The Locked Room

by Arianna18

There's a mysterious locked room in the cellar of the Academy that was never supposed to be opened ... A YH story

The Locked Room
by Arianna

The cadets had truthfully never really noticed the door before. It was out of the way, in the shadows, in the far back reaches of the storage rooms under the stable, the long dark corridor forming a tunnel that led beneath the courtyard to another exit up a short flight of stone steps near the back door to the kitchen. At the kitchen end, the closer compartments hewn from the rock that formed the foundation of the Academy grounds held sacks of flour, mounds of potatoes, carrots, onions, and shelf upon shelf of jars of olives, stewed tomatoes, pickled relishes and the like-food stocks required to nourish still growing adolescent boys who worked out hard each day so their bodies demanded constant replenishment. At the stables' end of the subterranean corridor, there were supplies for the horses, bags of oats, leather to make and repair tack, smithing tools; and, in some of the other narrow and dark compartments, there were supplies to stock the barracks like bedrolls, spare blankets and rough cotton sheets, or equipment for the gymnasium, such as special balance beam components and supplies of swords, spears, shields and lances. Nothing special or untoward, all of the goods in the small rooms along the length of the corridor, from one end to the other, filled with the ordinary stuff needed to supply and support a military academy for the flower of Greece's youth.

Or so they'd all thought until Strife had come calling and unleashed the north wind.

The gale force currents of air had wreaked havoc, blowing supplies and equipment into wild disarray until the wind had been captured in a large, sturdy sack by Hercules. The rather disquieting assault by the minor and malicious god had been dealt with effectively, the wind finally being lashed to Strife himself, (also by Hercules), and carrying him into the stratosphere. But…getting rid of Strife didn't automatically also clean up and repair the damage he'd wrought.

The cadets were divided into three squads to restore the barracks, the gymnasium and the storage corridor. Consequently, several found themselves below ground, cleaning and sweeping, sorting and stacking and carting gear and weapons, strewn oats and onions and the odd hammer, not to mention hundreds of nails, back to the storage compartment to which they belonged. The restoration activity took cadets down the corridor from either end, drawing them deeper than any had previously ventured or explored before. After all, what was there to attract curiousity in bins of potatoes or clay jars of olives? Or in sacks of oats or barrels of nails?

Muttering to himself as he wielded a rough, straw broom, Iolaus was sweeping his way from one end to the other as part of the final clean-up crew. Sneezing violently at the ages-old dust that swirled in the dark, narrow stone corridor, squinting in the dimness, he paused and looked up…and saw a door barely visible in the dark gloom, one he'd not previously noticed. Rubbing his nose, he ventured closer, his eyes narrowing as he took in the solid, if discreet, padlocks, one each on the upper and lower halves of heavy, oaken doors that could be opened from above or below, like a stall.

None of the other storage cells were locked.

In the gloom, the young ex-thief could barely make out the sign posted, only its size and the bold dark, larger than usual, lettering allowing him to read it at all.

"NO ADMITTANCE BY ORDER OF CHEIRON"

"Hmm," Iolaus mused, frowning in speculation, "that's a bit odd. What would Cheiron have stored way back here in the dark? And why does it have to be so securely locked?"

Leaning closer, he examined the locks and whistled softly. The bolts and latches had been driven deeply into the oak and would not be easily loosened or pulled apart. The locks themselves were of a curious design, requiring two keys each, and the disparate sizes of the four holes told him that four separate keys would be required to open them. For a moment, his agile fingers twitched-he'd never encountered a lock he couldn't pick and these looked like a good challenge to his skill. But he bit his lip as he straightened up. He wasn't a thief anymore. However, that didn't make him any less curious. He thumped on the door, and from the dull, deadened thunk, he decided it had to be at least six inches thick. Running his fingers around its edges, he found it to be solidly set into the rock, with not the slightest gap to let air in or out; far different from the adequate but loosely fitted doors on the rest of the small chambers. It reminded him of the fancy vaults he'd heard about in palace treasuries or that wealthy merchants built to protect their most prized possessions and gold.

Odd, very odd.

Resuming his desultory sweeping, sneezing and mumbling about the dust of centuries that appeared to have accumulated in the ancient corridor, he pondered what might be so valuable that it required special and unique security in an out of the way, virtually hidden location in the Academy complex.

'Gold or silver,' he thought first. Well, it was the obvious consideration. Cheiron had to put the tuition, which was paid for each cadet annually, somewhere. But Iolaus frowned. He'd had the impression that the sacks of dinars and drachmas were kept in the safe in Cheiron's office, where the resources could be readily accessed and expended on the mountain of food and other supplies needed to keep the Academy running-not to mention the stipends paid quarterly to the staff.

'Maybe the examination scrolls and answers are tucked away in there,' he thought then. Nodding to himself, he figured that might make more sense. They had to be stored somewhere out of the reach of inquisitive or less than scrupulous cadets who might believe cheating was a valid, if illegitimate, means to success. Scowling to himself, he again challenged that idea in his own mind. He knew old Fiddleface had his own safe in his small, cramped cubbyhole of an office, as did other tutors. Wouldn't it make more sense for them to keep their respective test scrolls handy, not locked away in the depths of the earth under a ton of rock?

Sighing, he kept sweeping. It was a mystery, and intriguing one.

So preoccupied was he by his ruminations, Iolaus didn't notice that he was nearing the stable end of the lengthy corridor and moving more into the light that flowed down through the entrance above.

"You look like you're pondering the secrets of the ages," Hercules teased him as the demigod hefted the heavy sacks of oats back into their appropriate storage cell.

Startled, the blond cadet looked up at his best friend's remark. Herc had been at the Academy for the whole of the last year, whereas Iolaus had only started a few weeks before. Maybe the locked room wasn't such a mystery after all-maybe he just hadn't heard about it yet.

"What's inside the locked stall down the corridor," he asked his taller friend.

"What locked stall?" Hercules asked, puzzled.

"The one back there, near the middle of the tunnel," Iolaus clarified, waving back down toward the dark recesses of the corridor.

"There's a locked room down there?" Jason interjected, looking up from the pile of leather traces he was trying to untangle.

"Yeah, heavy oak half-doors, double padlocked, needs four separate keys, and there's a big sign from Cheiron posted on it saying, 'No Admittance'," Iolaus told them, a quizzical look on his face as he realized they didn't know anything more about the odd room or stall or whatever it was, than he did.

"Really?" Jason murmured, coming to his feet and ambling along the stone flooring into the deeper shadows. Curious, Hercules followed, and not to be left out, Iolaus tagged along. Cadets working at the kitchen end of the passageway noticed them clustered down in the shadows, staring at something on the wall, so they wandered down to see what had attracted all the attention.

And by nightfall, the barracks were buzzing with speculation about exactly what might be locked behind those inconspicuous doors.

Within the week, rumours and gossip about the odd locked room at the Academy had begun to spread like the tendrils of a weed throughout the area, and within a month, farmers and soldiers, craftsmen and beggars, noblemen and thieves were scratching their chins as they sipped their ale in the taverns and pondered what treasure might be locked deep beneath the earth at Cheiron's Academy near Corinth.

In terms of providing any useful insights or information, the tutors were useless. "Locked door?" Fiduceous echoed with a quirked brow. "Ah, yes. Well, it's locked for a good reason, you may be sure," he added with his typically supercilious air as he turned away from the cadet who'd asked about the strange room.

Overhearing, Iolaus twisted his lips in a moue of frustration and rolled his eyes as old Fiddleface began a lecture on the magic and mystery, the sheer splendor, of the isosceles triangle. 'Like anyone cares about triangles,' the youth thought with a silent sigh-though he hurried to plant a false look of attentive studiousness on his face as the dyspeptic tutor turned back to face the class.

'To be fair though,' the blond thought days later, 'Fiduceous gave us more information than any of the other tutors have.' Most either only shrugged as they changed the subject, or gave the inquiring cadet a cold, level stare that made the youths who'd dare ask such a question cringe. At least Fiddleface had told them it was locked for a good reason.

The kitchen staff, the cook and his helpers, weren't any more forthcoming. None had ventured so far down the corridor to even notice the padlocked door, having no need to wander past their stores of pickles and root vegetables and, evidently having not a spoonful of curiousity amongst them all, they couldn't have cared less about the mysterious locked room.

"Maybe nobody but Cheiron knows what's in there," Laotes speculated one night in the barracks.

"Maybe," Jorash allowed. "But I'll bet everyone on the staff knows-they just like the idea of us not knowing. Makes 'em feel superior," he added with clear disgust.

In the absence of any real information, rumours and speculation abounded. Nobody gave any serious credence to the idea that there might be old, dusty scrolls of tests and examinations moldering in the darkness. Who would lock stuff like that up so securely? No, many argued, it had to be a treasure of some kind. There was a faction, the sons of fathers who found the tuition exorbitant, that firmly believed there were piles and piles of gold and silver coins secreted beneath the courtyard. But others argued, as Iolaus had to himself, that it cost a king's ransom to keep the Academy operating and that there was no way Cheiron was accruing any personal wealth out of the annual payments.

Far from accruing a personal fortune, some speculated that Cheiron already had one. He'd been a soldier, after all, one that had been famous in his day as he'd risen to the rank of General. He'd had years to accumulate booty from the enemy cities and towns that had fallen in sieges or battles. Others snorted at the very idea of their austere Headmaster looting and pillaging, or even caring about material wealth. Cheiron just wasn't the sort to be impressed with precious metal or luxury, let alone harbour a greedy soul.

As the weeks and months drifted by, the speculations became more outlandish, yet most of the ideas remained rooted in some aspect or other of the centaur's background, beliefs or personality. He'd been a soldier, as all knew well…perhaps he'd acquired some ghastly trophy of war, or worse, some object that belonged to Ares, the God of War, that could wreak havoc and inspire hatred or the passion to kill. 'Like a blood-soaked spear,' some thought. 'Or a quiver of arrows, perhaps tipped with the deadly, always fatal, poison of the Hind-perhaps a sword that carried the blood of the Hind themselves, a weapon that could kill gods,' some postulated with barely contained excitement.

'Well, that's not very likely,' Iolaus thought with a measure of bemused skepticism. Centaurs and Hind didn't get along all that well, but they respected one another's territory and rarely fought. And Ares didn't much need any special blood-soaked spear to spark within the hearts of men the kind of passionate emotions that led to war. Reflecting on his father's career, the blond cadet figured it didn't take much to make men fight and kill one another. The wonder was that any sought peace.

Others wondered if maybe there was a gate to the 'Other Side' beneath the rock of the Academy grounds. That would account for the airtight fit of the heavy oaken door to keep ghosts and goblins, ghouls, gremlins and other terrors of the night, from crossing into the mortal plane of existence. Some of the guys had worked themselves into a delicious state of horror as they imagined the denizens of darkness creeping out of that locked room, cloaked by the blackness of a new moon, intent upon murdering them all in their beds.

"Hey, Herc," Iolaus asked with a tinge of sarcasm on the edge of one such conversation, "do you think an ordinary oak door could keep back a demon of Tartarus?"

"Frankly," the demigod replied dryly with an arched brow, "no."

"That's pretty much what I thought," Iolaus agreed and winked at Jason, who shook his head at the nonsense that some people could come up with. Their fellow cadets didn't appreciate the sarcasm or the lack of contribution to figuring out the mystery.

"Well, maybe it's some stockpile of incendiary weaponry," Marcus postulated.

Screwing up his face, Jason asked with no little consternation and ridicule in his tone, "And what would a military academy do with a store of Greek Fire, presuming it even had such diabolical ingredients available?"

Well, they all had to agree that it wasn't likely that Cheiron was going to declare war on Corinth or any other city state in the foreseeable future. Shaking their heads and mumbling, they all pretty much agreed, therefore, that the locked room didn't likely house stocks of sulfur, pitch and tar.

"Cheiron is pretty tight with Artemis," someone reminded them all. "Maybe she gave him something to keep safe for her?"

Now that possibility led to a week's worth of excited speculation. Maybe she kept a spare bow and quiver of arrows there to transform her quarry into other shapes and beings, just in case someone made off with her usual weaponry. Or, maybe she was storing something for one of her sisters? Ribald laughter and eager suggestions were made that perhaps Aphrodite had stocks of love potions secreted away. Others, the scholars, wondered if Athena might have asked Artemis to keep her Crystal of Knowledge tucked away from the other gods. After all, wouldn't all the gods want access to the wisdom and knowledge Athena held close and she couldn't personally guard the crystal all the time. Or, maybe the Fates had deposited the Scroll of Secrets in the room under the rock, the Scroll that was said to foretell the future far into the reaches of eternity. Not even the gods knew what future might come with the next dawn let alone down the long years of forever and anyone would want to know the future, wouldn't they? So such a thing would have to be closely held in some secret place.

Iolaus just snickered, imagining gods and goddesses, along with the three Fates, flitting in and out of an obscure little locked room in the dark, dusty corridor between the stables and the kitchen, deep under the rock of the Academy courtyard. Not likely, but then he'd never pretended to understand the inane and often ludicrous behaviour of the gods, so who knew?

Hercules just rolled his eyes and snorted. As if any god or goddess would ask a mortal being to safeguard their secrets or treasures-maybe if and when Tartarus froze over.

"Cheiron gets on well with any number of Kings," Eretus mused. "Maybe he safeguards some personal treasure for one or more of them. You know, in case their kingdoms get over-run by invaders?"

All eyes turned to Jason who was one of their resident experts on how kings might behave. "Such behaviour would be dishonorable and cowardly," Jason replied with a certain hauteur. "Kings ensure the security of their own treasuries and rarely trust others with their wealth-why would they? They have armies at their command, each man of which would die before surrendering to an enemy that threatened their city. To hide away personal wealth, with the expectation of defeat, would undermine confidence in the crown and in the army. No…no King would do such a thing. No."

Well, other than suggesting they wished that Jason wouldn't beat about the bush so much, but rather speak his mind in a clear and forthright manner, they agreed that his analysis seemed to pretty much trash that theory.

"You guys think you're so smart," Cronen jeered, "what do you think is behind the door?"

The three friends, one the Crown Prince of Corinth, one the Son of Zeus and the last the clown who'd been a thief, looked at one another, shaking their heads and shrugging.

"Probably nothing," Iolaus told them.

"WHAT?" they all exclaimed, including, Iolaus was disappointed to note, his very good friends, Hercules and Jason.

"Well, think about it. None of the ideas anyone has come up with seem the least bit likely," Iolaus replied mildly. "Cheiron's probably just testing to see if we can follow his orders and his will by seeing if we respect the notice he put up. It's a test of discipline over curiousity…maybe."

The blond ex-thief was shouted down as his cohorts waved off the 'dumb idea'. Some muttered disgustedly that he was probably planning to break in and steal what was there himself-a suggestion Hercules found offensive on his friend's behalf, but Iolaus just laughed. If he'd've wanted to make off with the hidden treasure, if there was treasure, he'd've done it weeks ago and none of them would be the wiser-he was quite certain those locks wouldn't be able to keep him out, if he really wanted to get inside.

'Nothing', however, wasn't exciting or thrilling. 'Nothing' didn't inspire the imagination or fuel curious and avid speculation. No, virtually everyone agreed, it had to be a treasure of some kind. Had to be.

And, in the absence of any answers, they covertly watched Cheiron to see when he'd head down to the underground corridor to determine if his behaviours might give them a clue. Over time, they charted his movements. He didn't go down every day, or even every month. There seemed no reason, really, for the times he did clop down the stone steps alone, usually either at dawn or at the end of a day. It wasn't necessarily a full moon or a new one. It wasn't on special holidays, necessarily, though sometimes it was, like on the spring equinox, the beginning of the new year cycle of the earth's renewal and rebirth, the season of planting for another year's harvest. It wasn't always the first or last day of the week. Sometimes it was the third or the fourth-or even the second or sixth. Sometimes, he'd be carrying a scroll; other times, he went empty-handed. There seemed no rhyme or reason anyone could figure out, no pattern to discern.

And none dared actually come out and ask him what he had hidden down there. Brave they might all be, but foolish? Not hardly.

Weeks drifted into months and the months rolled around to a year, and then another year started-and still no one had a fine clue what was behind the locked door.

But that didn't stop the rumours or the speculation or the gossip.

"Hey, Blondie!" a harsh voice called raucously over the buzz and hum of the very full tavern.

"Yeah, yeah, hold your horses," Iolaus called over his shoulder as he served mugs of ale, stuffed grape leaves, peasant salad, baked eggplant and moussaka to other customers. Shaking his head, he smiled pleasantly at those he'd just served and was thinking that Kora really had to get more help on weekend evenings as he turned toward the demanding voice.

And froze.

"What are you doing here?" Iolaus hissed, his voice a harsh whisper as he looked quickly around, hoping no one else recognized the tough, scruffy youths. It had been more than a year since he'd left the streets of Thebes and he'd dearly hoped never to see these particular guys again. Though, he sighed resignedly, it was bound to have happened someday, back in Thebes if not here…not here.

Scar smirked, not an attractive look given the ugly, perpetually reddened, constriction of skin between his left brow and his lips, the poorly healed souvenir of a knife fight years ago. "Hey, now, what kind of greeting is that for old friends?" he drawled.

"You are NOT my friends," Iolaus snapped, looking between Scar and Fingers, the most skilled pickpocket in Thebes, but his gaze softened as he looked at the third member of the group. "Well, not them, but Kaele, you shouldn't be hanging around with these guys."

Kaele, as tall and muscular as a man, a big man, was not yet fifteen years old, and there was something perpetually childlike about him, an innocence-now a confusion-in his eyes. "But…they're our friends, Iolaus," he stammered, uncertain. Iolaus was very definitely his friend and Kaele had missed him since he'd been hauled off the streets and sentenced to the Academy. "They asked me to come with them," he added, looking shyly pleased, even more than a little proud, that the older youths had wanted him along on this exciting journey.

"You're my friend," Iolaus replied gently as he touched the youth's shoulder, but his voice hardened as he gestured toward the other two. "But these guys are poison and you shouldn't be hanging around with them. They'll get you into trouble!"

"But-we're going to get rich," the younger boy explained, wanting to please. "The treasure…"

"What treasure would that be?" the blond cadet cum waiter demanded, a cold lump growing in the pit of his stomach. This was crazy. Surely they couldn't mean those stupid rumours…

"You know what treasure," Fingers snickered. "You must be slipping, to be workin' in a dive like this when you could have made off with it months ago. Guess you were just waitin' for the right help, eh? Buddy?"

Shaking his head, swallowing as he again looked over his shoulder, knowing he had to get back to work, Iolaus grated, "There is NO treasure! It's all just dumb talk, rumours. You're wasting your time and I'm too busy to bother with you. So, order something or get out."

Sighing dramatically, Scar stood from the table they'd commandeered, and his two companions followed his lead. "Would've been easier with an 'inside man'," he sneered. "But we can manage without you."

"Stay away from the Academy!" Iolaus warned them, his eyes blazing though he kept his voice low.

"You stay out of our way," Scar retorted, fingering his knife meaningfully and then he shoved by Iolaus as he led the way to the door.

Pushing his fingers through his hair, Iolaus watched them go, wondering what to do about them, if anything.

"Who were those guys?" Hercules asked from behind him, startling him.

"Just guys from the old neighbourhood," Iolaus replied bitterly. "Slumming. I told them to go back to where they came from."

"You okay?" the demigod asked, noticing Iolaus' tension and pallor.

Blowing out a breath, the older cadet nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine," he muttered, feeling distinctly unsettled. "And I've got to get back to work."

Hercules and Jason stayed behind when the tavern finally closed for the night to help Iolaus and Kora clean up, and then the three cadets headed back through the darkness to the Academy, less than a mile away.

"You're awfully quiet tonight," Jason observed shouldering Iolaus playfully, frowning a little in concern when Iolaus didn't shove him back and make some crack about 'some folks having to work for a living and being a mite tired after a long, busy night of serving ale and good humour to riff raff'.

"I'm just a little tired," Iolaus muttered, his head down as he ambled along with his friends.

"You worried about those guys from earlier?" Hercules asked, knowing that Iolaus didn't like reminders of what his life had once been.

"What guys?" Jason asked, curious and made alert by the worried note in the demigod's voice.

"Just a couple of jerks from Thebes," Iolaus replied with a shrug.

"What were they doing at Kora's?" the Crown Prince of Corinth asked then, sensing a story.

Heaving a sigh, throwing up his hands, Iolaus confided with no little exasperation, "They think there's some big treasure and I think they plan to try to steal it. Dumb, stupid nits."

"You mean they believe all those crazy rumours about the locked door?" Hercules exclaimed, shaking his head.

"Apparently," Iolaus snapped. "I wish I'd never noticed that stupid door!"

"Well, someone was bound to," Jason offered in consolation. "It's not your fault that people all over Greece have been speculating about what's in there just because you saw it first and pointed it out to us."

"Yeah, I guess," the blond muttered, his shoulders slumped. "But, if thieves from Thebes show up and cause trouble, there's bound to be some that will think I'm part of it."

"You going to tell Cheiron?" Hercules asked, avoiding Iolaus' statement of probabilities, knowing only too well his best friend was likely right. Too many still looked at him and only saw an ex-thief.

"Tell him what?" Iolaus sighed then, sounding discouraged. "That a couple of my former 'colleagues' are hanging around and might have designs on his locked room? Man, I don't want to even admit I've talked to those guys. And, hopefully," he continued, ever the optimist, "maybe when they see the walls and the gates and stop a minute to think about a barracks full of guys with weapons, they'll smarten up and just go home."

"And if they do try to break in…?" Jason challenged. "What then?"

Impatient, feeling cornered, angry that his past was still haunting him, Iolaus growled, "Look, I'll handle it, okay? I shouldn't have told you guys…if you go running to Cheiron and get me into trouble for 'associating with undesirable elements', I could get kicked out."

"Hey, easy," Hercules soothed, gripping Iolaus' shoulder. "We're on your side, remember?"

Biting his lip, nodding, Iolaus murmured, "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. I just…I just wish the past could stay dead and buried, you know?"

"I still think you should tell Cheiron there might be trouble," Jason counseled, as he too laid a reassuring and supportive hand on his friend's shoulder.

"You're right, I know you're right," Iolaus capitulated. "But no one has raised that locked room to Cheiron and I sure didn't want to be the one who finally did." Sighing, he added, "I'll tell him in the morning."

By the time they had gotten back to the barracks, most of the other cadets had already turned in for the night and within a quarter handspan, the order came for 'Lights Out'. The lanterns were extinguished and quiet settled, broken only by the rustle of stiff blankets and the soft, snuffling snores of sleeping youths.

Iolaus laid on his bunk, trying to relax and wondering if it was a mistake to wait until dawn to alert Cheiron that trouble might be brewing. He didn't think his former 'associates' would try anything that night as they hadn't seemed to have any definite plans worked out earlier. But the more he thought about it, especially about Scar's aggressive arrogance, the more worried he became. Finally, quietly, he rose and slipped silently out of the barracks, keeping to the shadows as he stood for a while outside, just listening.

Not hearing anything but the normal night sounds of scurrying mice and hunting owls, he licked his lips and then padded soundlessly to the stables, and then down the stone steps to the corridor below. Moving carefully in the darkness, with only the thin, silvery light of the moon spilling down the steps to pierce the gloom, he hauled a bedroll and a sword from the storage rooms and then made his way down the tunnel, deeper into the darkly shadowed interior. Once he was in front of the locked room, he spread out his bed for the night and slumped down upon it.

Anyone trying to get into that room would have to go through him first.

It was a while before he was able to relax into sleep but finally weariness overcame his anxiety until he finally succumbed to Morpheus' allure.

Iolaus jerked awake, fully alert and listening, wondering what had roused him. And then the sound came again, the scuffle of boots on stone and a soft, indistinct, 'shhh!' Rolling to crouch in the darkness, he silently pushed his bedroll out of the way and grabbed up the sword. As the scuffling sounds drew nearer, he called out quietly, "I told you to stay away from the Academy. Leave, now, before there's trouble."

"Iolaus?" Kaele's eager voice replied.

"Shut up," Scar snapped, and Iolaus heard the rasp of flint on stone, reflexively narrowing his eyes against the sudden onslaught of light as Fingers sparked a torch and flame flared brightly.

Iolaus saw that Scar had already drawn his long, very sharp blade and that Fingers carried an equally deadly weapon in his hand. Shaking his head, smiling thinly, the blond brandished his weapon as he drawled, "Sword beats dagger."

Scar snorted in disgust. "What? You practicing to be some kind of hero?" he demanded. "Get out of the way before someone gets hurt."

But Iolaus held his ground as he stared coldly back at the three tall youths who continued to approach slowly. "There's nothing in here that's worth going to prison for," he told them.

"How would you know?" Fingers whined. "Have you checked?"

And still they crowded closer.

"You'll have to take me word for it," Iolaus replied, lifting his chin and shifting his feet for better balance in the fight he knew was coming.

"We'll kill you if we have to," Scar told him coldly.

But Kaele started at that. "What? NO!" he protested, halting in his tracks. "Iolaus is my friend! You said nobody would get hurt!"

"You dumbass," Scar snarled, and then moved before Iolaus realized what the conscienceless youth was doing. In a heartbeat, Scar had looped an arm around Kaele's throat and was holding his wicked blade up under the kid's jaw as he snapped, "Throw away your sword or I'll shove this up into his brain."

Kaele gasped and stilled, his eyes wide and wild with sudden fear as he stared helplessly at Iolaus.

And Iolaus felt the cold ball of dread in his stomach expand to tighten in his chest. Scar was ruthless and he'd kill the kid without a moment's hesitation-whatever was in the damned locked room wasn't worth Kaele's life. Defeated, for the moment, he tossed away his sword.

But Kaele wasn't as innocent as everyone believed him to be-couldn't be and still survive the grim life of a homeless youth on the streets of Thebes. Even as Iolaus tossed his sword and Scar relaxed the blade away from his throat, the big youth elbowed back hard, surprising Scar with the unexpected attack and winding him. Pulling himself free of the older youth's grip around his neck, Kaele whirled and punched Scar hard and then again-while Iolaus leapt forward to whirl and kick out at Fingers, knocking the blade from his fist so that it clattered away into the shadows.

Scar staggered but recovered and slashed back, light from the fallen torch flickering on his deadly blade, forcing Kaele to jump out of the way, but the younger boy stumbled and tripped, falling to the cold stone floor. Still, he was a street-fighter, trained by one of the best more than two years ago, before Iolaus had been taken into custody, so he kicked out, bringing Scar to his knees. Fingers and Iolaus were trading punches, but though Fingers was bigger and stronger, Iolaus was quicker and, after more than a year at the Academy, better trained.

The four youths brawled with desperate determination, silent but for the grunts and groans, and the scuffle of their boots, as fists and feet connected. There wasn't a great deal of room in the tunnel, but it wasn't all that different from a narrow, filthy, alley, the kind of turf they were all well used to. Fingers, knowing he was being soundly beaten, lurched away, intent upon recovering his blade, but Iolaus was all over him and finally one solid punch too many to the kid's jaw drove him into unconsciousness. Whirling, Iolaus cursed as he saw, in the dim flickering light of the fallen torch, Kaele trying to wrestle Scar's blade away as they rolled on the stone of the passageway. They were well matched in size and strength, but Scar's experience and ruthlessness was beginning to hold sway as he rolled over, ending up on top of Kaele and forcing the blade down toward the younger boy's body.

Iolaus lunged toward them and then clamped an arm around Scar's throat, pulling him back and away from the kid. Enraged, Scar struggled and tried to elbow Iolaus, but Kaele took advantage of the distraction and kneed the older youth sharply. Scar screamed in pain and his knife clattered to the ground as he doubled over, trying to gasp in breath. Iolaus linked his fingers together and brought his joined fists down hard on the back of Scar's neck, rendering him finally unconscious.

Gasping for breath, the victors sagged back in relief-and only then did they notice that they were no longer alone.

"Iolaus, would you care to explain what's going on here?" Cheiron asked, his dry voice cutting through the silence as he moved forward out of the shadows, his hooves clipping lightly and surprisingly quietly on the stone floor.

"Uh, Cheiron! Sir!" Iolaus exclaimed, scrambling to his feet. "Where did you…uh, how…um, well, these two guys broke into the Academy, must've climbed a wall or something. They, uh, they heard there might be treasure down here. Uh, sir."

"I see," the centaur replied austerely as he flicked a look at the two unconscious youths and then narrowed his gaze as he lifted one brow, tilting his head toward Kaele. "And, this young man would be…?"

"Uh, right," Iolaus stammered, thinking quickly. Kaele wasn't scum like the other two, and he had helped subdue Scar. "This is an old friend, Kaele of Thebes. He, uh, he came around looking for me, hoping I could maybe help him find work. I was, uh, going to talk to you about him in the morning. He's really good at fixing things and, well, you can see he'd be a strong worker. I can vouch for him." Iolaus realized he was babbling and abruptly stopped the flow of words. Cutting the youth a quick look, he muttered, "Kaele, this is Cheiron, the Headmaster."

"Sir," Kaele murmured uncertainly, as he shuffled nervously, barely lifting his eyes to look at the stern centaur.

"Uh huh," Cheiron grunted skeptically, turning his attention again to the two unconscious would-be thieves. "Iolaus, you'd better get some rope to tie these two securely. We'll have them taken to the magistrate in Corinth in the morning. Once they are secure, you can show Kaele to the staff barracks where he can rest for the remainder of the night."

"Yes, sir," Iolaus replied, his throat dry. It was pretty clear that Cheiron thought his story was full of holes.

The centaur turned away but then paused as he looked back over his shoulder. "Thank you, both of you, for fending off these thieves. I'm sure we can find you some work, Kaele, if not here in the Academy, then certainly in one of the nearby villages."

Iolaus relaxed and breathed out a sigh of relief as he followed the centaur back down along the corridor toward the stables end where he knew he'd find rope in one of the storage areas. Once again, Cheiron paused, allowing Iolaus to overtake him. "You said they were in search of 'treasure', Iolaus?" he asked.

"Yes sir, in the locked room, sir," Iolaus affirmed, tensing up again.

His expression giving nothing away, Cheiron asked then, "And how was it that you happened to be here to stop them?"

Swallowing, Iolaus looked away as he bit his lip. "Well, I had a feeling…that is, I saw them at Kora's and, well, I used to know those guys. So, I thought it wouldn't hurt to, you know, be vigilant."

Nodding thoughtfully, Cheiron spared the blond cadet a slight smile, his eyes glowing warmly in the flickering torchlight, as he said dryly, "I appreciate your vigilance. Thank you."

"No problem, Cheiron," Iolaus replied. But as the centaur again turned away, Iolaus couldn't refrain from blurting out, "Uh, Cheiron? What's in that locked room, anyway?"

Looking back over his shoulder, the centaur said with a wry half-smile, the light of teasing laughter deep in his dark, usually so inscrutable eyes, "Why, treasure, of course." As he clopped away, Iolaus barely heard him add, "The only treasure that ever really matters…"

"Right," the blond cadet grunted, mentally kicking himself for being so stupid as to have asked-as if Cheiron would ever have actually told him.

But then he wondered if maybe Cheiron actually had told him…

Twenty years later…

The three old friends lounged comfortably in the staff mess of the old Academy, lingering over their ales in the flickering lantern light as the night fell quiet around them.

"You've done a good job, here, Jase," Hercules murmured with a slow smile. "Cheiron would be proud of what you're accomplishing in his memory."

"I hope so, Hercules," Jason sighed. "The standards and programming had fallen a good long way by the time you realized what was going on and called me in. It was shameful, really-a dishonour to Cheiron's good name and reputation and criminal in terms of how inadequately the cadets were trained, both intellectually and physically."

"Well, I didn't see it when you got here, but I can tell you the place brings back memories now," Iolaus interjected. "Seems like nothing has changed." Taking a sip of ale, he added with a teasing twinkle in his eyes, "So much so that I'm afraid I'm just dreaming and I'll wake up in Fiddleface's class without a clue about what he's going on about!"

The others laughed as Hercules reached out to ruffle his friend's hair. "You did all right, Iolaus."

Snorting, the blond replied dryly, "I passed…and only just-and only then with a lot of help from you guys."

"Yes, well, as I recall, historical scrolls and triangles weren't your favourite interests," Jason drawled, grinning in memory as he lifted his mug.

Iolaus snickered, but then sobered thoughtfully. "I miss him, you know? He taught me a lot of important lessons-and he believed in me. In those days, I really needed that."

"I miss him, too, to tell you the truth," Jason confided. "But, being here, I feel closer to him than I have for years. When I walk the halls or take a class in the gymnasium, I understand, now, why he treated his responsibilities like a sacred trust. Thinking back over my life, I'd have to say that Cheiron was one of the most principled, and most wise, beings I have ever been privileged to know."

Hercules nodded in agreement and, for a moment, they were all silent, lost in their respective memories. After taking another sip of ale, Iolaus mused, "I wonder what really was in that locked underground room…"

"Locked room?" Jason echoed, and then memory lit his eyes as he chuckled. "Oh, I remember now-the supposed 'treasure' or dusty scrolls or a pathway to Tartarus or the storehouse for the gods. You know, I haven't thought of that old mystery for years."

"It was likely cleaned out after Cheiron died," Hercules speculated.

"I wonder?" Iolaus murmured. From the way Jason had described the intervening administration, they hadn't sounded particularly thorough or effective in following up on their duties. Looking up at Jason, he asked, "Did you ever check?"

Shaking his head, the former King of Corinth and current Headmaster of Cheiron's Academy replied, "Well, no, it never occurred to me-it's just another storage area down in that corridor. Once I'd made sure the supplies were in order and that the storage rooms were dry…you know, I never went that far along the corridor. No reason to…"

A slow smile grew on Iolaus' face. "Maybe nobody else ever went far enough into the shadows, either, to check it out…"

Feeling suddenly like a curious youth again, Hercules proposed, "Well, maybe we should 'check it out'!"

The others agreed and, picking up lanterns, they made their way out the back and down the stairwell near the kitchen into the dark corridor. Their footsteps on the stone flooring echoed hollowly as they made their way through the darkness. And, it was with some surprise that they found the old notice, yellowed and worn with time, still posted on a thick oaken door that was still locked.

Suddenly feeling tentative, as if they were invading a place that Cheiron had carefully kept private, they paused, uncertain of how, or if, to proceed. Jason and Iolaus looked to Hercules and he shrugged as he replied to their unspoken suggestion. "Sure, I could easily knock down the door…but, that doesn't feel right," he said quietly. "Disrespectful, somehow. And we may want to lock it back up again."

Jason nodded. "You know, part of me says we should just let it be, but there might be something in there that I should send to what's left of his family, his clan. I guess I do have the responsibility now to inspect the place and decide what is to be done with whatever is in there, if anything."

The two taller men turned their gazes upon the blond and Iolaus stepped forward to examine the locks. He'd thought years ago that they wouldn't prove too great a challenge, and though they were rusted a bit now, and carried at least a decade of grime, he thought he could probably still get them open. Reaching down to his boot, he pulled out a thin strip of metal that was pointed on one end and hooked on the other. When both Hercules and Jason regarded him with wordless smirks of amusement, he just rolled his eyes and shrugged as he muttered, "The old skills come in handy from time to time, all right? Just hold up the lanterns so I can see what I'm doing."

It took several long minutes while he chipped away at the rust and wriggled the pick inside each of the four keyholes, but finally, the last lock snicked open and he stood to remove them from their latches. Turning to Jason, he stepped away from the door and waved a hand in a sweeping gesture, as he said with mock formality, "After you, oh great and wise Headmaster."

Snorting with amusement to cover his rising sense of expectation, Jason pushed heavily against the doors that had been sealed for the decade since Cheiron's death and they reluctantly, stiffly, opened. Lifting his lantern high, he stepped inside the mysterious locked room, Hercules and Iolaus close on his heels.

"Well, I'll be…" Jason murmured.

The flickering orange-yellow light of the lanterns' flames danced over the dusty objects in the room. The space, itself, was twice as wide and every bit as deep as any of the other storage cells along the corridor, but this one wasn't piled high with bags of oats or root vegetables. Moving further into the room, they stopped beside an old desk, against one wall, that had been crafted for a centaur's height, but this one was delicate, even fragile looking, with finely wrought tooling in the wood of birds and flowers. Clearly, it had been made, with much love, for a woman. Jason looked into the small jewelry box that was on the center of smooth, once polished, wood surface, while Iolaus carefully picked up a strip of ribbon, faded now but it was clear that the cloth had once been bright pink. Hercules knelt to touch the carved wooden children's toys that were clustered on the floor under the desk and around its legs-a wooden horse, woodland animals-a deer and a rabbit, a hawk and an owl-and a doll in a cradle and a set of doll-sized dishes and mugs.

"Cheiron was married once," Jason reflected, his voice low as he looked at a delicate bracelet, its crystal beads glittering in the lamplight, and at a matched pair of rings. Sighing, he remembered setting aside similar symbols of a binding and eternal love when his beloved had been murdered.

"I didn't know that," Iolaus murmured, his throat tight as he understood what the strip of ribbon represented. He still carried a similar token, carefully wrapped in linen, deep in his backpack, to remind him of Ania, of her rich, fragrant, beautiful hair and of the way she smiled, often laughing in delight, when he brushed it for her.

Flicking a look at Iolaus, Jason added, "They died in a cholera epidemic in his village while he was away on a campaign."

Frowning with empathy, Iolaus murmured, "I'm really sorry to hear that."

Hercules didn't say anything at all, his throat too thick as he stroked the wooden toys, his eyes misting with memories of his own.

Clearing his throat, Jason moved away from the desk toward a small table that held a small heap of brittle scrolls, several dusty and tarnished medals and a beautifully fashioned, large chalice of silver, blackened now after so many years of neglect. Carefully, he unrolled one scroll and then another while Iolaus checked out the medals and Hercules rubbed at the inscription on the chalice.

"These are letters of commendation from Kings all over Greece," Jason told them, holding one up. "They write of his courage and cunning, of his integrity and masterful leadership…"

"And these are medals from any number of campaigns, indicating service with distinction as well as uncommon bravery…" Iolaus added, not surprised by the tokens of Cheiron's military successes.

Picking up the chalice and angling it toward one of the lanterns, Hercules frowned a bit as he struggled to make out the old etched words that were barely legible. His breathing hitched a bit as he finally made it out and recited to them, "To Cheiron, for inspired leadership and for bringing us home. We'd follow you into Tartarus if you asked us…without question or pause. From the men who love you…"

Hands reached to surreptitiously brush at suspiciously moist eyes as all three nodded in complete understanding. There'd been something about Cheiron that inspired trust and confidence, respect, and yes, even love.

Blowing out a breath, Hercules carefully set down the chalice and turned to the other side of the small underground chamber and the long, narrow table set against the stonewall. There were more dusty scrolls stacked on one end, and several odd, disparate items, their significance not at first clear. Jason again began to rummage amongst the scrolls while Hercules and Iolaus inspected the other objects on the flat surface.

"Wow," Iolaus breathed, reaching out to reverently touch the bow as he read the glimmering letters on the quiver of arrows. "'May the hunt always go well and you never know hunger,'" he read to them in awe as he looked up and told them, "It's Artemis' symbol-she must have gifted him with these."

Nodding, Hercules lifted a small, mirror-like round, framed object and tilted it to the light to reveal the images of a much younger Cheiron with one arm around a beautiful female centaur. They both rested a hand on the shoulders of two much smaller centaurs, a young male and a young female, with gamin grins. "His family," Hercules sighed, biting his lip. "I've only seen one of these before-Aphrodite gives them in memory of extraordinary and rare love."

Iolaus, meanwhile, had recognized two of the knives on the table. "I know these knives!" he exclaimed, astonished. "Scar and Fingers…by the gods, these are the weapons I took from the guys who tried to break in here twenty years ago." And, in that moment, he remembered the warm, grateful look in Cheiron's eyes as the centaur had thanked him for his vigilance. Cheiron must have kept the knives as tokens of that loyalty and commitment to him. Iolaus' lip trembled, moved beyond words that his actions had meant so much to the very private Headmaster the blond youth had so respected and honoured.

Jason was shaking his head as he read excerpts of one scroll after another. "These are priceless," he murmured. "They are Cheiron's journals. The stories of his life, what he learned and what he thought about…about life and responsibility, about honour and love…and loss, about integrity and those he admired." Swallowing, Jason looked up at his old friends. "There's much here that will help me with my duties, and a great deal I need to have transcribed for the guidance of others. But…" he looked down at the scroll he was holding, "there are also personal musings about his cadets and what he thought of them…and how proud he was of them, and of what they achieved over the years."

Hercules quirked a brow, a slight, sad smile on his face. Understanding the unspoken question, Jason nodded. "Yes, it appears he's written about all of us," the older man admitted, his voice thick with emotion. "He was proud of us…" Jase added, his voice catching.

They stood in silence, gazing around at the material things that had meant so very much to a being they all honoured and respected, remembered with fondness, even love. Cheiron had taught them much, but most of all, he'd shown by example how to live honourably, with integrity and courage-he'd been the model for them to emulate.

To know that they had not disappointed him moved them all profoundly.

"He said," Iolaus murmured then as he gazed at the tokens of Cheiron's life, "he said there was a treasure in here, the only treasure worth having…"

"The treasure of a lifetime," Hercules sighed with a nod of understanding.

"A lifetime lived well…" Jason added quietly. "May he be enjoying the peace and beauty of Elysium-the gods know, his soul belongs in paradise."

Finis