what will bring her out, though. She's as curious as a mouse. I go to the house and stand in the doorway. I dangle the pouch from my hand. I feel something shift inside again.
"Mother?" No answer, so I say more loudly, pretending to address my stepfather, "Must be asleep. No matter, I'll show her my find after she wakes up."
"I'm not asleep." Her bedclothes rustle, and then there she is, her light brown hair mussed, her cheek creased where it rested on a fold of blanket. The dog at her side shows the pink interior of its mouth in a yawn. "I was waiting for you to come back." My mother eyes the leather pouch. I move aside to let her out, and then both of us sit on the bench.
Konnidas comes up, still holding his spade. He drops it and smacks his hands on his thighs to knock off the worst of the dirt. He looks at my face, appears to be about to say something (I'm sure my cheek is swollen and purple by now), but doesn't. "Show us," he says.
And although I have worked so hard to find this, and although I know—or at least hope—that it will provide me with a way out of Troizena, where everybody knows me as Theseus the Bastard, Theseus the "son" of Poseidon, still I hesitate.
My life isn't so bad,
I think.
Maybe I don't need to change it.
But then I remember Arkas and his thugs, and the teasing girls. I fumble with the knots holding the pouch closed. I finally break the rotten strings and reach inside, to find two hard packets wrapped in what feels like oiled cloth. One is squarish and light in weight, and the other is long and heavier. I pull them both out and lay them on top of the open pouch. With both my mother and stepfather looking on, I unwrap the smaller packet. I stare at its contents, unbelieving.
"What is this?" My voice sounds harsh as I swallow blood, but I don't try to soften it. "Is this a joke?"
Chapter 9
WELL, DARLING," my mother says, anxious, as always, to avoid discord. "Well, they're very
nice
sandals."
I hold one up by its strap. This is a mistake, as the strip of leather has rotted through and the sandal falls to the ground. I pick up the other by its sole and inspect it. Perhaps at one time they were nice, but that time is long past, and lying squashed under a boulder hasn't helped them stay at their best. Still, the buckles are large and solid, and the leather was once thick and must have been stout. Not inexpensive, certainly, but not what I've been hoping for.
"Why would he leave me
sandals?
He must have known that they wouldn't last until I was grown. And how did he know they would even fit me?" I realize I'm whining.
"Open the other one," Konnidas urges. "Maybe there's something more practical in it."
I'm not hoping for something practical. I'm hoping for something valuable—gold or jewels or at least a silver ingot. What I find in the other packet, though, is a long dagger or a short sword, and whatever it's made of has corroded until it's covered with greenish crust. I'm not familiar with metals (anything that rare and expensive seldom comes as far as Troizena), but this must be bronze. I feel a little glimmer of hope. If it
is
bronze, then it's certainly worth something.
Konnidas reaches for it. "May I?" I nod and pass it to him. He holds the hilt in one hand and rests the blade in the other. "A good weight." I'm surprised; I didn't know my stepfather had knowledge of metalwork. With a thumbnail, he scrapes at the crust on the blade, and as it flakes away, a dull yellow gleam leaps out. Konnidas raises his brows and places the sword back on the oiled cloth. "Be worth cleaning." He picks up his spade again and returns to his vines.
I spend the rest of the day rubbing the blade. Konnidas leaves me to it, even though I could be useful in the garden, and I'm grateful to him.
By the time my stepfather heads into the house to prepare our meal, I'm ready to show him and my mother what I've uncovered. I sit at a stool, the sword on my lap. My mother sets a bowl at each place. The fish stew
"Mother?" No answer, so I say more loudly, pretending to address my stepfather, "Must be asleep. No matter, I'll show her my find after she wakes up."
"I'm not asleep." Her bedclothes rustle, and then there she is, her light brown hair mussed, her cheek creased where it rested on a fold of blanket. The dog at her side shows the pink interior of its mouth in a yawn. "I was waiting for you to come back." My mother eyes the leather pouch. I move aside to let her out, and then both of us sit on the bench.
Konnidas comes up, still holding his spade. He drops it and smacks his hands on his thighs to knock off the worst of the dirt. He looks at my face, appears to be about to say something (I'm sure my cheek is swollen and purple by now), but doesn't. "Show us," he says.
And although I have worked so hard to find this, and although I know—or at least hope—that it will provide me with a way out of Troizena, where everybody knows me as Theseus the Bastard, Theseus the "son" of Poseidon, still I hesitate.
My life isn't so bad,
I think.
Maybe I don't need to change it.
But then I remember Arkas and his thugs, and the teasing girls. I fumble with the knots holding the pouch closed. I finally break the rotten strings and reach inside, to find two hard packets wrapped in what feels like oiled cloth. One is squarish and light in weight, and the other is long and heavier. I pull them both out and lay them on top of the open pouch. With both my mother and stepfather looking on, I unwrap the smaller packet. I stare at its contents, unbelieving.
"What is this?" My voice sounds harsh as I swallow blood, but I don't try to soften it. "Is this a joke?"
Chapter 9
WELL, DARLING," my mother says, anxious, as always, to avoid discord. "Well, they're very
nice
sandals."
I hold one up by its strap. This is a mistake, as the strip of leather has rotted through and the sandal falls to the ground. I pick up the other by its sole and inspect it. Perhaps at one time they were nice, but that time is long past, and lying squashed under a boulder hasn't helped them stay at their best. Still, the buckles are large and solid, and the leather was once thick and must have been stout. Not inexpensive, certainly, but not what I've been hoping for.
"Why would he leave me
sandals?
He must have known that they wouldn't last until I was grown. And how did he know they would even fit me?" I realize I'm whining.
"Open the other one," Konnidas urges. "Maybe there's something more practical in it."
I'm not hoping for something practical. I'm hoping for something valuable—gold or jewels or at least a silver ingot. What I find in the other packet, though, is a long dagger or a short sword, and whatever it's made of has corroded until it's covered with greenish crust. I'm not familiar with metals (anything that rare and expensive seldom comes as far as Troizena), but this must be bronze. I feel a little glimmer of hope. If it
is
bronze, then it's certainly worth something.
Konnidas reaches for it. "May I?" I nod and pass it to him. He holds the hilt in one hand and rests the blade in the other. "A good weight." I'm surprised; I didn't know my stepfather had knowledge of metalwork. With a thumbnail, he scrapes at the crust on the blade, and as it flakes away, a dull yellow gleam leaps out. Konnidas raises his brows and places the sword back on the oiled cloth. "Be worth cleaning." He picks up his spade again and returns to his vines.
I spend the rest of the day rubbing the blade. Konnidas leaves me to it, even though I could be useful in the garden, and I'm grateful to him.
By the time my stepfather heads into the house to prepare our meal, I'm ready to show him and my mother what I've uncovered. I sit at a stool, the sword on my lap. My mother sets a bowl at each place. The fish stew
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