“Come out of there, Killer!” she said.
He came stooping through the low door and then straightened, blinking in the sunlight and grinning at the same time. Strangely, he was not wearing a Meran outfit, only a short beige loin cloth with a white wand hanging swordlike at one side of his belt and a dagger at the other. The next thing she noticed was his deep tan, replacing the hideous marble pallor of his coma. Then his face— the crushed nose had healed and, as Jerry had said, it was not a bad nose at all, high-bridged and straight. Her father’s nose had looked somewhat like that, and Alan had it, a Greek nose.
“Well, are you a sight for sore eyes!” she said.
He beamed at her. “Old friends should greet with a kiss,” he replied, advancing with his hands out.
Damn! She had forgotten that side of Killer. Instinctively she backed away, but she had also forgotten the pool behind her. Air under her foot… her arms flailed… in a flash Killer’s hand shot out and clutched the front of her cape, and then held her, sloped helplessly backwards over that filthy water.
His eyes gleamed with delight. “Now certainly it is worth a kiss!” he said. He wouldn’t! Yes, he would… she could see it in that devilish grin. If she refused he would open those fingers, and down she would go; he would not hesitate at all.
She grabbed his wrist, and he tilted her further backwards; one push would do it.
“A small one, then,” she agreed.
Effortlessly he pulled her upright, gripped her with an arm like the clutch of a backhoe— then another arm like another backhoe— and deliberately crushed all the air out of her lungs before pushing his mouth down on hers. There was no such thing as a small kiss to Killer, obviously, or a short one.
“Cut that out, Killer!” Jerry roared somewhere nearby.
But Killer had his eyes shut and was too busy to listen; he was clearly not going to stop until she responded, so she responded. His teeth were all healed, she discovered.
Finally he released her, and she staggered, bewildered, half-suffocated, and aware that she had just been kissed by an expert. He guided her away from the pool edge, appraising her reaction with obvious satisfaction before turning to Jerry, who returned the hug, turning his face away. Then they thumped each other on the back enthusiastically and finally stepped back for a careful study.
“Very careless, friend, not to search more carefully,” Killer said, teasing. Jerry was smiling ear to ear. “I knew from the smell that you were in there,” he said. Killer was back, and all was right with the world again.
Killer swung round to the others. “The very beautiful Maisie— do you also greet old friends with a kiss?”
“No, She doesn’t!” Graham snapped.
“Citizen Gillis!” Killer said and stared him down without another word. “And Citizen Carlo? You have had an accident, I see. Could that perhaps have been my friend Jerry losing his temper?” He flashed a questioning grin at Jerry, which grew wider as he saw the shamed reaction. True, he was the much-desired rescue, but he was dominating them all by sheer impudence. He turned back to Carlo, who was standing, hands on hips, seeming relaxed, but also ready to leap if necessary, his swollen face guarded. He dangled his leather jacket by one finger and in his sleeveless shirt he was a sapling by Killer’s massive oak tree.
And why was Killer wearing local costume instead of a Meran outfit? Because he thought he looked good in a loin cloth?
“I have a score to settle with Citizen Carlo,” Killer murmured.
“Hold it, Killer!” Jerry said. “We have a truce just now— I promised you would settle no scores yet.”
“Oh, you did?” Killer found that amusing.
“Yes, I did.”
“Ah, well, perhaps this is not the time. When we get to Mera, then. It will be something for us both to look forward to, no?” Carlo made an offensive gesture.
Killer’s eyebrows went up. “Oh? You wish to be friends?”
“I don’t think that’s what he meant, Killer,” Jerry said.
Killer was studying Carlo thoughtfully, and Carlo was holding his stare. “Who knows what he meant? Well, we shall see.” He glanced around them all once more, and his amusement died away. He put his head on one side and looked up at Jerry. “You sent me back, friend. I am very grateful. But the Oracle is not pleased with you.” Jerry flushed under his stubble. “I didn’t think it would be. You have come to take us back, though?”
“No,” Killer said sadly. “You have made a terrible screw up, Jerry friend. I can not.” Ariadne’s heart fell through the ground, and she saw the shock ripple around the other faces.
“Come!” Killer said. “It is a long story. Let us sit down.” He walked past Carlo to the stairs and went up two steps before sitting down. That put him higher than anyone else could be, and she wondered how conscious that action was, if it was merely a reflex from centuries of manipulating people. But Graham could play those games, also, and he eased Maisie over to the wall and sat there— that was the second best spot. Carlo slouched a few steps and dropped cross-legged in front of the stairs; Jerry was about to join him, but Ariadne slipped a hand on his arm and said, “Here is fine.” So the two of them sat down where they were, well to the side of the steps.
Killer innocently leaned back on his elbows, parted his knees, and glanced around to see who was interested. She had half expected that— now she was getting to know Killer, and he was a shameless exhibitionist. Jerry noticed and gave her a glance that was half disgust and half thanks.
“Now,” Killer said, enjoying the attention. “We must exchange stories— the Oracle did not tell me everything. The first thing I knew was when I was being carried into the hospital by Sven and Ethelfird.” He looked meaningfully at Carlo. “There was much pain for a couple of days.” Carlo shrugged and said nothing.
“By the end of the second day,” Killer said, “my friend Jerry had not come to see me, so I went to see the Oracle. I was doubled over like Sisyphus, Jerry— you would have laughed to see me.” He did not look as though he found it funny.
“But the Oracle would not see me— there was no one there. So I went back the next day, and still there was no one.” Jerry nodded but did not speak.
Killer waved away flies— the place was thick with them. “The next morning I felt much better and when Clio came to see me I took her into bed and found that I was fit for duty again. So I went to see the Oracle once more. It said that you have loused up, Jerry.” He shook his head in exasperation. “You invited the demon in!”
“No!” Jerry barked. “Oh, damn! Yes, I did.” He looked in dismay at Ariadne. “I told you its name!” Killer shook his head. “You had two children with you.” Jerry looked indignant. “I didn’t know that made any difference!”
“Neither did I,” Killer said. “Your friend Gervasse did not either and he got very excited when I told him. All the philosophers are twittering like starlings over it.”
“Where are my children?” shouted Graham, before Ariadne could ask the same question.
Killer shrugged. “I do not know. The Oracle said that they made a difference— they could not go to Mera, but Asterios could not have them either. It seems they are sacrosanct, like Delphi.” Graham looked at Maisie, who smiled and nodded. Then he glanced over to Ariadne, and they smiled at each other. It was a long time since that had happened.
“But the Oracle would say no more about them,” Killer said. “I do not see them… Where are they?” Jerry explained, and Killer was impressed. “Then they must be safe,” he said. “I told little Lacey that dreams came true, and she got her flying pony!” He waved at the bugs again; they all were being pestered except Jerry and Ariadne, whose Meran clothes were apparently insect-repellent.