text: [Themes: Historical, Mythology, mystery, island]
  
  > examine the grass
  The volcanic landscape of Aeaea is at its wildest here - not a flouncy-skirted priestess in sight, not a rumour of toiling workers or a flash of sunlight over a magnificient building, nary a word of praise for the Goddess except the calls of goats and the song of birds. Which is kind of pretty is you're that kind of person, but being a sophisticated lady and having spent ten years in Aeaea, you find it rather boring and unstimulating.
  
  > go east
  Here you are, back in the hut. The boys are gone, it is marginally tidier than it was this morning, and there is still nothing but a wooden rack and a miserable bed.
  
  > go northwest
  The crescent of Aeaea narrows to a bullhorn-sharp point here and the clifftop resolves into a rocky chaos of crags plunging dramatically into foaming waters. From here you can see the whole curve of the Saffron Bay, steep as the edge of a cauldron, with the palace a miniature on the other side. Without even a single goat to feed on the thorny bushes, the only living presence is the gulls that circle overhead, looking for fish in the the clashing waves.
  
  > look at the olive trees
  What can you say, the saffron fields produce most of the exports of Aeaea, and the rest of the fields are merely foodstuffs. Some fields are tended by slaves, property of the palace or of the settlers, and most of the free men are depend on the palace in one way or the other: some are indentuered workers, some are technically free but rely on bartering their produce for clay tokens only exchangeable for other stuff in the palace stores... Not that you care much for the boring details. Your interest in agricultural matters has always been quite low.
  
  > go southwest
  The ceremonial road ends in an ample paved space before the grand entrance to the palace. Men and oxen come on go along the road like ants and mill around the vast plaza, transporting all manners of goods from the palace stores to the port below, overseen by administrative-rank priestesses and keen-eyed archers. The great complex is three stories high, fronted with a majestic row of crimson red and marine blue tapered columns.
  
  A few priestesses blink, then nod respectfully as they pass, eyeing your attire. A couple of archers almost stand at attention when they see you approach.
  
  The ceremonial paved road snakes descends towards the southeast and the harbour. The palace lies west, blocking the view of the bay. A narrow path leads northeast, following the clifftops, towards the wilderness.
  
  > go southeast
  The paved road snakes downhill towards the glistening blue waters. The beach on the southern tip hosts the only port in the isle, a collection of warehouses and shipyards clustered around the harbour. The air smells of salt, rotting seaweed and adventure. Burly longshoremen sing coarse shanties as they unload a merchant ship, while the palace indentured workers wait to cart the loads to the workshops in the hill.
  
  A dozen or so whores are pitching their wares to the sailors.
  
  > look at the whores
  They are gaudily dressed and most of them are girls. A couple of them have had the cheek to dress up in flouncy skirts and open bodices, in imitation of priestly garb. Such a near-blasphemy is indicative of their liminal status, for they are one of the collectives in Aeaea more loosely bound to the palace. As far as the High Priestess is concerned, they are legally free settlers and economically unnecesary for the Goddess, but also a natural element of the portuary facilities. Apart from helping in the harvest of saffron, which is the customary duty of all Aeaeans, their nominal allegiance to Circe boils down to their personal piety.
  
  > talk to the whores
  You approach the prostitutes, reasoning that they probably know each ship and sailor that moves around these parts.
  
  The group falls into a respectful silence, turning and bringing fists to temples in the adoration gesture. A tall Peleset woman with her hair braided with red and blue thread meets your eyes levelly.
  
  "My potnia," she says diplomatically, "We are conducting business this side of the harbour as agreed, and not obstructing palace business in any way. We are all healthy and a moon ago we donated a..."
  
  "I am here on palace business indeed but not of that sort. Have you seen any Achaeans... err, northern barbarians? Long black hair, beards, helmets made of boar tusks? Mycenaeans, Tirynsians, Athenians?"
  
  "A lot of sailors fit that description, except for the helmets. And who can tell where they come from? In any case, my potnia, almost all our customers are foreigners, mostly Cretan and Alassian."
  
  "Have you seen anyone wearing brooches shaped like lions?"
  
  "How do they look like?"
  
  > show the brooch to the whore
  You show the lion brooch to the Peleset woman, whose eyes open wide as soon as she sees it.
  
  "I have never seen a sailor wear such a thing...", she starts, but you cut her off.
  
  "Come on. You have seen it before! Lying to me is lying to the Goddess..."
  
  "...but as I was about to say, a man offered me one of those a few nights ago. Not this one, but a very similar one."
  
  "And do you still have it? Who was that man, was he a northerner?"
  
  "Oh, I don't have it any more", she says slowly, looking you in the eye, "but I know where to find him."
  
  "Lead me to him and you can keep this one as well."
  
  "Thank you, most generous potnia. The man is a local, a shepherd or something. I had seen him many times, bringing milk and goatmeat to town and eyeing the girls. Obviously we were never interested in his custom, but as I say, he suddenly was very rich. I did not ask where he got that little brooch, but he said something about going fishing in the crags."
  
  "Fishing in the crags... and say, are you feeling well these
  days? No rashes or itches or blood in your urine?"
  
  She smiles and shakes her head. You silently praise the Goddess and, as agreed, let her have the brooch.
  
  > look at the sailors
  A confusion of seamen, foreign captains in exotic clothing and toiling longshoremen. It would be an interesting spectacle if you did not have urgent matters to tend to.
  
  > Go northwest
  The ceremonial road ends in an ample paved space before the grand entrance to the palace. Men and oxen come on go along the road like ants and mill around the vast plaza, transporting all manners of goods from the palace stores to the port below, overseen by administrative-rank priestesses and keen-eyed archers. The great complex is three stories high, fronted with a majestic row of crimson red and marine blue tapered columns.
  
  A few priestesses blink, then nod respectfully as they pass, eyeing your attire. A couple of archers almost stand at attention when they see you approach.
  
  The ceremonial paved road snakes descends towards the southeast and the harbour. The palace lies west, blocking the view of the bay. A narrow path leads northeast, following the clifftops, towards the wilderness.
  
  > go to the west
  You enter the palace unchallenged by either priestess or archer patrols.
  
  The main megaron is flanked with tapered red columns, centered around a central great hall that opens to two long wings. The western wing contains the workshops, stores and administrative dependencies. The north wing is mainly taken up with living quarters for priestess in the upper floors, and servants and slaves in the lower ones. But the definitive majestic piece of the megaron is the monumental gipsum stairway leading up, to the High Priestess' dependencies.
  
  The megaron is in full swing, with dozens of priestesses of diverse rank coming and going about palace business.
  
  > go west
  The chambers are filled with the hustle of a few dozen workers carrying goods into our out of the stores. Slaves bring in copper ore and oil pithoi in carts, checked and accounted for by palace administrators. Throngs of artisans from the workshops bring their finished crafts for inspection, and receive clay tokens in exchange. This is a part of the palace you seldom visit willingily, except to pilfer some baubles or chat with your friend. If you don't manage to fulfil your quest, you might well be spending the rest of your days here... The mere idea makes you shiver.
  
  Satiah smiles at you from behind her desk, fingers flying on the abacus.
  
  > talk to Satiah
  "Tell me, Satiah, do you really like it here?"
  
  "Indeed I do. This palace might look like a rock, solid as the foundations of the earth, but it is actually dangling in a fine balance, always on a tipping point between copper ore coming in and finished goods coming out, saffron exported and meat imported, and the fluctuating number of mouths to nourish. The Goddess provides but it is up to us to keep her equilibrium or this isle would perish in a fortnight without us admin girls."
  
  "What about traveling, serving overseas?"
  
  "Ariadne dearest, I am already serving overseas, remember?"
  
  "Oh, yes, you told me about Avaris. Sorry, I have a bull-sized hangover.
  
  > talk to Satiah
  "I have just had a conversation with our beloved High Priestess."
  
  "And? Are you still a free woman?"
  
  "I have been told The World Is More Complicated Than I Know and also that I Play But a Small Part in It."
  
  "Knowing Circe, it sounds surprisingly harmless. Anything troubling your mind?"
  
  "Have you seen or heard of any Achaeans around here?", you ask casually.
  
  "There used to be that girl, the straw-haired one? I think she was from somewhere up north? She was sent to Wilusha, assistant Wanassa, two springtimes ago maybe?"
  
  "Ah, yes. Nah, I was thinking more like traders, ambassadors, perhaps sailors? Do you get any trade from the northerners?"
  
  "Occasionally. Not recently. They almost never trade directly with
  us, I hear most of the commerce goes through your island of Keftiu, so you probably know more than I do, you Cretan know-it-all. And they would have no business here anyway, they are dealt with at the harbour, and good riddance. Potinaja save me from dealing with the maniacs at port authority."
  
  "Thank you, Satiah."
  
  > drink the wine
  Try again, this time making some sense.
  
  > look at what you're carrying with you
  You are wearing:
  ceremonial priestly garments
  
  You are carrying:
  bull daidala
  tunic
  wine jug (full of water)
  
  > Drink water
  You drain it in a couple of long, greedy gulps. It does wonders to alleviate your hangover.
  
  > give the jug to Satiah
  Satiah grimaces and calls a worker to refill your jug, then hands it back to you again.
  
  > examine jug
  It is a stylish round design with a small flat base, red clay with a striking black many-tentacled octopus. Such a modern and expensive model can only be imported from Crete and way above the means of a goatherder, so it was probably you who brought it from the palace.Satiah has made sure it was refilled... with fresh water. What a party pooper.
  
  > talk to Satiah
  "What tidings, Ariadne?
  
  "Secret stuff. Anything suspicious happening around here?"
  
  "Just a Sherden trader screwing the Goddess on the saffron-pottery exchange rate, but nothing that would interest an important agent of the High Priestess like you. Let us have a jug tonight and talk, shall we?"
  
  > Go east
  The main megaron is flanked with tapered red columns, centered around a central great hall that opens to two long wings. The western wing contains the workshops, stores and administrative dependencies. The north wing is mainly taken up with living quarters for priestess in the upper floors, and servants and slaves in the lower ones. But the definitive majestic piece of the megaron is the monumental gipsum stairway leading up, to the High Priestess' dependencies.
  
  The megaron is in full swing, with dozens of priestesses of diverse rank coming and going about palace business.
  
  > go to the north
  You start towards the living quarters, but you stop after a couple of steps. What's the point? You have already been caught, and in the worst of ways, so why pretend? Better carry on with your own business.
  
  > ascend
  The residence of the High Priestesses is less sumptuous than what you had imagined the first time. It is nevertheless the most luxurious room in the whole island, somewhat in spite of Circe herself. The focal point of the room is a great wooden table, strewn with a thousand little objects around a map.
  
  Circe is looking at you, appraisingly.
  
  > talk to Circe
  "So where shall I begin?", you ask in a conspiratorial tone. Circe rolls her eyes.
  
  "Last time I had this sinking feeling the earth shook and it rained ash for a moon."
  
  "Aunt?"
  
  "Well, get properly dressed, but remember it is not an official ordainment but a temporary promotion, just for this mission." She starts putting the figurines back in place "Then possibly try and trace back the origin of that brooch? Further investigate the place where you found it? Track whoever gave it ti you? Ask questions discreetly to the right people? Seduce men and suss out their secrets? Sweet lady Potinaja, ask me not about complicated matters of intrigue, I am but the elderly High Priestess of Aeaea. You youngsters have it all figured out, surely. I shall just stay here and play around with my strategic toys while you do the Goddess' will."
  
  You make the adoration gesture again, this time with a slight smile, and get ready to go. A secret mission for the High Priestess, no less! Time to prove your mettle... and avoid ending up as a bloody clerk.
  
  > show the daidala to Circe
  "Look what I found", you say, putting the daidala on the table. Circe looks puzzled for a second.
  
  "Where have you gotten that from? Ariadne, I expect you not to use your mission as an excuse to commit sacrilegious actions..."
  
  "It was among the possessions of a suspected Achaean agent. But it is clearly not Achaean. I suspect it was stolen from a shrine in Crete, which is probably not beneath the barbarians, but why bring it here?"
  
  "And then again, why bring something as incriminating as the brooch? Perhaps we are dealing with a particularly stupid spy, or perchance it is a different matter. Whatever the case, if sacrilege is involved we need solve it more than ever, Ariadne. Pursue that lead. Find your man."
  
  "I shall, my potnia."
  
  > Go northwest
  The crescent of Aeaea narrows to a bullhorn-sharp point here and the clifftop resolves into a rocky chaos of crags plunging dramatically into foaming waters. From here you can see the whole curve of the Saffron Bay, steep as the edge of a cauldron, with the palace a miniature on the other side. Without even a single goat to feed on the thorny bushes, the only living presence is the gulls that circle overhead, looking for fish in the the clashing waves.
  
  And then there's the goatherd, with no goats in sight, looking quite out of place.
  
  > look at goatherd
  Well, at least he is the handsome one of last night's duo, a swarthy square of a man, all straight lines and coiled muscle under tan skin. He's wearing boots and loincloth and carries bag. He's looking around shiftily, as if looking for a way to escape... or maybe get rid of you?
  
  > talk to the goatherd
  The man meets your eyes with a jolt, then does a double take. You see the doubt in his eyes for an instant and smile warmly, just in case he's thinking of escaping. Or giving you a little nudge over the cliff.
  
  "Why, if it is not my favourite goatherder. I never thought you would be so difficult to get. Considering."
  
  He starts off with some remarks about last night that you might find rudely enticing if you didn't know him to be an Achaean spy.
  
  And a sacrilegious thief of holy daidala, for good measure.
  
  "So what are you doing in these solitudes all by your own? Should you not be tending to your herd?"
  
  He looks one way and the other, scratches his head and ahem-ahems for a while, until you suggest that maybe he's fishing in the
  crags? He nods, then stops and looks at you (you let nothing show
  on your face), licks his lips, then nods again vigorously. "Why, aye, fishing! Indeed!".
  
  Without a line or a hook, of course. And then there's that metallic clink every time he shifts.
  
  > Continue
  "So what were you fishing?"
  
  "Pretty girls, and look, it worked!"
  
  You roll your eyes, but not so much that you don't keep a watch on him. He's trying to goatshit his way out of this one? Fine, then you'll need to confront him with solid proof.
  
  > give the daidala to the goatherd
  "So where did you fish this one?", you say, holding the statuette high. He looks horrified. You press on:
  
  "And I know about the brooch too, and the whole lot of them. And the High Priestess does as well, in case you were thinking of a little accident. Now, confess, and I shall make sure she is merciful with you. How long have you been an Achaean spy?
  
  "Ah-aka... what is an Akayan? And I'm no spy! I know nothing, I-I just...! the goats...! I thought you, you and I...
  
  "Cut the goatshit. Where did you find this? And the brooch? Confess or you shall know Potinaja's wrath!"
  
  "D-downstairs!"
  
  You blink, watching out for any ruse. He gestures downwards with his head, towards the cliffs. You nod. Carefully, he moves towards a few thorny bushes and moves them aside.
  
  "There is a path down the cliff."
  
  "Guide me. You go first."
  
  He sighs, nods and disappears down the hidden passage, looking just as if he was sinking into the tangle of thorns.
  
  > Down
  You find the secret way behind the bushes and carefully descend.
  
  Taking a deep breath, you navigate your way through the narrow passage. A few steps ahead of you, the shepherd beckons. The passageway is little more than an excavated slope for a few paces, and then it merges into a natural cavern, open on one side to a vista of the northern seascape. You follow the man along the zigzagging open cavern, descending down the face of the cliff, until you reach a tiny pebble beach at the foot of the crags. As far as you can see, there is nothing but open seas ahead. Behind you, Aeaea is a continuous wall of sheer rock, uninterrupted except for this small beach. It is scarcely twenty strides wide... and its main feature is a huge warship, wrecked against the rock on the western side of the beach.
  
  Sweet Potinaja. This is something Circe would kill to know. Hopefully not literally.
  
  The goatherd is pacing up and down the narrow beach, looking shifty.
  
  > examine the warship
  You approach the wreck carefully. The bow third is a mess of splintered wood, smashed against the rocks, the rest more or less intact. A couple of dead bodies, presumably from the ship, are stranded on the pebbles. The ship itself is long, single-masted, sleek and probably rode low over the water. Definitely not a Cretan merchant ship - more like a barbarian warship.
  
  > look at the bodies
  The corpses are both bloated and whitish, having spent many days at sea. You take a look at the nearest one. It is a man, that much you know, with a sword hung from a tasseled shoulder belt. The weapon is of good quality and northern make, so you are looking at an Achaean officer, may the Goddess have mercy on his heretic heart. You grimace. A ship this size carried more warriors, obviously, perhaps thirty or forty. Perhaps most of them were swept to the sea in the gale, or jumped out in terror, or died here on the beach and were thrown back into the ocean by whoever found the wreck.
  
  > talk to the goatherd
  "You see, my potnia, me and my friend found this last new moon, and though we tried to save the sailors..."
  
  "Goatshit", you interrupt, turning towards him with a dramatic flourish, "You tricked them into running aground, surely with some lamps. Do you expect a potnia to believe this Achaean warship just happened to shipwreck here, on the only beach in the whole coast, on a moonless night, and in the only spot where you and your mate would be able to loot their ship?"
  
  "Well..."
  
  "Don't answer, you fool. It's what we priestesses call a rhetorical question."
  
  "Actually, maybe it is a gift from the Goddess herself..."
  
  "Don't you explain the Goddess to me, man, I'm a bloody potnia! So you pulled out your little trick, not that I mind because they were Achaean scum anyway, and then tried to sell the stuff in town. You made just one mistake - bedding me! I do not mean that as a literal mistake, mind you. But when you mess with Ariadne, secret agent of the High Priestess..."
  
  "Please, holy Ariadne...!"
  
  "Oh, shut up. Circe will be certainly interested in these shipwrecked Achaeans, she does give not a fig for thieving goatherders. But you should have told me in the first place."
  
  You take one last good look around. Being pretty sure you have learned all there was to discover here, you say a brief prayer to the Goddess - to guide the dead northerners to her underground realm, even if they scarcely deserve it. The goatherd stands respectfully at attention, although there is no way he can understand your oration, delivered in your native Cretan.
  
  Out of the corner of your eye, you see something stir among the rocks! And the goatherder has seen it as well, because he jumps scared, thinking it is one of the corpses rising. Being an initiate in the first mysteries, you go investigate, intoning incantations against the wrath of the dead.
  
  But the boy is not quite dead. He is a young one, of perhaps eleven or twelve years old, barely standing on his two feet, reeking of seawater and malnutrition. He collapses as soon as you reach him.
  
  "Go fetch help!", you order, and the goatherder disappears towards the passage.
  
  > look at the boy
  A boy or eleven or twelve, dressed according to Cretan fashion, with taste and a touch of distinction. Not at all what you would expect to find in an Achaean wreck! Perhaps he was a prisoner? The kidnaped son of some Cretan great, held for ransom, as a guarantee of some peace? You need to interrogate him.
  
  > talk to the boy
  "Boy, do you speak Cretan? Do you hear me?", you try to shake him awake, but he's too delirious with thirst.
  
  "...ther... sorry, Father... shouldn't have... are coming... Minos... shouldn't... coming... coming for... should... Father... the bull..."
  
  "Hold on, boy. I shall get you some water."
  
  > give the jug to the boy
  You tilt the jug so that the boy can drink - it takes a few tries in his state. Little by little, he regains consciousness. He looks at you, frightened, so you smile as warmly as this crazy day allows.
  
  "I am Cretan like you, and a potnia. You are safe with me, boy. What is your name and how come you where aboard an Achaean warship?"
  
  "My-my name is Icarus", he says, making a feeble attempt at an adoration gesture, "and my father was...", and there he clams up, opening his eyes wide and looking at you with a suspicious expression. You tsk-tsk.
  
  "I am not one of them. My name is Ariadne, and I am the daughter of the Wanassa of Knossos, whom you surely have heard of. So what about your father?"
  
  "Hmph. He's a fisherman."
  
  "Sure she is, and I am a talking dolphin in disguise. See my fins? I was swimming around today, minding my own dolphinic business and blam, I came upon that wreck and said, what about having this little boy for breakfast..."
  
  > talk to Icarus
  "So where did the Achaeans get you?"
  
  He thinks about it for too long. He's making it up.
  
  "At Phaistos. While we... I was trying to board a ship."
  
  "You and your father? Who is he? Is he the reason you were captured... and trying to board a ship? Were you both on the run? Why?"
  
  He stammers a little, then pretends to faint.
  
  "Come on, Icarus. I am not a friend at all of the awful men that got you. Did they get your father as well? Let me guess, he is an important man in Crete, am I right? A lagawetes, perhaps? A commander?"
  
  "A fisherman, like I said, from Phaistos."
  
  "Goatshit. You have the Knossos accent, Icarus, and your skin is too white and soft for the son of a fisherman, not to mention your clothes. Your hands look rough, though... is he a great artisan? Oh, I know. Perhaps a maker of beautiful objects?"
  
  His eyes go wide in fear.
  
  > Continue
  He is keeping his mouth shut, but you know full well there is something more here. Perhaps you can refresh his memory... with a little memento from his father.
  
  > talk to Icarus
  You chat a little with the boy as you walk your way back to the palace. He is still reserved and wary of saying too much, but you gather a few juicy hints here and there. His father got enmeshed in some kind of intrigue with Mother, and Father was not amused. Both are in good health. You have four new siblings, four brothers and a sister. There was an earth-shake two years ago, but the damages were very minor, and it ceased as soon as three bulls were sacrificed. Gortyn burned to the ground (all good, you never liked Gortynians).
  
  > Go upwards
  The crescent of Aeaea narrows to a bullhorn-sharp point here and the clifftop resolves into a rocky chaos of crags plunging dramatically into foaming waters. From here you can see the whole curve of the Saffron Bay, steep as the edge of a cauldron, with the palace a miniature on the other side. Without even a single goat to feed on the thorny bushes, the only living presence is the gulls that circle overhead, looking for fish in the the clashing waves.
  
  The shepherd has opened a narrow downwards passage through a few thorny bushes.
  
  Icarus arrives from below.
  
  > Go southeast
  A narrow path on top of the cliffs follows the crescent shape of Aeaea. The isle's rocky arms stretch like the horns of a bull piercing the sea. The Saffron Bay occupies most of the view, sheer cliff faces the height of a hundred men plunging vertically into the waters below. The palace complex shines across the bay like white teeth on jagged, blackened gums.
  
  The path clings to the clifftop, coming from the civilised south and stretching towards the sharp edge of the isle to the northwest. To the east lie the hilly scrublands frequented only by shepherds and goatherds. As you know full well.
  
  Icarus arrives from the northwest.
  
  > Go south
  This is where the elegant curve of the Saffron Bay becomes wider and the downward slope is more benign. Most of the productive fields of the isle are around here, tended by peasants indentured to the palace, a few free settlers and scores of slaves. The olive trees, vineyards and farms of this side provide most of the local foodstuffs. The path follows the clifftop to the wild north and it becomes a proper paved road to the southwest, towards the entrance to the palace.
  
  Icarus arrives from the north.
  
  > Go southwest
  The ceremonial road ends in an ample paved space before the grand entrance to the palace. Men and oxen come on go along the road like ants and mill around the vast plaza, transporting all manners of goods from the palace stores to the port below, overseen by administrative-rank priestesses and keen-eyed archers. The great complex is three stories high, fronted with a majestic row of crimson red and marine blue tapered columns.
  
  A few priestesses blink, then nod respectfully as they pass, eyeing your attire. A couple of archers almost stand at attention when they see you approach.
  
  The ceremonial paved road snakes descends towards the southeast and the harbour. The palace lies west, blocking the view of the bay. A narrow path leads northeast, following the clifftops, towards the wilderness.
  
  Icarus arrives from the northeast.
  
  > go west
  You enter the palace unchallenged by either priestess or archer patrols.
  
  The main megaron is flanked with tapered red columns, centered around a central great hall that opens to two long wings. The western wing contains the workshops, stores and administrative dependencies. The north wing is mainly taken up with living quarters for priestess in the upper floors, and servants and slaves in the lower ones. But the definitive majestic piece of the megaron is the monumental gipsum stairway leading up, to the High Priestess' dependencies.
  
  The megaron is in full swing, with dozens of priestesses of diverse rank coming and going about palace business.
  
  Icarus arrives from the outside.
  
  > go upwards
  Circe looks up and blinks hard, twice. You smile your Competent Niece and Even Better Potnia smile and fill her in with the facts of your investigation, only embellishing slightly. As like how you fought to death two of the Achaeans who were still alive (you are resolute!), or the time you invoked the Goddess to reveal the identity of the boy (the Potinaja obviously wants you ordained!).
  
  Circe listens with something like excited exasperation, then sends you out while she grills Icarus.
  
  You take advantage of the situation to go fetch some breakfast, at long last. You come across Phaedra, and have a grand time prancing in your priestly finery while she watches incredulously. Halfway through the tale of how you are performing secret missions for the High Priestess, she runs away in an undignified rage. Finally, the day is starting to look up.
  
  That evening just before sunset, Circe sends for you.
  
  "Well, well, perhaps the Goddess has found a way to speak through you...", she says.
  
  "She needed some help in doing so, but I really cannot blame her, auntie. I was quite out of voice this morning."
  
  "...and if you would just shut up for a while and kneel down, I shall recite your ordainment invocation. Tonight you shall be brought to the sacred cave and initiated in the third mysteries, and so please the Goddess, by daybreak you shall be a full priestess, worthy of the regalia."
  
  "My potnia..."
  
  "And then", she adds, with a harsh edge in her voice, "we shall talk, Ariadne."
  
  She turns towards the last rays of the setting sun, and frowns, as if watching the setting of a different sun.
  
  "We shall talk about what must be done to save Crete."