The shield sat in the middle of a system of steel girders, welded and arranged at angles so that they formed a latticework, similar to a spider web. The last of the girders attached to the wall just above their shoulders, and similar pieces attached to the doorway on the opposite side of the open room. No doubt Hephaestus had done all the welding and construction himself. To him, no skylight could have ever been more beautiful than this dark one, reflecting mellow orange flames.
“But now let’s go down to the main level.” Hephaestus moved his chair back into the twisting hallways. “And discuss a new shield.”
*
Inside the large, ground-level room, Hermes began to despair of scoring another gourmet lunch. He hadn’t seen a single servant since they’d arrived, and hadn’t heard anyone humming in any room that might be a kitchen. The air smelled like iron and faintly of sulfur. He walked the length of the room restlessly, half an ear cast toward whatever dull industrial story Hephaestus was telling Henry at the moment. Henry, to his credit, appeared enthralled. Andie just seemed bored. After the initial handshake, she’d been largely ignored. Hermes wondered why Hephaestus had even asked her to come.
Maybe he’ll get to her next. Or maybe he’s just too taken with Henry.
Hermes smiled. That was good. It meant a better shield. He tapped his foot, and looked over the oil paintings on the walls and down into the shadowy corners. His eyes narrowed. What first appeared to be a black rectangle painted onto the floor was on closer inspection a stairway cut through the marble. Hermes walked toward it and sniffed. If Hephaestus kept his bellows down there, he couldn’t smell them, or detect any heat.
“Hephaestus.” Hermes gestured toward the stairs. “Does that lead to your bellows?”
Hephaestus turned his chair away from Henry and stared down into the dark space.
“I have no bellows, anymore.”
Hermes blinked. No bellows. No forge?
“I suppose not.” He looked at the robotics of the motorized chair. “You must have new ways of doing things. As long as it comes from your hand, the shield will have no equal.”
He waited for his friend to say something else, but the silence stretched out. Hermes’ stomach began to tighten.
“Hephaestus? What’s going on?”
“Hermes,” Hephaestus said quietly. “You always run in too soon.”
Andie and Henry looked up in alarm. Too soon. Too soon and too careless.
A house empty of servants. How many of these doors have locked behind us?
“What have you done?” Hermes asked.
But Hephaestus didn’t need to answer. On the opposite side of the room, from the opposite side of the house, a large set of doors opened on Achilles and the twisted, conjoined form of the Moirae. Achilles entered half-smiling, and the Moirae walked in behind him.
Walked was a strong word. Joined as they were, it was less a walk than a jerking shuffle. Each limb operated on its own in a left to right sequence. Clotho, Atropos, and Lachesis. Or more accurately, Atropos, and the emptying yolk sacs that were once Clotho and Lachesis. Clotho’s arm twisted around her dark sister’s back and disappeared into her skin. Both Lachesis’ arms were still visible, but the one nearest Atropos had joined to her rib cage. Sooty purple rags draped across their parts to preserve modesty and hide whatever monstrous melding had taken place at their hips and legs.
Hermes could barely think. The only thing that popped into his head was the image of a brick wall, as if that could somehow bar the Moirae from entering his mind. One brick wall, that they’d chip and chisel at until the mortar gave and it tumbled down around his ears.
Stop. Be yourself. Be quick. Before they freeze your legs and you’re all dead.
But his legs wouldn’t budge. Whether it was due to fear or the Fates’ interference didn’t seem to matter.
*