What did you find out?” I asked. “That’s Prince Jason’s…

““What did you find out?” I asked. “That’s Prince Jason’s ship, all right,” he replied. “I talked to one of the crewmen overseeing the work. That is, he talked to me. Yelled at me, I mean. Told me to get out of the way so Lord Pelias’s slaves could do their work.” “Is that why you’re wearing such a long face?” I asked. “I’ll teach him better manners.” Milo shook his head. “Forget him. He’s nothing. The man with him, the one who called him ‘brother,’ he’s why I’m worried. He said, ‘Let the boy be. Can’t you see he’s only hoping for a handout?’ And when I told him I wanted to earn my keep as his weapons bearer, he answered, ‘Better look elsewhere. This ship’s fully manned. We’re not looking for any extra hands.’” “Maybe he only said that to get rid of you,” I suggested hopefully. Milo shrugged again. “They’re still there, by the ship, and plenty of others who don’t look like slaves. Talk to them yourself. Maybe they just didn’t like my looks.” “Then they’re fools and I wouldn’t waste my breath on them,” I said. “You’re always too kind to me, La--Glaucus. But you mustn’t worry. Someone’s got to be ugly in this world.” He grinned. “You’re not ugly,” I said hotly. And that was true. The same harsh slave’s life that had left Milo so skinny had also given him wiry muscles under sun-browned skin. He reminded me of images I’d seen of the young Hermes, thin but fit and graceful. His dark hair was growing longer, like a noble’s, and his brown eyes shone when he smiled. “Have it your way,” he said good-naturedly. “But in case they do prefer your looks, see if you can persuade them to hire me, too.””

— Esther M. Friesner