Wrath of Poseidon (Fargo Adventures 12)

“Of course,” Remi said. “How did we not see it?”

“I’m blaming it on perspective,” Sam said. “The head’s blocking everything behind it. That, and it doesn’t look like any tail I’ve ever seen.”

Nikos walked up at that moment, scaring off the cat as he pulled out a chair and sat at the table. “What have I missed?”

Zoe turned the sketch toward him. “We think this thing on its head is a tail.”

He leaned in closer. “It’s not Helios?”

“And not a Gorgon,” Dimitris said.

Nikos picked up the paper. “So, it’s not the rays of the sun or snakes circling his face. Maybe it’s a lion’s mane?”

“It could be,” Sam said. “But that’s definitely not a lion’s tail.”

“A scorpion tail?” Remi said.

Sam eyed the barbed end. “What sort of creature has a man’s face, a lion’s mane, and a scorpion tail?”

Remi was already looking it up on her phone. “What if it’s a manticore?”

“A what-icore?” Sam said.

“Manticore. A man’s face on a lion’s body with a venomous tail. More importantly . . .” She read something on the screen, then looked up at them. “I can’t believe it was staring us in the face the whole time!”

“Staring us in the face?” Sam asked. “Very funny, Remi. Your levity is appreciated.”

“I’m serious, Sam,” she answered. “A manticore is a creature that eats its victims whole.”

He eyed the picture on her phone. “I’m clearly missing something.”

“It particularly likes the taste of humans.”

“Of course,” Nikos said, “Tassos’s cave must be on the islet of Anthropofas. In English it translates to man-eater.”

“Does it have a cave there?”

“Yes, it does. The cave holds a natural basin that collects rainwater, which the goat herders use for their animals. Others have explored it in the past. If there had been any treasure, someone would have found it.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Sam said. “We take a look ourselves.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

There were actually two islets that shared the name, both about a mile and a half to the south and southeast of Fourni—Megalos and Mikros Anthropofas—Big and Little Man-eater, supposedly named for the number of sailors who drowned after their ships were smashed upon their rocks. Sam wondered if they shouldn’t be searching both islets, but Nikos assured him that Mikros Anthropofas was barely a rock worthy of being called an islet, and definitely not large enough to hide a cave.

They set out for Big Man-eater the following afternoon. As was the case on all the islands in the Fourni archipelago, the northern exposure was vulnerable to any sudden changes in the weather. The constant barrage of wind and waves left the rocks devoid of any vegetation. As they approached, the desolate cliffs loomed up ahead, a barren wasteland jutting out from the sea. For now, the water was relatively calm, and Nikos steered the Lazy Krab all the way around to the south side of the islet, where a small bay would protect them from the north winds.

While there was no beach, someone had embedded an iron hook in a flat rock, turning it into a makeshift dock. As they neared, Nikos cut the motor, allowing the boat to drift forward toward the rock. Dimitris, holding the mooring rope, tied it around the rusted hook, then pulled himself out, reaching for the bag of climbing gear that Sam lifted out to him.

Once they all had disembarked, the four started the trek up the steep hill through the low, prickly scrub growing on the south exposure of the rocky incline.

They passed a concrete shelter that, according to Nikos, the government had erected for the fishermen and goat herders who occasionally landed on the islet. Just beyond it, the group stopped, seeing two possible routes up. Because Nikos had been told the cave wasn’t necessarily the easiest to find—one could walk past it without knowing—he consulted with some of the goat herders, trying to find the easiest route. After listening to the legends and old fishermen’s tales, the general consensus was that the cave was on the north side of the islet. Unfortunately, no one agreed on the best way to get there. One man told them to follow the goats, since the cave caught fresh rainwater.

Coming from the west, the wind whipped down from the top of the hill, bringing with it the faint bleating of goats. They headed in that direction. After a fifteen-minute hike, picking their way through the rocks and sparse, prickly vegetation, they finally reached the peak, then paused to take stock of their surroundings. To the north, they had a view of the southern end of Fourni, and beyond it, to the northeast, Samos. Fishing boats dotted the calm waters around the islands. Up above, seabirds floated on air currents, bright white against a blue sky.

Remi stood next to Sam. “Can you smell that?” she asked. “Thyme.” She reached down, picked a sprig of the fragrant herb that grew wild on the island. Closing her eyes, she lifted the woody stem to her nose, breathing in the pungent scent, while the wind whipped red strands of hair from her ponytail.

Seeing her like that, it was easy to picture her half a world away, standing on their cliff