They entered the valley of the Tiber River and the music cut off as soon as they got far enough down the hill to lose line of sight. They heard another sound, “Aye-Aye-Yip!” and the elves wondered what it was. “Yip-Yip!”

“Silenus,” the old centaur spoke. “Probably fermenting the grapes even while they are still on the vine.”

“As long as it is not hypnotic,” Roland used a word the centaur did not understand. He set Boston on the grass. She had passed out, and he had been carrying her. Meanwhile, Mingus approached the centaur.

“Mingus, my son Roland, and Boston,” Mingus introduced everyone.

“Truscas,” the centaur gave his name. “And I owe you my thanks, elder elf. One more dance would have killed this poor old body.”

“Mine, too.” Mingus agreed, while the Centaur stepped over to Boston. He looked long and hard before he concluded.

“She is human.”

“Yes,” Roland confirmed as Boston opened her eyes and put a hand to her head.

“Splitting headache,” she groused.

“I’m just glad you are all right.” Roland helped Boston slowly sit up. “Truscas,” Roland gave the Centaur’s name as Boston looked around.

“Where is the camp? Where is our stuff? Where are we?”

“A curious one,” Truscas noted.

“Yes,” Mingus agreed, as Roland explained what happened.

“But what can we do?” she wanted to know.

“Nothing, for the moment,” Mingus answered. “They are trapped by the dance and the Satyrs and Nymphs that lead the dance are far more powerful than our meager elf magic. And Pan is a god. We cannot fight that.”

“Pan is a lesser god,” the centaur corrected. “But come, it is still dangerous as long as we remain on this side of the river.”

The centaur set out and the others fell in behind. “But father, I don’t know if Boston is strong enough to swim a river,” Roland said.

“Isola Tiberi sits in the center of the river and the river may be crossed there,” the centaur responded. With a turn of his head, he added a thought. “If it is too deep at the ford and she cannot swim, I can carry her.” Roland thought that might work.

“What is Isola Tiberi?” Boston wondered, just before she saw it—an island that split the river in two.

~~~*~~~

Another hour passed before Truscas brought them to a gigantic hovel in the woods by the river. He explained nothing until they arrived. “If your friends are captive of Pan, as are my people, I believe the only way we may set them free is to visit the master of this land. Am I wrong? I judge if these other humans are as fragile as Miss Boston, we may need help to save their lives.”

Mingus looked down the side of the house. It appeared to be a single room dwelling.

Boston looked up at the door. It looked ten times her height, at least.

Roland defended Boston. “These humans are far sturdier than many think. Boston was attacked four days ago and beaten close to death. You see how well she is recovered already.”

“I think you have the right idea,” Mingus turned to the centaur. “By the way, who lives here?”

Boston found a knocker on the door that she could just reach by standing on her toes. It proved heavy, but it only needed to be struck once.

“Saturn.” Truscas got the word out before the sound of the knock rose in volume to prohibit further conversation. After a moment, they had to cover their ears against the sound. They, and perhaps the earth, began to shake from the vibrations before the sound fell away again and they heard the door handle being turned.

Boston, Mingus, and Roland fully expected to see a giant, but Boston discovered it was quite another thing to actually see one. Her mouth opened and she tried not to scream. The giant got on his knees but finally had to lie down on his stomach and put his chin on the ground to see his visitors eye to eye. And such big eyes they were!

“Your pardon,” Mingus tried to speak but he seemed to have trouble forming the words.

“Lord,” Roland managed that much when those eyes fell on him.

Boston said nothing. Her mouth would not close. The giant looked at her most closely and even closed one eye for an extra stare, like he had trouble focusing. The centaur he hardly looked at before he smiled. It looked like a silly smile, but everyone breathed. Then the giant opened his mouth and belched, loud and long.

Mingus, Roland, and Boston got blown back a good ten feet and landed on their butts. Truscas managed to keep to his four hooves, but he backed up several steps and made a face, having caught the full aroma of that burp.

They heard a scraping sound from inside the house and saw a hand come out beside the face. Saturn tapped the centaur, and he fell to his side. That way, all four visitors were knocked over like so many tin soldiers. With a self-satisfied smile, Saturn got up and closed the door.

“Saturn!” They heard a woman’s voice inside, complain. The next thing they knew; they were standing inside the house beside the woman. Saturn had gone back to sitting at the one chair at the big table, but the woman had not finished speaking. “These are friends come to visit. It is impolite to leave them standing outside in the cold.”

Saturn dropped his smile at the scolding. He raised a finger and studied it for a second before he spoke. “It’s not cold out.” His doofy smile returned, and he reached for the only thing on the table, a primitive bowl full of grapes. He grabbed a handful of grapes, stuffed them in his mouth, and chewed with his mouth open, to show grapes, seeds, stems, and all.

“He’s plastered. Drunk out of his gourd,” Boston whispered.

“Am I?” Of course, Saturn heard. “Is that what I am? Ish that a good thing? Issshhhh.” He laughed at himself.

“Lord,” the woman got Saturn’s attention. “These fine travelers need a chance to refresh themselves and rest from their travels. Let me take them to their rooms. Maybe they need a nap.”

“A nap!” Saturn perked up on the word. “What a wonderful…” He began to snore.

The woman snapped her fingers and they all found themselves outside again. They could still hear the snoring and heard when it abruptly stopped. The big voice boomed. “I got rooms?” Then the snoring returned.

~~~*~~~

“Kartesh.” Roland figured it out, though Boston was about to say the same thing.

“Truscas,” Mingus introduced the centaur who bowed royally before the goddess.

“No need for that,” Kartesh waved him to stand. “You have my thanks for bringing my friends, but where are the others? Oh no!” She said, “Oh no”, before Mingus could explain.

“Prisoners of the dance.”

“But that will kill them,” Kartesh said, and the centaur smiled for thinking he had been right. “The dance will go on until the next new moon, and they won’t stop to sleep and will hardly eat anything but grapes for the full twenty-eight days. If they don’t collapse from the strain, they will starve to death.”

“But what can we do?” Boston asked the same question she asked earlier in the day.

“I thought his Lordship might help,” Truscas said.

Kartesh looked back at the door. “You were right to bring them here. He is the only one who can help, but in his present condition.” She shook her head. “Listen, there is only one who might help us. Silenus. He may have some way of sobering up Saturn. I don’t know. All of my remedies are folk remedies of dubious value. Even Doctor Mishka has nothing to suggest in this time-period.”

“Silenus?” Roland jumped.

“What. Are we supposed to just walk up and ask for his help?” Mingus asked.

“Oh, that might not be so easy,” Truscas admitted.

“Seriously. I would have to strip Brazil bare to get enough coffee, and then no guarantee he would drink it,” Kartesh said. “But I am sure you will work things out. You must if we hope to save Lockhart and the others. Meanwhile, I have to go. It isn’t safe to leave him alone for too long.” She vanished, and Mingus, Roland and Truscas looked at each other, dumbfounded. Boston did not know what to look at.