Acalle regarded me steadily. “In a land that teems with artists, magicians, and inventors as the sea teems with fish, I do not think we shall even notice the absence of those two traitors. Don’t waste my time, Xenodice. They have dug the pit in which they find themselves.” And she turned away.
If my mother had not had the fit that now disabled her, the end result might have been different. She had a value and affection for Daedalus that Acalle had not. My mother would have punished him, certainly, after his ready confession. Yet, in the end, I believe she would have set him free. Perhaps he believed it, too, and had relied upon it.
Unlike Theseus, who had been imprisoned in the deepest part of the Labyrinth, Icarus and Daedalus were being held in the highest. Perhaps their jailers reasoned that since being buried deep had not prevented Theseus from escaping, then being raised up to the topmost tower might prove more effective with these prisoners.
There was no particular secret this time; the tower where they were kept was easily seen by all. So I went to visit them, bringing sweetmeats and fruits as in the past I had done for my brother Asterius.
There were guards this time—something had been learned since Theseus’s escape. They were polite and deferential to me but would not allow me to enter, permitting me only to call up to the prisoners as they looked out through barred windows above. The little delicacies were examined carefully, as though a key might be baked within a pastry or inserted inside a dried apricot.
A key to the tower existed, but it hung on a ribbon around Acalle’s neck, and I knew there was no chance of purloining it. This tower was actually a small edifice perched on top of the seaward walls of the palace; it had been constructed primarily for the purpose of keeping watch over the harbor and the sea. Only occasionally was it put to use as a place of confinement. It consisted of a small room at the top of a winding stair two stories high. The two flights of stairs on top of the five stories of the palace raised the little room up to a commanding height.
I had visited the tower room before—with Daedalus, oddly enough, who had designed and built it. It seemed queer that he should now be imprisoned in his own construction. The place seemed more a part of the sky than of the earth. Standing up there looking out to sea, one had no sense of being in the Labyrinth.
Two shifts of guards sat with their backs to the sole door to the tower every hour of every day. They were not allowed to accept food or drink from anyone, save one servant who had been warned that she would be held accountable if the guards were drugged.
It seemed hopeless.
Icarus was cheerful, waving to me as I parlayed with the guards. Daedalus, on the other hand, was bad tempered and crotchety, though he appeared to hold no rancor against me or mine.
“What news of your mother?” he demanded as soon as I approached.
“She is very ill,” I replied. “I do not think that she can get well again.”
“I’m sorry for it, Princess,” he said gruffly. “She’s a good woman, your mother, and a good queen. Besides which, I conclude that our deaths will follow shortly after hers. Ah well, in a way it would almost be a relief if it weren’t for the boy here.” Seeing my look of surprise, he grumbled, “Life in this little box is not worth living. I shall go mad if I cannot turn my hand to something. I am not accustomed to idleness.”
“It’s true,” said Icarus. “He complains about his inactivity from morning till night.”
“And you, Icarus?” I said shyly. “Are you well?”
“Oh, I am very well. If it were not for my father’s distress I would be quite at my ease. I sit and think, you know, and watch the birds.”
“Lazy little wretch,” Daedalus remarked.
“Yes,” Icarus agreed. “I have not your energy. In this situation it is perhaps just as well. I think that the guards grow tired of hearing my father’s laments.”
I thought hard for a moment, then turned to the guards, who had been quite openly listening to this exchange.
“My mother may die at any moment, or she may yet survive for many days—it is in the lap of the Goddess,” I said. “If I were to bring Daedalus one or two things from his workshop so that he would have some occupation, the time might pass more easily for all of you.” I added, “You would be very welcome to examine everything I brought, as you have examined the food I brought just now.”
The guards looked uneasily at each other.
If there had been a true queen in the palace below us instead of an incapable invalid and an uncrowned girl, I believe that they would not have dared to agree. As things stood, no one seemed to be in charge, and I could see that they, with nothing to do but listen to Daedalus railing against his captivity and lack of employment, would welcome a period of peace and quiet.
“Perhaps—but no knives, my lady,” said one of the guards sternly. “I won’t be held responsible for allowing prisoners to have weapons.”
“No, nor axes, nor scissors, neither,” chipped in the other guard. “Nothing with a sharp edge or point, or—or anything that could be made to have a sharp edge or point by grinding it against the stones.”
“But,” I protested, “that would mean that I couldn’t bring any tools at all, not a needle for sewing, not even a sharpened stick for drawing on clay tablets—”
“No needles,” agreed the guard. “No sharpened sticks.”
I turned back to Daedalus, staring at him intently. “Would you like that? If I were to bring you some sort of work
