. My father and his mother were brother and sister." Slowly, calmly, Xerxes smiled. "Interesting… Treachery at the right moment is the best and shortest way to win a war…" "It is a trap!" Xerxes raised his scepter to stop Mardonius' cries. "I have already lost too many ships and too many men. I do not want to lose more." "I usually do not agree with Mardonius, but this time I have to. It might be a subterfuge. It is strange how that man got here so quickly, a simple slave on such an important mission" said Hydarnes, who had been silent until then. "He is not a slave. He is a Persian like us" said Achaimenes. "Even so. He has lived with the Greeks for many years. He has even learned their language… Perhaps he has changed… Perhaps he is playing their game…" Achaimenes came forward, opened the slave's heavy chiton and pushed his chest forward into the light of the lamps and torches. On Sikinos' chest, rough and scarred by the whip and hardships, hung a worn fire amulet, such as hang on the chests of all those who are faithful to Ahura Mazda from birth. "He is faithful to our god. He cannot lie. Everyone knows that on the bridge of the Great Judge, a single lie can send you to eternal darkness. No one who is faithful would risk it. "That many years living next to a lying Greek could have changed his habits" insisted Mardonius. "No. He cannot lie. I myself made the arrangement with Themistocles. He will come over to our side…" "You yourself?" wondered Hydarnes. "Why would he do that? Why would he betray his country?" he asked. Instead of Artemisia or Achaimenes, Sikinos gave the answer: "Because the Greeks are continually fighting amongst themselves. Their morale is low and there is dissent. At every council they swear at each other and almost come to blows" he said, making everyone else stop talking. "How do you know that?" "My master takes me with him to the councils." "Why?" "Precisely because they quarrel all the time. For his safety. With my own eyes I saw Adeimantos, the admiral of Corinth, attack him this afternoon. The Greeks are always fighting. And now…" "Now, what?" "They have dissolved the alliance and are going to abandon Salamis." "When?" "Tonight. Just before daybreak. At the darkest hour of the night." "Are you sure?" asked Xerxes. "Yes, Great King. I was there. Half of the commanders of their fleet saw our glorious army marching towards Isthmos and panicked. They want to leave so they can protect their cities. The ships from Corinth will leave this evening. I heard it with my own ears." "Are you telling the truth?" insisted the emperor, his gaze already on the relief on the great table depicting the island of Salamis and its two straits, one to the east and one to the west. "I swear by the Great Judge…" Silence fell. The news was shocking. Suddenly, as if the gods had blessed the Persian war effort, everything seemed to have been solved in the best possible way. With treachery. Effortless, quick and without loss of blood or money. "What do you say, wise Ariaranes?" Xerxes turned to the taciturn man, his most trusted councilor. "I say that we must test the reliability of this man before we decide on anything." "He is Persian" said Achaimenes. "Right. But he could also be greedy. Which one would prevail if the Greeks filled him up with gold to come here and tell us what he has told us?" Ariaranes answered him, and then he turned back to his emperor, repeating his proposal. "We must test his reliability." Xerxes nodded his head in agreement. "Take him and give him to the black eunuchs to whip him. Then we will see if he still says the same thing. After that we will decide." "The Greeks will escape before dawn" said Achaimenes uneasily. "No one can endure the hand of the eunuch and the whip of wire for more than an hour…" the emperor said slowly. "If he still says the same thing after the whipping and the torture, we will surround the Greeks on the island in the night, secretly draw up our ships before them and drown them in their own sea as soon as the god of the sun starts out with his chariot" he added. "No." Dozens of eyes turned towards the voice that dared to dispute a decision expressed by the lips of the emperor himself, and to his face. "This time you have overstepped the bounds, woman!" shouted Mardonius at the same moment that Hydarnes ordered the imperial guards to intervene and punish this unbelievable insolence. Another "no" was heard. This time from the mouth of Xerxes. "Let her speak… Last time she was right… Speak, Artemisia…" "Everything you said, my great king and lord, was right. But it is not good to take the fleet into the sea straits. It is enough to block the two passages and wait. That many thousand people will not be able to find food for long on such a small island. Sooner or later they will have to leave and then they will fall on our ships alone, and they will have to fight on the open sea. And without the Athenian ships, they will be certain to be crushed." "What you say is not wrong, queen of Halicarnassus, but we cannot wait either" the emperor's advisor said calmly. "We are too far away from our supply bases. We have hundreds of thousands of soldiers. We cannot maintain them for a long time without conquering new territory." "Ariaranes is right" Mardonius agreed immediately. "If we wait too long, the morale of our army will collapse. What will our soldiers think of an emperor who stands and waits fearfully?" "We will not wait very long" replied Artemisia. "When Themistocles defects with his ships, the rest of the Greeks will panic." "No… If we wait as you say, we will merely have a victory. If we crush them all together, we will have a triumph. The Great King will be crowned with glory for all time…" "But if we have a defeat?" "Merely saying that insults the emperor, woman!" At that moment Xerxes raised his scepter and everyone was silent. "Enough! I have made my decision!" said Xerxes in a loud voice. "It is enough if the hostage is telling the truth…"

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Chapter 73

No trumpets sounded. No horn was blown. There were low-voiced orders from the officers and quiet nudges from the petty officers. The oars had been dipped in fresh fat to slide easily in the oarlocks. The sails were tied tight to the masts to avoid rustling. No lamps were lighted on the ships. It was not yet midnight when the rowers from the Persian army got tiredly up from the dry ground after a few hours of sleep, their hands still red from the rowing of the day before, their shoulders aching and their legs numb. After they received their half-dry oars and smeared them with fat, they drew up in two lines, one behind the other, stumbling in the darkness. The petty officers under the hanging rope ladders waited to give the signal to board. Messengers brought it in low voices from one ship to the next all up and down the four miles of coast where the Persian fleet was drawn up. To the east were first the first divisions of Phoenicians, then the divisions of Ionia, then of Lycia, of Egypt, and of Cyprus. Dozens of different languages, dozens of different uniforms, dozens of different kinds of prayers. There were all different builds and makes of ships: the Phoenician ships with their high and wide decks to accommodate more marines, archers and spearmen, the Ionian ships, smaller, lighter and more maneuverable, with their great power of speed for ramming, and finally the Egyptian ships with their elongated prows and their heavy equipment, constructed for drawing alongside other ships and boarding them. The stones the petty officers held in their hands began to beat out their muffled rhythm when everything was ready. The hundred and fifty thousand oarsmen waiting in lines under the rope ladders began to go forward silently. Two by two, they climbed up the ladders, came on deck and took their assigned positions. Behind them came the petty officers to inspect their position on the rowing benches. Then came the signalmen and the helmsmen, taking their places at the bows and sterns, respectively. Then the warriors boarded. Then archers and spearmen with their weapons, enormous bows of horn and ivory with dozens of yards range, javelins of osier and dogwood with sharp bronze points, swords, daggers and axes for hand to hand combat. Last of all the captains boarded. They inspected the state of their ships, spoke to their officers, gave their orders in low voices, made arrangements with the petty officers and steersmen, and sat on their raised pedestals at the stern of the ships. One hour after midnight everything was ready. The slaves on shore pushed hard and the ships slid into the water. The Persian armada sailed for the most important battle in its history.

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Chapter 74

"It is unbelievable…" murmured Cimonas in a trembling voice. Before the east turned grey he had climbed high on the island's hill with Themistocles, Aristeides, Eurybiades and Adeimantos and they were looking, impressed, at the arrival of the whole Persian navy. First the Phoenician vessels arrived from the east. They were large and tall, like huge rocks scattered in the sea. Without wasting time they entered the straits, sailing past the coast of the mainland, across from the island, and took up position on the west side. Immediately after that, the ships of the Egyptians appeared and took up position at the center, next to the Phoenicians. And finally came the ships from Ionia that looked exactly like the Greek ships. They sailed into the strait lasts and took up position on the east side, completing the Persian formation that stretched out in three lines with the last line almost touching the rocks of the opposite shore. But the show of force put on by the Persian fleet was not yet over. As soon as their formation had drawn up, the ships of Cyprus, Lycia and Samia appeared around the curve of Piraeus and drew up at the exit of the eastern straits to cut off any chance of retreat and sink any Greek vessel that might try to escape. To the west, from the other side of the island, right on the horizon, they could see the ships from Pamphylia closing off the other exit. "It is just as Aristeides said… They have surrounded us from all sides…" Adeimantos admitted. "I had a hard time passing between them, coming back from Aegina this morning. I told you." "Then we decided right to have the sea battle here, at Salamis. Any other maneuver would have meant disaster" said Eurybiades. "Exactly. It was difficult but I convinced you" said Themistocles. "You forced us, you didn't convince us. You delayed so long that the Persians were able to surround us and we can't sail" retorted Adeimantos. "Don't start again. The decision has been made. Now is the time for unity in battle, the time for reconciliation in service of a common goal" Eurybiades scolded them. "What I am worried about is why the Persians decided to sail at night." "They thought they could surprise us." "Why would they think something like that?" "You are too much of a Spartan to understand," Themistocles told him with a smile. "Why are they in such a rush? Why did they not wait and fight on the open sea where they have the advantage?" Eurybiades insisted. "Because human nature is impatient and greedy. And an emperor is much more human than anyone else" Themistocles said enigmatically. "But the reason why is no longer important. Everything happened as it should. Now the sea battle will be in a place where we have the advantage. We only have to strike a decisive blow to win." "With a fleet like that arrayed against us?" Cimonas was still in doubt. "Yes…" "How can you be so sure?" "I am sure because a battle, my brothers, is won before it is fought… And this one was decided yesterday evening…" Aristeides raised his eyes to the sky, which was turning grey. "But we are wasting precious time with this chatter. The crews and the marines must board the ships." "Not yet" murmured Themistocles. "No? You were impatient to give battle." "Impatience… It's even worse than cowardice…" "Now what are you trying to say?" "One of the most difficult things in the world is to be patient and wait for the right moment. A hasty man is worse than a fool. And I am neither." "It's a tiring thing, democracy. I don't know why they voted for you" mocked Adeimantos. "Your words are harder to understand than those of the Pythian oracle. What are you trying to say?" "We will start the battle when the sun is all the way up over the horizon. Neither sooner nor later." "Why?" "Because we need allies. And the best ally on the sea is the wind. The wind always blows in the straits soon after the sun rises. Our ships have low decks, while the decks of the Phoenicians are high out of the water. This wind will catch them on their sides and their ships will have difficulty holding their places in the formation. Also their archers will have a hard time shooting straight." "How did you know all that?" wondered Aristeides, who could hardly hide his admiration. "From the fishers of Salamis… The lowly people, my friend… The people whom you aristocrats despise. They know many things. Perhaps after the war you will finally understand…" "We do not despise the people. We want to govern for their good." "But without listening to them…" "Stop. We are standing right next to our crews and our marines" said Eurybiades, who was allergic to Athenian verbiage. "Aristeides is right. We must board the ships so that the trumpets and our martial hymns can sound!" "No." "No? No again?" asked Eurybiades and looked at Themistocles in confusion. "Why?" "It's better to let their arrogance swell up inside them." "Arrogance and courage go together. What will we gain if we let courage strengthen their spirits?" "Surprise, Adeimantos. If we surprise them, their arrogance will collapse and the courage you are afraid of will turn to fear and then to panic. And a fleet in a panic is like a herd of frightened deer. They run in every direction without thinking. If that happens to their ships, our victory will be easier." "I'm afraid I don't understand." "As I said before, Eurybiades, you are too Spartan to…" "Will you finally stop making that joke!" "The admiral is right. A little respect for hierarchy wouldn't hurt. Besides, it's not the time for jokes" said Aristeides seriously. "Just explain your plan to us, Themistocles." "Every war is started by envy and deception and continued by courage, or at least that's what Homer and the Odyssey teach us. So if we are capable of attacking, we have to appear incapable. When we are near them, we must make the enemy think that we are far away. Offer bait to tempt them. Pretend you are weak and you will stimulate his arrogance. Attack when he is unprepared and appear when he does not expect you. Pretend to be afraid, rush in with heroism and destroy him. Pretend to be disorganized, strike with organization and crush him. "You, Aristeides, will gather up all the oldest soldiers and have them run up and down on the beach for no reason. And as for the women that are still in the city, put them on the hillside facing the Persians and command them to kneel, tear their hair and wail so loud they can be heard all over the straits. And you, Adiemantos, follow the plan we made earlier and sail with your ships to the west before our crews take their places on our ships. Make it look like abandonment and disorderly flight. You will turn your prows back again and return quickly when you see my ship raise the white flag with the olive branch and hear our martial hymns. Thus, my brothers, we will first put the giant to sleep and then strike it at the right moment, unexpectedly." Speechless. They were all speechless. Some from admiration and others from jealousy. Without another word, the four men turned and took the path down the hill, towards the camps of the Athenian army and the anchorage of the Greek fleet. The great hour had come.

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Theo Papas

The Noose Tightens

Themistocles looked at the eastern horizon, where the sun had just risen. Then he turned his gaze to the empty sea stretching out for half a mile before him, in front of the first ships in the Persian armada. He looked at it carefully, searching for the signs the fishermen had told him about. When he saw dark bands begin to come up and the surface began to look like the back of a fish with silver scales, he immediately sent his messenger to the other divisions of the fleet. The wind rustled in the masts of the ships. The hour they were waiting for had come. Without losing time, he went to the Artemis' rope ladder, climbed up to the deck and stood at the stern, with his face to the shore. He raised his hands to the heavens and waited for a moment, silently, while his sailors and rowers gathered in front of him. Then, suddenly, he broke his silence and addressed the men in a passionate voice, as Greek always do before sending them into battle. "Free citizens of Athens! Rowers of our fleet! My brothers!" he shouted in his stentorian voice, famous from his rhetorical speeches in the assembly of Athens. "Our hour has come! Either we will live free or we will die. Today we will fight with self-sacrifice and courage, we will crush the invaders and throw them back to Asia, to their arid steppes and tyrannical emperors! "Citizens of Athens! Rowers of the fleet! You are the ones the aristocrats look down on. You are the ones they call the most and the worst. Today you can prove that you are not only the most, but the best. Today you have the chance to prove that the democracy gives birth not only to thinking citizens, but also to heroic soldiers. Today is your day, and you will never get another chance like this, to fight and defeat the proudest and most haughty of all tyrants. Today is the day you can humiliate him before his slaves and win glory like our ancestors, the heroes who conquered Troy! Do you want to do that today, citizens of Athens? Are you ready for glory?" A buzz and clamor sounded from end to end of the gathering. Their chests, exhausted from pulling the oars, swelled as if filled with the winds of winter. Reddened hands were clenched into fists and raised. Mouths flayed by sun and salt were opened wide. Cheers, shouts and cries of derision filled the air. "My brothers!" shouted Themistocles, and he raised his open palms to the delirious crowd. "Look at my hands. Look at them well. Look at the calluses on my palms. They are hands like yours, although you all know my wealth could have given me hands as soft as the hands of Apollo. Since I was a boy I have pulled the oars in my father's ships and I still pull the oars along with you in the exercises of the fleet. I am one of you, my brothers. I am you. Not from need, but by choice. Because I believe in the power of democracy and the power of democracy is you, its simple people, its citizens and fighters. "Fight bravely with me today, citizens! Fight with manly courage, but also with your mind and with passion! Fight to humiliate the proud barbarians! "Forward, citizens of Athens!" "Forward, children of Greece!" "For democracy and freedom!"

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Chapter 76

Artemisia was taking her place on the east side of the Persian formation when she heard the voice of the lookout from the bow. "Nothing yet, my lady. All their ships are still on shore." She turned and looked over the mass of Persian ships. Behind her not an inch of sea was visible. The ships were crowded closely, in some places rail to rail and in others stern to stern. In some the oars had been raised to make more room, and in others the rowers had pulled them in so they would not break. And yet Achaimenes had still not sent ships into the straits. The Persian vessels kept coming in, one after another, like thirsty camels coming to a well. Even more ships had drawn up on the nearby eastern exit of the straits, forming a dense line of rams to cut off any chance of escape from the trap. "The trap for whom?" she murmured skeptically to herself. She sighed and pressed her lips together. If the Greeks attacked first, as had happened three weeks earlier at Afetes, they would fall on their closed lines and be torn apart like soft flesh falling on iron spears. But if the Persians had to attack first, it would be hard to maneuver in such a dense formation. Then the danger would not come from the Greek ships, but from their own. She had warned the emperor. But Xerxes decided like a proud king, unable to withstand his own vanity, and not like a wise general. He had drawn his entire enormous fleet up and now he was admiring it, seated on his throne, on the side of the mountain behind them. He had chosen the risk of resplendent triumph over the safety of patient victory. If Themistocles kept their agreement and the ships of Athens left at the right moment, the Greek fleet would look like a little rabbit before a huge bear and the triumph of Xerxes would be certain. And it would have been made on her advice. Then the emperor's gifts would exceed all her fantasies and her rise in the hierarchy of the Persian court would be swift. The Great King was famous for the harshness of his punishments, but just as famous for the generosity of his rewards. But if Sikinos was lying and Themistocles, a man for whom intrigue was second nature, did not keep to their agreement, then victory was not so certain. There was a danger of becoming involved in a conflict at sea in which their numerical superiority would become a great disadvantage. The only comfort she had was that the Greeks were fighting amongst themselves. Of that she was certain because, all the way through the whippings and the torture, the Persian slave swore to Ahura Mazda that he had seen them arguing, swearing and fighting with his own eyes. "How well can an army fight if it is panicking? How can officers work together if they are torn by strife and coming to blows with each other?" she wondered, optimism coming back to life inside her and dispelling her fears. "That stupid democracy of theirs… It will destroy them…" she murmured finally, and it was as if she could see Themistocles himself again, as he was that night in her bedroom at Halicarnassus. "They're leaving! They're leaving, my lady!" sounded the voice of the lookout at the prow. She abandoned her thoughts, jumped up and climbed onto the pedestal at the stern. "Some of their ships are leaving from the western side, my lady" the lookout explained. Yes. From the west. She could see them herself, even though her ship was on the eastern side. In the clear morning air, she could easily make out a division of about forty Greek ships that had set sail and were withdrawing, taking advantage of the wind that had just started to blow. A broad smile was carved on her face. She had been right. Sikinos had told the truth. The ships were withdrawing. The Greeks were breaking formation, abandoning their alliance, escaping. She climbed down from the pedestal at the stern and walked quickly down the corridor to the stern. "What city are they from?" she asked her lookout anxiously. Her heart was in agony. At the other exit there were a hundred Persian ships from Pamphylia, waiting like a spider in its web until their victim was ready. "I cannot make it out, my lady. Their sails are white, like the sails of Athenian ships." She sighed heavily and returned to her place. It was no longer important whether the ships leaving were Athenian or whether the Artemis, the ship of Themistocles, was among them. In a little while the battle would start and the gods would decide victory and defeat, life and death.

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Chapter 77

Xerxes sat on his shining throne on the mountainside and looked at the sea straits with shining eyes. He saw the retreating Greek ships as well, and his mind was already carried away by the brilliant victory and the glory awaiting him. Next to him, General Mardonius amplified his enthusiasm, trying to increase his share of the coming triumph. Good words never do any harm, and neither does flattery, especially to ears that are used to hearing them. "The lookouts I placed on the cliffs confirm everything the slave has said. The signalmen on our ships report the same. There is panic in the Greek camp," he had said earlier, in a voice trembling with enthusiasm. "And now their ships are leaving. I hope they don't all leave and I have someone to crush" the emperor said cheerfully. "Even if they want to, they can't all leave. Our trap has closed. All the sea routes will throw them on our rams" Mardonius answered conceitedly. "Wonderful…" "They themselves know it, my king. They are trapped. Our messengers and lookouts inform me that their women are already wailing on the sides of the hills and in the temples of the island" he explained, before adding with even greater arrogance "and their men are in despair. They are running up and down on the coast without a plan and without discipline, in total panic." "That is natural, Mardonius. Even their god, Poseidon, would be frightened if they saw our fleet and our hundred and fifty thousand rowers and marines" said Xerxes, even more arrogantly. "Really… What about their rowers?" "Their rowers are paralyzed by fear. They do not even dare to board their ships yet." "Anyone would hesitate." "Do you think this is our time to attack and strike their ships on dry ground? The Greeks won't have time to board." Xerxes leaned back in his throne and looked silently at Salamis opposite." "No… We cannot, their shores do not have room for that many ships" he said finally. "Besides, it would be too easy of a victory. Not worthy of me at all. No… It is better to wait for them to go out on the sea so we can crush them."

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Chapter 78

On his ship, the tallest and heaviest of the Persian fleet, Mervalos looked in puzzlement at the forty Greek ships sailing to the west. "They are leaving, master" said the helmsman standing behind him. It was difficult for him to hide his joy. "They are running like rabbits!" The Phoenician admiral did not share his helmsman's enthusiasm. "Exactly as you say… Rabbits run…" he murmured, looking thoughtfully at the Greek ships, with their sails spread and their oars pulled in. "But these ships are sailing slowly, they look like they are going on a journey. Who runs in panic like that?" "Maybe they are doing it to provoke us. But we could overtake them easily and strike them from the back." "Maybe that's exactly what they want…" murmured Mervalos, looking at the Greek ships drawn up on the shore. "To weaken our east side by taking off some of our ships." "We can strike quickly and return in time." "No." "We are in no danger from them, that's obvious" insisted the helmsman and pointed at the Greek anchorage. "Look, master… Look at their women… Look at their rowers running back and forth… They are frightened and disorganized…" "The truth is that they look that way…" "Well then?" "But are they?" wondered the Phoenician, thoughtfully rubbing his beard, which was fluttering in the breeze that had suddenly started up. "Are they?"

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Theo Papas

Chapter 79

Adeimantos and his division have withdrawn" said the messenger sent by the lookout on the hilltop. "Is the Persian formation complete?" "Some of their ships are still in the middle. All the rest are in position." "Good…" Themistocles looked at the white clouds on the surface of the sea, where the water was not protected by the long cape of Kynosoura that stuck out like a thumb into the sea on the east side of the straits. Then he turned his eyes to the waiting rowers. "Then we're ready" he said calmly. "Ready" confirmed Cimonas, standing under the stern of the Artemis and waiting for his orders. Slowly but decisively, Themistocles nodded his head. Then he climbed onto the pedestal at the stern and raised his right fist. "May the goddess Athena be with us…" he said, and put on his helmet. The trumpets sounded and the fifty thousand rowers and marines of the Greek fleet climbed into the ships and took their places at the oars and on the decks, behind the oiled leather of the oarlocks and the protective shields on the rails. Old men, women, even little children pushed at the wooden scaffolding. The keels, smeared with sheep fat and supported on boards, slid into the sea. Thousands of oars were plunged into the water and hundreds of prows sailed against the enemy. The trap was closed. Now it was time for battle and bravery.

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 80

What is happening, Mardonius?" "They have boarded their ships and started, my king." "Finally…" The emperor leaned forward, full of excitement. The hour he had been waiting for so many years, had arrived. "Finally…" he repeated and ordered the imperial scribes to open their papyri and record his triumph in detail.

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 81

From the west end to the center were the ships of Athens, exactly opposite the Phoenician formation. If that broke, the rest of the Persian fleet would break up. On the east side were the sixteen ships of the Spartans and next to them the ships from the island of Aegina. In the center of the Greek formation were the ships from the other cities and the islands. The Artemis sailed ahead with all the speed her rowers could give her. To the east was the cape and to the south was the land mass of Salamis. Between them the water was calm, protected from the southeastern wind that came howling into the straits and stirred up the waters off the coast of Athens. "Straight ahead, attack speed" shouted Themistocles. The petty officer gave the command to the rowers and the signalman transmitted it to all the ships of the division. To the right of Themistocles sailed the Aisia, Cimonas' ship. To his left was the Ischys, the ship of Ameinias who was shouting passionately at his crew, as if they were on seats of the stadium at Olympia watching the athletes in the Olympic Games. "Even more power to the oars" shouted Themistocles, seeing the white clouds on the surface, a sign that they were coming out of the protected waters. The high rails of the Phoenician ships were a hundred yards away. The forty marines and twenty archers on their great decks could be seen clearly. On their own decks there were only ten marines and four archers, which made the ships lighter, because Themistocles believed that a sea battle is won or lost by maneuvers and by ramming, not by swords and arrows. The Artemis bucked wildly when it hit the wild waters. A wave hit her on the side of the bow. The bow reared up and then fell, slapping the water. The ship shuddered from bow to stern like a house in an earthquake. Many of the marines were shaken and grabbed on wherever they could, and the helmsman threw himself on top of his great oars to hold the ship steady. "Avast!" shouted Themistocles suddenly, and the rowers slowly reversed the direction of their rowing, slowing and then stopping the ship. The trumpets sounded slowly, giving the message. The ships of the Greek fleet, one after the other, slowed down and stopped near the center of the straits, tossed by the waves. The maneuver looked like a dog throwing itself onto its prey, only to find that the prey was not a rabbit but an enormous bear. "Now what do we do?" asked the petty officer. "We stay still."

300 The Empire

Theo Papas

Chapter 82

"They are afraid. That's logical" said Xerxes, and laughed out loud. "Fear holds empires together. It destroys armies and fleets." "That is true, my lord" Mardonius agreed cheerfully. But his eyes remained fixed uneasily on the western side of the Greek armada, where the ships of Athens were drawn up with their rams ready to go. That could only mean one of two things: that their hostage was mistaken or that Artemisia had lied. "Give the command to attack, Mardonius. When a wild beast hesitates in fear, that is the best moment to strike," Xerxes commanded.