CHAPTER II
There was a guard in the corridor beyond the Queen's Megaron.
Wordless, Burke flicked a glance at Ariadne.
Her dark eyes flashed a daredevil acceptance of the challenge. Sliding past him, she swung the heavy door back so it hid him, then leaned against it, body arched in practiced coquetry.
The spearman outside straightened just a fraction. His chest swelled and his belly drew in.
Slowly, Ariadne's full lips curved in a smile that was all invitation. Her hand came up to smooth her hair as she turned, twisting and preening. Then, still unspeaking, and with one last lingering glance over her shoulder, she drew back into her own apartment.
The guard's head swiveled as his eyes followed her.
Ariadne laughed softly from the shadows. Her long skirt swirled and rustled.
The guard's breath rasped in the stillness. For an instant he hesitated, peering down the hall in both directions. Then, eagerly, he crossed the threshold and moved with swift steps towards the princess.
Burke waited till the man was clear of the door. Then, savagely, the Smith & Wesson flat on the palm of his hand, he stepped forth from his hiding place and smashed a blow to the back of the other's neck.
The guard's knees hinged. He spilled to the floor.
Burke snapped, "Quick! Cords! A gag!"
The shrill, nerve-jangling squeal of cloth tearing echoed. Deftly, Ariadne thrust strips from a drape into his hands.
Burke bound and gagged the guard, then straightened and strode across the room to where bull-necked, snoring Theseus lay, the stench of sour wine still thick about him.
Ariadne came close. "More cloth, my lord?"
Burke prodded the Greek ungently with his toe, without response; then once more glanced at his watch.
Ten forty-five now.
And that left only an hour-and-a-quarter more, at best.
The back of Burke's neck prickled. "Forget it," he clipped. "The Hero of Athens is too drunk to turn over, even, let alone give us trouble."
"This way, then," the girl said. Her voice all at once was not too steady, and the hand that gripped Burke's showed a tendency to tremble.
Together, they made their way from the apartment, down the corridor past a row of great painted jars and, finally, out onto the long ascending ramp that led to the palace's central court.
Now Ariadne turned right, keeping to the shadows of the colonnaded buildings past which they moved.
Close behind her, gun in hand, Burke tried to watch all ways at once. Every rattling stone, every wind-tossed branch against the cloud-blocked sky, became for him a trigger for new tension. Once, when the shadows behind him flickered, he almost persuaded himself that Theseus must be on their heels. Or perhaps, somehow, they'd caught the attention of another of old Minos' guards....
Again Ariadne veered right. A door creaked as she put her shoulder to it.
This corridor was so black Burke had to grip the girl's hand to keep contact with her.
More doors. More halls. More rooms. The place was like a maze—the very Labyrinth itself.
Yet not once did Ariadne hesitate. Swift, sure, she led Burke on and on through one murky chamber after another.
Then, as they rounded a final corner, a block of greyness came to mark the end of a passage. In seconds, they were once more out into the open and the night.
Ariadne paused and pointed. "That's the place," she whispered.
"Daedalus' quarters?"
"Yes."
Narrow-eyed, Burke studied the looming bulk a moment. Then, tight-lipped, he strode towards the geometric shadows that marked the entrance.
But now Ariadne caught his arm. "Please, my lord Dion—let me be the one to talk to Daedalus."
"Let you—?" Burke stared. "But why?"
"You wish him to speak, do you not—to tell you the things you seek to learn?"
"Do I want him to talk—?" Burke spoke between clenched teeth. "Believe me, it's more than that, Princess. He's got to!"
The girl laughed softly in the darkness; and somehow there was a ring of steel beneath the velvet. "That's why I must be the one to face him, Lord Dion!"
Without waiting for further word from Burke, she stepped forward and knocked upon the door.
No answer. After a moment, she knocked again.
This time, a faint stir of sound rose from within. Then, abruptly, the door opened, framing a brawny, bearded man who glowered out at Burke and the girl from below a sputtering, hand-held lamp.
Uncowed, without hesitation, Ariadne stepped forward. "Come, Daedalus!" she chided smoothly. "Would you leave your master's daughter standing here wind-whipped on your threshold in the night?"
The belligerence vanished from Daedalus' face, replaced by an impassive, noncommittal mask. For an instant his eyes flicked to Burke. Then he stepped back heavily; opened the door wider. "Enter, my princess. What brings you to my poor quarters at this hour of the night?"
Uninvited, ignoring the hostility that gleamed in their host's deep-set eyes, Burke followed Ariadne in and closed the door behind them.
Simultaneously, the girl said, "It was a terrible thing for you to do, Daedalus! Did my father know it, he'd have you flayed alive!"
Even Burke rocked back on his heels: the words were that much of a shock, that unexpected ... cool, conversational, without preliminary.
As for the smith, he stood very still. The deep-set eyes seemed to retreat yet further into the broad, high-domed skull.
"And what is this terrible thing of which you speak, Princess Ariadne?" he asked finally.
"What is it—?" Ariadne's eyes distended, then narrowed. Her voice took on a taut, dangerous note. "Do you think to mock me, artisan? Me, daughter of Minos, favored beyond all women of this realm?"
Daedalus' hairy chest rose and fell in heavy, almost deliberate rhythm. Turning, he crossed with short, clumping steps to the nearest stand and set down his lamp, then made a small business of straightening the wick.
"What black slander is this, princess?" he asked coldly, eyes still on the flame. "What are you trying to say I've done?"
"Would you deny it, then?" Like a sleek cat stalking, Ariadne moved round him in a long, slow arc. "Or do you seek perhaps to saddle poor Icarus with the blame?"
"Icarus—!" The smith's head lifted sharply. "Whatever this deed is that you speak of, my son had nothing to do with it!"
"Do you count it nothing for a youth to enter secretly into my apartment, then assault a guard when he's surprised?" Ariadne's lovely face fixed into a mask of scorn. "Ambition ill becomes you, Daedalus. For a man who'd plot such a thing, risk his own son's life to gain power over me, you show little courage and less sense."
Before Burke's eyes, sweat came to the smith's broad forehead. A tremor ran through the heavy hands. "May the gods bear witness, Ariadne, you know I've done no such, and so does your father!"
"And of course he'll take your word over his own daughter's." Ariadne laughed without mirth. "Tell me, smith, are you such a fool as to think your fiend's work with my mother, Pasiphae, is so soon forgotten?" And then: "Besides, you know all the secrets of the palace—a dangerous knowledge. My father will leap at an excuse to slay you!"
Daedalus rubbed at his beard with thick, scarred knuckles. His lips had a dry, parched look, and his breathing was ragged and uneven.
Coolly, Ariadne turned and walked away from him, to Burke. "Come, my lord Dion! Let us waste no more time on this numb-skull."
Daedalus' head seemed to sink down between his great shoulders. Through clenched teeth, he said, "All right, curse you! What is it you want?"
"What do you mean, smith?" The girl stayed remote as some slim statue. "Are your wits slipping? You know I've asked for nothing."
Head high, a picture of poise, she moved towards the door. Stiffly, Burke fell in behind her.
For a moment, Daedalus stood flat-footed, rigid.
Then, abruptly, he too was moving towards the door. For the first time, his voice held a raw, uncertain edge, as if touched with panic. "Princess—most favored of Minos—please—"
Ariadne paused. Her dark eyes glinted soaring triumph in the instant that they touched Burke's. "Please indeed, Daedalus! After all, I came here tonight but to satisfy a whim. This outlander,"—a gesture to Burke—"vows there's no access to the Labyrinth, the Minotaur, save by the Shrine of Oracles.
"For my part, I argued that you, who laid out that whole area of the palace, could enter any chamber, no matter how well the doors were guarded." A shrug. "All the talk—it ended in a wager. So, now, I count on you to prove me right, show some secret way by which, if necessary, a determined man could invade even the Minotaur's most secret precinct undetected."
The beads of sweat on the smith's broad forehead began to merge into rills and trickle down into his eye-brows. "Princess, were I to tell this outlander such a secret—believe me, you ask me to gamble with my life!"
"Yet if you do not tell," Ariadne retorted calmly, "what will happen will involve no gamble!"
Seconds ticked by while the heavy-thewed chief of craftsmen stared at her. Then, bleakly, he said, "Very well, princess."
Another long pause, with Daedalus frowning and tugging at his lower lip.
At last: "The only unguarded way to the Minotaur leads through the drainage system, the great sewer-pipes that lie beneath the palace."
Burke frowned. "You mean, you'd drop through a manhole here—anywhere on the grounds—and then come up again inside the Labyrinth?"
"Exactly," the smith nodded.
"But how would you know when you reached the right exit?"
"Only one connects with the Labyrinth. A cage of bars cuts off the pipe at that point, so no workman may by accident come up within the Labyrinth and thus meet his doom."
Narrow-eyed, Burke brooded on the things the smith had told him.
But now Ariadne broke in; and all the poise she'd shown brief moments earlier had vanished: "Dion—you mustn't! Don't you see? This is a trap. Even though you were to slay the Minotaur, you'd never find your way back to safety through all that maze of pitch-black tunnels!"
"On the contrary, princess." Burke smiled thinly. "This is one advantage of coming here from another time. It tells me in advance so many of the things that are scheduled to happen."
Ignoring her obvious blank bafflement, he again spoke to the smith: "Daedalus, do you have cord here—light, strong line such as you use in laying out the walls of each new building?"
"Yes."
"Then get some for me."
The brawny craftsman crossed to a chest against the wall; brought out a thick skein of twine. "Will this do?"
"Is it long enough to guide me to the Labyrinth?"
"Yes."
"Then that's all I need from you." Burke turned to go.
"Wait!" This from Ariadne. Her dark eyes pinned their host's deep-set orbs. "Daedalus, I've a promise to make you."
"A promise—?"
"A vow, if you will." Never had Ariadne looked more beautiful—or more deadly. Her smile held the shadow of impending doom. "For if there's any trick to this, smith, or if word should reach my father of what's happened here tonight, I swear an hour will come when you'll pray for death to end your agonies!"
Then she and Burke were out in the night again, silent as shadows, feeling their way back through the murky maze of alleyways and corridors and buildings to the central court.
Burke pulled the girl to a halt there, in the narrow slot between two pillars. "Where are we going?" He held his voice low; spoke with his mouth close to her ear to compensate for the buffeting of the wind. "We can't chance your rooms, you know. That guard's snapped out of it by now."
"Of course. I've a place in mind across the court, closer to the shrine."
"All right, then."
But again, as before, tension rose within Burke. A guard's shouted challenge somewhere far off started him sweating. When the low, mingled laughter of a man and a woman drifted from a nearby window, he froze in his tracks.
The role of hero, he decided, ill became him. He thought too much of consequence and peril; found it too difficult to lose himself in an emotional haze of recklessness.
Yet here, now, he had no choice—not feeling the way he did about Ariadne; not knowing the things he knew from that brief session before the inverter's scanning screen.
And the time remaining was so short ... less than an hour, as of this moment.
"This way, my lord Dion."
Wordless, once more Burke fell in behind the girl.
Their destination proved to be an ornate suite where Burke stumbled over furniture in the darkness.
Ariadne squeezed his hand. "No one will disturb us here—those who occupy this apartment are visiting at Phaestos." And then, changing position: "I've a lamp. Give me fire."
Burke fumbled out his lighter; flicked the wheel.
The flame showed his companion close beside him. In seconds, the lamp she held was sputtering to life.
The girl turned quickly. "There's a manhole back here, in the ante-room to the bath."
She led Burke to it as she spoke; held the lamp low so he could see the cover-slab.
Dropping to his knees, he heaved the heavy stone aside.
Instantly, new air-currents swirled about him. A mustiness assailed his nostrils.
Somewhere, along that black tube below or another like it, the Minotaur was waiting.
A knot drew tight in the pit of Burke's stomach. Rising, he tossed Daedalus' thick skein of cord down by the base of the nearest lamp-stand, then faced Ariadne.
"Thank you for your help, my princess," he said gently. "Now, though, it's time for you to go."
"To go—?" She stared at him, dark eyes suddenly wide. "What byplay is this, my lord Dion? Surely you'd not ask me to leave you now, in the hour when your worst danger is upon you?"
Burke forced a wry smile. "Do you remember what happened the other time when you refused to carry out my orders?"
"You mean—when you hit me?" Gingerly, the girl's fingers moved along her bruised jaw as she spoke.
"Precisely."
"But my lord Dion—"
Burke stopped smiling. "I'm sorry, Ariadne. You're not going with me. That's final. If you try, if you won't promise to go back to your own apartment, I'll knock you out and tie you up. Is that clear?"
He started forward as he finished—face set, fist doubled.
But the girl gave not an inch before him. Stepping in, instead, she stood very close, face upturned to his.
"My lord Dion," she said softly, "I tell you now: you're the bravest man I've ever seen."
It threw Burke off balance. He could find no words with which to answer.
The girl said, "I promise you, you needn't worry for me; a warrior should not have to think of women, or fear for them. I'll await you at my own apartment."
Burke groped. "Ariadne—"
It was as if he hadn't spoken: "Remember, you have my promise. But if anything should go wrong, if I'm missing when you reach my quarters—Lord Dion, do you know the River of Amnissus?"
"Yes, of course."
"To its left, where it meets the sea, a headland rises. So, if fate decrees that I must flee from Knossos, you can expect to find me there."
Her slim, soft arms were round his neck, then; her lips on his for a long, pulsing moment.
When it ended, she was sobbing, her cheeks tear-streaked.
"Dion ..." she choked. "Please my Lord Dion, come back to me! Without you—"
She broke off; whirled and fled.
For a long, long moment, Burke stared after her, straining his eyes against the black encroachment of the night.
Then, abruptly, he dropped to one knee and set to looping one end of Daedalus' cord around the lamp-stand—tying it tight; tugging and testing it.
Sound stirred behind him, a faint whisper.
Burke bit down hard. "Damn you, Ariadne!"
No answer.
Another fragment of sound. A footstep.
A footstep far too heavy to be Ariadne's.
Burke went rigid; started to turn.
Only before he could even bring his eyes up, something clouted him a terrific blow to the side of the head, so hard it knocked him clear off his feet and against the wall beside him.
Desperately, he tried to roll clear, get his gun out.
But his eyes blurred. His head rang. A sandaled foot kicked the Smith & Wesson out of his fumbling fingers before the weapon had hardly cleared his waistband.
And now, a tremendous weight crashed down upon him. Blows rained to his face, his rib-cage, his belly. A knee drove for his groin. Cable-muscled fingers clutched his windpipe.
Burke choked on his own tongue. The fingers cut off his breath. His head spun. His chest heaved—lungs aflame, convulsing in agony.
Then spidery tendrils of blackness seeped into his brain. His will to fight ebbed. He felt himself drifting away, as on a swift-flowing stream that plunged into a cave's dark, swirling shadows.
Cautiously, the fingers relaxed on his windpipe.
Burke fought for breath in short, tremulous gasps. He didn't have the strength in him even to fill his lungs fully, let alone try to renew the battle.
The fingers left his throat and fumbled at his wrists; then his ankles.
Burke began to get better control of his breathing. Forcing himself to ignore his aching head and battered body, he pried his eyes open.
Bull-necked Theseus squatted by his side, leering down at him. The Greek gripped the Smith & Wesson in one hand, and every line of his face and stance mirrored gloating triumph.
Cold with rage—or was it partly panic?—Burke stared up at his captor. But when he tried to move his arms to lift himself, he found that they were bound together.
Beside him, the Athenian chuckled unpleasantly. "That Minos is smart, isn't he?"
Burke stared. "Minos—?"
"Sure. He told me I'd catch you if I just played drunk long enough." The other's smirk broadened. "That's how much he hates you, see? He said he'd let me and the others go, forget all that crazy stuff with the Minotaur. All I had to do was grab you before you could sneak away someplace with Ariadne."
It was all Burke could do to keep from groaning.
If Theseus noticed, he ignored it. "Me, I've got a better idea. Something really clever. You'll love it."
A small chill ran through Burke. He still didn't speak.
Theseus said, "You want to get at the Minotaur so rotten much—well, I'm just the boy to help you do it, now you've worked all the details out with that Daedalus and Ariadne." A leer. "We'll handle it just the way you planned it: drop into the sewer-tunnel here, then hunt till we find the manhole into the Labyrinth."
The burly Greek got up as he finished. "All right. On your feet!"
By way of emphasis, he kicked Burke in the stomach.
Retching, Burke lurched over to a face-down position and tried to rise.
Stumbling erect proved difficult enough. Then, on his feet at last, he discovered that his captor had hobbled his ankles also, so he could move only in short, awkward steps.
Now the Athenian gestured to the open manhole that led into the sewer. "Hurry it up! Get down there!"
Awkwardly, Burke shuffled towards the opening.
Apparently he moved too slowly for his captor's tastes, for a sandaled foot took a leg from under him and he spilled to the floor and half-fell through the hole.
Then he was down in the cool, drafty blackness of the great drain. A moment later, Theseus joined him, a lamp in one hand, Daedalus' cord in the other. The revolver he'd taken from Burke was thrust into his loin-band.
Together, with Burke pushed into the lead, they moved along the tunnel.
It was a nightmare, after that—a nightmare of slime and smells, sudden winds and water. Snakes slithered across Burke's feet. Cobwebs brushed his face. The lamp's gleam was a pinprick in an infinity of darkness. A dozen times they struck dead ends; retraced their steps out of blind alleys. And each time Theseus raged with greater fury, till Burke's back and hips were numb with blows and kicks and buffets.
And then, suddenly, they came to a place where a cage of bars blocked off the passage.
Burke's heart leaped. A tight band seemed to constrict his chest.
But before he could even speak, Theseus elbowed him aside with new blows and curses. The Hero of Athens was breathing hard; even by the lamp's feeble light, his eyes showed distended.
Looping the heavy skein of twine over his shoulder, the Greek now gripped the nearest bar in a brawny hand and shook it.
It didn't even quiver.
Snarling, Theseus stepped back and, lifting the lamp, scrutinized the terra cotta of the tunnel wall till he found a crack-formed ledge wide enough to hold the light. Then, returning to the bars, he seized one in both hands and heaved on it while he braced a foot against another.
Still nothing happened.
Again the Athenian heaved, and this time every muscle along his back and arms and legs swelled. His belly drew into heavy ridges. Veins stood out at throat and temple.
For the instant, even Burke couldn't help but watch fascinated at the picture of sheer physical strength displayed.
And now, ever so slowly, one of the bars began to bend ... the merest fraction ... an inch ... a hand's breadth....
Then, suddenly, with a dull metallic twang, the piece tore loose from its fitting.
The sound broke Burke's spell. Convulsively, he strained at the bonds that held his own wrists.
They only cut deeper into the flesh.
And there was so little time....
Warily, Burke cast a sidewise glance at the revolver, still hanging at the other's waist. Then, as casually as he could manage it, he started moving closer.
Now, panting with exertion, Theseus turned his attention to a second bar.
This time, he had more room to maneuver. Almost from the first moment, the metal showed signs of twisting.
Burke took yet another sidling step—a step that brought him within arm's reach of the Smith & Wesson. Clumsily, he poised, readying himself to spear out for the butt with both hands as one.
A groan escaped Theseus as he wrenched at the reluctant bar with all his might. Little by little, the heavy metal bent.
Burke snatched for the gun.
Only as he did so, incredibly, the weapon wasn't there. His hands slapped Theseus' sweat-greased side instead.
Simultaneously, a fist like a maul smashed him full in the face: The Athenian's harsh laughter rang in his ears. He crashed back against the sewer-pipe's wall like a doll flung aside by an angry child. Words hammered at him; Theseus' words: "I wondered when you'd try that, you outlander dog!"
It was all Burke could do to keep his feet, let alone answer.
The Greek snarled, "Now's a good time to tell you the rest of it, too, rack you!"
Burke tried to blink away the haze between them. "The rest of it—?" he mumbled.
"That's right; the rest." His captor gloated openly now. "You didn't think I dragged you through this hell-hole just for entertainment, did you, when all I needed to do to get rid of you was hand you over to Minos?"
Burke didn't answer.
Theseus scowled, spoke almost as if to himself; "That slut Ariadne—I'll teach her to scorn me for an outlander! Once I've shoved you up through this manhole into the Labyrinth, where there's no chance for anyone but the Minotaur to find you, alive or dead, I'm going to go explain to Minos all about how you took me unawares and almost killed me, back there in Ariadne's quarters. He'll believe me, because it fits right in with what that guard you tricked will tell him.
"Then, while Minos has everyone out hunting for you, I'll take Ariadne down to where my ship lies anchored at the mouth of the Amnissus. By the time Minos realizes what's happened, I'll be gone, with his daughter with me; and she'll be good for nothing but to be queen of Athens, so he'll have no choice but to make peace with my father, no matter how it galls him."
The hair along the back of Burke's neck prickled. Of a sudden he saw how he'd vastly underestimated Theseus. Because the man looked like a handsome, stupid, dissipated block of beef, Twentieth Century intellect had sneered at him.
Only Theseus had a schemer's brain, as well as a Greek God's face and physique. And what looked like stupidity came out as an almost oriental taste for the un-prettier types of vengeance.
All of which added up to nothing less than disaster.
Keeping his voice level with an effort, Burke said, "Theseus, you hate me, and I don't blame you for it. For that matter, I hate you too.
"But right now, there's no time for either of us to indulge his feelings. This is too big for that. Knossos falls tonight. It's going to be destroyed—soon now, within the hour.
"Unless we kill the Minotaur, Ariadne dies too. There'll even be other Minotaurs, not just here but all over the world. That's why I wanted to get into the Labyrinth—"
Laughter exploded in Burke's face.
It was a better answer than words. Tight-lipped, Burke groped frantically for some new plan, some trick, some lingering straw of hope to cling to.
Theseus said, "Don't worry, outlander. You'll get your chance at the Minotaur."
He stalked forward as he spoke; poised a doubled fist close by Burke's jaw. "Just remember, though: while you're taking care of the monster, I'll be taking care of Ariadne!"
The poised fist lashed out. When Burke tried to jerk his head aside, Theseus' other hand came up in a casual, almost lazy arc and slapped it back into place.
Fist and jaw met. Burke's brain exploded inside his skull. The flickering lamp seemed to burst into a blaze of dazzling, kaleidoscopic stars.
Then, one by one, they faded. Blackness closed in....