Benito was touched. Spiro's ability not to pay for wine was as legendary as the fact that he would never be serious. Now he offered to do both.
'Thanks, Spiro. Not this time. And I'm not going to the
'Well, we'll take you. Land you quietly. The truth is the Byzantine officials aren't locals and the locals aren't about to tell them about a fishing boat from Corfu. A Venetian galley would be another matter.'
Benito nodded knowingly. 'Exactly what I thought. So: Can I hire a passage over?
Spiro nodded. 'Taki will say yes.'
Chapter 103
Manfred spent the trip over-polishing his armor. Polishing it to a mirror-gloss. Manfred was methodical about weapons and armor, without the fanaticism that characterized some Knights. This was excessive and unlike him.
Finally Erik asked why he was doing it.
'Cleanliness is next to godliness. And where we're supposed to be going to . . . I thought I could use a bit of help.'
Erik snorted. 'In your case, I think it is futile.'
'My nurse used to tell me about the gray hosts when I was a gossoon,' said Manfred. 'Bright steel was supposed to banish 'em. I thought it might be useful.'
* * *
From the hilltop, they could see the lake. Its dark waters were long and narrow, and a patch of cold mist clung to the middle. But it looked depressingly like a very ordinary lake.
They walked down to the edge where the limnaiad awaited them with a bag of old, old coins. She pointed at a seemingly ordinary boat rowing toward them. 'Charon. You will need the obols for the ferryman. Don't expect the other side to be anything you recognize.'
Erik shrugged. 'I can see the other side from here. It looks very much the same as this side.'
'There is more than one other side to the Acheroussia,' said the limnaiad, in a cool voice. 'You'll see.'
Benito opened the bag and counted the coins. 'Three is not enough,' he said, sternly. 'I want eight.'
The limnaiad pouted. 'They said you wouldn't know.'
'The more foolish them, whoever they were.'
'The Crenae.'
'I wonder how well they do in dry fountains. I saw some ways of draining this lake, on the way here.'
'Don't pay the ferryman until you get right across,' said the limnaiad hastily.
* * *
The beach of black sand seemed to stretch to the far horizons. The only mark on it was the keel of the ferryman's boat. And looking back they could only see mist.
'You won't need the rest of that,' grumbled the ferryman, as Benito put the purse away.
'Return fare.'
The ferryman snorted. 'I've never had one.'
'We'd still hate to get back here and find you weren't going to take us because of it,' said Manfred cheerfully.
They walked onward, in toward the gray gloom of the interior of Death's country. The way ahead was funneled by tall, glassy black cliffs. And then they came to an end point, a place where only three trails led on. One steep, rocky and draggled with straggly thorns, and seeming to peter out a few hundred yards on. The second, wide and well cobbled, went on into the middle distance. The third seemed to lead off into a valley winding up toward the cliff-top.
'Where now?' asked Benito, looking at the three trails.
Erik took one look. 'The narrow one. The hardest one. Mortals are not supposed to pass.'
'It would be,' said Manfred with a groan. Climbing a steep path in armor was pure misery.
Upward and ever upward the trail wound. Eventually they came out at a misty gray plain.
'Do we have any idea where we're going next?' asked Manfred.
'To look for the dead, I suppose,' said Benito.
'We're already among them,' said Erik slowly.
Benito realized that the gray mist around them was full of shifting forms, almost seen . . .
Out of the corner of his eye he could see faces. He could also see the expression of eagerness on Erik's face.
Benito took out a small crock sealed with wax from the bag he'd carried with him. He opened it and poured the contents into a dish.
