Lust of the Minotaur (MrMaster and RubyLiday)

[Rubyliday]

The labyrinth had sat on the countryside for as long as anyone in the town could remember. And it had sat there even longer than that. In the time of her ancestors, it had been a hub of activity. Sacrifices had been made, like clockwork, set by the phases of the moon. Criminals accused of crime had been sent in to judge their innocence. None had ever been found not guilty. But the time of the old Gods had come and gone. Now the maze sat in ruins on the outskirts of town. None, save for drunk teenagers, penetrated it's stonework. Eleanor had grown up hearing the stories from her grandmother, who had heard stories from her grandmother, who had heard them from her grandmother. She had once been dared, by a drunken ex boyfriend, to climb over the wall and into the labyrinth. She had refused. Then it had seemed the sensible thing to do, but over the years it would occasionally float to the front of her mind and she almost wished she had done it. Not because she had been dared to, but because she had always been and still was, curious. But along with the curiosity was fear. The stories that her grandmother had told her were not fairy tales. They were tales of a monster, born from lies and lust. At the age of sixteen, Eleanor had had no interest in finding out if what her grandmother had told her was true. Nearly a decade later and the curiosity was brimming over.

Eleanor watched as her laundry sloshed around in the washer. Rhythmically turning one way then the other, bubbles forming and popping. The book in her lap sat open, four hundred and seventy two pages neglected. She hated being such a picky reader, but this one just wasn't catching her interest. In a small town of a thousand people, there wasn't much of a selection when it came to the local library. There wasn't much of a selection when it came to anything, really. There where two gas stations, kiddy-corner from each other and neither one stayed open past six o'clock. One bank, two hardware stores owned by the same family. That was something that Eleanor could never figure out why. The two school buildings separated kindergarten through 8th grade and high school. The nearest college was an hours drive away. They had a grocery store, a bank, a post office, and restaurant. It was the cliche small town, but to Eleanor it was perfect.

She was roused from her thoughts by the sound of bickering coming from the vicinity of the jumbo sized dryers. Eleanor sat up in her chair and spotted Mrs Bowen and Mrs Raskin, two teachers from the school adamantly discussing something, their hands were doing most of the talking.

"He shouldn't be able to go in there, no one should! It's just not done" Both women made a spitting motion, an action meant to ward off bad omens.

"Can you believe that he wants someone local to take him there?"

"No amount of money would make me go into the labyrinth." Eleanor had leaned so far forward in her chair to hear them that the back two legs weren't even touching the ground anymore.

" I heard he is paying a lot." They weren't being quiet but ever muscle in her body strained towards them. "A thousand dollars a day!"

"Still couldn't make me go in there for a million a day."

"And all because he says they are surveying. I don't know what they could possibly need to see in there."

They both shook their heads and made the spitting motion again. They went on to talk about the principles divorce, scandalous in such a small town, but Eleanor stopped listening. There had been other talk about someone coming in to check out the labyrinth but she had thought it had been just that, talk. But both elder women sat on the town council and while they did spread some serious gossip, town news was not something they fabricated.

It wasn't money that made Eleanor dig into what she had heard, though the money would help. Her parents had left her a large inheritance when they had died, but most of that had been put away and what little she was allowed had been used towards grandma's medical bills. What really made her inquire at the town hall, a small building that had once been an antiques shop, was that burning curiosity. As she penned out the letter she couldn't help but think of the turn phrase, curiosity killed the cat. And again when she licked the envelope and bought a stamp. This small bit of courage that she had summoned up was going 5,000 miles away. She just hoped that she still had that courage when it came back.


Eleanor had check the post office every day for three weeks and every day had been nothing. She was starting to lose hope and the post master was starting to think that she had a crush on him. She could tell, he smiled at her a little too warmly and in the last week he had started wearing cologne. It was cheap brand that burned her nose everytime that she walked into the post office, but she ignored it. She was on a mission after all. She had almost not gone that day, but her courage and her hope, though dwindling, where still driving her on.

It had more stamps on it then she had ever seen, in blue and red and there was a dark green one. She had almost been afraid to touch it, afraid that it wasn't real. She momentarily convinced herself that it wasn't the letter that she was waiting for. But it couldn't have been anything else. She ran from the post office, glad to be in the fresh air and very glad that she could stop going there. Her house was nearly a mile from the post office, sitting on the outside of town and she ran the whole way. Eleanor had been on the track team in school, a sprinter, and her legs ached a little as she slowed before her house. Standing on the porch she ripped the letter open with trembling fingers, her eyes scanning the typed print.

The letter was from the historians assistant, a woman named Jennifer. The letter was short and to the point. They accepted her offer to take them into the labyrinth and they would be there in a weeks time. Eleanor looked at the crumpled envelope, it was stamped five days prior. They would be here in three days.

 

[Mr Master]

As always, Jennifer had her clipboard in her hand as she came into Van Der Wyk's office. "Professor," she said briskly, "all your classes are covered for the interim, the flights and drivers are arranged to get us to the nearby town, and I have sent correspondence to the local guide. All we have left is to arrange your luggage and make the first flight on time."

Chester Van Der Wyk leaned back from his desk, alt-tabbing the porn video on his computer to show a more prosaic PDF of a historical journal. "Excellent, Jennifer. Tell me, do you think they'll have a brothel in town? I mean, as long as we're on the corporate tab, we can expense entertainment, can't we?"

The woman sighed. She had long since grown accustomed to Van Der Wyk's base impulses, with a disdain that had gotten her called a "cold fish," but at least her emotionless demeanor kept her from being the target of his advances. "It's a small town, I doubt they do the business to support a brothel. You might get lucky and find a part-timer in the local pub."

Van Der Wyk grimaced. "Bah. Hardly know what they're doing, and barely any kink experience." He turned to his desk, as Jennifer rolled her eyes. She was quite attractive, which had been a quality he was looking for when he hired her, but her heart was flinty, and he'd given up trying to flirt with her. He was sure that if he bedded her, she'd show neither passion nor fear and pain, but just bored tolerance, and that was never fun. So he was lucky she was such an efficient assistant. He knew she'd have the business end of things handled, all he had to do was use his scholarly knowledge and eke out what pleasures he could from the trip. "Speaking of the corporate tab, have you got everything lined up with our sponsors?"

Jennifer consulted the second page on her clipboard. "All the necessary receipts so far have been submitted. We have authorization for our visit and the local guide, and I have their assurance of a bonus if we indeed find that the property has no significant historical value. My contact in their administration tells me they're looking at the site for a chemical reprocessing plant." Jennifer knew that kind of factory was notoriously hard on the environment, and the health of the locals, but it was good money, and a lot of it, so that was what was important. "So all you have to do is not make a discovery."

"Oh, I hope to discover something, all right," Van Der Wyk muttered, imagining some nubile local he might find a chance to make use of; the unwillingness of a partner frequently made for some fun spice, and that seemed like it would be the only spice on this godforsaken trip. "But historical artifacts are not what I'm looking for."

Technically, they were, Jennifer knew, but she also knew better than to correct him.

 

[Rubyliday]

Eleanor had arrived at The Greek House, the only logical meeting place in town and the only restaurant, at quarter til six. It was the time that had been given to her in the second letter that had arrived, a day after the first. She had feared the worst when she had found the postmaster on her doorstep, like a date or a marriage proposal. But he had simply, and nervously, handed over a large manila envelope, in it along with the meeting time had been all the documents and details corresponding with the visit. To her surprise there was an awful lot of legal paperwork and an equal amount of places to sign her name. She had skimmed most of it as honestly she really didn't understand the jargon and mainly she had no interest. What she was honestly looking for had been found in section two B on page thirty seven, the itinerary.

She was looking it over again when they walked in. Eleanor had been nose to the paper when the door had opened. Her seat had left her with her back to the door, a poor seating choice she had debating on fixing but then had been afraid the two would come in and catch her mid awkward seat change. What had actually clued her in was the hush that had fallen over the entire restaurant. Being such a small town as it was, everybody knew everybody and the two foreigners standing with muffled looks of annocance on their faces, didn't know anyone. Eleanor swallowed her nerves and stood, the sound of her chair on the floor seemed to echo through the silent room, it was starting to feel like a tome with every passing second.

"Professor Van Der Wike?"

"It's Van Der Wyk" The man stepped forward, a smile plastered to his face. He was handsome by anyone's standards.He stood a few inches taller that Eleanor with windblown golden hair. His skin was almost the same color and Eleanor couldn’t help but wonder if the man went tanning, though it didn’t subtract from his looks. In contrast to this he had the most unusual shade of blue eyes, paired with the whitest straight teeth that she had ever seen.

"I apologize." He was still shaking her hand and smiling though the smile had lost its warmth and something she couldn't place flickered in his eyes. She pulled her hand from his and turned to his assistant. "You must be Jennifer, it's nice to put a face to the name. I am Eleanor." The two made a striking pair. While the professor was blond,tan, and tall, his assistant was his opposite. She had pale flawless skin and jet black hair. Her eyes could only be described as gray and her mouth was full and red. She had a slight figure, subtle curves and small breasts. She was in short, stunning.

The look of surprise was mirrored on both of their attractive faces. Jennifer regained her composure the quickest.

"You're Eleanor? Eleanor Petracca?" She had butchered the pronunciation, but then again Eleanor had done the same to the professor. Language was a funny thing.

"The one and only." She smiled and held it. They stared. Everyone in the restaurant stared. After a few moments, she broke the silence. "Is there a problem?" The professor had a weird smile on his face while his assistant looked almost... annoyed.

"Not at all." They spoke in unison though their tones were like night and day.

 

[Mr Master]

Van Der Wyk was becoming more convinced that Eleanor was a great choice as guide with each step on the hike. Certainly, it was inconvenient that no road led to the labyrinth, and the hiking trails were too steep for ATVs or the like (the lack of easy access would complicate matters with his actual employers, but that was their problem), but walking behind the young woman, he got to enjoy the view of her athletic body as she led the way. It compensated for the indignity and annoyance (and physical strain) of having to hike out to the site. Certainly, it kept his mind off his aching feet and legs; the gym was a very different environment from the actual woods.

However, as difficult as the actual in-the-field exercise was for Van Der Wyk, he was doing a lot better than Jennifer. The experience was shaking even her legendary calm. And she reacted to it by employing sarcasm and bitterness -- or as Van Der Wyk called it, "being bitchy." It wasn't so much what she said, but how she said it. "Oh, what a lovely little stream," she might say at a brook they had to cross, but it was absolutely clear what she actually thought of it. As the day of hiking wore on, her complaints became sharper and more frequent.

It wasn't actually Eleanor's fault that the hike was taking longer than had been planned; she could have made the trek in probably less than the time allotted. But the two city-dwellers had badly underestimated how swiftly they'd be able to traverse the wilderness, and as such, it was slow going. Which, of course, was working Jennifer's nerves even more. Van Der Wyk consoled himself well enough, but it was a dangerous sort of consolation: the fantasies that kept him occupied would only fuel his impulse to bring them to a reality, and that could only be negative for Eleanor.

Not that Van Der Wyk really cared about the consequences to anyone else. He never really did. That's why he was such a good hire for corporations needing to certify that problematic sites weren't actually historically valuable; he pretty much would follow the money, and ignore anything that wasn't incontrovertible.

And speaking of incontrovertible, his calf was becoming impossible to ignore. "Hey, sweet cheeks," he called ahead in a cheery, playful tone, "I hope we're nearly at the camp site, yes?"

"Oh, certainly," Jennifer hissed, almost to herself, her otherwise immaculate hair uncharacteristically frazzled, "we wouldn't want to miss a moment of natural wonder. So much better than a three star hotel, or whatever that ink spot of a town had available."