and gray-eyed. She seemed to be smiling at him with special favor, and Forrester felt grateful.
He needed all the help he could get.
But the other Gods were absent. Where were they? Pluto and Phoebus Apollo were missing, and so were Mercury, Neptune, Dionysus and Diana.
And…
“Ah,” the great voice of Zeus boomed, as Forrester and Venus stepped through the Veil. Forrester heard the voice and shuddered. “The mortal is here,” Zeus went on in his awe-inspiring roar. “Welcome, Mortal!”
Forrester opened his mouth, but Hera got in ahead of him.
She leaned over to her divine husband and hissed, in a tone audible to everyone in the room: “Don’t belabor the obvious, dear. Enough’s enough.”
“It is?” Zeus said. The roar was exactly the same. “I’m not at all sure. No! Of course not. Naturally not, my dear. Naturally not.” He looked around slowly, nodding his great head. “Now, now. Let’s see. Do we have a quorum? I don’t see Morpheus. Where’s Morpheus?”
“Asleep, as usual,” Mars growled. He finished scratching his side and began on his beard. “Where else would the old fool be? He’s nothing but a bore anyway and I say to Hades with him. Let’s get on.”
“Now, Ares,” Pallas Athena said mildly. “Don’t be crude.”
“Crude?” Mars bellowed. “All I said was that the old bore’s not here. It’s true, isn’t it? What in Hades is so crude about it?”
“Hah!” Vulcan growled, in a bass voice that seemed to come from the bottom of a large barrel. “Look who mentions being a bore.”
“Why, you—” Mars started.
“Children!” Hera snapped at once.
There was quiet, and Forrester had time to get dizzy. Maybe, he thought, he had been traveling too much. After all, he had started in New York, and then he had found himself on what he suspected was Mount Olympus, in Greece. And now he was somewhere else.
He wasn’t entirely sure where. The Court of the Gods existed; he knew that. But he had never heard just where it existed, and it was entirely possible that no mortal knew. In which case, Forrester thought confusedly, I don’t even know where I am.
For the first time, he began to think seriously that, perhaps, he was sane after all. Maybe everything he was seeing and hearing was true. It was certainly beginning to look that way. And, in that case, maybe the dizziness he felt was just airsickness, or spacesickness, or whatever kind of sickness came from traveling through those blue Veils.
At least, he told himself, thinking of the old man he had met on the way downtown, at least it beat the subway.
He looked behind him. He and Venus were standing in the center of the room. There was no blue veil behind them. It had, apparently, done its duty and gone away.
The subway, Forrester told himself solemnly, didn’t do that.
Zeus cleared his throat ponderously. “I count eight of us,” he said. “Eight, all told. Of course, that’s eight without the mortal.” He paused, and then added: “If you count the mortal in, there are nine.”
Pan stirred. “That’s a quorum,” he announced in a hoarse voice that had a heavy vibrato in it. It reminded Forrester, oddly, of the bleating of a goat. Pan crossed his legs and his hooves clashed, striking sparks. “Pluto and Poseidon said they’d accept our judgment.”
“Why the absence?” Vulcan said shortly.
“A storm, I think,” Pan said. “Out in the North Atlantic, if memory serves—and it does. As far as I recall, there are four ships sunk so far. Quite an affair.”
Vulcan said: “Ah,” and reclined again.
Hera leaned forward. “Where’s Apollo? He said he might come.”
“Sure he did,” Mars said heavily. “Old Sunshine Boy never misses a bit of excitement. Only he probably found something even more exciting. He’s in California, all dressed up as a mortal.”
“California?” Ceres said. “My goodness, what would that boy be doing in California?”
Mars guffawed. “Probably showing off—how Sunshine Boy loves to show off! Displaying that gorgeous body to the girls on Muscle Beach, I’ll bet.”
“Eight to five,” Pan said at once.
Mars turned to him and nodded shortly. “Done.”
“Now, if I were a betting man,” Vulcan began in a thoughtful bass, “I’d—”
“We all know what you’d do, Gimpy,” Mars roared. “But you won’t do it, so shut up about it.”
“Please,” Hera said. “Order.” Her voice was like chilled steel. The others settled back. “I think we’re ready. Shall we begin, dear?” She looked at Zeus, who got ready to start. But before he could get a word out, there was a flicker of blue energy in the room, a couple of yards away from Forrester and Venus. The flicker expanded to a Veil, and a man stepped out of it.
He was a short, fat individual wearing a chiton as if he had slept in it for three or four weeks. His face was puffy and his golden hair was ruffled. His eyelids seemed to have acquired a permanent half-mast, and beneath them the eyes were bleary and disinterested.
Forrester needed no introductions to Morpheus, the God of Sleep.
The God looked around at the assembled company with a kindly little smile on his tired face. Then, slowly and luxuriously, he yawned. When his mouth closed again, after a view of caverns measureless to man, he rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles, and then heaved a great sigh and, apparently, resigned himself to the terrible effort of speech.
“I’m late,” he said. “But it’s really not my fault.”
“Oh?” Hera said in a nasty tone of voice.
Morpheus shook his head slowly from side to side. “It really isn’t.” His voice was terribly calm. It was obvious, Forrester thought, that he did not give a damn. “The alarm just didn’t seem to go off again. Or else I didn’t hear it.”
“Now, Morpheus,” Hera said. “I should think you’d get some kind of alarm that really worked, after all this time.”
“Why bother?” Morpheus said, and shrugged ponderously. “Anyhow, I’m here.” He yawned again. “The thing’s tiresome, but I did say I’d be here, and here I am. Now, does that satisfy everybody? Because if it doesn’t, I do have some sleep to catch up on.”
“It satisfies us all,” Hera said with some asperity. “Go sit down.”
Morpheus shambled quietly over to a couch near Mars. He lowered himself onto it, and slowly slipped from a sitting position to a reclining one.
“Well,” Hera said to Zeus, “we’re ready, dear.”
“Oh,” Zeus said. “Oh. Certainly. I declare this meeting—I declare this meeting fully met.” He cleared his throat with a rumble that shook the air. “We’re here, as I suppose you all know, to consider the problem of William Forrester. But first, I am reminded of a little story I picked up on Earth, and in the hopes that some of you here might not have heard it, I—”
“We’ve heard it,” Hera said, “and, anyhow, this is neither the time nor the place.”
Zeus turned to look at her. He shrugged. “Very well,” he said equably. “Let us return to William Forrester, as a possible substitute for Dionysus. The first consideration ought to be the psychological records, wouldn’t you say?”
“I would,” Hera said through her teeth.
“I believe Athena is in charge of that department, and if she is ready to report—”
“Of