There was a clang, followed by a stream of cursing from within.
‘I told you, the spears will be ready by sundown. I’m only one man!’
Then the makeshift door was flung open.
The man before them was covered in soot, a thick leather apron tied around his stocky frame. His hands were buried in hide gloves up to his elbows, the rest of his copper arms covered in old burns. He wore a strange contraption on his head: a band that circled his cranium, upon which a row of small bronze levers stood out above his brow, each holding a tiny circle of what looked like glass. Danae gaped. She had never seen such a thing.
The rivets across the man’s forehead deepened as he eyed the visitors at his door. ‘Oh, Hylas, it’s you and …?’
‘Daedalus,’ Hylas inclined his head, ‘this is the last daughter.’
Daedalus’ thick eyebrows crept up his forehead. ‘You’re smaller than I imagined.’
Danae opened her mouth, but before she could reply, the man gestured them into his hut.
‘Daedalus is one of us, Children of Prometheus,’ Hylas said quietly.
The inventor frowned as Hylas limped through the doorway. ‘Leg giving you trouble?’
Hylas grimaced. ‘Yes.’
‘Been getting it wet again, have you?’
‘It’s hard to avoid when you’re travelling by ship.’
‘And you’ve been cleaning it and maintaining the joint like I taught you?’
Hylas grimaced.
Heat seared Danae’s face and stung her eyes as they entered the room. A forge had been set up beneath the open roof, with swords, spears, shields and an assortment of armour piled against the far wall. But it was Daedalus’ workbench that drew her gaze. It was littered with intricate metal contraptions like the one strapped across his brow.
‘As if I didn’t have enough to do,’ the inventor grumbled as he gestured Hylas into a chair. ‘Give it here.’
Hylas eased himself down and loosened the straps of his leg. Daedalus whisked it from him and lay it on the workbench, before flicking one of the circles on his head device to sit in front of his right eye.
‘Just as I thought …’ He gently manoeuvred the ankle joint. ‘Sea water’s stiffened the hinges.’
‘Can you fix it?’ asked Hylas.
Daedalus shot him a glower. ‘Course I can.’
‘Are the items I brought you before ready?’
‘One thing at a time,’ the inventor mumbled as he worked on the wooden leg. ‘So damned impatient.’ He tinkered for a while then carried the leg back to Hylas. ‘There, that should be better.’
As Hylas tightened the straps Danae crossed her arms, a groove between her brows. She could not tell if she found Daedalus’ nonchalance endearing or irritating.
After securing the leg, Hylas used his crutch to stand andtook an exploratory couple of steps. He grinned. ‘Much better. Thank you.’
Daedalus grunted, then moved towards the rear of his workshop. He took up something long and slim that had been leaning against one of the wooden walls covered in a length of cloth, and handed it to Danae.
Her skin prickled as her fingers closed around what felt like a metal spear. She tore the fabric away to reveal Poseidon’s trident, whole and gleaming.
Hylas beamed. ‘A weapon fit for the last daughter.’
‘How …’ Danae looked from him to Daedalus. ‘How did you?’
‘I brought it here from Odysseus’ ship,’ said Hylas. ‘I thought it might help you in battle. The rest is all Daedalus.’ He gestured to the inventor.
