Fred Saberhagen The Book of the Gods 04 God of the Golden Fleece

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necessarily raw fish. Other varieties of entertainment could be provided
too he
had done so often enough in the past, in other avatars. Now he could recall
flashes, fragmentary hints, of a process for producing a good underwater wine
.
. .
Here in the depths the Mouse's sleepwalking eyes looked wider to Proteus even
than they did in air. And the bottom of her shift, her only garment, kept
rising
up around her slender hips, making an image more seductive than ordinary
swimmer's nudity. There were moments when Proteus thought she might be
regaining
consciousness, for her hands seemed to be trying to hold the hemline down.
"The next time you go bathing, you might take off your dress," he remarked,
half
in amusement, half in irritation.
"There wasn't time. Anyway, I wouldn't want to lose it. It is the only one I
have." Her own voice sounded in her ears a little odd, but still she thought
the
words all came out clear and plain enough.
"Poor girl, you ought to have some better clothes . . . I'll see to that,
when I
have a chance." Then Triton suddenly lifted his head, listening. "In a little
while we can talk. But first I must take care of some additional business.
And
you had better really go to sleep again; I will call a guardian to watch over
you. Slumber deeply, and forget how we have talked. I tell you that you must
forget."
What was Circe up to now?
Triton realized that she must know his abilities as well or better than he
knew
them himself. But it seemed the enchantress had convinced herself that she
could
defeat this minor sea-god, at least now while the god was dwelling in such an
inexperienced avatar, and with his memory still lamed.
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In this she was soon proven wrong. Circe's eyes went wide as she saw the
chain
of watery force, humpbacked as a whale but many times as large, rolling
majestically up a slight ravine toward her house.
When Triton's head broke the surface of the churning sea, he saw with
satisfaction that the two great monstrous beings had scrupulously obeyed his
orders, inundating much of the island with enormous breakers. The waves did
not
behave in normal fashion, reaching a natural limit and then sliding back into
the sea that owned them. Instead, each one seemed to gather itself for a
second
effort; a whole enormous mass of water, carrying a myriad of small common
sea-creatures with it, went leaping, stretching, compacting and leaping again
across the Isle of Dawn.
Meanwhile, according to his orders Charybdis and Scylla were leaving a narrow
strip of relatively calm waters through which the ship could pass, with
almost
all its crew aboard. Proteus watching from a distance could see that Jason
was
pulling an oar as usual, presumably with the Golden Fleece stowed somewhere
securely nearby or on his person. And he caught a reassuring glimpse of
Medea's
golden hair.
The waves and currents having been set in motion, they persisted for a time,
simply in the way of nature. Now the bellowing, howling fountains that were
Scylla and Charybdis came rolling up to Triton where he lay swimming in the
deep, and reported to him that they had finished the job.
"Then you may go." Triton waved his free hand grandly. "You have my
gratitude,
for service well performed."
Yet still the howling vortexes lingered. One of the great elementals
commented,
in a voice of driving rain: "It is strange that Father Neptune has seen fit
to
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punish Circe. They were on quite good terms not long ago."
Triton decided it would be best in the long run if he made certain matters
clear. "What I have commanded you to do today is on my own authority, and
Poseidon has nothing to do with it, one way or the other."
That news added volume to the watery uproar. "If Father Neptune calls us to
account for this, we will of course say that it was done by your direct
command."
"So be it."
The forces unleashed in the struggle had brought on something like a local
hurricane, a natural turmoil that persisted after its instigators were
departed.
But the enchantress had managed to survive, though twice the wind had
actually
knocked her off her feet. From such sanctuary as she could find on shore,
behind
the rolling clouds of spume and spindrift, aided by such powers as she could
hastily evoke, Circe shrieked curses at Triton and his latest human
embodiment.
She promised to call down on his head all the wrath of the great gods
themselves. And in her fury she let slip, or gloated over, the fact that
several
of the Argonauts were still on shore and in her power. Some six or eight of
them, who she was now holding penned up near her house, had started to turn
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