QBLH
The Prince of Pentacles:
New Beginnings
Reliable, Competent and Steadfast
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Chapter LXXVI
Helen and Persephone
Work for theDream
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Isis found her day in Earth’s past pleasing, though she preferred Artemis. She had spent more time among men than among her own people, and it amused her that the primitive world continued to fascinate her despite its dangers. Her two brief excursions into Earth-time had spanned nearly ten thousand years by Artemis reckoning. Only a fraction of that time had been shared with her beloved.
Earth itself was a recent discovery—less than forty Earth-years known to Artemis civilization—and Isis understood now the risks of meddling with its unfolding history. She was grateful that her brother had rescued her from her last miscalculation. More than that, she was relieved that he would soon be returning the Amazons to the present, restoring equilibrium.
Artemis, however, still suffered minor gravitational instabilities. Jim remained in the Pleasure Dome, charming Amazon royalty—yet Isis knew he was elsewhere as well. Genie was active, sustaining Qblh’s simultaneous existence across multiple temporal loci. The elegance of it delighted her. Jim had always been clever. She loved him fiercely for it—and enjoyed frustrating him even more.
Time travel was far more dangerous than she had once imagined. She had no intention of releasing such technology beyond Venetian control. Still, she recognized that Jim understood its dynamics more deeply than anyone. She remembered the portal she had placed in Earth’s past—triggered when the fleece was moved. Since Earth’s present lay in the twenty-first century, she would soon need to activate the hyperspace link to reach him without violating continuity.
She smiled at the thought and withdrew to her chambers to make herself presentable.
On Earth, the Argonauts began their ascent toward the Temple of Artemis.
They were in good spirits—too good. Ambrosia flowed freely, carefully rationed by Amazon hands. None of the men had yet tasted the promised intimacy, but each was convinced his hostess would reward him with a gift surpassing even the Golden Fleece. The Amazons ensured the dosage remained below lethality. The sacrifice would come later.
Jason, however, was furious.
Theseus had vanished before dawn—taking Helen with him, along with Castor and Pollux. To Jason, it felt like betrayal layered atop abandonment. Hercules was gone. Theseus was gone. And now Helen—who seemed suddenly to command obedience from everyone but him.
Medea noticed his agitation and drew him aside, her touch light and deliberate.
“Forget them,” she whispered. “What matters now lies ahead.”
Jason tried. But he could not ignore the truth. Helen had assumed command without declaration. Medea deferred to her instinctively. Theseus obeyed without question. Even Antiope’s authority seemed distant in Helen’s presence.
To Medea, this was not strange. Helen and Antiope were Venetian nobles of the highest order—answering not to kings, but directly to Isis herself.
By choosing three Argonauts to escort her home, Helen dissolved suspicion on every front. Medea would read it as political withdrawal. Aetes would see concession. No one would imagine Theseus to be anything more than a capable hero following orders.
No one—except Castor and Pollux.
They had expected glory in the temple, not exile from it.
“You are sending us away,” Castor said bitterly, “while the others chase immortality.”
Helen regarded him coolly.
“I am sending you home.”
Theseus smiled faintly. “If it helps, think of it this way—you are escorting a prize greater than a dead ram’s skin.”
Pollux scowled. “If she is such a prize, why do you not take her for yourself?”
Theseus hesitated.
“Because,” he said at last, “it is not a man’s privilege to choose among Amazons. They choose. Always.”
Helen’s smile was faint—and dangerous.
“These proud warriors choose their men,” Theseus continued, “and Helen has already chosen her city.”
Castor frowned. “Sparta does not bow to women.”
Jim—silent until now—spoke calmly.
“Sparta bows to results.”
Both brothers turned sharply.
“Our king would never permit it,” Pollux said. “Not now. Not ever.”
Jim named the king.
The name meant nothing to them.
“That is not our king,” Castor said slowly.
“Not yet,” Jim replied. “But he will be.”
Silence followed.
Helen stepped closer, her voice low and certain.
“When I arrive,” she said, “Sparta will remember me. And when it does, it will forget how it was ever ruled without me.”
Pollux bristled. “You speak as though you would rule through him.”
Helen laughed softly.
“I will rule around him.”
Castor scoffed, emboldened by his brother’s presence.
“Of course we would be willing to take her for a bride,” he said. “But we would tame her soon enough. She would understand her proper function as a wife.”
Jim laughed quietly.
“Yes,” he said, “I am quite certain you believe that. Let us hope your king of Sparta never attempts the same experiment. I would wager Helen would break any man long before he imagined breaking her.”
He regarded them evenly.
“Tell me, Castor. Tell me, Pollux. Do you truly believe any king—however crowned—could ever control her?”
Pollux snapped, “I would launch a thousand ships against any man who dared steal her affection.”
Jim raised an eyebrow.
“Attempted theft—or successful? If Helen chose another lover of her own will, would your king not demand the offender’s head?”
“Most certainly,” Pollux replied. “If a man cannot rule his own house, how can he rule a kingdom?”
Helen smiled—knowingly.
Later, as they prepared to depart, Castor muttered to Theseus, “You betray your fellow Argonauts.”
Theseus shook his head. “No. I am saving you from misunderstanding them.”
“And if we resist?”
Jim smiled thinly. “Then you will lose.”
“By force?”
“By consent,” Jim said. “Which is far more permanent.”
Helen returned dressed for travel, radiant and unburdened.
“You are all such wonderful heroes,” she said lightly. “I am fortunate indeed to have escorts worthy of Sparta.”
She kissed each brother once—precisely. Ambrosia lingered in the contact.
From that moment, resistance evaporated.
Castor and Pollux would later remember the journey only in fragments: Helen’s laughter, her demands, the way the world bent effortlessly to her convenience. They did all the work. She did none. And none of it felt unjust.
Behind them, the Flying Dutchman disengaged from the harbor and folded itself into absence.
Jim remained only long enough to ensure temporal alignment.
There were still golden pegs to retrieve.
And Persephone was waiting.
