As they neared where the giant had appeared, the shape and size of the island were gradually revealed. London tested her own sight and the spygla.s.s, but what she saw she could not truly understand. Not until the boat was less than half a mile away, did things become clearer.

"Great Lord," London breathed. She had a very bad feeling about what was going to happen soon.

The island rose sharply up from the water in a sheer cliff face, without even a beach. Instead, the surface of the cliff plunged directly into the sea, which crashed in booming, churning waves along the jagged rocks. Kallas brought them in close, so that the caique lurched and heaved, but he kept it well contained so the caique did not slam into the rocks. Athena looked green. But it was entirely possible that the motion of the boat was not to blame. Instead, a sight that made even Bennett whistle low loomed over them.

The cliff shot straight up, stretching toward the sky, harsh and white in the sun. Over a hundred feet high. Imposing and terrible. Nothing grew along its face, not even weeds in the crevices and cracks. London tilted her head back to see the top, where the tiny forms of seabirds wheeled. She couldn't make out the top of the cliff, and grew dizzy from contemplating it. Alarm p.r.i.c.kled her like a million insect stings.

Bennett said with a smile, "Time to start climbing."

Chapter 15.

Colossus "Do you seriously mean to climb that?" London glanced up again at the towering cliff, her eyes round with apprehension.

Bennett shucked off his jacket. He slipped his arms through the straps of a rucksack, hefting its weight. He'd already checked the contents of the pack and knew that everything he would need was there. He still wore his revolver at his waist, and tucked a cartridge belt into the pack. A flex of his hands, testing their strength. Soon, they would be all on which he could rely.

"No other way to go but up," he answered. There was no fear in him, only the familiar thrum of excitement that seized him whenever he faced something decidedly dangerous.

They had sailed the entire circ.u.mference of the island and found it to be sheer cliff all around, like a column on a Brobdingnagian scale. Bennett had never seen anything like the island, and itched to explore it.

"Yes, but-" She glanced up again, trepidation clearly written across her face. "I only wish there was something I could do to help."

He stepped to her and cupped her face in his hands. He looked into her eyes, the color of darkest chocolate, but infinitely more sweet. She put her hands over his, her thumbs brushing his wrists, as if to feel the beat of his pulse. When he bent to kiss her, she rose up on her toes to meet him halfway. He tasted her, cinnamon and oranges.

"This is as close as I can get," Kallas called from the wheel of the boat.

Bennett broke the kiss, reluctantly, to see that the captain had maneuvered the boat nearer to the cliff. With Kallas's usual skill, he had managed to bring the caique within several feet of the jutting rock face without slamming the boat against the rocks.

"It'll do." Bennett gave London's hands a squeeze of farewell before striding to the rail. He needed to keep his mind focused on the task at hand-easier done when he hadn't a care for anyone but himself. With every step he took, he felt her, felt the tie between them grow taut but not break.

The boat heaved on the swells, but he balanced himself in a crouch on the rail, breathing slow and deep. He scanned the surface of the cliff, finding its niches, learning its hidden secrets. Then-he leapt.

He scrabbled, gripped the cliff, his boots finding purchase as his knees banged into the rocks. Good thing prizes weren't handed out for jumping from caique to cliff. He wouldn't have won any trophies for that display. But it got the job done. Now came the fun part. The climb. He'd never scaled a cliff this size before. And there'd be no rope to catch him if he fell. Either he'd plunge into the crashing sea or smash through the deck of the caique.

He couldn't move with undue haste. He didn't want to tax himself too quickly. Over a hundred feet to go, and if he tried for speed, he'd be spent midway. So, deliberate and steady, not too quickly, not too slowly, he found small crevices in the cliff face, and wedged his fingers into them. He stayed on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet, testing and then using outcrops for footholds.

No looking far down. No anxiously measuring his distance to the top. It must be the continual search for footholds and handholds, nothing else. Not London, below him.

He unmoored his mind and became only the motion and clarity of climbing.

The pull of muscle, the heft of his body, legs pushing, arms pulling. The feel of the rock under his fingers. Sun on his shoulders, reflecting off the surface of the cliff. He tried to keep his arms loose, his hands giving position and balance. Search for an opening or outcropping, test it, then hold fast. Again. Again.

His thoughts wandered. The view from the top would be something. A shame London wouldn't get a chance to see it. But better to have her safe on the caique and miss the view. And no matter how much stronger she'd become in the past weeks and days, she wouldn't have the ability to scale the cliff.

He felt the weight of his body pulling on his arms, tried to keep his center of gravity over his feet. Time lost meaning, dissolving into rock. Sweat stung his eyes, and he tried to wipe them on his sleeve, but with little success. He couldn't chance relying on just one hand to support him as he dried his face. Winds picked up, tugging hard, blowing grit into his eyes and mouth. He held tighter as the wind shoved at him, trying to throw him from the cliff.

A step up, and the foothold crumbled under him. His boot slid along the rocks, searching for purchase, his hands wedged into small fissures in the cliff face. Far below, the rock struck the deck of the caique, and it took a d.a.m.ned long time to get there.

Moving quickly, he gripped a new handhold and hauled himself higher, until he found new outcrops for his feet. The first true burn in his muscles, an ache in his lungs. But he pushed on.

A clattering above. He flattened himself against the cliff as rocks and pebbles tumbled down, pelting him with a mult.i.tude of bites. A larger rock hit his right hand. Bennett swore to himself as he fought the pain, refusing to lose his grip.

The next handholds stretched high overhead. No choice but to swing and grab for them. He breathed in, then pushed upward, the momentary sensation of air all around him. His fingers found the holds. Yes.

"h.e.l.l!" The rock he gripped turned to dust under his fingers. His feet sc.r.a.ped for support under him and found none. He was flung backward. Only his left hand, holding fast to an outcropping, kept him alive.

Muscles in his arm screamed, and his fingers locked in stiffened agony as they bore the full brunt of his weight. He looked down and swore again, dangling seventy feet in the air. Blue water churned against the base of the cliff. The caique was a child's toy beneath him, and London, Athena, and Kallas merely dolls looking up at him, helpless to do anything but watch. They would watch as his fingers lost strength and he plummeted down to them, another Icarus dashed to pieces. London would see him impaled on the caique's masts or else his neck broken from hitting the water.

No. He'd make himself survive. With a groan, he flung his other hand up, searching the face of the cliff for even the tiniest crack in its surface. There. Barely able to fit the fingers of his right hand, but he wedged in tight. Now both arms burned, but the pain was slightly lessened, giving him the opportunity to find new footholds.

He found them, and took a moment to gather his breath, his lungs aflame. But he couldn't linger. Already, his hands were sweat-slick, ready to lose purchase if he dallied.

Noises of animal force shoved from his chest as he pushed himself hard and fast. Higher he climbed, the wind picking up speed and strength, clawing at him. He refused to think of failure, of falling, of tiny London, so far below. There was only up.

Now he tilted his head back to see how much farther. Ten feet. Every part of him shouted with strain, but he forced himself on. Nine feet. Eight. He dodged another rock coming loose from the face of the cliff. Seven. Nearly there. He wouldn't give in to the greedy maw of the wind. Six feet. Five.

Then he stretched out. His fingers brushed against horizontal rock and gra.s.ses. The top. Another push from his legs. Another. There. There.

He hauled himself over, and splayed out, face up, eyes closed, lying atop the rucksack. His chest heaved as he let his arms and legs rest for the first time in...G.o.d, how long? He couldn't make himself consult his pocket.w.a.tch. An eternity. A minute. Didn't matter. He'd reached the top. He felt like a G.o.d. A breathless laugh rasped from his throat, then grew in strength until he shook with laughter.

b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, but he loved his job.

After a few minutes, when he felt his limbs wouldn't collapse under him like soggy towels, he rolled onto his stomach and crawled on hands and knees to the edge of the cliff. It was, indeed, a gorgeous view. The sea stretched out in endless azure brilliance, sunlight sequined upon its surface, and the sky glowing with midday radiance, barely dusted with clouds. Far below, the caique danced on the water like a leaf, the forms of London, the witch, and the captain barely visible from Bennett's height.

From a pocket on the front of his pack, he took the Compa.s.s. He turned it so light gleamed across the gla.s.s, signaling everyone below. A moment later, an answering signal from Athena. He'd made it, and they knew.

Back into the pack went the Compa.s.s. He stood, his taxed legs momentarily wobbly, but that lasted hardly a second before he gained his strength back. He took a drink from a canteen and splashed his face. Feeling revived, he drew another inhalation as he stowed the canteen. Now it was time to do what he came here for. What that might be, he didn't know, but he had a fair share of brains. He'd figure something out.

Bennett turned. And just barely caught himself from stepping back, over the edge of the cliff.

He'd seen plenty of strange and wondrous things as a Blade. But this was a first.

Facing him was a ma.s.sive golden human head, the shoulders and neck rising up from the ground as if its enormous body was buried within the cliff. The head had to be at least fifteen feet high, possibly higher. Upon its brow, it wore a huge, spiked crown. One eye was missing, a dark chasm. The other stared at Bennett. Scowled, actually.

The Colossus didn't seem very pleased to see him.

How did one approach a giant? Bennett glanced at its frowning mouth, wide enough to gulp him down like a minnow. He hoped the Colossus wasn't a maneater.

Cautiously, he stepped closer, but not close enough to be within biting distance.

"You have come alone." The Colossus's voice, speaking in cla.s.sical Greek, rang low, the sound of dozens of huge bronze bells ringing the hour. Under Bennett's feet the ground rumbled and shook.

Bennett steadied himself, keeping his head respectfully lowered. Always best to approach from a position of deference.

The giant waited for an answer.

"I've come far to be in your presence," Bennett said, also in cla.s.sical Greek. "From the singing stream, through the crushing strait, always with enemies at my back."

This seemed to intrigue the Colossus, ma.s.sive creases like bundled blankets appearing between its brows, but it did not speak again, so Bennett continued. "They seek to enslave the Greek Fire, so they may enslave their fellow men. Yet I and my friends wish only to protect the mystery of the Fire. I humbly ask that you counsel me, that I might find this Source and keep it safe."

Bennett bowed his head, a hand pressed to his chest, where he felt his heart knocking into his ribs. The giant kept silent. Bennett's mind raced. Would the Colossus require a sacrifice or offering? He hadn't brought anything with him, not even wine. Greek deities and immortals didn't require human sacrifices, did they? d.a.m.n, maybe they did. If so, the Colossus would be disappointed. The Blades would find another way to find the Source. How, he hadn't any idea, not yet, anyway. What if- "Solver of Secrets," boomed the Colossus, shattering Bennett's whirling thoughts. "I will not speak to you alone. Bring forth the Oracle's Daughter. One man is a liar. But a man and woman together cannot hide their hearts. Only to you both shall I then reveal what I know." With that, the giant's mouth shut with finality.

Oracle's Daughter? Who the h.e.l.l was that? Again, Bennett's thoughts scrambled for footing. Then, understanding. And with it came a knife of fear. He didn't want to do it. He had no choice. Good thing for the Colossus that the giant was both huge and magical, otherwise Bennett would have punched its enormous face.

London checked the urge to look into a mirror. She was certain her hair was now streaked with white. It hadn't been so bad, watching Bennett scale the cliff. Rather arousing, in truth, seeing the bunch and movement of his muscles, his masculine surety as he climbed, never hesitating. Potent and nakedly virile. She actually felt herself heat with desire as she watched, one hand pressed low to her belly. It wasn't a particularly intellectual response, but she wasn't mind alone. Her body had its own demands.

Her desire dried to dust when his footing gave way, and her fear grew even worse when a rocky outcropping he held crumbled, leaving him swinging from one hand over a deadly drop. And there wasn't a d.a.m.ned thing she could do about it, just watch in terror through the spygla.s.s, trying to keep her hands from shaking right off her wrists. Even Kallas swore a streak leagues wide.

"Can you do something?" London asked Athena.

"I have not the ability to create a shield around him," the witch answered, frustrated.

London wished she had wings to fly, but such wishes were futile as the man she loved struggled to right himself stories above her. Awful, powerless.

Saints and G.o.ds were praised when Bennett found another handhold and, after a pause, continued upward. London clutched the spygla.s.s like salvation as her gaze followed Bennett up the rest of the cliff. When he finally reached the top, disappearing over the edge, she barely had the strength in her numb fingers to shut the spygla.s.s and put it aside, rather than let it drop from her hand.

A light gleamed at the top of the cliff. Athena, holding her Compa.s.s, flashed a signal back, then smiled.

"He has done it," she said. "He is safe."

London blew out a shaky breath, so Athena came over and placed a comforting hand on her back.

"And now?" London asked.

"Now we wait," said the witch.

Several minutes went by, slow minutes that left her with little to do but pace. What had Bennett found up there? Her pacing stopped when deep noises, more rumbles than actual sound, shook the air. London looked to Athena for guidance, but the witch could only shrug. At least London wasn't alone in her mystification, yet that was not especially comforting.

"He's signaling again," said Kallas.

Everyone squinted, looking up. More flashes of light at the top of the cliff, in a specific series.

Athena translated the code: "L-O-N-D-O-N."

Both the captain and the witch turned to London. She stared back at them.

Finally, London said with a calm that surprised her, "It appears I'm following him up."

But not bare-handed and not without some a.s.sistance.

Everyone crouched on the boat's deck, splicing rope. The captain's tough hands moved faster than London and Athena's, but Kallas had a lifetime of learning ropes and the women were latecomers to the art.

Once there was enough rope, Athena went below to the cargo hold. Minutes later, the witch returned, carrying a wooden box, then set it upon the deck.

Athena reached under the high collar of her gown and produced a key, dangling from a thin chain. After releasing the clasp on the necklace, she unlocked the box using the key. Polished bra.s.s and steel gleamed as the lid to the box was opened. She reached into the box and pulled a device from its snug velvet lining.

A hollow cylinder had a notch running along its top, and was mounted onto several gears. Cranks extended from both sides of the gears, attached to a spring.

"Another of Catullus Graves's infernal mechanisms," Athena said to a curious Kallas and London. "It is built along similar principles as a mortar. We place the knotted end of a rope into the cylinder, with the long end threaded through the notch. Two people must crank the device to build up enough momentum in the compression spring, so that, when the release is pulled, the knot is hurled up to the top of the cliff."

Though the design astounded London, she was compelled to ask, "Why didn't we shoot the rope up there before Bennett scaled the cliff? Then he would have had something to hold on to besides the rock."

"Someone still needs to secure the rope to the top of the cliff. In this case, it will be Bennett."

"Secure it with what?" asked Kallas.

"This." Athena reached back into the wooden box and produced a small metal instrument. With several quick motions, she unfolded it and locked it into place. "A spike, secured with gunpowder so that it cannot be dislodged. At least, not without considerable work." She refolded the spike so that it measured only a few inches long. "This goes into the knot we shoot up the cliff. Bennett will know what to do when it lands."

Both London and Kallas could only gape. The captain eventually muttered, "This Catullus Graves is a second Daedalus, to make such impossible things possible."

"He and his family are among the Blades' greatest a.s.sets," Athena said with pride.

"Time to put his work to the test," London said. "Bennett needs me up there." For what, she had no idea, but she didn't care. Bennett would not have asked for her unless he felt it necessary, and she would not disappoint him.

Athena handed the job of knot-tying to the captain, who produced a monkey's fist knot wide enough to accommodate the spike, but able to fit into the mortar. He spliced the knot onto the long coil of rope everyone had fashioned. As soon as that task had been accomplished, the knot was loaded into the cylinder. Kallas took one of the hand cranks, while London and Athena took shifts on the other. The gears eventually grew so tight, London and Athena had to hold the crank together, fighting to turn it.

Finally, when it could be wound no more, Athena pulled the release.

A whoosh as the knot shot upward at incredible speed, the rope speeding after it like a comet's tail. The coil of rope unwound quickly, a hissing snake. Then the knot vanished over the top of the cliff. London could not believe it. Catullus Graves's machine had worked.

Moments later, there came three sharp tugs on the rope. Bennett had secured it.

"I've spare trousers in my cabin," Kallas said to London. "You'll need to change into them."

"And take one of my shirtwaists," added Athena.

London hurried below and shucked off her gown, then dressed in the trousers and shirtwaist. As an example of fashion, it was ludicrous, and somewhat revealing, but it made up in practicality and freedom what it lacked in modishness and modesty. Fortunately, neither Kallas nor Athena were of a mind to judge her appearance when London joined them back on deck. Athena made several quick alterations to the garments using Arachne's Art so that, while not entirely a la mode a la mode, the fit was substantially better.

With the tail end of the rope, Kallas fashioned a harness, then fastened it around London's legs and waist. "Don't tell Day I did this," the captain warned as he looped the rope around her thighs, his hands brushing against her as impersonally as possible. "Otherwise he'll use my b.o.l.l.o.c.ks for playing marbles."

"I'm sure he won't mind," said London.