“By aaaall the gods, maaaanling, you were right. The Laaaabyrinth is moving.”
A whole section of the far wall opened slowly, and light—blessed light—poured in to illuminate a long corridor. Fresh lamps, like the ones in Daedalus’ workshop, sprang to life the full length of the hallway.
Then a wall at the end of the corridor opened as well, and beyond it more and more blocks swung open, one after another, as if the blocks were beads on a long string.
Penelope took Odysseus’ hand and squeezed. “Shall we follow the master’s thread?”
Hand in hand they went down the corridors, with Silenus capering around them. The scent of fresh air drew them faster and faster until they found themselves at last on a grassy hillside far from the city. Above, moon and stars beamed down, as if the gods themselves were smiling.
Odysseus took a deep, cleansing breath. Then he looked back over his shoulder at the gaping tunnel.
“When Daedalus spoke of the heart’s desire …”
“He meant what every prisoner in the Labyrinth desired,” Penelope said.
Silenus understood too. “The waaay out!” he cried, and his little goat feet beat a happy tattoo into the grass.
For a long while they sat together, luxuriating in the feel of the grass and the smell of the earth and the sound of the wind past their ears.
At last Odysseus stood. Holding his hand up above his eyes, shielding them from moonglow, he looked around. “Over there,” he said, pointing.
Penelope and Silenus stood and followed his pointing finger. They saw the silvery sheen of moonlight reflecting on water.
“That must be the harbour,” Odysseus said. “If we’re lucky, that’s where Mentor and Helen and Praxios and Captain Tros will be.”
“And if we’re not lucky?” Penelope asked.
“Then we’re on our own.”
“Good luck to you aaaall, then,” said Silenus. “I’m off on aaaa different paaaath.”
“What’s this?” Odysseus said. “Surely you want to get off this island. Come with me to Ithaca. You’ll get a hero’s welcome there. Wine. Women. Song.”
“The only waaaay off this island,” said Silenus, shivering violently, “is by sea. I’ve haaaad enough of thaaaat for one lifetime, thaaaank you. Goats and boats—aaaa terrible mix.”
Penelope went over and held the satyr’s hand. “But Deucalion will be looking for you.”
At her touch, Silenus stopped shivering. “There are plenty of mountains over there,” he said, gesturing with his head. “Aaaand mountains mean nymphs. Aaaand wild grapes. Aaaand …”
Penelope nodded and once again kissed the old satyr between his horns. “Farewell then, old goat.”
Odysseus shook the satyr’s hand. “Farewell, indeed.”
Silenus turned, stomped his feet, then said over his shoulder, “If you should come aaaacross aaaa jar of wine in your travels, don’t forget to toast your old friend, Silenus.” With a bound, he was gone.
CHAPTER 26: THE FINAL CHALLENGE
ODYSSEUS AND PENELOPE FOUND a rough track that led in the direction of the harbour, and followed it down from the hills. It brought them to the outskirts of the city, and they crept through the quiet streets, keeping to the shadows.
Next to the harbour was a large, grotty tavern called the Trident, and inside raucous voices were raised in song.
Crouching low, so as not to be seen through the tavern windows, the two of them passed by. But then a familiar voice called out, “Here’s to King Deucalion! And here’s to leaving this wretched island on the dawn tide!”
Penelope grabbed Odysseus’ hand. “That’s—”
“I recognise the voice too,” Odysseus said. “The pirate chief.” He peeked over the window ledge.
Inside was the mastiff-like chief, and he was surrounded by about twenty of his men. Odysseus saw the three who’d tried to throw him overboard.
Penelope tugged on his tunic, and Odysseus ducked down.
“Who was there?” she asked.
“Your pirates. They’re spending their loot unwisely,” he said. “Come on.”
A little farther on was the quayside, where a dozen ships lay at anchor, illuminated by a sky the colour of old pearl.
“Praxios said the slave pens were close by,” Odysseus told Penelope quietly.
“There?” she whispered, pointing.
To their left was a brick enclosure locked by a high bronze gate. Dimly visible beyond the bars were a number of sleeping figures.
“But where’s Mentor?” Odysseus whispered. “He should have been here long before us.”
“And Helen,” Penelope added.
As if in answer to their whispered questions, an all-too-familiar voice pierced the air.
“My father and brothers will wage war on this city and burn it to the ground! There are a thousand ships looking for me even now.”
Odysseus seized Penelope by the arm, pulling her behind an empty wagon. Just then Idomeneus appeared around the corner of the slave pen. Behind him were Bosander and four soldiers, herding an increasingly irate Helen, along with Mentor and Praxios.
“Why did you run off?” Idomeneus spun on his heel and addressed Helen. “I’ve spent all night searching for you.”
“I was bored and decided to take a walk,” Helen answered snippily. “And what’s wrong with that?”
“In the middle of the night?” Bosander said with a growl. “And in bad company?”
“I bumped into them and thought your father had let them go. How was I to know they’d escaped?” Helen continued haughtily, but Odysseus thought he could detect a bit of strain in her voice.
“We told her we’d been pardoned,” Mentor put in, but he had no authority in his voice.
He’s never been a good liar, Odysseus realised. Whereas I can tell a tale that everyone believes.
“Haven’t I given you everything you asked for? And kept you safe from the Labyrinth?” Idomeneus was trying to sound masterful, but he kept slipping into unmanly pleading.
“Oh yes, I’m very grateful,” Helen said. “And I’m grateful for not being sent to a horrible death like my cousin. If only every Cretan were as considerate!”
She does sarcasm really well, thought Odysseus, suddenly realising what a good defence it was. Behind her incredible beauty, Helen was not all that sure of herself.
Idomeneus huffed for a moment, then directed his anger at Mentor. “Where’s your scheming friend Epicles?”
For a moment Odysseus couldn’t remember who Epicles was. Then, biting his lip, he recalled that it was the name he’d chosen for himself.
“Epicles made himself a pair of wings and flew away,” Mentor replied stubbornly.
There was a loud thwacking sound, and Mentor cried out. Odysseus started to get up, but Penelope pulled him back, silently shaking her head.
Idomeneus’ voice, now silky, said, “And what about you, craftsman? We can always put you back in the dungeon. What do you have to say?”
“Being beaten in the dungeon or out, what’s the difference?”
Behind the wagon, Odysseus pressed the golden key into Penelope’s palm and whispered, “I’m going to create a diversion. While Idomeneus and his soldiers are looking the other way, sneak over to the slave pens and set Tros and his men free.”
Before he could leave, Penelope grabbed him by the wrist. “Haven’t you taken enough chances?”
“Mentor is my friend. Tros and his men are Ithacans. I can’t leave without trying to save them. So just one more chance,” he whispered. “If the gods grant it.” He grinned at her.
“I was wrong about you,” she said softly. “You really are a hero.”
He looked down and spoke quietly. “I was wrong about you too.” Then he slipped away, ducking through the shadows until he was a good distance from where Penelope was hidden. There he stepped out and walked calmly towards Idomeneus.