Title:Judge's Log, Preliminary Sail-through : () : polites of Athenai: 7/26/2001,14:44:21< prev next >

JUDGE'S LOG The official and unexpurgated log of Epistate The infamous Judges' trireme Thersites, known by all and sundry to be every bit as brave and trustworthy as its eponymous hero, rounds the point of Peiraeus, its bow barely above water level cleaving through the waves like a rusty hatchet. The painted owl on its sail looks embarrassed down upon me and the morning sun glitters through the holes in the ˆon the mast. "Ahoy there!" I cry out to MDidia, who is running in the other direction ˆwaiting patiently for me on shore with the basket of standard provisions. We have decided to make a preliminary run-through of the course just to make sure we know where we're going nothing unforeseen has cropped up. "Hoist the barnacle!" I add, in my saltiest manner. "Shuffle the scuppers!" M rolls her eyes ˆlooks deeply impressed and holds up a book, which even from here I can see is a glossary of trireme terms. "Avast ye askomai!" I call out in irritation ˆobligingly, pleased to be able to add this bit of verisimilitude. "Speaking of verisimilitude," says M, as the Thersites and I nearly run aground pull smartly up to the dock, "What is that, er, thing on your shoulder?" "My head, ha ha," I say. "Oh, you mean the bird? This is Arkhimedes, my parrot." "Arkhi--" "AAAAARKH!" says Arkhimedes. "He's our bird. You know, the instructions say each vessel is permitted one bird..." "I had planned to use this one," says M, pointing to a wooden cage containing a mangy glistening dove. "A dove? What is this, a temple of Aphrodite?ˆa clever idea, M!" As M clambers aboard the extended gangplank, I see that the boats are beginning to gather. Already the Nausicaä and the Zealous Zephyr can be seen trying to avoid us heading in our direction. Verona and Clymene look lost like beautiful figureheads and Maecenas seems to be haranguing joshing merrily with his crew. "Okay," says M, pulling out the bronze mirror and admiring herself ˆa map of the course, "The first obstacle is the Sphinx's island. Ooooh, this one is going to be good. We've got to answer a riddle." "That's your bailiwick, then," I remark hastily, remembering that M is so good at riddles she was deified on her first try at the Roman Emperor Game. "Then we've got to sail past the Gorgon..." "Well, you've got the mirror..." "Or maybe we could steer closer to Scylla and avoid the Gorgon..." "Remember that part about where I said my head is on my shoulders? I'd kind of like to keep it there." "Maybe you'll get lucky and she'll snatch off that mangy strikingly colorful parrot instead." "AAAAARKH!" says Arkhimedes. "Then there are the Sirens..." M continues sadistically sedatedly. "M, who came up with this ruinous course, anyway?" "We did," she reminds me smugly with a beatific smile. She holds up our standard issue amphora of Chian wine and upends it. Nothing comes out. "All right, so maybe we had a bit too much to drink last night. But the fact is, we've already hired the obstacles and that's that. Oh, and by the way, the obstacles have been updated a bit." "What do you mean by that?" "Well, for one thing, the Sphinx is now asking her question Jeopardy style." "You mean, she supplies the answer and we ask the question?" "Precisely," says M. "You see--" Suddenly a voice booms out of nowhere and I realize that the island of the Sphinx is looming up ahead of us. "MAAAAAAAAN!" booms the voice. "It's the Sphinx!" I cry out in abject terror  in horror dauntlessly. "What goes on four legs in the morning, a Razor scooter in the afternoon, and then into the emergency room after falling off the scooter?" M retaliates. "M," I whisper, "I'm not sure that's the correct answer..."