There was an interminable pause; she should not have left those three drunkards by themselves. Then Graham came next, landed heavily, and took his time getting up and back against the wall so that Jerry had something to stand on when he pulled Carlo over. Then they were all in the third box, past the Minotaur.
“Which way?” Jerry demanded, rubbing a scraped and bleeding chest. “Same again,” she said, pointing at the wall.
So they went over the next wall— and the crowd boomed once more— but a flat wall was harder to manage than a corner. Graham slipped to the ground as she climbed on his shoulders, and they fell in a heap. Jerry slapped Graham’s face as she had slapped Maisie’s, and at the next try they made it.
Then the next wall, and as she went over that one, catching a brief glimpse of the whole Labyrinth once more, the Minotaur’s head appeared in the distance, and the two of them stared at each other across a wide expanse. Then she dropped down, and probably the Minotaur did, too, for then it bellowed— that same dreadful, earth-shaking noise she had heard in the cottage, and loud enough to drown out even the insane yelling of the crowd.
If it could look over a wall so easily, it could probably climb over one, also. They tackled another wall, but now they were getting more skillful, and the men were certainly sobering. All five of them were filthy and slick with muck, scraped and bleeding from the stones, but they were starting to perform together like a team of acrobats. How many walls was that? Why was the crowd quiet? Why was the crowd yelling? Where in hell was the monster? Was it racing around the passageways towards them, or was it also scrambling over the barriers?
Jerry was suffering the most, because he always had the job of pulling Carlo up, which meant being doubled over the wall with Graham holding his feet. Ariadne suddenly saw that the effort of climbing was probably no longer worth it— the inside boxes were small. “Let’s run!” she said.
But her fingers were too filthy, the nails too scratched, for her notes to be any use now, and they started the wrong way, came to a dead end, reversed, and retraced.
The running was even harder now, hard on bare feet, for there was less filth and more bones— long piles of ribs, shattered skulls, and limb bones along the sides of the passages, with only a narrow track down the middle for running. Evidently both the Minotaur and its victims had preferred to do their defecating away from the center of the maze— and surely they must be almost at the center now?
Then it saw them. They had just turned a corner when the Minotaur’s head loomed over a wall ahead— not the one which ended the passage, but the next beyond. It bellowed and started to scramble over. Maisie stopped in horror, and the others cannoned into her.
“Keep going!” Ariadne shouted.
“Damn right!” Carlo yelled and gave her a shove, so they all ran forward once more. They had just reached the corner when the great hairy hands appeared on the ridge of the wall above their heads. Jerry stopped and selected a couple of skulls as missilies.
“You go on!” he said. “I’ll see what I can do.”
As the other three raced away, Ariadne picked up a largish thigh bone and smiled at Jerry. “Lift me?” He was almost sober now, and he turned his filthy face to her and grinned “Give him hell!” he said. He backed up to the wall and cupped his hands. She clambered up onto his shoulders just in time— the monstrous bull head rose on the other side of the wall, the huge bovine eyes looked into hers. There was a pause, for the monster’s hands were gripping the coping stone, and it could not grab for her; then she swung the thigh bone as hard as she could at the leathery black nose. Bulls’ noses were particularly sensitive, weren’t they?
Evidently this one was; a roar of pain boomed out, both head and hands vanished. There was an audible crash of smashing bones as the Minotaur fell backwards, and then the noise of the crowd drowned out anything more. She almost toppled also, was steadied by Jerry’s hands against her legs, scrambled and slithered back down, and found herself standing with his arms around her.
“I would kiss you if you weren’t so disgustingly filthy,” he said. “I bet you tell all the girls that.”
He laughed and said, “Come on!” and they ran off along the passage toward yet another gateway, She did not know which way to turn, but as she hesitated the other three came running in from her left. So they all went right, and two more corners brought them to the front of the Minotaur’s pen.
There was a very low and nasty-looking black entrance. For a moment no one seemed to want to go first, and then they heard the crowd noise rising to frenzy— the moment of truth was fast approaching, Asterios closing in— and with a scramble they all dived for that doorway, to find out how much of what Killer had said was true.…
Thirteen
It was a dark and noisome hole, blackness with a small patch of light by the door, and they were all so filthy that they were invisible; but they huddled together for the comfort of human contact and watched the light, waiting for the shadow of a horned head to block it out, and listening to the distant murmur of… of running water?
Then Jerry realized that the doorway was not in the center of a wall, but in one corner.
“We made it!” he yelled, and suddenly started to shake. He thought he might be going to throw up, but he tottered over to the door and then outside, and was momentarily blinded by the sun glaring off the pool— and someone out there on watch gave a great howl of welcome.
He took two steps and threw himself into the water.
It had been foul, slimy and repellent three days ago. Now it was the most blissful experience he could remember. He dunked and thrashed and finally stood up, waist deep, to watch as four other people, black with the horrible ooze of the Labyrinth, came tumbling out the doorway and followed him in with monstrous splashes. And there was Sven… and in through the gate poured Tig and Marcus and Jean-Louis…
The rescue team had been waiting two days. They had cleaned out the building and the spring itself inside it, so that there was a flow of clean water coming down the rockface, and each of the arrivals in turn could go in and rinse off in sweet fresh water and then emerge into the sunlight once more, swathed in great towels and grinning insanely.
There were hugs and kisses. There was Ariadne being introduced to Clio, small and childlike and shy, and to the vociferous blond bulk of Helga. There were bone-creaking embraces and rib-breaking thumps from Sven and Tig. There were Meran clothes for all of them in blues and reds and grays. And outside, later, beside a huge wagon and three tents, a picnic was spread on the grass under blue sky and a gentle breeze of warm and fragrant fresh air.
Jerry sat beside Ariadne. “That’s twice you have defeated the Minotaur,” he said. “I was sent to rescue you, you know— it’s humiliating to have you constantly saving me like this.” She smiled and said softly, “I promise never to do it again.” Then she started to shiver. He took her hand. “All right?” She nodded bravely. “As long as you don’t wave a gin bottle near me… yes, I think so.”
“They brought no wine or beer,” he assured her. “I asked Helga. The Oracle foresaw this. Spring water for everyone.” She looked relieved, but he was worried by her trembling and paleness. Nor was he happy about Tig and the others. They had been boisterous in their greetings, but not boisterous enough. Their eyes wandered while they spoke; they knew something he did not.