“Hey. How come there’s no statue of you out here?”
“My statue is on the inside. Just past the columns. You can’t see it, but it’s in the center of the inner chamber.”
“How do you get inside?”
“Well, if you weren’t here, this black shadowy part”—I wave my hand at the black shadow just beyond the columns—“that would actually be a stoa or portico.”
“What’s a stoa portico?”
“Oh. It’s a walkway. The space between the columns and the inner chamber, which is called a naos.”
“Wow.” She looks back up at the columns. “It’s all very… interesting. But what is all that up there?” She points to the space above the columns.
“That’s called the entablature. It’s a scene carved in stone. Which, now that I think about it, I actually haven’t noticed in centuries.”
“A lot of it is broken. What was it a scene of?”
I look up at the carved marble. She’s right. A lot of it is broken. I’m the one who broke it. “It’s my banishment day.”
“Oh. Like those scenes that are carved over the doors and stuff inside the cathedral?”
“Yep. But most of that is lies. And unlike this tomb, they were carved by the hands of a mortal slave caretaker. I hope you don’t believe the stories.”
“The carvings tell a story?”
I chuckle as I look down at Pie. “God, I love you.”
She beams back up at me. “Thanks. But…” She squints and directs her eyes at the entablature. “I think that might be what we need.”
“What do you mean?”
“See, from what I can gather the spells for portals probably go over the doorways. Like that poem over the doors all around the sanctuary. And isn’t it weird that it changed after I banished the sheriff and Grant—err, Saturn?” I must look confused because she goes on. “‘A horn, a hoof’… blah, blah, blah? That poem? Did there used to be words up there?” She points to the broken scene above the columns.
I rub a hand over my scruffy chin. “Maybe.”
Pie looks around. “Well. I don’t know how to carve words into marble. But ya know what the next best thing is?”
“What?”
“A Sharpie. I have one in the Jeep’s glovebox. BRB.”
Before I can object, she bounds off, leaping and running in the direction of the cottage, like she couldn’t wait to release all that pent-up energy. And while I wait, I look back up at my tomb, which is now open and accessible.
Even though it is late afternoon out here, it is always night in my tomb. But a bit of moonlight is filtering its way through the stoa. Enough so I can see the inner chamber where the stone version of me sits on a stone throne.
I have never liked that statue. It’s not a true representation of me. It’s not even done in the Roman style. It’s got an Egyptian look to it. My head is in profile but the rest of my body is facing forward, rigid and stiff, like I really am made of stone. And I’m wearing clothes. None of the other satyr statues in this sanctuary are wearing clothes. Some might have an armband or a bit of jewelry. A few have a simple loincloth. But the statue of me is fully dressed in the most ridiculous attire.
Furs, of all things. What kind of beast wears the skin of another beast? It’s kinda gross. And definitely wrong.
“I got it!” I turn to find Pie leaping over a stone bench and I study her lithe body as she trots up to me. “This should do.” A black Sharpie is pinched between her fingers. She holds it up for me as she pants from her run, her cheeks flushed red and the heat coming off her in waves. Her eyes are bright and inquisitive. Like she’s on the verge of a great discovery.
I used to wonder if she was stupid, but Pie Vita is not stupid. In fact, I bet she’s some kind of genius when she’s in her element.
I really hope she can open the portal to Tarq’s world. I can’t wait to see her at work.
“Now what?”
“Well.” She tips her head up so she can study the entablature. “I need to get up there. We need a ladder.”