Jumping to conclusions. Part two Pythia

"Ho boy! Whoowahoo!"

What the ... Iolaus looked up from his plate as the raucous exclamation rang through the room. The music faltered. The dancers fled for the stairs, and a very indignant Helena sailed across the tiled floor in full sail, her skirts billowing out around her. The reason for her alarm was obvious, and the hunter’s eyes narrowed as he hastily chewed and swallowed down his last mouthful of spiced pork. He hated to waste a good meal; the one in front of him was excellent - and the half dozen rowdies who’d just spilled into the room had trouble written all over them .

In capital letters.

"You hold it right there boys!" Helena’s voice had suddenly developed a commanding note - a distinct contrast to her previously sultry tones. "We aren’t open to your kind of business."

"Oh, yeah. Right." The leader of the group swaggered forward - a lanky, sullen looking young man, his lank hair plastered down by the rain and the tell tale glow of drink warming his cheeks. He glanced over his shoulder at his cronies, at least three of whom appeared to be a lot drunker than he was. "The witch wants to throw us out boys. Whatdya say to that?"

"Throw her out!" one of them jeered and the rest laughed uproariously at the idea. Helena planted herself in front of their leader, hands on her hips and her eyes flashing dangerously.

"I’ve told you before, Jantis, you’re not welcome here - and I’m telling you again now. You and these -drunks - get off my property right now or - "

"Or what?" Jantis leered, leaning forward so that he stared her right in the face. Helena winced with disgust and took a half step backwards to escape his breath. Bad move; he read it as fear and followed forward with confidence. "You gonna call town watch on me? You gonna take me to court?"

His band thought this was extremely funny, and so did Jantis. He laughed right in the woman’s face. She went white with fury. "Oh yeah, very funny," she growled. "Just because your father is - "

"Excuse me?" Iolaus had risen to his feet and made his way round to the edge of the dance floor, his bare feet making no sound on the warm tiles and his black robe blending him in with the shadows. Most of the other patrons of the house had determinedly turned away from the confrontation, desperately pretending it wasn’t happening; those girls not safely occupied with one of them were fleeing for the suspect safety of the stairs and balcony. The hunter didn’t blame them. The young men were drunk and likely to get violent just for the sake of it. Six men facing down one woman didn’t count as fair odds in his book - unless the woman concerned was Xena, in which case Iolaus would have been sitting back to watch the fun. Helena was not the warrior princess, although her expression would have warmed the lady’s heart; she looked as if she were determined to give as good as she got.

Iolaus had no intention of letting her get anything. Here he was, having a pleasant, relaxing evening, with good food and better company and he wasn’t about to let these half-cut, young thugs spoil it for him. He knew the type - and he knew he’d take great pleasure in teaching them all a lesson or two in manners.

"What?" Jantis demanded, swing round to glare at the interruption with irritation. What he saw - a small, almost slight figure draped in black, with bare feet and a tousle of boyish golden curls - made him burst out laughing. "You got yourself a new bouncer, witch?" he howled, the rest of his cronies bent almost double with laughter. Helena threw her guest an anxious, wary look.

"This isn’t your problem, hero," she said, trying to dissuade him from trouble with a small shake of her head and a warning look in her eyes. He grinned and gave her a knowing wink - which only served to deepen her frown. She meant the epithet as a flattering joke - but he was a hero. She was in trouble. And that made it his problem.

"Hero?" The young bully and his followers thought that was even funnier. Jantis took a step away from Helena to grin arrogantly down at her would-be rescuer, looking decidedly amused. "You the economy model, squirt?"

Iolaus’ eyes narrowed a little as he considered the figure in front of him. Hercules would have recognised that look - and known exactly what it meant. Jantis merely widened his grin.

"Well?" he mocked, sharing his amusement with his friends. The hunter tipped his head back a little and eyed the man with patient forbearance. He wasn’t about to start this fight. But he knew it was coming all the same.

Squirt, huh? One of these days, he considered wryly I might actually run across someone who realises I’m dangerous ...

"Something like that," he admitted, surreptitiously flicking his hand at Helena to get her to move out of the way. She was quick - she caught the gesture, acknowledged it with a doubtful grimace then heaved a sigh and slowly stepped back to the edge of the dance floor. Her eyes said it’s your funeral, which hurt, just a little. He’d thought the woman had a better measure of him than that. "Actually," he went on, circling round to take up the space Helena had just left, "I’m the new dance instructor. Care for a lesson - or two?"

"Well, whaddya know," Jantis jeered, motioning his cronies forward. "The whorehouse got itself a guard-dog. A little yappy, lap dog more like - "

He launched himself to the attack, swinging out wildly with his fist. The hunter dodged; the intended blow missed by leagues. Its perpetrator stumbled over a deliberately outstretched foot and made an unexpected close acquaintance with the floor. His cronies immediately leapt to his defense - and discovered what a lot of would-be bullies had been discovering over the years.

That Iolaus was a lot more dangerous than he looked.

It was never going to be an even fight. There were six of them, already drunk, quickly enraged, and lashing out without restraint. He was one man, unarmed and unarmored, bare foot and clad in nothing but black silk.

He wiped the floor with them.

It had been a while since he’d had a good work out, and those three wet, miserable days on the trail had offered very little opportunity to vent the restless energy with which he’d been blessed in abundance. He met the challenge with enthusiasm, a swift and supple predator in the middle of a band of jackals. They stumbled and they flailed, they roared with anger and they hurt each other far more than they were ever going to hurt him. He danced through their assault, always a step ahead, never misplacing a twist or a turn, and taking them down with speed and style.

Leap, kick, spin, tumble, strike. Bare flesh struck against bare flesh, offering open handed blows rather than fists - they were only local bully boys and he didn’t want to hurt them too much - and one by one they went down. The first stumbled away to collapse into a huddled heap, hugging his stomach and groaning in distress. The second was thrown backwards by a well placed foot under his chin, hit the floor and stayed there, poleaxed by the blow. The third, doubled over by an elbow jab, went down and stayed down; the hunter used him as a spring board, somersaulting over two of his friends and then laying them both out with a spinning roundhouse kick once he’d landed. Four and five collapsed over number three and none of them got up again. That left only Jantis, howling with rage and frustration.

"Stand still, damn you!" he cursed, lurching at his opponent with murder in his eyes. Iolaus feinted, dodged back the other way, spun away from the blow and helped the young man on his way with a well placed foot on his backside. Jantis stumbled, only just recovered his balance and turned back with a face like fury. "Fight like a man!"

"I am," Iolaus shrugged, flipping into another backward leap as the bully swung a fist in his direction. Jantis hit fresh air, stumbled round carried by his own momentum and the hunter once again helped him on his way with a gentle shove from a bare foot. The younger man was panting for breath, his face florid and the moisture pouring off him like a river. Iolaus, on the other hand, had barely broken a sweat; he was poised on the balls of his feet, his breathing totally under control and moving as if he could keep this kind of pace up all night. Which he probably could, if he had to.

"Stand still!" Jantis demanded in a scream of sheer frustration. Iolaus shrugged a second time.

"Okay." This time he didn’t dodge. Didn’t even step back. He deflected his opponent’s wild blow with an upward strike from his right arm and moved in with his left. Jantis didn’t know what hit him; one moment he was upright, the next he was down and staying down, his body screaming from half a dozen blows, all of which had been too quick for him to see. Iolaus paused in mid-strike as the bully crumpled to the floor, holding the pose for a moment while he assessed whether or not the man was getting up again. Seeing that he wasn’t, he stepped back, took a long deep cleansing breath, gave himself a little shake and returned his attention to the rest of the world, wondering if he’d missed anything.

The House of Elysium gave him a spontaneous round of applause.

"Well, well, well," Helena observed, emerging from among the gaming tables to offer him a goblet of well-earned refreshment. Her eyes danced with admiration and her smile was warm. "You can teach dancing at my establishment any time. You’re good. Very good. You know," she added as he tipped the goblet back to take a very welcome swallow, "with that kind of audition I can see the girls fighting each other over you tonight. Someone throw that trash into the street," she ordered imperiously, and several other of her patrons leapt to obey with enthusiasm. Iolaus got the impression that Jantis and his gang were not well liked in town.

"Well, I - ah - wouldn’t really want to start another fight," the hunter joked warmly, not at all embarrassed to find himself suddenly surrounded by a bunch of attentive women. He smiled at the nearest one, a hazel eyed vixen with long honey blonde hair, and she smiled back with hopeful invitation. "I’m trying to cut down, you know?"

"I’m sure you are. Girls," Helena fended them off good naturedly, ignoring their mock pouts of protest, "the man hasn’t finished his supper yet. Ruby - you go fetch him some desert. I think there’s some honey cake in the kitchen. Amber, you get the good wine from my office - the Athenian amphora if you please - and the rest of you? Back to work if you please. We have other customers to keep happy tonight, you know. Oh - Jasmine, would you be so good as to shoo the brats back to bed? It’s way to late for them to still be up. Even if they did just get to see the Magistrate’s son get the lesson he’s been asking for for a long time."

Iolaus looked up, following the line of her glance. Sure enough, there were three bright eyed children leaning on the balcony rail, right by the second set of stairs. Two girls and a boy, none of them older than seven at first guess. "Who’s - ah?" he asked, nodding at the youngsters, who were hastily scrambling back up the stairs now they realised they’d been spotted. Helena smiled indulgently.

"Our little blessings? Melete is Sapphire’s little girl, Polyhelus belongs to Gloxenia - and as for poor Hyacinth, well, he’s an orphan. His father died a month or two back and the Magistrate kicked the child out onto the streets. Repossessed the house to cover taxes he said. Like anyone believes that. Ippartus was an occasional client of ours - after his wife died, he used to come here for a little company from time to time. He was pretty good to us. Didn’t have much money, but he paid in kind. Carpentry mostly. A little hard labour now and then - chopping wood, fetching supplies, you know? Far more than he ever owed. The least I could do was take the boy in. Even in quiet place like Iphrus the streets are no place for a child."

"You can say that again," Iolaus agreed wryly, looking at her with new respect. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told Hercules that sometimes places like the House of Elysium could serve as sanctuaries. There’d been another such House in Thebes once - not quite as grand or as fancy as this one - which had seen fit to take pity on a gang of street kids; been willing to give them food, and take in the youngest among them for protection. Iolaus had never forgotten that generosity - nor that the members of that House had always welcomed him back with knowing arms once he’d been old enough to appreciate them.

It was something Hercules had never quite understood. How - sometimes - even the casual companionship of a stranger could be a better option than facing than a long night alone. The son of Zeus had never been alone - not like that. Not cold, and hungry and feeling that the whole world was set against you. Iolaus had been there more than once - and he’d made it one of his life’s ambitions to make sure that his best friend never did get to know what it felt like.

Even if it meant they occasionally disagreed about where to stay for the night ...

Helena was eyeing him knowingly, almost as if his easy agreement had revealed more than he might like her to know. But all she did was smile warmly and wave him back towards the dining tables with a generous gesture. "It’ll all be on the House tonight, hero," she purred. "So make the most of it. While you can."

He was sitting back at his table, smiling at the lady called Amber as she filled his goblet with the sweet golden wine of Athens, when the rest of what Helena had said finally registered.

Jantis is the son of the local Magistrate? I hope that isn’t going to mean any trouble ...

The evening had slid into one of mellow contentment and complacency. Hercules was comfortably ensconced by the fire, a tankard of Nathan’s ale at his elbow, his feet stretched out to catch the warmth on his bare toes and a murmur of everyday, normal non-threatening conversation going on all around him. Discussions over the weather, the trials of the harvest just past and the prospects for the one in the coming year, the prices of cloth and the quality of leather washed over him with the sweet certainty of a town at peace, a thriving community and no need for heroes or heroic deeds to disturb his rest.

For once, no-one had started in on tales of his previous labours; the merchant who’d recognised him earlier had started to regale several tables about the business in Malia, but when he’d offered the tale to the Magistrate and his cronies he’d earned himself such a sour look that he’d shut up and gone back to drinking alone. The look that the Magistrate threw in Hercules’ direction afterwards had been more thoughtful than anything else, although there had been a slightly calculating consideration underlying it. Perhaps the man was something close to a crook and a bully - and if so, he might see the arrival of a renowned hero as something as a threat - but said hero had very little evidence to support the theory, beyond a few sharp words and a note or two in an otherwise convivial atmosphere.

Besides, he grinned to himself, I get the feeling that - soon as they find someone to stand against him in the election - he’s history as far as Iphrus is concerned.

Sometimes the best way to protect democracy is to use it. The voice of the people can become a powerful weapon if need demands - something even a few Kings had had cause to discover over the years. It was easier to rule when you had the support of your subjects, and you got that support by always keeping their best interests in mind.

And one of these days, Hercules considered, staring thoughtfully into the fire, a few of my relatives might realise that too ...

He sighed and reached for his ale. It was nice, just sitting here, quiet and thoughtful, with no demands for his attention and the world going on around him just as it should. But being alone with his thoughts was not always a good idea. When he found time to think, he also found time to weigh the world and his part in it, and that always led him down paths that were never easy to walk. Once, he’d dreamed of spending a lot of time like this; sitting warm and cozy by his own fire, his wife and his children beside him, dreaming dreams of domesticity and growing old without a care. Once... Time and event had stolen those dreams from him; he’d never found anything lasting enough to replace them. These days he dreamed of one good day among a thousand; of walking into places like Iphrus and not having to save the day, defend the weak or play the hero.

These are good people ...

Happy people for the most, content with what they had, living each day for itself and having no greater ambitions than making a good show for the next festival, earning a little land of their own or winning the love of the girl next door. These were the people - the life - that he protected; that he tried to defend both from the greed and ambitions of their fellow men and the petty vagaries of his divine relatives. Good, honest, hard working people, living good, honest hard working lives.

And where’s the adventure in that, huh, Herc?

Hercules grinned to himself, toasting the fire to acknowledge the wryly pointed remark - along with the man who should have been there to make it. Iolaus’ voice was never far from his thoughts, even if its owner was nowhere in the vicinity; the hunter had spent so much of his life talking his best friend out of these introspective, unsettling moods that Hercules now had an extensive repertoire of advice, observations and irreverent jokes on hand to help him balance out those moments of gloom and despondency. Not that it was ever the same as having the man there to do it in person, but it helped. On those days when - like Atlas - he felt as if he carried the weight of the whole world on his shoulders, Iolaus was always the one who could lighten the burden with a word, a joke, a new perspective - even a totally irrelevant question concerning physics or philosophy.

He lifted his head for a moment, listening to the soft buzz of work weary people and allowed a knowing smile to curl onto his face. This quiet, contemplative atmosphere would have driven the hunter crazy. He’d have been in there, telling stories, cracking jokes, conducting sing-songs ...anything and everything, drawing people out, entertaining them, being entertained, with a hunger for life that was hard to resist and even harder to ignore. Wherever Iolaus went he made an impression. Not always a good one, but unquestionably a memorable one ...

"Dad! You gotta do something. You gotta do something now!"

The door to the inn had been slammed open, admitting a damp and battered trio of figures, the tallest of which had strode across to the Magistrate’s table to make his imperious demand. Hercules eased himself up and paid attention; the three men sported bruised faces and at least one of them was limping. They’d been in a fight. And very recently too.

"What is it, Jantis? Have you been squabbling in the streets again? You’ve got to learn a little subtlety, boy. Nobody respects a thug. And I didn’t bring you up to be one."

"Ah, lecture me later, dad. This is important. I got a complaint. A real one this time," he added, seeing the look that crossed his father’s face.

Perelion straightened up from his casual slump and pushed the cards he’d been betting on to one side. "A real one, boy?" He looked his son up and down a little more closely; the young man’s nose had been bleeding and there was a dark stain of blood pooled down his shirt front. "Bandits? Raiders? Street robbers? You look like you’ve been in a war."

"Yeah," one of Jantis’ companions muttered a little bitterly. "It should have been a whore ..."

"Cut it out, Faltus" Jantis snapped over his shoulder. "This is serious. Dad, I wanna raise a complaint against that bitch who runs the House on the hill. We were just looking for a little shelter from the rain, a place to sit and drink for a while, you know? Somewhere a little more fun than this - "

"This is a decent establishment for decent folk, boy." The remark didn’t carry the heat that might have been expected in it; the Magistrate was frowning thoughtfully, an expectant look in his eyes. "You’re young. Nothing wrong with a little fun at your age. But I’ve told you - that House has pretensions and you shouldn’t flatter them. She might like to pretend it’s a place of entertainment - a place with class - but everyone knows it’s just a whorehouse. One that charges far too much for far too little." He paused to smile knowingly at the other men at his table, at least two of whom were leaning forward, a greedy, hopeful look on their faces. "Two more violations and I revoke the license. So make it good. What she do? Charge and not deliver? Cut the good wine with vinegar? Or she harbouring thieves? Cuthroats - ah, no. If one of you’d got yourself killed, you’d have sent for the watch. Pity," he added, sharing the thought with his company, who laughed.

Hercules frowned.

If I was right about that place ...

He hadn’t been that bothered about leaving his partner to pursue his own arrangements for the night. He knew the hunter was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, provided he didn’t let his habit of speaking his mind get out of hand. But if the House on the hill had an unsavoury reputation, then Iolaus’ joke about getting his throat cut might turn out not to be a joke at all - and Hercules would have a lot more to say than just ‘I told you so’ if his best friend managed to get himself murdered just because of a stupid disagreement and his stubborn pride.

After he’d torn Hades realm apart looking for him, that was ...

"She threw us out," Jantis announced through gritted teeth. "With no reason! We weren’t doing anything. Just joshing around as usual. And there was this guy - "

"Six - seven feet tall," one of his friends interrupted, his voice indignant. "Muscles on his muscles. Dressed all in black ..."

"A warlord or something." The other friend took up the story with equally outrage. "Ugly brute. Scar across his face - looked like he chews on his sword."

"And he attacked us. Without warning. He just - waded in. We didn’t stand a chance."

"Yeah. We barely got out of there with out lives."

A warlord? Hercules was on the edge of his seat by now. What if one of the warlords they were expecting in Mysia had also paused in Iphrus because of the weather? Was it someone they knew? Had Iolaus recognised him? Had he recognised Iolaus ...?

"He was with the witch, Dad. I bet they’re planning something. Something real bad. That’s why they didn’t want me in the place. They knew I’d come to you."

"You were right to," Perelion frowned. A worried murmur had rippled round the room as the other townsfolk had picked up the implications in the story. Hercules heard Nathan choke down a snort.

"Warlord," the innkeeper muttered, winking at his son, who was sat tending the fire. "I bet. Perelion - " he took a step towards the Magistrate’s table, earning himself a scowl from Jantis and a frown from the young man’s father. "If Helena were entertaining warlords up at the House, don’t you think someone would have noticed? She’s just trying to run an honest business up there. She wouldn’t want that kind of trouble - and she doesn’t keep that sort of company."

Now that’s interesting ...

Hercules had decided early on that Nathan was the kind of man whose opinion he respected - and if he thought the owner of the House was honest, then it was likely that she would be. Even so, if was a surprising remark, coming from a man whose business was probably the one most at risk from the Elysium’s rivalry.

"You got proof of that?" Perelion asked, a little pointedly. The innkeeper heaved a sigh.

"How can you prove something isn’t happening?" he questioned, spreading his hands in general appeal. A number of his customers shrugged and nodded, acknowledging his point. The Magistrate merely snorted.

"If the boy saw a warlord," he growled, "he saw a warlord. But - " He pushed out a thoughtful breath, eyeing his son and the way that water was dripping from his tunic. It was obviously still raining out there. Heavily. "Man like that - in town for ‘company’ - he’ll be easier to deal with in the morning. Hung over and - tired out," he added, sharing the thought with his friends, who laughed knowingly. Jantis glowered at them.

"But Dad - "

"Don’t you ‘but’ me, boy. I’ll deal with your complaint in the morning. Once the rain’s stopped. Nobody’s leaving town tonight - and I’m not stirring the watch in this weather. Not to arrest a man I can catch tomorrow. The Elysium can keep its license - one more night."

There was a general feeling of relief at this conclusion. Hercules had the impression that town opinion might be divided about the brothel, but nobody had wanted to turn out in such a filthy weather without genuine need. Jantis was not looking happy about the situation though; he appealed to his father a second time, displaying some of his bruises with decided affront.

"Kamris and Porian are still totally out of it. We had to leave Celeus to keep an eye on them back there. This guy’s dangerous. That place is dangerous. It’s a disgrace."

"He wouldn’t be saying that if Helena had let him in," Nathan muttered as he arrived to collect the now empty jug that lay just within Hercules’ reach. "The boy’s just trying to make trouble. His pride’s been hurt far more than the rest of him." He paused, a thoughtful look on his features. "You know," he noted, glancing up at the still protesting group, "someone up there taught those young thugs a lesson. I know them. They hunt in a pack. What kind of man can take on odds of six to one and still be the only one to walk away from the fight?"

Ah ...

Revelation dawned and Hercules smothered a sudden grin behind his hand. Put that way, the answer was obvious. He should have realised straight away whose handiwork Jantis and his cronies were currently sporting. But then, the youngsters’ description had been a little - misleading - to say the least.

Warlord, huh? And seven feet tall? I can’t wait to tell Iolaus that one ...

"Hercules?" Nathan was looking a little bemused at his reaction. His guest found him a wry smile.

"Apart from me, you mean? I can think of one or two. Actually," he went on, feeling a sudden need for accuracy, "several of those are woman - but I know Xena’s not in town. You’re nowhere near Amazon territory - and Callisto would have just fireballed the lot of them. Burnt the whole place down." He stared down into his ale, mulling that thought over for a moment and then sighed, briefly wishing that the problems a place like the Elysium offered a community could be solved that easily. "Best thing to do, if you ask me."

Nathan cleared his throat, noisily. Hercules looked up - to find Jantis standing less than three feet away, staring straight at him.

"Are you - really Hercules?" the young man asked warily. "Son of Zeus, slayer of monsters and that sort of stuff?"

Here we go ...

"Yes," he acknowledged matter-of-factly. "I am. Did you really get beaten up by a seven foot tall warlord tonight?"

"Yeah." Jantis’ response was both indignant and defensive. "You gonna do something about it?"

"No," Hercules replied, equally matter-of-factly. His momentary fear for his partner had given way to warm amusement; judging by the young man’s puffy eye, bloodied nose and bruised cheek Iolaus had been fighting open handed - which meant he’d only been playing with them, not regarding it as a serious fight. "You don’t need me to fight your battles. Just a word or two of advice - " He sat up and eyed the figure in front of him with stern consideration. "Never start a fight unless you’re sure you’ve a chance of walking away from it afterwards, and - uh - never underestimate your opponent."

Jantis took that one on board with a rueful nod and a bitter grimace; he was clearly still very angry about what had happened. Hercules hoped he’d take the time to think about the lesson he’d been taught, and wondered whether to enlighten him as to exactly who had been his teacher. There was no shame in being defeated by a better man - and Iolaus was an experienced warrior who’d learnt his early lessons in much tougher streets than Iphrus would ever posses. Not to mention his being skilled in the eastern fighting arts, trained at the Corithian Academy, and a long time veteran of innumerable wars, monster hunts and ballad worthy adventures.

Although, thinking about it, fighting a bunch of drunks in a brothel was hardly the kind of thing that would find its way into a bard’s tale ...

"Go home, Jantis," Nathan advised, not unkindly. "Sleep it off. You lost this one. It happens. Happens to all of us. Even the best. Right, Hercules?"

"Yeah," Hercules concurred, unable to help his own rueful grin. "There are some battles you just can’t win. You just have to find another way to deal with the problem. Or the reason for the problem," he added pointedly. Jantis would get into far fewer fights if he recognised that his own behavior was probably responsible for most of them.

The young man was busy mulling over the advice, his bruised face creased into a wary frown. All of a sudden, a light dawned in his eyes and a smile twisted across his features. "Yeah," he breathed. "Yeah ... Thanks," he offered, then turned on his heel and quickly herded his companions out into the night.

"You’re welcome," Hercules called after them, sharing a slightly bemused shrug with the innkeeper. "What did I say?"

Nathan echoed the shrug. "I dunno," he laughed. "But whatever it was, it struck a chord. More ale?"

"No - no. I think I’ll call it a night. I walked a long way today and I’ve even further to go tomorrow." The son of Zeus eased himself to his feet and stretched weary muscles. "And with a bit of luck - it might have stopped raining by the morning."

Well, Iolaus decided, heaving a small and happy sigh, I sure hope Herc’s bed is as comfortable as this one ...

The giggle that followed the thought was hard to smother, but he managed it, somehow. He had no wish to wake his current company for a variety of reasons - a list which began with they’ve had a hard day and ended with the kitten got the cream grin that accompanied so have I ...

It was late and the room was dark. The last of the candles had guttered into nothingness a good half hour before, and the only light came from the dim and dying embers of the brazier that stood at the foot of the bed. The air was warm and musky, filled with the cloying scents of incense and perfumed oils, and the only sounds - above the constant low drone of rain on the roof - were those of contented sleepers, embraced by the arms of Morpheus and cradled in his domain.

The hunter might well have been envious of the dreaming god, had he not enjoyed the pleasures of embracing those same sleepers earlier in the night. Jade lay nestled against his side, her head on his shoulder and her pert and perfect breasts pressed into the curve of his right arm. Sapphire was curled around him from above, her stomach acting as his pillow and his serving for hers. And Poppy completed the trio, her legs tangled up with his and her breath a warm caress on his lower left arm - which was beginning to get pins and needles where she was lying on it, but he didn’t mind and - to be honest - didn’t really care.

He couldn’t be more comfortable even if the mattress beneath him were stuffed with zephyr feathers - which it wasn’t, of course. Good goose down at a guess, like the pillows, half of which were on the floor because nobody had bothered to pick them up once they’d got there.

Someone will get them in the morning, he thought sleepily, then had to suppress another giggle because - knowing this place - he’d be the one to get the someone in the morning and the pillows would stay right where they were ...

If the real Elysium is anything like this, he decided happily, maybe I should persuade Herc to let me stay a little longer, next time I get to take Charon’s little boat ride.

Not a serious thought - especially since it inspired a consideration of his partner’s reaction, should he find out about the sleeping arrangements in this version of paradise. The vision of Hercules’ mortified expression was utterly priceless.

Three? The son of Zeus would react, torn between indignation, embarrassment, and just a little envy. Oh, yeah, he’d have to answer airily. Beds are in short supply around here ...

This giggle was even harder to smother than the last. Helena’s good wine had packed a punch underneath its mellow savour; he wasn’t exactly drunk, but nor was he completely sober. Add to that the hazy glow that inevitably followed the more energetic exercises of the night - the fight with Jantis not being the first thing that sprang to mind in that category - and you had the explanation for why he was so pleasantly adrift in his warm miasma of opulence and aftermath.

No doubt there were Kings -somewhere - who indulged in such a luxurious lifestyle - but off hand he couldn’t think of any. He certainly hadn’t commanded this kind of attention during his eventful - and extremely short lived - reign as King of Attica.

Mind you, he sighed, finally succumbing to need and warily wiggling his rapidly numbing arm out from under Poppy’s weight, nice as this is, I’d give it up in a second if Niobe walked through that door ...

Since he knew that wasn’t about to happen - and that he’d be the one to die of mortification if it did - he dismissed both the memory and the idea which had spawned it without a second thought. He’d long ago learned to live in the now, rather than the then and the what ifs that went along with it. This was the now he was currently in, and it was a very pleasant now, with no serious demands on his attention and very little to worry about, other than making sure he got enough sleep to be able to keep pace with Hercules when they left in the morning.

Good job my energy is legendary, he grinned, unable to resist the temptation to let his still tingling fingers linger on an interesting part of Poppy’ anatomy. He was beginning to think that Helena may have been right, and that his sacrifice of gold had attracted Aphrodite’s attention when he wasn’t looking. The girls hadn’t exactly ended up fighting over him - but they had insisted in drawing lots, since he’d turned out to be the only customer wanting to stay the entire night and they all wanted to thank him for evicting Jantis and his company. Helena had been the one to place the chits in the cup for the draw, but even she’d looked a little surprised when three of them had drawn out one with a mark on it. She’d hesitated, shrugged and then waved them all up to bed with a joke about calling by to pick up the corpse in the morning.

Well, the hunter laughed to himself, I’m not dead yet ...

He settled back against his living pillow and closed his eyes, more than ready to surrender to the tug of sleep. He was already sinking towards oblivion when something - something he couldn’t immediately place or recognise - whispered urgently for his attention. He sat up, instantly on alert, hunter’s instincts kicking him from indolent inattention to full awareness all in a single breath.

"Wha...?" Jade demanded sleepily. He put down his hand and gave her a gentle shake.

"Wake up," he ordered softly, and began shaking the others too. "Come on. All of you ..."

"Oh - Ioolaus," Sapphire protested grumpily, waking to find she’d been tipped onto Poppy’s ample chest, "you’re insatiable ..."

"Yeah," he agreed abstractedly, his head tipped to catch the barest sound from outside the room. "Probably. But that’s not why - wait!" They froze, like three exotic nymphs carved into he same frieze, images clustered around the tousled hero in their midst. "Do you smell something?"

"Smell what?" Jade frowned, taking an exaggerated sniff of the night air. Her eyes went very wide. "Oh, gods ... I do smell something."

Smoke.

Not the soft, incense laden remnants of the brazier, but something much sharper, much more immediate. An acrid, bitter scent - which seemed to be wafting up from the floor below.