"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.