you?”
“Bore me?” Forrester all but cried.
“It’s just—well, nothing, I suppose,” the High Priestess said. “Your expression.”
“Training,” Forrester explained. “An acolyte does well not to express his emotions too clearly.”
The High Priestess nodded casually and patted the couch at her side. “Sit down here, next to me.”
Forrester did so, gingerly.
A moment of silence ensued.
Then Forrester, gathering courage, said: “Thank you for getting a Healer. But I’d like to ask you—”
“Yes?”
“How do you know I’m not under some sort of carefully concealed arrest? After all, you said before that you were sure—”
“And I am sure,” the High Priestess said. “Aphrodite herself has ordered a sacrifice in her favor. A sacrifice from you. And Aphrodite does not accept—much less order—a sacrifice from those standing in her disfavor.”
“You’re—”
“I’m sure,” the High Priestess said.
“Oh,” Forrester said. “Good.” The world was not quite as black as it could have been. And still, it was not exactly shining white. A sacrifice? And outside the door, Forrester could hear a disturbance.
What did that mean?
Her Concupiscence didn’t seem to hear it at first. “We will perform the rite together and—” The noise grew louder. “What’s that?” she said.
It was the sound of argument. Forrester realized what had happened. “It’s the priest from Hermes,” he said. “The Healer. You forgot to tell the Captain of Myrmidons to let him in.”
“My goodness!” the High Priestess said. “So I did! It slipped my mind entirely.” She touched Forrester’s cheek affectionately. “Of course, I imagine it’s only natural to be a bit forgetful when—” She got up and went to the door.
The Captain and a small, fat priest in a golden-edged tunic were tangled confusedly outside. The High Priestess looked away from them in disdain and said regally: “You may permit the Healer to enter, Captain.” The tangle came untied and the little priest scooted in. To him, as the door closed again, the High Priestess whispered: “Sorry. I didn’t expect you quite so soon.”
“No more did I!” The priest waved his caduceus furiously, so that it seemed as if the twin snakes twined round it were moving, the two wings above them beating, and the ball surmounting all, on top of the staff, traced uneasy designs in the air. “Myrmidons!” he said.
“I certainly regret—”
“If you boiled down their brains for the fat content, one alone would supply the Temple with candles for a year! Just beef and nothing more! Beef! Beef!”
Then, with a start, he seemed to see the High Priestess for the first time, and his tone changed. “Oh,” he said. “Good evening, Your Concupiscence.”
“Good evening,” the High Priestess said in an indulgent tone.
“Well, well, well,” the priest said. “What seems to be the trouble? My goodness. It must be important, sure enough—certainly important.” His little round red eager face seemed to shine as he went on. “Hermes himself transported me here just as soon as you called!”
“Really?”
“Oh, my, yes,” the priest said. “Just as soon as ever. Yes. Hm. And you can believe me when I tell you—believe me, Your Concupiscence—take my word when I tell you—”
“Yes?”
“Hermes,” the priest said. “Hermes doesn’t often take such an interest—I may say such a personal interest—in a mortal, I’ll tell you. And you can believe me when I do tell you that. I do.”
“I’m sure,” the High Priestess said.
“Yes,” the priest said, waving his caduceus gently. He blinked. “Where’s the patient? The mortal?”
“He’s over here,” the High Priestess said, motioning to Forrester sitting awestruck on the couch. Priests of Hermes were common enough sights—but a priest like this was something new and strange in his experience.
“Ah,” the priest said, twinkling at him. “So there you are, eh? Over there? You are sitting over there, aren’t you?”
“That’s right,” Forrester said blankly.
“Now listen to me carefully,” the High Priestess said. “You’re not to ask his name, or mention anything about this visit to anyone—understand?”
The priest blinked. “Oh, certainly. Absolutely. Without doubt. I’ve already been told that, you might say. Already. Certainly. Wouldn’t think of such a thing.” He moved over and stood near Forrester, peering down at him. “My goodness,” he said. “Let me see that eye, young man.”
Forrester turned his head wordlessly.
“Oh, my, yes,” the priest said. “Black indeed. Very black. A fight. My, yes. An altercation, disagreement, discussion, battle—”
“Yes,” Forrester cut in.
“Certainly you have,” the priest said. “And what’d the other fellow look like, eh? Beaten, I’ll bet. You look a strong type.”
Forrester relaxed. It was the only thing to do while the priest babbled on, touching his wounds gently as he did so with various parts of his caduceus. The pain vanished with a touch of the left wingtip, and the lacerations healed instantly as they were caressed with first one and then another of the various coils of the snakes.
But Forrester now was free to worry. Arrest was out of the question. As the High Priestess had said, on the evidence it was clear that Aphrodite intended to honor him in some way. And there was nothing at all, he thought, wrong with an honor from the Goddess of Love.
But another sacrifice? After the sacrifice to Aphrodite he’d made earlier, and the fight he’d gotten into, he just didn’t quite feel up to it. It wouldn’t do to refuse, but…
“Well,” the priest said, stepping back. “Well, well. You ought to be all right now, young fellow—right as rain.”
Forrester said: “Thanks.”
“Might feel a little soreness—tenderness, you might say—for a day or so. Only a day or so, tenderness,” the priest said. “After that, right as rain. Right as you’ll ever be. All right, as a matter of fact: all right.”
Forrester said: “Thanks.”
The priest went to the door, turned, and said to the High Priestess: “Hermes’ blessing on you both, as a matter of fact, as they say. Blessings from Hermes on you both.”
The High Priestess nodded regally.
“And,” the priest said, “merely by the way, as it might be, without meaning harm, if you would ask a blessing for me—Aphrodite’s blessing? Easy for you. Of course, it would be nice curing—curing, as they say—stupidity, plain dumbness, as they call such things—curing stupidity as easily as I can cure small ills. Nice.”
“Indeed,” the High Priestess said.
“But there,” the priest went on. “Only the Gods can cure that. Only the Gods and no one else. Yes. Hm. And not often. They don’t do anything like that in the—ah—regular course of things. As a matter of fact, you might say, I’ve never heard of—never heard of such a case. Never. Not one. Yet…” He opened the door, spat: “Myrmidons!” and disappeared into the hallway.
The door banged shut.
Forrester sighed heavily.