The Grand Tour, Ch. 3
Recommended Listening: Odysseus and the Sirens, in classical kithara.
Off the Coast of Italy
The Island of Aeaea
Circe's Supper Table
You are Lorelei Luthor, and a year ago you would
not have expected to have this little dinner party. After what you and your hostess agreed would be a largely symbolic round of hors d'oeuvres to satisfy the demands of
xenia, the table conversation begins properly.
One of the Aeaean Nymphs sets down a dish of vegetables flavored with something that is… that is… hm. Something less
un-like Worcestershire sauce than it is unlike anything else you know. Probably the
garos fish sauce mentioned by Sophocles, from the powerful aroma. You try a bite; it's surprisingly good, with a nameless flavor that is neither sour nor salty, neither bitter nor sweet. You compliment the chef in classical Greek. This may be a long way from the high society of Metropolis, Washington, and New York- but let it
never be said you can't be a gracious guest.
The lady of the house- who, if this isn't all an elaborate ruse, is apparently some sort of demigoddess, smiles at you.
"The effort becomes you, child; to you, these words must seem long-dead."
You shrug lightly.
"In America, no one should call herself fully educated, who does not speak Greek." Well, the more
modern scholars might disagree. You don't really think so- you're so very modern in a lot of ways, but not in this. And a good thing too. In this place it makes you a
cultured barbarian, now doesn't it?
"America?" She looks thoughtful.
"Not a province I'm familiar with, though I've heard the name."
Your mind dances, trying to explain.
"A colony, established by the men of Britannia." You drop into the Latin for the name, but she recognizes it easily enough. And raises an elegant eyebrow.
"Oh? From Merlin's island?"
Wait, Merlin was a real person? But you didn't get to where you are by not knowing how to fake keeping your equilibrium.
"I suppose so, though he hasn't been seen for… oh, centuries, as far as I know."
She nods.
"In seclusion, I imagine. Keeping abreast of mortal doings can be quite wearing; I was surprised Merlin even bothered with that affair with the Western Goths, let alone what came after." Her face twisted with distaste at the word 'Goths,' and you make a few more inferential leaps before she continues. You scramble to keep your sense of wonder from running away with you- but succeed.
"Besides, every time I travel I wind up having to curse a playwright into knots; it's tiresome. They have no understanding." She grits her teeth.
"You might find something worth bothering with in Paris. I've been through recently." Which you have, though you've gotten the idea that for the mistress of this house, 'recently' means 'any time in the past century or two.'
And she looks interested.
"Lutetia of the Parisii-" she lapses briefly into Latin-
"has been improving a bit lately. Smelly and dim, though."
She looks at you thoughtfully.
"Western Europe's been a dingy place since Rome fell, but you-" her face breaks into a grin-
"are positively presentable. Tell me, have the Christ-worshippers started to discover the merits of bathing, some time this past century or two?"
You smile back.
"Indoor plumbing-" and now it is your turn to lapse into Latin-
"is almost universal in the cities. You'll find Paris a much cleaner place than at any time in the past fifteen hundred years. Cleaner than in the Romans' days, even. And brighter- they call the place the City of Lights, now."
"Interesting. I may give the place a tour some time soon. What about Massalia...?"
You speak of the Greek colony that has evolved into the second-largest city in France, a beautiful port on the Mediterranean, so near to the magnificent Riviera. And of this and that. Your host remarks that she never seems to have her estate trampled on by marauding Barbary corsairs these days; she is happy to hear you confirm that the French cleared them out a hundred years ago. She asks you how that whole Italian reunification thing turned out. When you confirm that the country is still holding together in its entirety, having lost no provinces after more than half a century, she sniffs. Bemused, she passes a jeweled comb to a giggling, green-haired nymph with mischievous eyes.
Apparently they've had a bet going. Circe remarks,
"I wouldn't have thought governing all the Italians, in this age, was impossible, so much as useless. And a republic!"
"Not- quite. And they've had a tyrant for the past fifteen years or so."
One of the nymphs makes a faint sound; Circe nods to her regally and she speaks.
"Is he any good? I've heard good things about him."
You frown, waggling your hand.
"I've heard of worse tyrants, but he struts and boasts a lot. He likes to have all men singing his praises. And he's no man of wide understanding, either. I don't expect him to fare well in the next great war, and that won't be long coming, either"
Circe nods, thoughtfully.
"Fate is seldom kind to the mighty, the arrogant, and the overweening, in the end." She smiles, her eye glinting cruelly.
She comments on some of the changes she and her servants have noticed in the fishing village on the other side of the island, which they occasionally visit
incognito, and hears out your explanations. She sounds almost concerned about the flying machines that buzz over Aeaea, though she tries to conceal it behind a regal demeanor. She likewise conceals a bit of relief- unsuccessfully- when reassured that they're not some kind of demented golem-monster, just vehicles.
This is actually getting to be
fun.
And Circe's casual namedrops and remarks are like a river of clues and cues flowing through your mind, to be stored and indexed in perfect memory until you have time to piece together the countless things there are to learn from a woman who remembers the fall of Troy and Mycenae clearly. Not least the confirmation that excitable archaeologists haven't gotten the sites wrong- you mark them on maps you bought and brought for the occasion, and she nods..
You are Mildred Graves, and you're not sure what to make of this place. The house domestics are agreeable- preternaturally so, even, the food is delicious, and your lovely hostess is clearly a charming person.
But the conversation is
literally Greek to you.
And they're talking about you.
Then the lady of the house- who Lorelei
assures you is the mythical Circe- starts laughing at her own joke.
Lorelei turns to you with a grin. "She says you're almost an Amazon."
"Almost! I like the sound of that!" You don't like the sound of that.
You rather resent that 'almost,' in fact. You, who've studied Japanese jiu-jutsu and found time to become a
tireuse of rare skill on top of it! You, who could put a bullet through a man's eye at five hundred paces. Who
has. Under the circumstances, the only thing you felt was the recoil. Good riddance.
The Greek woman with the improbably nice hair breaks out laughing
again at your offended expression, and you are
nearly sure she understands English, even if she isn't speaking it.
The meal winds down slowly, with little courses one on top of the other as the staff compete to show off their cooking. In between increasingly quick and expansive conversations with Circe, Lorelei passes on word to you that she and the Grand Dame of this place have put together some kind of a plan. A plan which she'll explain in detail during the
next part of ancient traditional Greek hospitality.
"Ritual bathing?" You raise an eyebrow, and she nods. You smile and shrug. "Hey, when in Rome."
"We're not in Rome anymore. We're in Greece. Now, listen, while they get the water heated..."
It doesn't take long for a servant girl who is, if you remember your myths right,
literally a water spirit to heat a bath. But then, Lorelei talks fast, and you listen fast.
Three Hours Later
Lorelei stretches and yawns. You tilt your head, looking at her from another angle.
"So as a favor to Her Ladyship-" you wink- "we go back to the mainland, travel to Vlatava, and take a trip into the hills et cetera, et cetera, buried treasure, X marks the spot. What are we after?"
She tells you.
"Moly." You stare at her flatly. "As in 'holy moly' moly?"
"Exactly." She smiles and shrugs in that
infuriating enigmatic way that always promises fun. "There's a bit of big game hunting to think of, though." She describes to you just what kind of creature guards the moly patch, according to her new Greek friend. And what precautions you'll need to take.
You grin "...This is going to be good-" but waggle a cautionary finger at Lorelei. "-IF you're
sure that lance thing you're talking about will work. AND if you can find someone to get us the gun."
"Trust me, Millie, trust me..."
It's a bluff.
