By the time Theseus and Tessali returned to the others, Karfhud had already taken a mapping parchment from his battered back-satchel and marked the locations of the adjoining passages. He motioned the Thrasson to follow close behind, then set off down the opposite corridor without a word. Despite Karfhud's condition-he was limping badly and hunched over a broken rib-he moved through the crooked, narrow passages in near silence, sketching in junctions and side-corridors as he went. There was no fog, so they could see that the walls were lined by arrow loops and murder holes, all located well above the reach of even Karfhud. Every so often, they would glimpse a heavy wooden shutter or an oaken door guarding some portal far above their heads, but there were never any such entryways down in the bottom of the labyrinth.

As before, they had little trouble following the monster. Although there were ankle-deep streams in all the corridors, the currents were gentle and slow. Sheba's black blood marked her path as clearly as it had in the swamp; the companions found beads of the gummy stuff everywhere: clinging to the walls, bobbing in the comers, stuck on the jagged stones that littered the passage floors.

Sheba also seemed to be having trouble containing the contents of the broken amphora. Every now and then, they ran across strands of golden hair hovering in the damp air, and twice they met scraps of black sail cloth wafting up the passage. The first ribbon circled Theseus three times: he saw himself running a golden comb – the same one he had with him when he washed ashore near Thrassos-through the auburn hair of his dead wife Antiope, who had perished at the hands of her own people for loving him.

When the second ribbon circled him, the Thrasson saw himself, much older, holding a silver palm mirror – the same one that had been in his satchel with the golden comb-over the mouth and nose of another dead wife, Phaedra. This memory troubled him more than the first, for Phaedra was sister to… even now, Theseus could not remember the name of his beloved princess, only Dionysus's voice urging him to abandon her.

Theseus tried to calm himself, noting how much older he had been in that second memory than when the god had spoken to him. Many years had passed between the two events; because he had married Phaedra, it did not necessarily follow that he had abandoned her sister.

As they followed Sheba's dark trail deeper into the palace, a soft slurping sound, muffled by distance and the crooked passages of the labyrinth, began to echo off the stone walls. Karfhud cocked his head and waved Theseus into the lead, but the fiend continued to dip his talon into his own dark blood and trace the maze on his parchment. High up on the walls, they started to see more doors and shutters, many of them hanging half open and askew. The water began to flow more rapidly, making it more difficult to follow the monster. Several times, they had to stop at intersections while the Thrasson searched the side corridors for her blood trail. At least they were catching up; each dark bead seemed a little wanner and stickier.

The echoes of the slurping sound grew steadily louder, and the water flowed ever faster. Soon, the current was swirling around their ankles, tugging at their feet and making a hazard of each step over the rubble-strewn floor. Sheba's blood trail vanished, though it hardly mattered. Theseus had already realized that the monster was traveling with the water, which had become a gurgling stream gushing along a single course through the labyrinth.

After a time, they rounded a comer and entered a small vestibule where half a dozen smaller corridors came together. At one end of the enclosure, a pair of huge oaken gates hung cockeyed and half-open beneath a great stone arch. The bottom third of each gate had long since rotted away, allowing the waters to rush unimpeded into a large courtyard beyond. The slurping sound had ceased to be an echo; it was now a steady, half-muffled sucking noise just loud enough to drown out the purling of the stream. Karfhud slipped into the vestibule beside Theseus, and together they crept forward to peer past the oaken gates.

They found themselves looking across a flooded courtyard at an immense, dark-windowed palace with a flat roof and the vestiges of elaborate, brightly painted patterns flaking off the pale limestone walls. The courtyard itself had probably once been a magnificent sunken garden, for the surface of the water was broken everywhere by the heads of ancient statues and the spandrels of decorative arches. Near the center of the square pond swirled the cause of the slurping sound, a silvery whirlpool nearly as broad as the span of Karfhud's wings-had the fiend still had both of them to stretch.

It took Theseus a moment to notice Sheba, not far from the whirlpool's edge. She was lurking beneath the spandrel of a sunken arch, up to her neck in water and surrounded by a stringy slick of her black blood. Her red, sinewy head, laced with black veins and still gleaming with mucous slime, remained as motionless as that of a statue. The Thrasson groaned inwardly. The water would be above his head, and he truly hated having to swim while he fought.

Sheba backed out from beneath the arch. Then, keeping her dark eyes fixed on the gate where her hunters were hiding, she began to float on her back. She held the amphora in the crook of her arm, her massive hand covering both holes Theseus had made. For a moment, the Thrasson thought she was merely taunting them, then she began to kick her legs, pushing herself toward the whirlpool.

"I cannot believe what I am imagining!" gasped Silverwind.

"She knows she is defeated," said Tessali. "She's drowning herself."

"I should be so fortunate as you are foolish, elf." Karfhud rolled the parchment he had been working on. "She is escaping into another maze-and I am out of mapping skins."

The fiend bent his arm back to stuff his furled map into his satchel, at the same time running a sidelong glance over the elf's pale skin.

"Karfhud, you know better," Theseus warned.

"So now you too can read minds?"

Out in the pond, Sheba began to move in a circle as the currents at the edge of the whirlpool caught her. Karfhud stepped through the arch and began to wade down the submerged stairs. Theseus started to follow, then stopped and looked up at the heavy oaken gates. He rapped on the wood. It sounded solid enough, at least near the height of his chest "Karfhud, can you take one of these gates off?" The fiend turned to glare at the rusty hinges, then bared his yellow fangs and came back up the stairs. He took hold of the one on the right, which was hanging by a single strap of twisted metal, and braced his foot against the wall.

"You're not thinking of riding that thing down the whirlpool!" Tessali gasped.

Theseus nodded. "I am." He backed away from Karfhud, who was struggling to pull the gate free and shaking the entire vestibule with his rumbling grunts. "In the past, I've found it easier than swimming."

"Don't you think we'll drown?" Silverwind's question was more of an inquiry than an objection.

Theseus glanced toward the center of the pond, where Sheba was disappearing into the heart of the whirlpool. "Only if the monster drowns first."

Karfhud gave a final sonorous groan, and, amidst a great crackling of wood, the gate came free. The fiend staggered under its weight, barely managing to face the pond before his heavy toad began to tip away. He let go and stepped back, allowing the gate to splash down with a loud, cracking slap. Their new raft instantly started to drift away, so Theseus sheathed his sword and clambered down the submerged stairs to grab hold.

So heavy was the gate that it began to pull the Thrasson away from the shore. He managed to slow the raft by digging his fingernails into its ancient wood and jamming the fingers of his improvised foot into a silty crack in the step. Even then, he found himself inexorably drawn toward the center of the pond, until he was half-floating in the water, his pain pods bobbing around him like a swarm of spiny black sponges.