Lily watched the last of the water run off and recalled Maude’s words—Remember Kitty—and wondered if she was making a very foolish—and perhaps fatal—mistake.
Chapter Seven
The king sat in his golden castle and brooded. He fathered no more children, and as he aged he grew bitter that others might have lovely offspring but he, the ruler of the island, had sired only a monster. So he made an awful commandment: every year the people must send into the labyrinth the most beautiful youth and the most beautiful maiden on the island as sacrifice to his terrible son…
—From The Minotaur
Apollo woke in the dark the next morning to two immediate realizations: one, he was in a bed—a real bed—for the first time since before Bedlam, and two, he hadn’t written and set out the day’s instructions for the gardeners. He groaned silently at the last thought. The fellows Asa had hired were a competent enough lot, but with no instruction they had a tendency to mill around without doing any useful work.
But the bed—the lovely, lovely bed—made it hard to feel put out by the matter. The bed wasn’t big, but it was soft and clean with a proper mattress—not stuffed with scratchy straw—and it was comfortable. He was tempted to go back to sleep.
Except the thought hit him of whose bed he must be in: Miss Stump’s.
He sat up, jostling his head, which promptly began to complain about the matter. The room was dark—it had no windows—but he knew from the internal clock his body had kept since he was a boy that it was morning, probably six or seven of the clock.
Where was Miss Stump?
Cautiously he lowered his foot to the floor and only then realized he was missing both shoes and gaiters. His brows shot up. Had elegant Miss Stump removed them? It took a few minutes of feeling about, but he eventually discovered his shoes under the bed and donned them.
He felt his way to the door and cracked it.
Immediately he was set upon by Daffodil, who appeared to be the only one of the household awake. She spun at his feet, yipping excitedly.
Apollo bent and picked up the little dog to keep her from waking everyone.
When he straightened he saw Indio, sitting up from a nest of blankets on the floor. He and his mother appeared to be bedded down together, while Maude was in the cot. Both women still slept.
Apollo had only a moment to sneak a glimpse of Miss Stump’s mahogany hair, down and spread like a silken skein over her pillow, before the boy yawned and rose. “Daff says she has to go out an’ so do I.”
Apollo looked with alarm at the wriggling dog in his arms.
The boy had worn his shirt to sleep in. He donned a pair of breeches and trotted over.
Apollo opened the outer door.
Outside, the morning had dawned sunny and glorious. He set Daffodil on the ground and she immediately squatted.
Indio was making his way around the back of the theater and Apollo followed him. The boy stopped at one of the few trees still living—a great gnarled oak—and began fumbling with the fall of his breeches.
He glanced up, grinning, as Apollo halted beside him. “I like to try an’ hit that knot.” He nodded at a knot in the tree, about three feet off the ground.
Apollo smirked back and unbuttoned his own breeches.
The two streams of urine hit the knot and steamed impressively against the morning cold of the tree trunk, Apollo’s lasting a bit longer than the boy’s.
“Cor!” Indio said as he shook off his little prick and began righting himself. “You’re dead good at that. Took me days to hit it the first time.”
Apollo tried not to let the compliment go to his head. Precision pissing was, after all, a sadly underrated skill among most of society.
“Indio!”
Miss Stump’s call echoed through the garden.
Indio’s eyes widened. “That’s my mama. She’ll be wanting us to come in for breakfast.”
Apollo followed the boy back around the theater to find Miss Stump standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over a wrap.
She raised a hand to her unbound hair when she caught sight of him. “Oh, Caliban. I didn’t know you were up yet. Good morning.”