palace, he had given the behemoths little attention.
Bailey splashed the beam of his flashlight across one. It was a figure of a man, down on one knee, leaning on a bronze club. When Gray drew abreast of it, he stared up at the figure’s face. One bronze eye stared back, with a large black gem for a pupil.
“A Cyclops,” Bailey said breathlessly. “And look over there.”
His light shifted to the other side, revealing a hulking bare-chested man with thick legs ending in hooves and the horned head of a bull.
“A minotaur,” Gray acknowledged.
Mac groaned and gave that statue a wide berth, obviously recalling his encounter with something similar back in Greenland.
“It’s like a pantheon of Greek and Roman myths,” Bailey said, hurrying along, noting each as they passed. “That massive bronze eagle could be representative of the bird Zeus sent to torture Prometheus. And look at that huge maiden hugging a jar. Maybe Pandora herself. And that pair of hunting dogs crouched as if in mid-lunge. I bet they’re supposed to be the hounds that Hephaestus forged for King Minos.”
Seichan cradled little Aggie on her shoulder and nudged Gray. She pointed her flashlight at a pair of true giants, twice the size of the other statues. They flanked the steps, each holding bronze boulders in their massive hands. As the two of them passed under their cold gazes, Gray noted the perfect concentric circles of their eyes, the high crown of their head. They had seen those bronze countenances before—only made of stone.
The Sardinian giants of Mont’e Prama.
Kowalski also seemed to recall them. He whispered as he passed between them, “Elena mentioned Hephaestus making a boulder-throwing giant. One that also burned people alive.”
Bailey drew closer. “You’re talking about Talos. The guardian of the island of Crete.”
Kowalski shrugged. “Sounds right.”
Bailey continued: “Talos was eventually defeated by the sorceress Medea, who used her potions to end his fiery protection of the island.” The priest searched all around, his gaze traveling to the other stairways around the city, all lined by more statues. “It’s as if Greek history has come to life in here.”
Kowalski growled at the priest, “Let’s hope not, Padre. I think we should take that Arab captain at his word and not wake this place up.”
6:48 P.M.
Maria stayed close to Joe’s side as they continued down the stone stairs. “Do you think that’s possible?” she asked the others. “That the Phaeacians were able to craft all of this on their own?”
Gray looked skeptical.
But Bailey’s face shone with little doubt. “I’ve read deeply into the history of ancient automatons and mechanical devices. The Hellenistic era was full of stories of such artificial creations. Built by Hephaestus, designed by Daedalus.”
“But aren’t those just myths?” she asked.
“Most of them, of course. But there were also many historical accounts. Of Greek artisans, engineers, and mathematicians devising incredible self-moving machines. Not just Heron of Alexandria with his magical temple doors, but countless other men and women. Some known, others lost to history. Philo of Byzantia built his own serving maids. Another constructed a mechanical horse that would drink. Even the gates of the ancient Olympic stadium were said to open on their own, with a bronze eagle shooting high into the air and a bronze dolphin diving low.”
Gray still looked unconvinced.
Bailey pressed his case: “The Greeks were far more advanced than most imagine. These were people who were masters of hydraulics, of pneumatics. They invented calipers and cranes, complicated gears and winches, gimbals and pumps. So perhaps the Phaeacians, these seafaring people, gathered such knowledge and built upon it here in safe isolation, these farthermost of men. I could imagine them tinkering, experimenting, building, testing. And if they eventually discovered—by accident or design—a potent fiery fuel source, perhaps it gave them the push to make a technological leap forward.”
“Until they reached too far,” Mac added, nodding to the dark and haunted city as they finally neared the bottom of the stairs.
“Well, they learned something,” Joe said. “That’s for sure.”
Maria considered this. From her study of primitive anthropology, she knew knowledge had indeed passed from one culture to another. As one period of invention died somewhere in the world, another picked it up. In the Western world, the torch of invention passed from the Greeks to the Romans. And when the Roman Empire fell, it moved to the Arab world, igniting their Islamic Golden Age. Then when that age turned dark, Europe again carried the torch forward.
So, was it possible that these seafaring people made this