The bronze had seemed like such a good idea from the outside.

  It actually felt like being cooked in man broth.

  "Achilles stopped moving," someone said.

  Agamemnon kept his eyes on the same rivet. One rivet. Two rivets. Don't breathe. Three rivets. They were multiplying.

  "Check on him."

  "Can't."

  Silence. Then a wet, bubbling sound started again.

  "He's fine."

  Below them, bronze scraped stone. The pushers had stopped cursing hours ago. They made sounds that matched the grinding.

  "Still moving?" Odysseus asked. His voice had gone hollow.

  "Define moving."

  "Forward. Toward gates."

  "Then... maybe."

  The first hour had been bearable. Heroes in bronze. Magnificent. The second hour, less so. By the fourth, someone had shit in the overflowing pot. By the eighth, it didn't matter.

  "The gift shows respect," someone muttered. Might have been Ajax. "Bronze shows... shows..."

  He didn't finish. Couldn't.

  Agamemnon tried to remember why bronze mattered. Odysseus had explained. Drew diagrams. The donkey would wait outside Troy's gates. An offering. Exchange. Helen for the gift. Then night, then quiet, then forty heroes would...

  "My chest."

  "What about it?"

  "It's... loud."

  "That's your heart."

  "Oh."

  The bronze walls had started sweating. Condensation. Sweat. Piss. The pot system had been overturned. Now they were just a part of it.

  "How long?"

  No one asked till what. Dark, probably. The plan needed dark.

  "Sun's wrong."

  "We're inside."

  "Can feel it. Sun's wrong."

  From below, through metal: "Can't—"

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  That was all. The grinding slowed. Stopped. Started again.

  "They're dying," someone observed.

  "We're all—"

  BOOM.

  The bronze became everything. Sound had weight. They were all one thing now, one ringing, suffering thing.

  When Agamemnon could think again, someone was laughing. Horrible, airless laughing.

  "Zeus," the laugher wheezed. "Zeus is... is knocking."

  "Shut up."

  "Knock knock. Who's there? Zeus. Zeus who? Zeus who's about to fuck us again..."

  "Release." Agamemnon heard his own voice. Distant. "Now."

  "But the plan!"

  "NOW."

  The mechanism shrieked. Or they shrieked. The mouth fell open and Agamemnon fell through.

  Air. Moving air. Sky that went up instead of stopping at bronze.

  He tried to crawl. His knees didn't. Fine. Aggressive sliding, then.

  Behind him, heroes vomited from the donkey. Some crawled. One made it three feet and stopped. A green haze wafted over them.

  Agamemnon raised his head. Walls. Troy spread below.

  "Where's the courtyard?"

  "Down."

  "How far?"

  "Yes."

  He managed to focus. Gleaming bronze pointed at him, smoking. Behind it, a woman with pointed ears was reaching for...

  "Zeus's cock."

  Menelaus, from nowhere. The scarred man went down hard, torch spinning free.

  "Oh," the woman said. She looked at the fuse in her hand. "Hello."

  Someone was being sick. Achilles hadn't stopped retching since he resumed breathing.

  "He'll learn," someone muttered.

  "My brave Greeks!" Priam appeared through smoke, arms wide. "What an entrance!"

  Servants filed out behind him. Silent. They moved to the fallen Greeks, producing water jugs from hidden folds.

  "Twelve hours in bronze?" Priam knelt beside the nearest puddle of hero. "In this heat? Magnificent dedication!"

  The servants worked without speaking. One slid a cushion under Agamemnon's head before he realized it.

  "Such craftsmanship," Priam continued, examining the donkey. "Bronze this thick... must have taken all night." He traced a seam. "Beautiful work. Perfectly sealed."

  "Gift," someone croaked.

  "A gift?" Priam's face lit up. "For Troy? How thoughtful!"

  The servants kept appearing. Where were they coming from? Each carried exactly what was needed... water, wine, bread. They moved between the Greeks like expert kidnappers.

  "Father," the pointed-eared woman said. "The cannon..."

  "Your genius invention!" Priam grinned. "Makes wonderful sounds." He winked at her.

  A servant was tending Achilles. When had that started?

  "South wing," Priam was saying. "Best quarters. Very secure."

  Agamemnon tried to focus. The servants had already lifted three Greeks.

  "The gates..."

  "Closed for now. Very involved process." Priam adjusted Agamemnon's cushion. "Too many accidents."

  More servants. Where were his men?

  "My men. Outside."

  "We'll send word." Priam stood. "Let them know you're safe."

  Menelaus had stopped wrestling the scarred man. They lay there, watching Greeks vanish into Troy.

  From inside the donkey: "Wait, what about..."

  But whoever it was had already been lifted, carried, gone.

  "Rest," Priam encouraged. "You've earned it."

  The servants moved like a single organism.

  Odysseus, finally extracted, counted the remaining Greeks. His mouth went flat.

  "Comfortable?" Priam asked him.

  "...yes."

  "Good. We pride ourselves on hospitality."

  A servant appeared at Odysseus's elbow. Wine. Then he was gone.

  Agamemnon tried to stand. Found himself helped by hands that vanished the moment he was upright. The wine made thinking difficult. When had he drunk it?

  "This way," Priam said gently. "Mind the stairs."

  They were already at the stairs. How? The pointed-eared woman watched from beside her smoking phallus. Behind them, the bronze donkey stood empty, mouth gaping.

  "Almost there," Priam encouraged.

  Stone corridors. No windows. Doors that looked very solid. Greeks already installed on beds.

  "Your room," Priam announced.

  One window, small, facing the inner courtyard. The door had brackets on the outside. For a bar.

  "Rest well," Priam said warmly. "Tomorrow we'll discuss everything."

  The servants were already turning down sheets. Agamemnon found himself on the bed.

  "Welcome to Troy," Priam said.

  The door closed. The bar dropped into place outside.