Lost in the Labyrinth by Patrice Kindl (miss read books .txt) 📕

“You would place me, and my son as well, even more deeply in your debt than we already find ourselves, my lady. I would be grateful indeed.”

“What would you like? Can you think of anything—?”

“Wait a just a moment, my lady,” interrupted one of the guards, looking suddenly suspicious. “Maybe it would be best if the prisoner weren’t allowed to specify what, exactly he’s to have. They say he’s a clever one.” He regarded Daedalus with disapproval.

I bit my lip in disappointment.

“Very well,” I said. “Goodbye. I shall return as soon as I can.”

I walked slowly and soberly away. Once out of sight of the guards, I began to run.

Chapter Thirteen

Icarus, Rising

I HAD REMEMBERED SOMETHING ABOUT THAT TOWER ROOM, YOU see, that the guards most likely did not know. Indeed, I thought it unlikely that anyone save we three, Daedalus, Icarus, and me, knew of it, or the tower would never have been thought a suitable prison for the wily inventor.

Daedalus had laid much of the stone of the tower himself, and whatever Daedalus put his hand to always had some distinguishing feature that made it unique. Some rooms he built might have a floor intricately patterned with different-colored blocks of stone, or a window seat, or a built-in stone table with a gaming board inlaid into the top. Quite often he constructed safes like the one in his workshop. I knew he had once or twice built a secret door that could not be detected except by the most determined inspection.

On that day so many years ago, he showed me the secret of the tower room. It was nothing much, only that it was possible, by standing on top of the table that was the sole furnishing of the room, to remove one of the blocks of stone making up the roof. By pushing up on the stone and moving it to the side, a rectangular gap was made in the ceiling, out of which an agile person might crawl onto the very rooftop of the tower.

He had done it in order to extend visibility just a little bit farther; a better vantage point could be achieved by standing on top of the tower rather than inside it. We three had climbed up there that day and sat a little while watching the sun set. Icarus would have liked to stay longer, I know, and I was always happy to be where Icarus was, but after a few moments Daedalus was urging us back inside so that he could busy himself with some new task.

The existence of that loose stone did not compromise the security of the tower as a jail cell for any normal prisoner. A normal prisoner would not know of it, and besides, once on top of the tower there was a drop of three stories to a stone roof or a far greater drop of eight stories to a paved courtyard. No one could survive such a leap uninjured, even if there were no guards below ready to recapture him the moment he landed.

The exit to the roof therefore, did not solve the problem of how to release Daedalus and Icarus. On the contrary, I could not for the moment imagine how it was to be managed. Still, it offered hope. With a clever mind like Daedalus’s, who knew what might be done? If only he had been allowed to choose what supplies he wanted!

I am no artificer. I could not imagine what sort of equipment would be useful in such a predicament; I could not even guess what most of the things in Daedalus’s studio were meant to be used for. The ban on sharp or pointed objects made my choice especially difficult—nearly every tool I could identify as such was either sharp or pointed, or could be made so by grinding it against stone. Once again I searched through Daedalus’s belongings, trying desperately to think.

It seemed too great a task. If Icarus and Daedalus could manage to climb down the tower, there were the guards to deal with. And if the guards could be overcome, then I would have to arrange the departure of Icarus and Daedalus from the Isle of Kefti. And if I could do all of this, why then. I had a new cause for sorrow. Because I would lose Icarus as surely as I would if Acalle had him killed. Unless—

Unless I were willing to do as Ariadne had done. Unless I went to Athens with him.

My heart flew up at the thought and then plummeted like a stone. Athens! Exile from Kefti! How could I bear it? Yet how could I bear to part with Icarus?

Sorely troubled, I thrust the subject out of my mind. I would think on it later. What was required now was a way out of the tower.

I turned my attention back to the contents of the workshop. I wished I was as clever as Daedalus; this conundrum was too hard for my small wits.

At last I thought of the hiding place in the floor. Perhaps there would be something there.

I shifted the sacks of feathers and examined the contents of the safe. Some fine jewelry, cunningly crafted out of gold and silver. A wonderful carving from rock crystal of a griffin. Goblets made from horn. A black steatite vase intricately etched with harvest scenes. Several tools apparently placed here because of their value and rarity, all either sharp or pointed in shape.

I flung myself backward onto the pile of sacks with a groan. There was nothing here that would be of any use in our present dilemma.

As I lay upon the feathers, gazing about me in the languor of despair, my eye fell upon the wooden framework of a wing. Immediately images began forming in my brain.

I saw Icarus and Daedalus standing on the top of the tower, with great white wings strapped to their arms and backs. Daedalus’s face was serious and drawn, Icarus’s glowed with an internal flame. Daedalus