The Nightmare Client

The next morning.

The ceiling was Greek again today.

"Metis. Where, exactly, did this all go wrong?"

"Who actually sits down and reads the original Greek myths cover to cover!"

He yanked the blanket over his head. It was a venerable art of fleeing reality, honed since his previous life—the same desperate faith with which he used to lie under the covers on a Monday morning and pray that the company would burn to the ground.

Please let the shipyard burn down!

Bang. Bang. Bang.

"Jason! Jason, are you up?? The sun's already high!"

The prayer hadn't even finished before Acastus was hammering on the door. It flew open before he could answer.

"The shipyard's secured! And I hauled a mountain of gold out of the treasury! Father stamped the seal after the fact, hands shaking the whole time—he was definitely cowed by your spirit!"

"......Have you slept at all, cousin?"

"Sleep? Now!? We're going to find the Golden Fleece—how could I sleep! Here, look! Blueprints and a materials list for the ship they're building right now! Lady Athena even sent us the greatest shipwright alive! Let's go, right now!"

"Why would Lady Athena do that?"

This isn't a startup. Why do investors keep pouring in?

Acastus flung the scroll onto the blanket. His eyes moved before he could stop them. Budget lines. The basis for every figure. A schedule. Dense writing swam across his vision, and for a moment his previous life came back—the approval packets a new hire used to file, a textbook rush job, thin on justification and riddled with typos.

Wait.

Say outright that he was canceling the expedition, and he'd be branded a fraud who had refused an oracle. His head would come off before the day was out. Run, and a spear would find the back of his skull. So a third path. Endless design changes. Safety regulations that spat on common sense. Revision requests with no basis whatsoever.

What if I sank the whole project into an infinite swamp of review?

No ship, no sailing.

Metis. I've made up my mind.

He kicked the blanket off and stood. Morning sunlight poured down over him like a halo.

From this day on, I am the worst nightmare client in Greek history.

Pagasae harbor.

A salt-laden wind slapped his cheek. Gulls wheeled and screamed above the masts, and the stink of boiling pitch shuddered through the docks. In the middle of the shipyard a hull's skeleton lay like a whale with its ribs laid bare, and atop it stood a man with a hammer, looking down at them. Bronze skin. Shoulders as wide as a door. A beard dusted with sawdust.

He dropped lightly from the frame.

"You the client? Word is you're that hero of the single sandal. I'm Argus. A carpenter charged with the goddess Athena's will, here to build the fastest ship in the world."

A craftsman. Good. The prouder the craftsman, the softer he was against a nightmare client. Pride was glass. Tap it, and it cracked. A perfect target.

He clasped his hands behind his back and circled the keel at a leisurely pace, wearing the most dissatisfied look he could manage.

"Mr. Argus."

"Speak."

"How many oars is this?"

"Thirty. Fifteen to a side."

The first thing worth nitpicking had landed.

"Thirty?"

He clicked his tongue and shook his head.

"Mr. Argus, is that really the best you can do?"

Argus's brow crumpled hard.

"......What did you say?"

"A thirty-oar ship wallows the moment the waves pick up even a little. And the Black Sea isn't some creek in the next village. What if the wind dies? What if the seas turn rough? You want thirty sailors hauling against that current until they drop dead from exhaustion?"

"Ha! This ship's life is her nimbleness! The fastest build is the one that rides the wave!"

"And I get seasick. Badly. I have no interest in being the hero who dies throwing up. Add more oars."

"Add them—how many!"

The veins stood out on Argus's neck.

"Hmm...... about fifty?"

An outrageous demand to enlarge the ship, and a full review of the build. Any carpenter on site would, of course, hurl down his tools and declare a strike.

And yet.

"......Fifty?"

Argus stared at him.

"Client. Do you have any idea what kind of money you're talking? The keel has to be recut from scratch. Twice the timber, twice the hands, twice the pitch."

There it was. The budget excuse. A repertoire he had heard to death in his previous life. That estimate won't do. If you could spare us a little more time and budget...... Stall and stall, and in the end weasel everyone back to the original plan. Not a chance.

"Don't think you can slip out of this by talking money. It isn't my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠money anyway. Double it, triple it—every invoice goes to my uncle."

"That's right! I already opened the treasury!"

Acastus chimed in beside him, bright as a clear sky.

"If you can't build it, say you can't. Don't blame the budget."

Argus said nothing for a long while. Then he dug through the bottom of his tool chest and drew out a yellowed sheet of parchment. Twenty-five to a side. Fifty oars, drawn in full.

"Truth is, I've always wanted to build a ship like this. But everyone rejected it. Thirty was plenty, they said. You're the first client to tell me to forget the money and build the ship I want!"

Huh?

"Listen up, all of you! The old plans are kindling! Lengthen the keel, tighten ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the rib spacing—fifty rowing benches!!"

Wait. Why is he happy?

Don't register that! Don't write it into history!

Argh, this is why you never try this on the old guard!!

The first move had gone wide. But he still had a whole manual of nightmare-client tactics left. He ran for the underside of the keel and jabbed at the gaps in the timber.

"Hold on! How are you waterproofing this!?"

"We'll boil pitch and paint it on! Three coats, and not a drop gets through!"

"Only three? Are you kidding me!?"

He put his weight behind the pointing finger.

"What about salt rotting the wood? Seven coats, minimum! And anti-slip grooves in the deck? When it rains, you want the crew slipping and cracking their skulls? And looking at these plans, why is the deck railing so low? Bring it up to the waist! What are you going to do if someone falls overboard!"

Argus stared at him, blank. Good. This time he had to be sick of it. What hero alive picked nits this petty?

"And I don't like the hull thickness either! One big wave and it snaps in half, doesn't it? What are you going to do if we hit a chunk of ice in the middle of the sea!?"

The Titanic surfaced in his head. He had no idea whether the Black Sea even had icebergs, but hit one and you broke all the same!

"Double bulkheads! Reinforce the hull in two layers, and swap the keel for oak twice as thick! Don't you know safety first? Safety first! Yes, yes, yes!"

Right. That ought to be enough. Triple the build time, materials costs through the roof. The laborers would bolt, swearing they wouldn't build a ship for a coward like this.

Thud.

The hammer slipped from ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Argus's hand. His eyes had gone red.

......Why is he crying? Did I go too far?

"I've built ships for more heroes than I can count."

His voice was shaking.

"Every so-called hero who passed through my yard demanded the same things. Build it faster. Make it flashier. Put a dragon's head on the prow. Gild the hull. Nothing but empty show. Of all of them, the ones who grudged the lives of the sailors who'd have to board...... there wasn't a single one."

"......What?"

"A man who looks first at the bottom no one else can see!"

Argus slammed a fist against his own chest.

"You are a hero who knows the sea! A true captain—one who knows how to fear the death hiding behind the splendor! This Argus will stake his life on building you the strongest, safest ship in the world! Listen up! From today, we work through the night! Cut the thickest oaks on Mount Pelion and bring them here!!"

"Waaaaaah!!"

The laborers snatched up their axes and charged out, every one of them gleaming with zeal.

Why!? Why aren't you striking—why are you volunteering to be paid in passion, you lunatic ancients!!

Noon came and went, and the shipyard still had the air of a feast. No. This would not do. Then the next strategy.

"But listen!"

He shouted it.

"What good is a ship by itself? Who's going to take the helm? I've never even pulled an oar! I don't know the sea lanes, and I can't read the stars! Is a helmsman who can cut the Black Sea's currents just going to drop out of the sky this instant!?"

A problem money couldn't solve. No helmsman was an excuse he could drag out for months.

That was when it happened. A man who had been sitting in a corner of the yard stood up and tossed the shell in his hand into the sea.

"I'll take it."

Short. Dry.

"......Who are you?"

The man drew a single olive leaf from his clothes and held it out.

"Tiphys. From Boeotia."

"No, I mean—why......"

"A goddess came to me in a dream and told me to come here."

Dispatched? Already? I haven't even posted the job listing!!

Why are gods so pointlessly efficient!?

Tiphys ran his eyes along the keel.

"Good ship."

"......That's it?"

"I'll take the helm."

The words jammed in his throat. Stay calm. The nightmare client's road wasn't finished yet. In his previous life there had been a businessman like that. Full self-driving, he said, would be out next year. While that "next year" renewed itself every year, the stock price only climbed.

"I mean...... don't ships these days have something like self-driving? The ship warns you if there's a reef, checks the route on its own, talks to you if there's danger. Something like that."

Skree. Skree.

A gull cried.

Splash.

A wave struck the sandbar. Argus blinked.

"......The ship? Talks......?"

Tiphys looked at him for a moment.

"Sailors don't board ships like that."

Acastus scratched the back of his head and swallowed an awkward laugh.

"Um, Jason...... your imagination really is heroic, but...... a ship that talks...... that's a bit much, isn't it?"

The laborers started muttering.

"He was fine a moment ago."

"Has he suddenly lost his mind?"

"Says the ship talks. The ship."

He cleared his throat and quietly took half a step back. The embarrassment rose all the way to the crown of his head.

"Ah, no, I mean...... it was just a manner of speaking. A joke, a joke. Haha. Wow, that really killed the mood. Anyway, I am absolutely not boarding until this ship is perfect, so all of you remember that!"

He fled the shipyard as if escaping. Behind him, Argus's shouting and the ring of hammers rose up loud again.

That night, lying on the bed in his room, he clawed at the blanket.

"It's over. Completely over."

"I even spouted that self-driving nonsense, so why didn't the whole thing collapse! At this point they should have chased me off as a lunatic, shouldn't they??"

"Comfort, my ass......"

Fatigue crashed in all at once. What scheme was he supposed to try tomorrow?

"Should I just set a fire...... turn loose some termites...... do they even have termites in Greece......?"

He sank into sleep on the back of thoughts that useless.

He dreamed, and he knew at once that it was a dream—because clouds lay spread beneath his feet, and the stars flowed through the sky like a river.

Footsteps sounded from beyond the mist.

Clack. Clack.

"......Who's there?"

The mist parted, and a woman revealed herself. A helm tinged with blue light. A keen-edged spear. The shield on her left arm was carved with a monster's face. An owl perched on her shoulder. Gray eyes looked at him.

He frantically paged through the educational comic in his head. Goddess of wisdom and war. Athena.

Aaaah! She's the type of goddess who turns people into spiders......!