"However it was done, I am thankful. And you shall all be
rewarded. Before I stabbed the old priest I learned from him the
location of the temple's treasure. I saw it with my own eyes.
Jewels, money, golden goblets and silver. Yes, indeed, you shall
be rewarded."
He smiled.
He sniffed the air.
"The sewers must lead into this stream, the smell of burning
sulfur irritates my eyes. How much farther until we reach shore?
There is a strangely unpleasant odor about this place. I like it
not. Will you speak, or shall I toss you into this filthy
stream!"
He rose, stepped toward the silent figure.
Suddenly he stopped.
The ferryman neither shrank from his approach, nor responded.
His face was hidden by the hood he wore. Yet his eyes shone from
beneath that hood.
The look from those eyes froze Dionysius in midstep.
"No! No! It is a bedtime story to frighten children. What are
you telling me . . . ."
His gaze shifted from stream to boat, from boat to ferryman,
from ferryman to stream.
"It is a fairy tale, nothing else. Take me to the shore!" His
voice was once more threatening.
Suddenly he sat down, held his head between his two hands,
sobbed quietly.
"It's true, isn't it? This river - Styx is its name. You are
the ferryman. This gloom is not the dark of night. It's all
true!"
Suddenly a thought came to mind.
"Then you are . . . You are Charon. And I must have - yes, here
it is. Your toll.
Pages:
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241