Games Creatures Play

  Despite the sanctity of the Games, there’s no false modesty here: Everyone is strutting, everyone is trying to sell you something. The athletes are pretty bad, with the posing, the oiled muscles, the slagging off their opponents, all in the search for a benefactor to pay their expenses, even if it’s just a meal and a night’s drinking. The poets are worse, on their little platforms, with their piles of trophies and awards at their feet, bellowing out their latest works for all to hear. You’d think old men would have weaker voices, but they’re looking for patrons, too, and that must give them the strength to belt out an epic or two. Or perhaps Apollo is granting them sound lungs and carrying voices, as they claim. But the philosophers are even more aggressive and will get into fistfights over their rhetoric. They might as well sign up for the boxing matches.

  The prostitutes do a bang-up business, as there are no modest married women in the village, and no women at all allowed to view the Games. Oh, sure, a few sneak in dressed as men, but if you’re a father of a virgin, you keep her away, or risk coming home with a debauched daughter or a hungover discus thrower for a son-in-law.

  Everyone showing off, but me. I had to pretend to be less than I was. By choice, I would never compete against an ordinary mortal in the Games—that didn’t seem fair. And yet it seemed impious not to use all my powers.

  But when an oracle speaks, you do what he says. Denying them is tantamount to refusing the gods.

  Committing murder would pollute the Games, which was like spitting on Zeus Thunderer himself. I had to prevent it from happening. It would bring the god’s wrath—famine, wars, earthquakes—on all of us, not just the sinner. Not only would I have to win the pankration, without using my ability to change, but I had to stop the murder and expose Keos.

  First things first. I bought a cage of pigeons—at a seriously inflated price—and made an offering at the Temple of Zeus in gratitude for my safe passage. Then I privately sacrificed to Herakles, to whom I felt most close. There were tales that Herakles was also born to the Fang, and he was certainly the first pankratiast.

  Duty satisfied, I could honor my stomach. I was ravenously hungry and detected burning charcoal and grilling meats. My nose, acute even by my people’s standards, led me to a most promising food seller. Lamb, fat dripping and sizzling, seasoned with wild thyme. The aroma almost drove me beyond my control, but I calmed myself and, hearing the other prices from other vendors, estimated what I’d have to pay.

  “Greetings! I’ll take—” I was about to say everything, but that would have been excessive, even for an athlete in training. “Er, three of those, please.”

  “Ah, you know good cooking!” The vendor grabbed a couple of grape leaves and pulled the skewers from the grill.

  I sniffed approvingly. “You’re from near Miletus?”

  “I am!” He glanced up and down at me. “You know your food. Based on your dress, your accent, you’re from around there, too?”

  “Near Halicarnassus.”

  “Then I’ll take off a quarter from the price. Always good to see someone from near home.”

  Miletus was about two days’ travel from Halicarnassus, but we were both so far from home, it practically made us brothers. His price was fair enough—just twice regular cost, with his discount, but standard for festival rates. The aroma of the meat was heavenly. “Thank you!”

  “Excellent. If you want wine, nicely watered for a good boy like you, go over there.” He jerked his head to a vendor nearby. “He’s a Cretan, but his wine is good, and he won’t rob you too badly.”

  I nodded my thanks, barely able to remember to open my purse and pay the man before I wolfed down the meat. And then—

  Was it Heaven itself that made me look up? My attention was drawn, like an arrow to its mark, to a curtained litter being carried down one of the makeshift roads. Past the rough-and-tumble of the temporary thoroughfare toward the gaudy colors of the pavilions, I could sense her, almost as if she were standing in front of me.

  The thick blue silk curtain parted for just a moment, and despite her veils, the distance, the crowd, our eyes met.

  Her eyes were lined with kohl; I knew she and her garments were scented with roses. Skin soft as a peach, pale as ivory . . .

  A shiver went down my spine.

  The curtain settled, the entourage passed by.

  “Who—?” I said, scarce able to catch my breath.

  “That’s Phryne, the courtesan,” the vendor said reverently. “One of the most famous hetairai in the world. She won’t be at the Games, but she attends her master, Tenes, and is the centerpiece of his life. Tomorrow night, for example, her master’s brother, Keos the merchant, will throw a party for the day’s victor in pankration.” The vendor turned the skewers of meat and sighed. “But this is as close as either one of us will ever get to her.”

  That was it, then: I had to win in order to attend the party to get close to Keos, and stop him from killing Tenes.

  So much the better, if Phryne were there . . .

  As if my wishes were coming true, I felt a soft hand sliding along my arm. “Hmmm, I like muscles. You wouldn’t leave me wanting, would you?”

  I looked down. A little prostitute had appeared out of nowhere. They’ll do that.

  “Leave me.” I jerked away, too roughly. “Sorry, I can’t—”

  She spat. Short, dark, pretty, and common. Slightly buck teeth. “Yeah, right. Like you’d ever get next to that.” She jerked her head toward the litter. “Not even with that nice fat purse.”

  I realized I’d left my purse gaping, the coins on view for all to see. “I . . . I have been told to avoid women, during the Games. That’s all.” I stashed my purse safely in my shirt. I cursed. More than most, I knew better caution than that.

  “Hey, prostitutes don’t count, right? Come find me, if you ever find yourself at loose ends. I’m cheap and clean, the best bargain at the Games. Ask for Cythereia.”

  The vendor snorted, as he made sure his money was safely tucked away. “Yeah, right. You’re named for Aphrodite. Get out of here; let my customers eat in peace.”

  An argument ensued, and I departed. I stopped at the Cretan’s and bought wine, then ate and drank absently, a rarity for me. I tried to remember a snatch of a poem I’d heard years ago, at home.

  “. . . Helen with the light robes and shining among women . . .”

  I’m better with stone than words, but that was how I felt looking at Phryne.

  I tried to put her out of my mind. I dusted the crumbs off myself and a thought struck me. Perhaps I could find a way to prevent the murder without competing.

  Eagerly, I began to cast about—nothing obvious; I didn’t want to look as though I were tracking something by scent. Also, in a crowd like this, latrines overfilling, bodies unwashed, trash heaps made less appealing with vomit and bloody bandages, no one—especially someone with my sensitive nose—wanted to breathe too deeply. I found nothing that would help me.

  I did break up a fight before it could get ugly—one look at me and my muscles, and the would-be contestants thought better of their brawl. “Save it for the Games, boys.”

  A little farther on, I saw a cut-purse at work. I could’ve snapped his wrist easily, to teach him a lesson, but I wouldn’t draw attention to myself. I settled for picking his pocket and then redepositing the stolen purse in the rightful owner’s shirt. Smooth as oil and quick as a cat.

  All of this made me feel better but did nothing to help me with my goal. I headed to the pavilions of the wealthy. The stink wasn’t so bad here; in fact, it was downright appetizing, what with the delicacies being prepared for the evening’s celebrations, the perfumes everyone wore, and the general cleanliness of the place. The food reminded me I’d had only a very scant dinner, and could use more.

  I nosed around as much as I could without raising the guards’ suspicions—some of the affluent had
private armies for their security, in addition to cooks, maids, grooms, and such. One guard took too much interest in me, so I backed off. I could have taken him easily, but that wasn’t my job.

  So intent was I in looking harmless, I stepped on something.

  “Ow!” An irate female voice accompanied a hard shove to my back. “Mind yourself, oaf! These sandals cost more than you earn in a year!”

  “Iris! Softly, softly, please. We’re here to create pleasure, not cacophony.”

  “Sorry, my lady.” Her contrition lasted only a moment. “But this great, ugly brute—”

  A glance from her mistress silenced her.

  The sight of her mistress struck me dumb.

  It was Phryne, my Helen. Walking with her ladies, on her way to—It didn’t matter where. It would be Elysium, while she was there.

  My mouth went dry and I shook as I never did, even confronting the cruelest of villains. I’d forgotten my purpose, smitten by her beauty.

  And she, a perfect Grace, smiled. She was used to such admiration, and yet did not mock my amazement, as she might.

  I dropped my eyes and bowed. And was rewarded: A silken scarf, the color of lavender, had drifted to the ground unnoticed.

  I picked it up; it floated like mist on the night air. Daring greatly, I handed it to Phryne directly, rather than to her cross maid.

  Another smile sent me dizzy. A soft thrill ran through me as her elegant nails brushed my dirty, callused fingertips.

  Phryne opened her mouth, perhaps to thank me, perhaps an invitation to—

  Her eyes hardened slightly at something behind me, but her pleasant smile remained fixed on her face. A sickness creeping through my gut had nothing to do with the finer feelings Phryne inspired.

  I glanced behind me, just in time to see a meaty fist crashing down toward me.

  Though I’m taller than most, I’m very quick, even without shifting my shape. I stopped his hand before it struck, and stood with his fist trapped in mine. He was strong, though not through honest labor like mine. Nearly as tall as me, with narrow eyes and a hooked nose that gave him an unkindly look. He was one of those sleek boys who imagine they’re owed something.

  His carefully arranged curls and expensive clothes made me acutely aware of my broad features, my sunburned skin and unruly hair, and my rough, country garb.

  I still had manners. “I beg your pardon, my lady,” I said, never taking my eyes from his. “I meant no disrespect.”

  “Eleon! You are very quick to a lady’s aid, even when there is no need.” The words were gentle and commanding. “But I thank you for your assistance.”

  Eleon relaxed, but the outrage in his eyes never dimmed. He liked hurting people, I realized.

  He nodded to Phryne. I released his hand.

  She glanced at me. “And thank you, too. You rescued my favorite scarf.”

  Delight mingled with the continuing sick feeling. I could only nod.

  “Tell me your name, that I might hear of your success in the Games.”

  “Nikodemos. Of Halicarnassus, my lady.”

  “Well, Nikodemos, you have the thanks of Phryne, and her best wishes.” She gestured, and her ladies continued on their way to the pavilion. Iris with the bruised toes shot me a dirty look as she passed.

  “You keep your eyes off her, dog!” Eleon said, once they were out of earshot.

  “You keep your hands off her, goat!” I answered.

  That time, he did not hesitate. He fell on me, with fists like hammers.

  I laughed to myself; fighting was a welcome release for my sick confusion. Pummeling bullies was my specialty.

  But as I fought him, I got weaker, sicker. I, who had never been bested before, who had the strength of a demigod, fell to my knees.

  That was when his friends joined in.

  The pain was bad, but the queasiness was worse. What was happening to me? I could throw five ordinary mortals in a fight, and enjoy the exercise. I was struggling with three now.

  Finally, I stopped resisting. They dragged me away and chucked me into a sty. I landed in mud and filth, eye to beady eye with a piglet.

  “If he cannot find his own way out, at least the pigs will have a good meal of him,” said Eleon. His friends laughed, as they walked away.

  As soon as he was gone, I started feeling better. I had never been defeated before; the humiliation stung. I’d make him pay—

  My training caught up with me. I wasn’t here to fight overprivileged thugs, I was here to serve the will of the gods.

  I rested until I felt nearly better. One growl from me, and the piglets and their sow kept to the far side of the pen. The growing dark helped: My bruises faded, my cuts healed up, and the ache in my side, where Eleon had kicked me, finally eased. The illness faded, and at last, I could think straight.

  There was no time to ponder my strange and sudden indisposition. A stench like that of our storm-tossed ship, filled with sick men and rotting meat, stopped me cold. It was far worse than the clean animal stink around me.

  My people can smell evil and are compelled to seek and destroy it.

  I growled again. The pigs were perfectly silent in their fear.

  A glance around me—no one was there.

  A prayer to Herakles, my special benefactor, and I allowed myself to change halfway between man and wolf. I could walk upright but was covered in fur and had a wolf’s head, teeth, and claws. I would have nearly my full power but be less noticeable than in a wolf’s shape.

  That metamorphosis—what can I tell you? It is truly a gift we share with the gods, but no gift from them is a completely unmixed cup. We must undertake our duties in secret. The stories you hear, of Narcissus, Arachne, and Actaeon, changed permanently as punishment? We born to the Fang lose our ability to transform if we ever reveal our other selves. We track evil and are obliged to continue until we defeat it, unable to turn away. Our hybrid and animal forms are a sort of constant prayer to the gods: perfect service. But if we observe our laws and are faithful, the power that accompanies our transformations cannot compare to earthly joy.

  I felt stronger, almost immediately, and faster. My wolfish nose picked up a trace of roses. Phryne. I shook my head, keeping to the shadow and following the awful trail, until finally, luck was with me.

  That foulness followed the same path as the perfume. My half-wolf’s heart did not know the same lust as a man’s, but I was filled with a sense of well-being by the fragrance of roses, even as the evil reek drove me forward.

  Past the better camps, to the finest; it became harder and harder to move undetected. But I was patient and was eventually aided by the drunkenness that increased as the night’s parties wore on. Even a stealthy wolf-man could pass unnoticed, or unremembered.

  A thousand odors assailed me, but most were of human folly. I had no time for loose women or badly behaved men, no time for those who served nothing but their own appetites. The disgusting stench compelled me to true work.

  The pavilions were located on the driest ground, above the river. Some were simply large shelters; some were a series of tents, creating grand, houselike structures. My trail ended close by the largest. There were many guards here. I recognized two of the guests as Eleon’s toughs.

  A nervousness overtook me, similar to my earlier sickness, but I remained resolute. Fortune smiled; the wind was picking up, so three of the tent walls were down to protect the celebrants. I could spy on them unseen from behind the heavy curtains.

  I saw such a display of wealth that I could scarcely believe it. Seeing this, Midas might have felt a pauper and Croesus might have hung his head in envy. The sights and smells were wonderful, and strange, and vulgar, like an overpainted whore: enticing, exotic, and repulsive all at once. Perhaps my lack of education made me think so: I had no idea what the rich might think fashionable or well done. Fortunately, i
n wolf form, I could note such things but not be intoxicated by them. My senses were close to overwhelmed by the excesses here, but I retained enough of a man’s mind to concentrate.

  The closer I got, the stronger the evil was, and my odd weakness grew. No time for illness: I’d found my prey. Three people were at the center of the activity, in the places of honor; a prosperous merchant, Keos, the would-be fratricide, was the source of the evil I sought.

  And there was Eleon—damnation! He clearly was Keos’s pet athlete, his muscles glistening in the torchlight, his hair bound in a circlet for the feast.

  Beside the merchant Keos was a man who looked so similar, it was clear they were brothers.

  When I saw Phryne seat herself near the third man, I also knew I’d found my potential victim. She attended her master, Tenes, brother of Keos.

  I’d found my prey, his intended victim, and my goddess, all in the same place.

  The opulence of the surroundings reminded me I could never hope to win a woman like Phryne . . .

  As if that were all that stood between us. Not a sacred oath to the gods, not a warning from the oracle, not my commission . . .

  I caught myself growling. Luckily, the music of the players drowned out that noise. You’re here to prevent a murder, not moon over girls. Steady on, Niko.

  Fortunately, the urge to duty was stronger than the stirrings of a mortal heart. My attention was drawn by Keos, who excused himself. Eleon followed.

  I hurried after, hidden by the darkness outside the pavilion. Soon the two men were joined by another, an Egyptian, by his dress. He handed a cup to Eleon.