QBLH
The Nine of Pentacles
Gain
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Chapter LXXIII
Jason and Medea
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Gathering the Crops
"“Hold, sir, and state your business.”
Helen’s voice was calm, measured, and entirely professional. Jim found this immensely amusing and decided to enjoy the moment.
“I intend to abduct Medea,” he said, fixing her with a perfectly serious expression.
Helen stared at him in silence. For a heartbeat, she considered the possibility that this stranger was simply mad.
“Sir,” she said coolly at last, “you are clearly deranged. I will pretend I did not hear that, spare your life, and allow you to leave at once.”
“Excuse me, Helen,” Jim replied gently, switching without effort into fluent Venetian, “but I intend not only to abduct Medea—but you as well.”
Her hand went instinctively to her weapon. It did not respond.
“Who are you?” she demanded. “Do I know you?”
“Put that away,” Jim said lightly. “It will not harm me as long as I hold the controls.”
She froze, recognition dawning slowly.
“Jim?” she whispered. “Is that you? You look… different.”
“Yes. A new face,” he said. “The Argonauts must not recognize me. Nor Medea.”
“I was unaware Medea knew what you looked like,” Helen said cautiously.
“Medea and I enjoyed one another’s company in the Pleasure Dome shortly before I left Artemis.”
Helen exhaled, unimpressed. “That explains little.”
“I intend to return to Greece with the Argonauts,” Jim continued. “Medea is coming with us. And I would like you to join us as well. You will be my companion, while Medea accompanies Jason. You have met Castor and Pollux?”
“Yes,” Helen said flatly. “Unimpressive men. Why should I care?”
“Because once we reach Greece, they will escort you to Sparta—to meet your future husband.”
Helen paused. “You mean Menelaus.”
“Yes.”
“And Medea and I?” she asked. “What of us?”
“You will both be regarded as high priestesses,” Jim replied. “Queens in all but name.”
Helen smiled slowly. “Grecian queens. How charming. And the kings?”
“There will be no need for intimacy,” Jim said evenly. “You know the risk. Let them keep concubines. The people will assume what they wish.”
Helen laughed softly. “I do not relish belonging to any human man.”
“Nor need you,” Jim said. “But if you are to play Helen of Troy, you must go to Sparta and remain there—until I come for you.”
She studied him, then smiled. “Very well. I shall wait for Paris.”
“From now on,” Jim said, “call me Theseus.”
Helen inclined her head. “As you wish.”
Jim reactivated his vox translator and addressed her formally. “I seek entry to join my companions, the Argonauts.”
Helen stepped aside.
Inside the palace, Jim moved easily among the guests. The wine was laced with ambrosia—Circe’s work, subtle and effective. Medea sat beside her father, her attention fixed entirely on Jason. She did not spare Jim a glance. Whatever enchantments were at work, they were doing their job.
Jim soon gained Jason’s ear.
“I bring word from Hercules,” he said quietly.
"What news do you have from Hercules, and who are you?" demandeded Jason
“I am his friend, Theseus, and like you I am of royal blood. Hercules told me that you would grant me passage."
“Hercules abandoned us,” Jason snapped. “We owe him nothing. I have not mentioned the fleece to Aetes yet, and I am not so certain that he will give it to me just from my asking. Hercules promised us the fleece, but it doesn't seem that he is here to help us. I fear if I mention this to Aetes, he will murder all of us.”
“"Then you have no alternative but to accept my help, Jason. Hercules thought well enough of you to send me to assist you and he thinks well enough of me to trust me to do just that with success.
”Jason frowned. “You don't look very capable, sir. Looks can be deceiving, though. If you are to help us then, what advice do you have for me?
“Do not fear Aetes,” Jim said. “Medea favors you.”
Jason laughed bitterly. “That seems unlikely.”
“Do you like her?”
“I find her… remarkable,” Jason admitted. “But her brother watches me closely.”
“They are not truly kin,” Jim replied. “And you will outrage the court when you leave with her—and the fleece.”
Jason recoiled. “You presume too much. I shall agree to nothing of the sort.”
“Medea will not release the fleece unless you take her with you.”
"Hogwash, sir!”, Jason snapped. “ I do not know where you are from. I still believe you are a spy sent by Aetes to inform on us. I have no interest in Medea, and with regard to the fabled fleece, even if it exists, we will return home without it. Perhaps Aetes will take our oath of friendship more seriously then. Hercules abandoned us and now we dare not challenge our the kindness of our host."
“Challenge him,” Jim said sharply. “Or I will lead your crew home myself and leave you here in disgrace.”
Jason reached for his sword.
Before steel cleared leather, Helen disarmed every Argonaut in the hall. Only Theseus remained armed.
“We will take the fleece back as Hercules intended. You were chosen because you are brave,” Jim continued. “Ask for the fleece. Dare him to test you. You have nothing to lose. Aetes already intends your deaths. Medea’s affection has made that inevitable.”
“I do not believe you.”
“Don't believe me if you insist, but when you do fear I speak truly, remember that I can help you get the fleece and leave safely. Without my help you are doomed. If you need me, let Helen know..”
Jim signaled Helen. She declared him a troublemaker and escorted him from the hall.
Jason watched them leave. Helen’s affection for Theseus was unmistakable. Medea had seen it too.
Their eyes met.
She smiled—and beckoned.
Medea understood at once. Qblh had been correct, as always.
Aetes believed the fleece was his, though Medea had granted it only to secure her authority. Each used the other. She guarded secrets Aetes could not imagine—least of all her true nature.
She had already learned of Aetes’s intent to ally with Babylon, carving trade routes through Hittite lands. The Hittites were loyal to the Amazons. This alliance would end in blood.
Jason had potential.
Perhaps it was time to leave Colchis.
She summoned him.
Guards escorted Jason to her side. Aetes watched carefully.
Jason spoke.
The challenge loomed.
And Medea smiled—knowing that before the day was done, fate itself would be tested.
Jason felt it at once—the sensation that he had crossed from courtesy into judgment. The hall had grown quiet. Even the Babylonian envoy leaned forward now, scenting opportunity or ruin.
“My father will hear you,” Medea said gently. “Speak plainly.”
Jason swallowed. He felt suddenly exposed, as though the walls themselves were listening.
“We have come from Greece,” he began, “seeking the Golden Fleece, which legend says was set here by the will of the gods. We ask only that it be returned to us, that we may depart in peace.”
A low murmur rippled through the court.
Aetes laughed.
It was not a warm sound.
“So,” the king said at last, rising slowly from his throne, “the sons of fractured lands finally find their courage. You cross seas, trespass harbors, drink my wine—and now you demand my greatest treasure as if it were a merchant’s bauble.”
His gaze flicked briefly toward Medea, sharp and measuring, then returned to Jason.
“You Greeks speak often of heroes,” Aetes continued. “Of men favored by gods. Of sons who slay monsters and return crowned in song. Tell me—are you such a man?”
Jason hesitated.
Before he could answer, Aetes gestured toward the far doors.
“Then let your hero step forward.”
The doors opened.
Heat rolled into the hall like a living thing.
Beyond the threshold, the Argonauts glimpsed the furnaces they had admired earlier—but now fully awakened. Twin bull-shaped towers exhaled fire and steam in rhythmic pulses, their bronze flanks glowing dull red. Chains rattled. Pistons hissed. The earth itself seemed to breathe.
Aetes’ voice carried easily over the noise.
“Behold the gifts of Colchis,” he proclaimed. “Not the toys of poets—but the labor of kings. These are not beasts born of myth. They are bound power. Ordered power. Harnessed flame.”
He turned back to Jason.
“If you wish the fleece, you will earn it—not by trickery, not by theft, and not by seducing my household.”
His eyes lingered on Medea just long enough to sting.
