Eighth wall… and she had no more time. The soldiers did not drive her with their swords— hands were more fun. For a moment she almost squirmed loose, oily and slick with the sweat of fear, but then she, too, was dropped into blackness. She shot down a long, greasy, bronze slide and out into the corridor below, with its stench and unspeakable filth. The hatch cover clanged shut above her.
A loud buzzing next to her ears… ugh! Obviously no one ever came into the Labyrinth to clean; the floor was thick with excrement and rotted flesh and offal, crawling with insects. Her stomach heaved, and she scrambled hastily to her feet, coated with the disgusting ooze and standing ankle-deep in it, brushing off nasty crunchy bugs, her head swimming with the foul air. There was the skull she had noticed, tooth marks obvious on it at this distance.
She looked at her companions. Jerry and Carlo were trying to get Graham to his feet. Maisie was leaning against the wall with her eyes closed and her lips moving, praying again.
Start by going right. “This way!” she shouted, grabbing Maisie’s arm. The other two had pulled Graham up and had his arms over their shoulders— they almost filled the width of the corridor and they swayed horribly. “Run, damn it!” she shouted, and they started reeling along ahead of her.
Speed! They must move! They had to get into the Labyrinth proper before the monster reached this outermost passage, or it could simply drive them back into a dead end. “Faster!” Maisie fell. Ariadne dragged her up again and slapped her face, hard. She opened her eyes very wide, white in a filth-coated mask of a face, and the two of them hurried on after the three men. Graham’s feet were starting to move. It was horrible stuff to run in, slippery, soft goo with hard lumps in it— probably bones because some snapped, some rolled, and some were sharp. They careened round the second corner and the first gateway coming up on their left. Now she had to make a decision— did they keep on towards the center and the approaching monster, or did they duck up the blind alley and wait for it to go by? Always assuming that it would work its way to the outside first and not play the same game and just wait for them?
There was the gate— check the first finger. “Right!” she said.
The triple-header stopped, and Jerry disentangled himself, leaning Graham against the wall. “How d’you know?” he demanded blearily. He was recovering— the exercise and fear were cutting through the wine.
“I know! Trust me!” she begged him. “I’ve got more capacity for liquor than any of you. Move!”
They moved, and now Graham could manage better, although he kept falling and having to climb up again. They raced along that endless corridor, and, while it was unspeakably foul, at least it was cool and damp, not like the heat-baked platform had been. The two stone walls stretched out ahead to the corner, and beyond that rose the much higher wall that led up to the stands— and above that a narrow wedge of the stands, with spectators running in from both sides to watch their progress.
They rounded the corner— another empty and endless passage ahead. They were making too much noise… but surely the din of the crowd would drown it out?
Another corner, and this time she grabbed at shoulders and stopped everyone, then crept ahead and took a quick peek around. Empty. “Come on, then…” Here was another question— how far had the Minotaur come? Was it still advancing, or was it standing in the right-of-way, waiting for them, or had it gone down a blind alley to let them pass so it could drive them to the center? They wanted to get past it— perhaps it wanted the same thing. Most of its victims were only interested in hiding for as long as possible and would not want to reach the middle of the Labyrinth, as she and her companions did; the magic door to Mera was for them only.
Then they reached the gateway, and again she called a halt and crept forward alone to reconnoiter, to poke her head through for a quick glance left and another quick glance right. No monster.
Which way? Right was right if they were going to the center. She led them left and heard the crowd boom with excitement.
They reached the corner, turned it, and stopped at the sight of a dead end.
“Wrong!” Jerry said. “Come on!”
“No!” she said, and managed to stop them— they were all wide-eyed and too tensed up or drunk to think straight. Graham had his eyes open, but could barely stand without support. Jerry and Carlo were better, but still confused.
She made them stay where they were and went back to the corner they had just turned. She lay down in the filth. She dug out a small hole for her head and looked back with one eye showing, her innards heaving and roiling at the stench and the creepiness of the bugs. The surface was very uneven— she hoped that the Minotaur’s eyesight would not be good enough to notice half a head at ground level.
She played the waiting game… waiting… waiting
Then she noticed the crowd noise, rising and then falling again. The sacrificial victims were not moving, so the spectators were reacting to whatever the Minotaur was doing.
And there it was! It had come around the corner at the far end of the corridor she was watching and was advancing towards her, all its obscene ugliness revealed by the stark sunlight. Lord! It was huge, seven feet tall, maybe eight, broad and hairy and with that enormous head and deadly horns It plodded up to the gateway she had come through and stopped. The crowd grew silent. It stepped into the gateway and looked to its right, then to its left. It backed up again and rolled those great animal eyes in her direction. It took a step.
The crowd roared.
Bastards! Bloody bastards! Asterios could get clues from the crowd! The Minotaur stopped, and the crowd fell silent. Then the monster turned towards the center of the Labyrinth and reached up with those impossible arms, gripped the top of the wall, and pulled itself up, walking its human feet up the stones. It peered over into the corridor it had left behind. Then it dropped back down again, splattering filth, and once more paused to look in her direction.
It knew they were there.
It had guessed from the crowd reaction, perhaps could even see her watching it.
Then the monster turned, walked back to the gateway, and went through it, out of sight. Now it was she who could listen to the crowd noise— low… lower… rising again. So the Minotaur was still playing its hesitation game outside the gate, pretending to be making up its mind whether to go left or right.
It likes to play with its victims.
Lying there in the cool, foul sludge, with sharp bones sticking in her, she waited. It wasn’t fair! The Minotaur could look over the walls; she had not thought of that before.
What else had the Oracle told Killer— that Minos liked to put in many victims at one time? Surely the crowd would not get so excited if this spectacle happened every three days. What was special about five victims, apart from the opportunities for gambling?
The Minotaur’s head appeared in the gateway again, checking once more. So it was still there, playing with them, and the crowd was loving it.
She waited until it was facing in the opposite direction, then wriggled back and stood up. She put a finger over her lips to warn the others and she pointed at the corner of the dead end.
Graham was still by far the most heavily drugged, but he was persuaded to stand by Jerry in the corner, making a ladder of their hands and shoulders. Maisie was over first, then Ariadne followed, wriggling and cursing on that nastily pointed top. For a moment she could look over the whole expanse of the Labyrinth, see the tiny square roof in the center that was life— if Killer was telling the truth— see the clumps of people in the stands, yelling their filthy heads off at this new development. Then she was down beside Maisie in the third box.