PERHAPS IT WAS the noxious air or the exhaustion or the constant bickering and malodorous emissions of our guides. Perhaps it was the nagging sense of regret and betrayal I felt whenever I looked at Diomedes. Perhaps it was the loss of Argos or the new and dismal certainty that in spite of all my efforts, our journey would end in despair. Whatever it was, our hike across that next bridge seemed to take an eternity. Our guides insisted on making frequent stops, during which new and more tedious quarrels were continually breaking out. The only devil that seemed exempt from these squabbles was the aptly named Fatworm, who always found some interesting stone to examine or toenail to pick when his comrades quarreled. He was larger and slower than the others, and it was hard to tell whether they avoided him out of fear or disdain, but I had a sense that he was the weak link in the chain. If I could find some way to use him against the others, there might be hope for an escape.
That hope acquired new urgency when I saw the next bridge. The Malebranche had us headed to the top, but a disaster of some sort had caused its collapse. Just at its apex, the bridge fell away, and from what I could see, there was no way down but a sheer drop.
Even Ajax sensed we were headed for trouble. “Odysseus,” he whispered, “this bridge don’t go nowhere.”
“I know, old horse,” I said, trying to give my voice the ring of confidence, “but I’ve got a plan.” Ajax looked more worried than ever.
The Malebranche halted when we reached the top, and Swinetooth pushed me over to the precipice. “Time for you to leaf,” said Swinetooth. He raised his hook. “Nice to meet you. Now get lost.”
“Sir,” I answered, “surely you don’t expect us to go over the edge. The fall would kill us.”
Swinetooth looked puzzled for a moment; then he smiled toothily and answered, “Yeh. We know.”
The devil named Knotbeard gave a guffaw, and the others answered with rude gestures of one sort and another.
“Tis bridge be broked for many long time,” said Swinetooth, planting both fists on the ground. “We knowed it before we left. Rotrump knowed it too. We all be knowed it te whole time. Tis be te end of te bridge, and tis be te end of you.” Swinetooth put one massive claw on my shoulder and shoved me forward. It was a long way down.
I looked at Diomedes and Ajax. Ajax looked back at me, his face ashen and grim. Diomedes gave me a look that said nothing. But I smiled to myself. If Odysseus, the Great Tactician, the Man of Winged Words, couldn’t talk his way past these goons, then he wasn’t worthy of the name.
“Lord Fatworm,” I said so the whole group could hear, “if it please you, may I have a moment to say good-bye to my friends?” It was an obvious stall tactic, and I didn’t expect even these knuckle draggers to fall for it. The important thing was that I ask someone other than the leader for permission.
Fatworm looked up from his toenail. “Uh?”
Swinetooth eyed me angrily. “Why you be asking him? I be te boss.”
I could have hugged myself for my cleverness. “My apologies, Lord Swinetooth,” I answered, bowing low. “I meant no disrespect. I’m sure on some level you must be the boss of something—and of course I would be grateful for your permission as well—but just the same, I’d like the permission of Lord Fatworm to confer with my friends.”
Swinetooth and Fatworm looked at one another with knitted brows.
“But you no need his permission,” said Swinetooth at last. “He be no important. I be te boss. And I say no permission.”
“I is important,” whined Fatworm.
“No,” growled Swinetooth, “you be a fat, useless bag of snot.” He knocked him on the head with the butt of his spear.
Fatworm snarled and stood up to his full height. “Tump me on te head again, and we be seeing who te real boss.”
Swinetooth thumped him without hesitation, and a moment later, they were rolling about in a tangle of fists and fangs. I smiled at Ajax and winked. He lifted his spear. Diomedes reached for his sword. I drew my bow. But the joke, it turned out, was on us. The Malebranche, you see, were so busy arguing, and I so busy watching Fatworm, and my companions so busy watching me, that none of us noticed the dark wave of horned devils that had sneaked up the road behind us. A choked howl from Knotbeard was the only warning we got. When we looked back, he was buried under a mound of whips and claws. Like ants on a beetle, the horned devils swarmed over him, hissing and screeching.
Their quarrel forgotten, Fatworm and Swinetooth took to the air, and within seconds, there was a pitched battle underway, the winged devils swooping in with their hooked spears and the horned devils lashing back with whips and claws. For the moment, my friends and I were forgotten altogether.
“Odysseus! Rope!” Ajax was already at the edge of the bridge and peering over. I unwound the rope from my waist and tossed it to him. I watched as he tied one end around his waist. “All right, boys. I’ll hold out here while you climb down into the valley.”
I was almost over the edge before I realized what that meant. “Wait! Aren’t you coming?”
“Yeh, dummy. I’ll climb down after.”
I laughed in spite of myself. “Ajax, what are you going to tie the rope to?”
He looked around the bridge, then over the edge again. “Guess I didn’t think of that.”
“Well, you can’t stay here,” I said. “The devils will kill you.”
“Guess I didn’t think of that either,” he mused, running one hand across his head. “Ye know, I kind of wish ye didn’t think on stuff so much, Odysseus.”
“We’ll find another way down,” said Diomedes; but the horned devils were clearly winning the fight. Soon their attention would turn to us. And to make matters worse, there seemed to be a larger army of winged devils on the horizon.
Ajax shook his head. “Uh-uh. No time for that. You two get movin’, and I’ll throw the rope down after.”
“That’s suicide,” I said.
“No it en’t,” replied Ajax, drawing himself up to his full height. “I done suicide before. This here is courage.”
“You don’t have to do this,” I said. “You could go down. I’ll stay behind.”
He smiled. “You got a wife waitin’. Besides”—he looked back at the fighting devils and grinned—“just now thought of this. The only thing I missed in life was a good death.” He looked downright noble at that moment, the big lummox, contemplating his own heroic demise. It was true what he said. His life had not ended well.
“Go,” said Ajax. “You and me—we’re even now.” A rock ricocheted off his head. “Oi! I’m coming!” he shouted. “Gods be with you, Son of Laertes.”
“God be with you, Son of Telemon,” I answered.
And that was the last I saw of Ajax.