Half A Life
by Maya Tawipart ten
"Some deeds done wrong won't scare me long
I've done a few, maybe one or two"
-Luscious Jackson
Iolaus stared at the empty spot where Hermes had just been standing.
"Well," he said faintly. "That... wasn't so hard."
Then small, surprisingly strong hands were gripping his shoulders and leading him back to the bed. "Sit down," Agamede said. "You're gonna fall over if you don't."
"I feel fine." Even so, Iolaus followed her and dropped down to the mattress. His knees felt strangely weak.
"You don't have to worry," Agamede said. "Hermes'll take care of it now."
He laughed weakly. "Trust Hermes? You gotta be kidding me."
"Hermes keeps his word, I'll give him that much. The trick half the time is just figuring out what his word is."
Iolaus shook his head and looked up, meeting Sileia's iron, unforgiving gaze. Then he sighed and turned back to the priest's daughter.
"Listen, Agamede," he began, "what I said--"
"Don't worry," she said again, with a halfhearted smile. "You said some things I needed to hear."
"I didn't really mean it."
"Even so, it's done now. And I actually feel... well, not better, but--" She hesitated, then changed the subject entirely. "Iolaus, um, what are you going to do if Autolycus doesn't...."
"If he doesn't feel the same way?" Iolaus shrugged. "I don't know. Take what I can get, I guess. But as long as he's alive and okay, everything else is more or less incidental."
The words were barely out of his mouth when Hermes reappeared, carrying an unconscious Autolycus. Iolaus rose to his feet.
"Here, you got your boy back," Hermes said without preamble. "Please, hold your applause, a lifetime of devotion'll suffice."
"Well," Iolaus said, "that's very--" He paused, seeing Agamede's tight-lipped look of pain. "So why couldn't you do this for Tiro, exactly? Oh, yeah, I forgot. You were chicken."
Hermes scowled. "Hey, do you want me to take him back?"
Iolaus sighed. "No. No, I don't."
"Fine. Then shut the fuck up about it." He patted Iolaus on the head. "The gods work in mysterious ways, kid. Don't try to figure it out."
Then he settled Autolycus on the bed with surprising gentleness, and all thoughts of an angry retort fled from Iolaus's mind.
He'd only caught a glimpse of Autolycus earlier, as the soldiers were taking him down from the cross. One of the spectators had filled him in, saying that the Conqueror had broken his hands and legs, but when it came to specifics, Iolaus hadn't known exactly what to expect.
Whatever it was, he wasn't prepared for this.
Autolycus's legs were bent at angles that legs were never meant to bend at. In some places, the black leather was thickly matted with dry blood. Someone, it seemed, had been using his legs for a festival game, and whoever it was would have won the biggest stuffed hydra in the lot. As far as Iolaus could tell, his shinbones had been completely shattered.
But worse even than that were his hands. They had been smashed to bloody pulps. Jagged bone shards poked through the skin in places, and ugly scabs had already started to form over the open wounds. The unbroken skin was colored in shades of purple and blue, and the hands were swelled to twice their normal size. If they healed like that, they'd be paralyzed for life, Iolaus realized with a shiver. Those skilled hands, immobile, in constant pain....
He swallowed hard, but he didn't look away. He owed Autolycus that much.
And then the King of Thieves opened his eyes.
Iolaus inhaled sharply. He barely recognized the brown eyes that looked up at him-- eyes that were normally so warm and alive and mocking, now cold and distant. And, as he recognized Iolaus' face, very confused.
"What's going on?" Autolycus asked finally, his voice little more than a hoarse croak.
"It's okay," Iolaus whispered, not letting his emotions show. "You're safe now. You're in Tiro's temple. We'll hide you, get you out of town--"
Autolycus laughed. It was a harsh, horrible sound. "You think that matters now? You taken a good look at me yet?"
"Autolycus--"
"Just kill me. Get it over with." He turned his head away.
"Don't--"
"It's bound to happen anyway. I'd rather you do it."
Iolaus couldn't take it anymore. He glanced up at Hermes, a sudden memory making his eyes widen. "You healed him before," he said to the god. "You can do it now."
Autolycus's expression didn't change, but something like a glimmer of life entered his dark eyes.
Hermes said, "Wait just a minute. That wasn't in the deal."
Iolaus didn't think, just acted-- his left hand shot out and grabbed Hermes by the collar. "You are going to," he growled. "You said you'd rescue him, and this is part of it. He's a thief-- it's not what he does, it's who he is. If you leave him like this, he's better off dead."
"Gee, thanks," Autolycus muttered.
"Shut up. A second ago you were asking me to kill you, and I'm not gonna listen to that." Iolaus stared unflinchingly into the god's face. "So what'll it be?"
Hermes levelled him with a cool, unconcerned gaze, and Iolaus suddenly realized what he was doing. He was threatening a god with-- what? Nothing he could actually follow through on. His fingers tightened as he wondered how far he would be allowed to go. If he were dealing with, say, Ares, he knew, he'd have been dead already.
This god just stared at him for a full minute and then said, "I didn't say I wouldn't, just that I never said I would."
Iolaus glared. "So you will?"
"I'm considering."
"Forget it," Autolycus said dully. "He can't do it."
Hermes bristled. "Of course I can. I'm a god."
"If he could, he would," Autolycus continued. "What decent God of Thieves would want to lose the King of Thieves?"
Iolaus started to grin, then bit his lip and continued to scowl.
Hermes snorted. "You're trying to trick me into it."
"It's true, though," Agamede piped up. Iolaus almost lost his grip on the god; he'd forgotten that she was there. "You'd look pretty silly if word got around."
"And if Autolycus isn't healed," Sileia cut in, "word will get around."
Always a surprise to hear her talk, Iolaus thought. He nodded at the two women. "What they said. So what'll it be?"
Hermes scowled and, without warning, disappeared, leaving Iolaus grasping at empty air.
He felt his stomach drop. He was still blinking when, a second later, the god reappeared beside the bed. Autolycus yelped in surprise.
Hermes laid his hands on the thief's crooked legs, then hesitated and glanced back at Iolaus. "This is gonna hurt," he said shortly. "You wanna hold beloved's hands here, or shoulder as it may be, I suggest you get your ass over here."
"What do you mean, it's gonna hurt?" Iolaus demanded, hurrying to the bed and resting his hands on Autolycus's shoulders. "It didn't hurt last time. If you're doing this on purpose--"
"Who, me?" Hermes looked innocent and indignant, all at the same time. "Hey, buddy, he's lucky I'm even warning him. For that matter, he's lucky I'm even doing this in the first place. So quit bitching."
"But--"
"Quit it, I said."
Iolaus opened his mouth to argue further, but Autolycus cut him off, saying through clenched teeth, "Iolaus, I love ya for this, but would you please shut up?"
Iolaus turned to gape down at him, the god held his hands over the Autolycus's broken legs, a red hot light flared up, and Autolycus screamed.
The next few minutes were pure torture; Agamede found a piece of firewood for Autolycus to hold in his mouth, and Iolaus's hands never left his shoulders. It felt like days passed before it was finally over.
Hermes stepped back.
Autolycus sat up unsteadily and reached for the firewood btween his teeth. He dropped it to the floor and looked at his hands with something like awe.
"There," Hermes said. "Check out the merchandise. Good as new. Hope you appreciate it. If any of you ever calls me again, I'm ripping out your spleen." And with that, he was gone, the long-forgotten scale vanishing with him.
Four pairs of eyes blinked at the spot where he'd been standing.
"You think he was serious?" Iolaus asked.
Agamede said sourly, "I wouldn't put it past him."
"Huh," Iolaus said. "Gods. Who can figure 'em."
Autolycus glanced up at Agamede, then looked away. "Ags," he said in a low voice, "I'm sorry. For everything. I tried-- honest to Zeus, I really did."
She waved away the apology with a curious lack of expression. "Don't be," she said, voice brittle. "I know you did. I'm sorry too."
"But you're not--"
Agamede cut him off, and her words held an unmistakable note of finality. "It's the way he lived his life."
Then she glanced back at Iolaus, who had been watching the entire exchange with an open mouth, and smiled sweetly. "Of course, I'm not the only one with something to say."
Iolaus shot her the blackest glare he could muster, then turned to Autolycus, who had swung his legs over the side of the bed and was watching them with an apprehensive look on his face.
Iolaus knew exactly how he felt.
"So," Autolycus said.
"So." Iolaus paused. Had he really meant...?
He opened his mouth to ask, and found himself saying instead, lamely, "I'm glad you're all right."
"Oh. Yeah." Autolycus hesitated. "Uh, thanks. For that. I really... I appreciate it."
And their eyes met in a reluctant mutual understanding. Iolaus started to smile.
Agamede rolled her eyes. "Aw, you guys," she said. "You're so inarticulate. That's so cute."
"Shut up, Agamede," the two men said together, never taking their eyes off each other.
Sileia took her fiancee gently by the arm. "We'll leave you two alone now," she announced, steering Agamede towards the entrance.
"No, wait," Autolycus said suddenly, breaking Iolaus' gaze and turning to the women. "I need to talk to you guys. All of you." He hesitated. "Listen, I know this sounds crazy, but, uh... we need to go back in."
It was god and inanimate object that vanished from the temple in Corinth, and god and inanimate object that reappeared several hundred leagues away, in an empty temple in an abandoned city.
Hermes set the scale down on the cracked altar and stepped back. A moment later there was a crackle and a burst of blue light, and the heavy golden scale began to grow taller, slimming down as it lengthened. Eventually it settled on a human shape, that of a tall, gangly man, perched on the edge of the alter with his shoulders hunched, giggling uncontrollably.
Hermes rolled his eyes.
Strife, God of Mischief and flighty right hand to Ares, assuming the God of War was left-handed, caught the motion and immediately tried to sober up. He didn't have much success.
"That was fantastic!" he shrieked, giving up and falling over backwards on top of the altar. "Was that not fantastic, Herm? Somebody's in lu-urrve...." Strife dissolved into giggles again. "Goldilocks and Auto, sittin' in a tree--"
"Strife," Hermes said, "shut up."
Strife stopped, snapping his mouth shut and staring at the blue sky overhead through one of the many holes in the ceiling. Then, just as suddenly, he sat up, scratching at the back of his head.
"Why the Musical Chairs, Unc?" he demanded, letting slip the name he usually reserved for Ares. Maybe he just used it for whoever was giving him orders at the time. "Why not just heal the twerp an' get on with it? Not that I wasn't havin' fun or anything, but I coulda been doing something way cooler, you know?"
"Yes," Hermes said, "like inducing a rash of farm animal molestations."
Strife rubbed his hands together and grinned. "Hey, don't knock it, man. I got the skills."
Hermes just stared at him, visibly struggling to keep quiet. Strife narrowed his eyes and wished not for the first time that he could read gods' minds.
"I had to make it as unpleasant as possible," Hermes said finally. "You think I want those two running to me for help every time they get in a scrape? Thinking, 'Oh, we can always count on our ol' buddy Hermes!' I don't think so. I meant every word of what I said. I never wanna talk to those assholes again."
"Ah." Strife nodded. He wasn't sure he understood, but if he pretended he did, his next question might seem less moronic. "Why bother at all, then?"
Hermes sighed, looking wistful.
"They're two of the best thieves I've seen in a long time," he said dreamily. "Get both of them together and watch the entire Empire duck, oh yeah, baby. If they'd quit fighting for five seconds and get on with the screwing." He glanced at Strife. "They're good with the mischief, too. See, there's where you come in."
"Ooh," Strife said. "Got it."
He giggled again.
"'Snice to be doing stuff, y'know?" he added, swinging his legs over the side of the altar. "I mean, Unc-- Ares-- he's been totally a downer since this Xena chick took over the world an' all. He's, like, obsessed with her. Wants everything to go the way she wants it to, so I don't get to go out and stir up mischief now. I mean, hello-oo, it's my job title, and what do I do? Hang around keepin' house for the God of War." Strife heaved a sigh. "There ain't even any good wars for me to oversee, not since that Verca-whatever guy was executed in Gaul. Just these little baby uprisings that get put down in like five minutes. It's bo-ring."
Hermes' eyes were bright and unreadable.
"Are you saying," he said, "that good ol' Ares isn't doing such a good job anymore?"
Strife opened his mouth. Then he closed it again. His vapor blue eyes went as wide as they could without popping out of his head.
"No!" he squeaked. "Oh no ya don't, you're not gettin' me that way. Ares is doin' a great job. I don't know what you're talkin' about. I am not a crook!" His eyes rolled up dramatically and he flopped backwards again, draping his arm over his face in a mock-faint.
Or maybe it wasn't so mock. Ares took a very dim view of disloyalty in his employees. After all, he had more than enough for the lot of them.
"Still," Hermes was saying, "you're right, there haven't been any major wars for a while. He must be going pretty soft."
Strife uncovered his face and turned a baleful eye in the other god's direction. "You ain't gettin' a word out of me, buddy. I'm outta here--"
"Strife! Strife, I'm not trying to get you to say anything against Ares. I'm just worried about him." The words sounded foreign and unconvincing coming from Hermes' lips, and Strife snorted in disbelief. "If he doesn't have what it takes to do the job anymore--"
"Yeah, well, that's where you're wrong," Strife snapped, sitting up and jabbing an accusing finger at the skeptical god. "'Cause Unc's been majorly pissed off at something for the last day or so, buddy, so just you wait, 'cause any day now he's gonna be kickin' some serious ass and--"
He broke off with a sinking feeling of dread, as he felt the very object of their conversation yelling for him. Bellowing, in fact. "--And, fuck, I gotta go. Fuck."
He glared at Hermes' smug smirk. Ares was in a bad mood, which before Xena would have inevitably led to a war of some kind. Now the God of War relieved his frustrations in other ways-- mainly, fucking and pummelling Strife. He'd vanished just in time when Ares had shown up earlier that day, recognizing the warning signs, but now that Ares was calling for him specifically, Strife couldn't avoid him anymore. If he did, his eventual punishment would be much worse than whatever Ares had wanted in the first place. Ares in a bad mood was not a pleasant thing to be around.
And judging from the look on Hermes' face, he knew all about that. Fuck. Some days it felt like all of Olympus was aware of Strife's position as Ares's official whipping boy and punching bag-- all of Greece, even.
It seriously sucked.
Strife's glare became a glower. "I'll deal with you later," he warned Hermes, both of them knowing that it was an empty threat; Hermes was, after all, one of the twelve major Olympians, while Strife was barely an afterthought in the pantheon. But it made him feel better to say it.
Then, bracing himself, the God of Mischief dematerialized, bound for the Halls of War.
"What?" Iolaus exploded. "Did they smash your head in too? 'Cause I could've sworn you just said--"
"We need to go back in," Autolycus repeated quietly. "That girl's in there." He was still staring at his hands, still a little stunned by everything that had just happened. In the space of a few hours, he'd had his life taken away from him and then handed back on a silver platter, and he was about to go back and risk it once again.
Glancing up at Iolaus's bewildered face, he really wished he didn't have to explain why.
"The rebel leader," he clarified. "We have to get her out."
"Some girl the Conqueror crucified for inciting people to riot," Agamede murmured at Iolaus's blank look. "I thought she was dead."
"She's not," Autolycus said, "and she did a lot more than just incite a riot. And we have to rescue her."
Iolaus narrowed his eyes. "And why would we do that?"
Autolycus coughed and looked away, embarrassed. "'Cause I kind of owe it to her," he mumbled.
Iolaus threw his hands up, looking furious. Autolycus would have been flattered if it weren't so damned annoying. "Oh, that's great, just great. Perfect end to a perfect fucking day. And why exactly do you owe it to her, may I ask?"
Autolycus glared up at him. "One, I think I've had a slightly more difficult day than you have, and beta, what-the-fuck-ever happened to 'life matters, respect it' and all that other crap you were spewing earlier?"
"Yeah, well, there's a difference between that and trying to save every life between here and Thrace! So I ask again-- why do you owe her?"
"She saw me, all right?" Autolycus snapped, neatly sidestepping the question for the time being. "I mean, there we are, sneaking in and out of the castle, and she's lying there with broken legs--"
"Broken legs?" Iolaus rolled his eyes. "Oh, this just keeps getting better. In case you've forgotten, you never even got out last time--"
"I'll ignore that--"
"You're not supposed to fucking ignore it!"
"Well, I will anyway. Ladies?" Autolycus appealed. "You're with me on this, right?"
Agamede looked hesitant. And, for some reason, ashamed. "Autolycus... look, um, as much as I appreciate this uncharacteristic show of concern for someone you don't even know--"
"Uncharacteristic?" He blinked, noting the glance Iolaus threw her. It looked almost... triumphant? "I think I-- okay, fine," he conceded, "You've got a point, Ags. But this is different."
"Different how?" she demanded. When he didn't answer, she sighed. "I just don't know. I mean, it does seem kind of, oh, stupid would be the word?"
"That's the one," Iolaus said darkly.
"It's just, you know, to risk it now, after-- after everything...." Agamede trailed off.
"Okay, fine." Autolycus stood; a faint tremor went through his just-healed legs, until they remembered that they weren't broken anymore, and he grabbed for the wall to keep his balance. "I'll do it myself."
"But that's--"
"You can't--"
"Hello there," Autolycus said to the dark-haired woman standing quietly behind them. "I don't believe we've met. You must be Agamede's legendary intended." He bowed as low as he dared, still feeling a little light-headed. "The pleasure is all mine."
Sileia-- he was pretty sure it was her-- regarded him with cool gray eyes. "Why do you owe her?"
He groaned. "Oh, not you too."
"Autolycus," Iolaus said.
And it was the way he said it-- Iolaus, Mister Moody, with his voice a tangled-up knot of all sorts of emotions, warning and pleading and questioning and angry and, Zeus help them both, under it all there was real concern.
For him.
Autolycus sighed and dropped back down on the bed, feeling all of his annoyance drain away. He looked down at his boots and idly scratched at a scuff mark.
"Because," he began, addressing his boots. He sighed again. "Zeus, this is hard... 'cause I'm pretty much the reason she got caught in the first place, all right?"
Dead silence. Then Iolaus said, "What?"
"It's how I got caught the first time too," Autolycus continued, and once the words started coming, he couldn't seem to stop them. "She was at the castle looking for, I don't know, state secrets or something, whatever it is a good rebel leader looks for. I wouldn't know. She was on her way out when I was coming in. We tripped over each other and set off the alarm. She ran for the outside and I went for a hiding place inside, figuring that once they saw her running they'd stop looking for the intruder. No such luck, of course. We were both caught, but thanks to your incredibly convenient double and his antics, I managed to escape. She, obviously, didn't."
He didn't look up once while he was talking. When he finished, no one said anything for a few long moments, and eventually Autolycus raised his head, looking not at Agamede or Sileia but at the man he might, maybe, possibly...
...care a lot about.
Or something.
Iolaus' eyes were confused, bewildered-- and accusing. "I can't believe you just left her like that," was the first thing that came out of his mouth.
"Yeah, well, what was I supposed to do?" Autolycus said defensively. "It's not like she was completely blameless, you know. She did break in. So I was supposed to jump out and yell 'Take me instead'? Wave something shiny in front of the guards and distract them till she got away? Yeah, that would've worked great."
Iolaus scowled. "She was doing what she did for a good cause. You gave her away and intended to hide until they caught her, then get on with your stealing. And you dont see anything wrong with that?"
"Hello-oo, anyone home?" Autolycus wiggled his fingers pointedly in the other man's face. "First of all, I thought she could take care of herself. I mean, I honestly thought she'd get away. That girl ran like she'd been launched from a catapult, and she'd have made it, too, if the perimeter patrol hadn't come round at that exact moment."
He paused for breath, then continued, "And anyway, did you forget why exactly we're discussing this now? I mean, I may be seriously kidding myself here, but I want to go back and make up for it. I don't have a fucking clue why, except you must've actually gotten through to me at some point, all right? Congratulations. Now do you see my point? Tiro's already dead because of me, and I don't want some kid's living Tartarus on my conscience as well. So are you with me on this, or what?"
Autolycus found himself holding his breath as he studied Iolaus's face.
"So," Iolaus said after a moment. "We need to get this crippled girl out, get her to a healer before the bones set, and somehow manage not to get caught. Again. All while they've got increased security and one pissed-off Conqueror, who may or may not have noticed you missing yet. Have I got it all?"
"More or less," Autolycus said, "yeah." Something in him kept trying to break out into a grin, and it took all of his willpower to remind himself that this was serious, that there was nothing to be smiling about.
Agamede was whispering into Sileia's ear. Sileia nodded, and Agamede said, "Leia knows this healer who's like a magician. If anything can be done, she can do it. But we have to take this girl there by ourselves, 'cause they're Amazons, and they won't let a man get within miles."
"Now wait a minute," Autolycus said. "This is my problem. You guys--"
"Oh, can it." Agamede folded her arms across her chest. "We're going to help whether you like it or not, and don't you dare argue this time."
Autolycus sighed, recognizing the signs. Agamede was ready to fight to the death.
"Well, we seem to have everything worked out now, don't we?" Iolaus didn't look happy. "Auto, do you have any idea what that harpy will do to you if she catches you again?"
He blinked at the intimacy of the nickname but didn't comment. They were far beyond intimacy by now. "Fuck, Iolaus, she's so pissed off by now, she'd kill either of us on sight. That's not the point." He paused. "You really don't have to do this, you know. I wasn't trying to guilt you into it or anything."
"I'm not concerned for my fucking self!" Iolaus retorted. "Fifteen minutes ago you were begging me to kill you and now you want to go try again? I just-- I can't deal with that again. Okay?"
An unfamiliar, not entirely unpleasant feeling began to uncurl in Autolycus' stomach. "I... appreciate that," he said slowly, carefully. "I really do. But with all due understanding, Iolaus... you can't keep me safe."
As soon as he said it, he found himself holding his breath again. Maybe he'd misinterpreted. Maybe it didn't mean what he thought. Maybe....
Maybe he was really sick and tired of feeling like a fluttery virgin.
Agamede, meanwhile, was raising her eyebrows; if they went any higher, in fact, they'd be floating around her head like a pair of antlers. "Now you know how I feel," she announced to the world in general.
Autolycus glared at her, and she gave him a very pointed look in return.
Finally Iolaus raised his hands in a weary mock-surrender. "Okay, okay. Let's not get into this right now. You have to do it; I get that. Now there's four of us and one Conqueror-- how hard could it be?"
Despite his flippant words, he still looked grim, and when his eyes met Autolycus' he shot him a glower that quite clearly translated to 'If you don't get out of this one alive, I'll kill you.'
Autolycus just gave him a confident smirk. "Not very," he said. "We're bound to get it right one of these days." He jumped up off the bed and started to pace. "Here's what I'm thinking. The first time I got caught because the alarm got tripped. The second time, Xena expected us, and there really wasn't any good way to get around that. This time? There's no way she'll be waiting. Either she'll think she's won, or if she's noticed that I'm gone, she'll expect us to be halfway to Chin by now."
"Yeah," Iolaus muttered, "we'd have to be crazy to go back in."
Autolycus grinned again. "That's what I'm counting on." He felt the old thrill of pursuit swelling up inside him again. Not only was this a way to clear his conscience, but it was one way to prove, once and for all, the he could outdo the Conqueror. It would, he knew, be the very last chance he'd ever get.
It would work this time. It had to.
Gabrielle had a lot of time to think.
It was a curious life, being the Conqueror's prisoner. She was fed regularly, three times a day, with the best food she'd ever tasted in her life (and no disloyalty intended to her mother, but even Hecuba's best nutbread couldn't hold a candle to the castle cuisine). Servants scurried in and out, changing her bedpan, bringing her new blankets, and generally waiting on her hand, foot, and every other available extremity.
But the Conqueror herself never showed her face. And no one came to set her legs, either. After the first day the blinding pain had subsided to a dull ache; while it was certainly still noticeable, at least she was getting used to it.
Lying on her back all day and staring at the ceiling, Gabrielle's mind worked a mile a minute. Already she'd started chronicling the story of her capture in her head, and her fingers itched for a quill and some scrolls. If she could just write down her experiences, maybe one day someone would find it and-- what? Decide never to rise up in his entire life, that's what, lest he end up like poor hapless Gabrielle of Poteidaia.
Maybe the Conqueror was right, and the cure for spirit was fear. The people of Corinth certainly seemed cured.
She wished she could at least write a letter to Lilla; her sister was all the family she had left. But what would she say, anyway? "Hey sis, I've been captured by the Conqueror, but at least I'm still alive. Got two broken legs, but she's being a perfect lady about it and not making me do any heavy lifting. I think she's trying to fatten me up. How are the kids?"
No, Lilla had a husband now, and a family, and Gabrielle had no right to worry her like that.
But it did make her feel pretty alone.
I'm not alone, she reminded herself. I've got friends. I have my Cause.
The Cause of overthrowing the Conqueror, so people like her and her sister could sleep soundly at night. So people like their parents wouldn't be hauled off by soldiers in the middle of the night, never to be heard from again.
She hadn't been sure how to go about it. She had no experience in plotting an insurrection, after all, and she'd wanted to do it in as nonviolent a way as possible. The thought of killing another human being made her feel queasy. And besides, her sister could beat her up.
You're not a freedom fighter, Lilla had told her the day she'd left. With tears in her always-surprised-looking blue eyes, and a question too-- why couldn't her big sister just settle down and marry and be happy, like she had? There was Perdicas waiting in the wings, and a life of domestic nonadventure beckoning.
You're not a freedom fighter, she'd said, you're a freedom arguer. What could you possibly do?
But in the end, Gabrielle was still determined to go, and so they bade each other tearful good-byes and hugged as tightly as they could, as though they'd never let go.
She hadn't known where to start, so she had turned to the only weapon she knew she could use-- information. Trying to find some in the Conqueror's files; some clue, some weak spot that she could chip away at, and use to bring down the tyrannical regime.
Gabrielle thought sadly, And look where it got me.
Maybe Lilla had been right.
Maybe she hadn't.
Because she had seen the scrolls. She knew the positions of the Conqueror's secret armies, she knew their supply lines, and if she ever got out of there, she could put together her own army to... what?
She didn't want to consider violence, not yet. Not if anything else could possibly work....
And the doorknob turned.
Slowly, silently, and Gabrielle frowned, wondering how long she'd been lost in thought. She didn't think it was time for dinner yet.
Then the door opened, and a figure slipped in and shut it behind him, turning towards her.
Gabrielle sat up with some difficulty. "You again," she said with a sigh. "Don't you have a home?"
"Funny," the intruder said. "That's funny." He seemed to be about to say something more, then hesitated and shut his mouth.
She studied him thoughtfully. He was maybe fifteen years older than she, and good-looking, she had to admit-- good facial features, dark hair, and a crazy mustache-and-goatee combination that somehow seemed to work for him. He carried himself with an arrogance that nevertheless seemed somewhat cowed in her presence. She wondered if he envisioned himself as the debonair hero or the dashing outlaw. Either way, she resolved, she was not going to swoon in his arms.
Instead she said, "I thought we established that I don't have anything you want."
"No," the intruder said, "but I have something you want." He paused dramatically, during which time Gabrielle formulated dozens of scathing responses, and then he said, "A way out."
Her various retorts died on her lips.
She watched him through narrowed eyes and thought she saw him fidget. "And how would you manage that exactly?"
He bowed low. "Good lady, I am the King of Thieves. Locked doors are a mere formality for me."
"You're--" Gabrielle began. "But I thought--" She stopped. Obviously not.
"There's a sentence in there," the self-professed King of Thieves said, "just dying to get out. Listen, kid, do you want out or not?"
She let herself fall back down against the hard bed. "Why would you help me?"
"Much as it pains me to admit it, I do owe you one," he said. "And I don't say that to just anyone, so if you could consider yourself flattered, I'd certainly appreciate it."
"Right." Gabrielle gave him a hard stare. "Because I got crucified and you didn't."
She thought she saw him wince. "Something like that."
"Well, look," she said. "Don't do me any favors, pal. I'm not blaming you for this, okay? You got lucky, I didn't. End of story."
His expression flickered, and she added, "I forgive you, okay? That is what you want, right? Now leave already."
The King of Thieves looked slightly put out. "Well, see, you're supposed to come with me," he explained, with exaggerated patience. "That's kind of the point of the whole exercise."
Gabrielle smiled at him sweetly. "Well, you see, it's not that I don't trust you, but, well, I really don't trust you. You've done enough for me already."
He frowned. "I thought you just said you're not blaming me."
"I'm not," she said. "But I could. Look at it from my perspective, huh? I'm caught and crucified. You're free to wander around the castle at your leisure. It doesn't take Plato to figure out you must've struck a deal with the Conqueror, and now she's using you to find out if I can be trusted. Well, you run back and tell her it's not that easy."
The frown became a scowl. "And it never occurred to you that I could've, oh, maybe gotten away?"
"If you did, then why come back? Twice, I might add."
"Oh, for the--" He rolled his eyes. "We're here to get you out, okay? That's why."
"We?"
He hesitated. "Yeah," he said finally. "Me and a couple others." He reached out and opened the door; a tall, dark-haired woman in a faded blue and green fighting dress flicked them a coolly disinterested glance, before turning her attention back to the hallway. For a brief, panicked moment, Gabrielle thought she was Xena, but this woman was too slender to be the sturdy Conqueror.
The thief closed the door again.
"Too bad it's not you and an army," was all she said.
"I'll keep that in mind," he said, "for the next time. I got a question for you, huh, kid? Why would our benevolent ruler expect any loyalty from you, anyway?"
Gabrielle sighed. "Well, she wouldn't. But she'd want to know if she broke my spirit, right? That's her thing. The cure for spirit is fear."
"And you're scared of her now," he said. Gabrielle looked up sharply. "But you've still got spirit, rah-rah, yes you do. So she was wrong about one thing, wasn't she?"
She just stared at him for a long moment. Gabrielle prided herself on her ability to read faces, but right then, his might as well have been written in Chinese-- it was as impenetrable as Athenian marble.
Aha, she thought, you're not as unscathed as you want me to think.
He looked away. "Okay, look. About this whole thing, I'm--" His voice dropped so low that Gabrielle had to strain to hear it. "I'm sorry, okay?"
She propped herself up on her elbows. "That's awfully hard for you, isn't it?"
The thief scowled again. "I don't like apologizing. It goes against my principles. So, incidentally, does this whole search-and-rescue thing, so do you think we could possibly crack the reins a bit here?"
"Why would you?" she returned. At his blank look, she added, "Come back for me, I mean. If it's so out of character for you, why would you do it?"
He groaned. "Oh, don't ask."
"I just did."
After a moment, he said shortly, "Fine. He's blond, about your height, and it's something that's kind of important to him. Okay? Not letting your actions have consequences for other people. So I'm giving it a shot. For him. All right? Happy now?"
Gabrielle felt her eyes grow wide. Wow, she thought, the legendary King of Thieves's been domesticated. It was a frightening thought.
Then she thought, I guess he won't expect me to swoon in his arms after all.
Misinterpreting-- or perhaps correctly interpreting-- her expression, he added hastily, "But don't let it get around, all right? I do have a reputation, and this won't help it one bit."
Gabrielle came to a decision.
"Come over here," she said. "Do something for me."
He did, warily. "Look, kid, if we could hurry it up--"
"Put your hand up my skirt."
At his thunderstruck expression, she added irritably, "I didn't mean it that way. Try anything and your nose'll be bleeding for a week."
"Oh no," he said. "Wouldn't dream of it." He eased his hand under the hem of her long, heavy skirt, taking care, she noticed, not to jostle her legs. "Um. What am I doing here, exactly?"
"There's a hidden pocket next to the side seam," she said. "It's sewn shut. I want you to rip the stitches and tell me if there's anything there."
After a few moments of fumbling, he found the pocket. "I'll tell you something," he groused, tugging at the seam, "you ladies wear way too much clothing. No, I mean that in a purely practical sense. You have enough here to make three whole outfits. Waste of fabric, if you ask me. If you had a little less skirt here, we could've been gone already-- ah-ha, here we go."
As he pulled the pocket open, Gabrielle couldn't help thinking that he'd probably had a lot of experience at ripping the seams of women's clothing, if half of what she'd heard about him was true. "Anything there?" she demanded, forestalling the possibility of another lecture on fashion.
"Just some old parchments," he mumbled, accompanied by soft rustling sounds. "Hold on. Um. This one's a list of names. And this looks like battle plans--"
Gabrielle let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "That's it, then. Could you hold on to those for me?"
"--or possibly some innovative bagball maneuvers... huh? Sure. This mean we can go now?"
She studied his face for a moment. Gabrielle knew she was too trusting sometimes, but after dealing with spies and double agents for the past year or so she knew a little something about reading people. And the King of Thieves, paradoxially enough, seemed like someone she could trust.
Besides, it would make a great story.
"Yeah," she said. "Why not?"
"Hallelujah," he said with feeling. He stood and lifted her into his arms-- with some difficulty, and what she was sure was a rude muttered comment about her weight that she chose to ignore. The movement sent stabs of pain through her legs, and she bit her tongue in an effort to distract herself.
"Just hang on," he added. "As soon as you're out of here, the fightin' lady out there'll set your legs the best she can, and then she'll get you to a healer."
Gabrielle nodded. "Incidentally," she said, talking mainly to focus on the action instead of the pain, "I accept your apology."
"Apology?"
"Yeah. Earlier. You apologized."
"No I didn't."
"Sure you did--"
"Must've been someone else. I don't apologize."
Gabrielle rolled her eyes. "Right," she said, suppressing a groan as he shifted her weight in his arms in order to reach the doorknob. "My mistake."
"I'll say."
"Hey," she said, as he gave up on the doorknob and kicked lightly at the base of the door. "I don't think we've been introduced. I'm Gabrielle of Poteidaia."
"Autolycus," he said, "King of Thieves."
"So I've heard."
The door opened again, and the tall woman in the fighting clothes was still standing there. She looked at them for a minute, then just said, "We're good?"
"We're definitely good," Autolycus said. "Come on, Sileia, let's move our asses."
"Guards are on their way. Patrol."
"All the more reason." He nodded vaguely towards Gabrielle. "Gabrielle of Poteidaia, Sileia the mystery woman and the silent betrothed."
"Pleased to meet you," Gabrielle ventured. The situation seemed to call for it.
Sileia nodded and stepped back, her sword at the ready.
Autolycus and Gabrielle set off down the hall, and Sileia followed without a word.
Prologue | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Epilogue Email: mayatawi@populli.net