“If it’s like the sphinx, you can probably recite Zephyr’s and Midas’s secrets, can’t you? How do you know them? And do you know all the secrets on all of those scrolls?” My gut says “yes,” but I’ve no idea how. They’re ancient and haven’t been touched in forever. In addition to language, does secret magic somehow allow him to perceive things, kind of like Superman can see through stuff?
Harpoc clams up again, scanning the horizon.
I huff. I will get answers, but I have so many other questions, so I move on.
“So you’re some kind of mysterious genie-like guy, swirling into existence and trip… trip-whatevering. What else can you do?”
“Tripskipping.” He laughs.
“Yeah, that.”
“You fancy me a genie like Aladdin had, do you?”
“While you’re not blue, your ears aren’t pointy, and you could stand to work on your wisecracking, you’re definitely larger than life.”
He snickers. “Does that make you Princess Jasmine?”
I grin. “It all depends on what you tell Aladdin to whisper in my ear.”
My cheeks heat. Did I really just say that?
My inner voice is quiet, I’m guessing she’s unable to spit out words.
Harpoc barks a laugh.
Only now do I realize he didn’t answer my question, but I’m not retracing my steps on that one.
Once we both recover, I clear my throat, loudly, changing the subject. “So King Midas… the dude was corrupt, but his secret was sealed so no one ever found out?”
Boy, how familiar?
“Until today, that is the way of secret magic.”
“That hardly seems fair.” My inner sense of outrage at the injustice amps up in an instant. “Who would protect a secret like that? The guy was a con. It’s not right.”
Harpoc raises an eyebrow. “You would know his situation enough to judge?”
“A con is a con is a con, no matter how he tries to justify it.” How can Harpoc defend the guy?
This conversation has taken a dangerous turn. It’s doing nothing but riling me up, and it seems Harpoc doesn’t agree, not surprising based on our conversation at the café.
I barely resist shaking my head. What is the deal with this secret magic? I need to understand more.
This line of questioning is also bearing no fruit, so I return my attention to Zephyr, and my breathing labors.
“Can’t we address Midas before Zephyr?” I ask.
“You think we should let a harpy roam free longer than a batty old geezer?”
“Batty old geezer?” His words come out soft. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you know the guy.”
I swear he purposely dips us more dramatically the next downbeat, and I grab the collar of his duster. Is he still a primary schooler?
“I was starting to trust you, don’t make me regret it.”
He chuckles.
What’s going on with him? First he defends Midas, now he deflects, or at least tries to. Fine. I’ll deal with it later, like so many other things. He’s shown me persistence pays off; I’ll just keep on him. Like snot on a doorknob, I will stick to him until he answers my questions.
“So batty old Zephyr is up next?” Joking fills my voice.
His brows shoot up, nearly to his hairline. “Zephyr may be old but she’s a harpy. Do you honestly believe any harpy might be batty?”
“You referred to Midas as old and batty, why not Zephyr?”
“Oh no, never underestimate a harpy’s cunning and ferocity.”
I swallow. Damn, stories I’ve heard may indeed accurately depict her. If so, we’re screwed.
“What can you tell me about her? Her secret was disobeying Zeus. Pretty gutsy, if you ask me, but I can respect that.”
Harpoc gives me a long look. “Disobeyed Zeus a time or two, have you?”
I laugh. “It’s something about her having to drag an abomination that stunk to high heaven, to Hades, and she can’t stomach it.”
“It is.” He sighs.
I furrow my brow. Why’s he sad? It’s not like he knew her.
“You mean to tell me Zeus wanted to punish her for refusing to do something that’d make her sick?”
He gives me a long look.
“What? It’s a simple question.”
The long silence tells me everything. He was the god of gods; he could do anything he damn well pleased.
It’s all my mind needs to start imagining worst case scenarios with a harpy being punished by her boss. And if that’s her treatment, ain’t no way is she going to be happy with me when she figures out I’m the one who spilled the beans. Hounds of Zeus indeed.
My breathing labors.
I need to distract myself or I’ll be a basket case by the time we get there. Ordinarily, I’d pull out my phone, but it’d be just my luck I’d drop the thing, so I take to playing with the button on the hip pocket of my cargo pants as the blue water passes by.
Harpoc breaks the silence not long after. “Why do you suppose the Sphinx, Zephyr, and Midas divulged their secrets and allowed them to be recorded?”
I furrow my brow; it’s an excellent question.
“I don’t know. Why did they divulge their secrets? Enlighten me.”
“To unburden themselves.” His voice is filled with gravity and certainty.
“You would know, how?” I interject.
He ignores. “They decided to trust another with their deepest secrets so they didn’t have to bear the burden of worry that they might be found out, anymore. As I said before, there’s great freedom in trusting another, Pell.”
“Who do you suppose it was that they revealed their secrets to anyway? Who played scribe? They had to trust him or her completely.”
I groan a minute later when he still hasn’t answered me. Surprise, surprise.
“Harpoc, this avoidance is getting really old. When are you going to start ‘unburdening’ yourself and finding freedom with me?”
