Eileen choked.
Stinky stalked out of the room.
Freddie held his nose.
‘Pooh,’ he said, waving his hand in front of his face.
‘Where have you been?’ said Dad. ‘You smell like you’ve been living in a stable.’
2
OBLIGING ORPHEUS
Susan hesitated. Should she tell them? But what could she say?
‘We’re waiting for an explanation,’ said Dad.
‘No big deal. I was helping clean out a stable,’ muttered Susan.
‘And who were you helping?’ said Dad.
‘Just someone,’ said Susan.
‘Who?’ said Mum.
‘His name’s Hercules, all right?’ snapped Susan.
‘We don’t know any Hercules,’ said Eileen. ‘What a funny name.’
Her mother sighed.
‘What have we told you about fibbing, Susan?’ she said sharply. ‘When you tell silly stories no one will ever believe you when you tell the truth. There are no stables within miles of this house.’
‘I am telling the truth,’ said Susan. ‘Uncle-’ she was just about to mention Uncle Martin’s magic coin when some instinct warned her to keep her mouth shut. If her parents confiscated the coin she would never have another adventure again.
‘Uncle Martin will believe me,’ she finished lamely.
‘Just go upstairs and have a bath,’ said Mum. ‘And put those disgusting clothes straight in the washing machine.’
Susan stomped upstairs, jumbled her clothes into a heap and flung herself into the bath. She needed to think.
As far as she knew, you couldn’t wind up smelly from a stable you’d visited in a dream. Therefore, incredible and unbelievable as it seemed, the coin had whirled her back to Ancient Greece.
But was that all it could do?
Susan reached for the coin.
‘I wish for a million pounds,’ she said.
Nothing happened. Perhaps she was being too greedy.
‘I wish for one pound,’ she said.
Still nothing happened.
‘I wish for a chocolate biscuit,’ said Susan.
Biscuitless, she placed the coin carefully on the floor.
Clearly, it wasn’t a wishing coin, but a Greek time-travel coin.
I’m going to have fun, she thought, smiling and splashing bath water all over the floor.
SCREEECH! SCREEEEECH! SQUEEEAK!
It was three days later. Susan was practising her violin. She was trying to learn all the music she hadn’t learned all week fifteen minutes before her lesson. This was not an easy task.
Freddie ran past holding his ears. Eileen dashed downstairs to the kitchen and slammed the door. The neighbours closed their window. Even Stinky yowled.
Susan didn’t feel like practising. She felt like screaming.
‘Just do twenty minutes a day,’ said her music teacher Mrs Parry. ‘You’ll play beautifully in no time.’
Huh, thought Susan. If I practised for twenty years it would make no difference. I’ll still sound like a strangled grasshopper. Why she had switched from the recorder she would never know. She did know, actually. Her big sister Eileen played the recorder about a million times better than she did. Susan wanted to play an instrument that no one else in her family played. That way she could be the best. That was the theory, anyway.
She scraped her bow across the strings.
‘Twinkle, twinkle – SQUEAK! Little – SCREEEEECH,’ shrieked the violin. ‘How I – SCREEECH – wonder – SCREECH – how you SCRAAAAATCH . . .’
‘Susan!’ shouted her mother. ‘Stop playing like that! It’s time to go to your lesson.’
‘It’s no use!’ screamed Susan. ‘I hate the violin!’
In a fury she kicked the case. There was a rattling sound.
For a moment Susan couldn’t think what it was, then she remembered. The Greek coin. The precious magic coin. She’d put it in her violin case to keep it safe.
‘Come on Susan! Get down here! It’s time for your lesson!’
‘I wish I didn’t have to go,’ she muttered, plonking the violin in its case and slinging it across her shoulder. ‘I wish I were anywhere but here.’
Susan’s legs buckled beneath her as the silver-grey mist swirled round. She fell down, down, down . . .
Susan opened her eyes. The mist was gone. She shook her dizzy head. She was in a shady forest grove of ancient oaks. The air was hushed and still.
I’m not ready, thought Susan, feeling panicky. She wasn’t in the mood for an adventure at all.
Then, in the distance, she heard music. The sweetest, most beautiful music she had ever heard. The music came closer and closer through the trees, a man’s voice, singing. But where was it coming from? The skies? The earth? The plaintive, haunting melody swirled round her, sweet and sorrowful.
Susan found herself on her feet, dancing. As she raised her arms and twirled, she had the strangest feeling that around her the oaks danced, too, bending and swaying towards the music. There was a THUD THUD THUD as even the rocks appeared to leap from the ground.
It must be the wind, thought Susan. And then she saw that the great oaks circled round one another, forming the patterns of a stately dance. But so magical was the music that it did not seem strange. Even the pair of wolves crawling on their paws, whimpering, and the lion rolling on its back, its paws stroking the air, seemed somehow as it should be.
And then she saw him. A young man was playing and singing as he approached. What a voice! Tears filled her eyes. He held what looked like a small harp with two curved horns in his left hand, which he plucked while he sang his song of sorrow. Then he saw Susan. Instantly he stopped playing.
‘The gods have answered my prayers! Nymph, nymph, help me! Help me!’
Susan looked around. They were alone in the grove. There was only the CLUMP! CLUMP! THUD! THUD! sound as the oaks stood fixed in their dancing circle, and the rocks lay still.
The man stared at her wildly and fell to his knees.
‘I beg you, help me rescue my wife,’ implored the singer.
‘Me?’ said Susan.
‘Of course, you,’ said the man.
‘Where is she?’
The musician gulped. He glanced around to see if they were alone.
‘The House of Hades,’ he whispered.
Susan shivered. The very name sounded horrible. It did not sound like the sort of house it would be fun to visit. Where had she heard that name before?
‘What’s she doing there?’ she asked.
‘What do you think?’ snapped the singer. ‘Forgive me, nymph,’ he added quickly. ‘Grief has made me mad.’
A terrible memory flashed through Susan’s mind.
‘Hold on a minute,’ said Susan. ‘Isn’t Hades where dead people go?’
‘Shh! Don’t speak that terrible word so loudly!’ hissed the singer. ‘Do you want to attract the attention of the King of the Underworld? Of course it’s where dead spirits go,’ he added. ‘My Eurydice stepped on a poisonous snake running from that fiend Aristaeus, it bit her, and . . . and . . .’ he broke off, gulping with sobs.
Suddenly Susan knew who he was.
‘You’re Orpheus the musician.’
‘None other,’ said Orpheus, sniffing. ‘And are you a wood nymph, or a river nymph?’
Susan thought quickly. If she said she was a water nymph he might expect her to jump in some freezing pool.
‘Wood nymph,’ said Susan.
‘Just like my Eurydice,’ he said sadly. ‘So you’ll help me, then. I’ve got to get her back from the Underworld and I don’t know how. What should I do?’
Orpheus looked at her helplessly.
‘Uh,’ said Susan. ‘Look, I’m really sorry, but I’m not exactly sure how to, uh, bring people back from the dead. Even clever wood nymphs can’t do that.’
‘If you can’t help me, then I am lost,’ said Orpheus. He twanged a few melancholy notes. Lost . . . lost .
. . echoed through the quiet grove and reverberated down the steep valley.
Suddenly Susan had an idea. ‘Your playing . . .’ she began. ‘Wow. It’s fantastic. Perhaps you could charm Hades into letting her go, the way you’ve charmed the beasts and the trees.’
‘Oh nymph, you are a genius,’ shrieked Orpheus. ‘Let’s go, let’s go at once.’
‘Go where?’ said Susan.
‘The entrance to Hades’ kingdom is at the great cave at Taenarum,’ he said. ‘It’s just a short journey from here.’
Before Susan could say another word, Orpheus had seized her arm and they were off.
I’m in for it now, thought Susan, as they trudged along narrow hillside paths scented with the smell of lemons. Me and my big mouth.
‘What’s that you’re carrying?’ asked Orpheus.
Susan had forgotten about her violin.
‘My violin,’ said Susan.
‘What’s that?’ asked Orpheus.
‘It’s a musical instrument,’ she said, seeing his puzzled look.
‘Ah,’ said Orpheus. ‘Perhaps you will lighten our weary path and play as we walk.’
‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea,’ said Susan quickly.
‘Don’t be modest, nymph,’ said Orpheus. ‘It would give me great pleasure to hear you play.’
That’s what you think, thought Susan grimly. This was worse than she could ever have imagined. It was bad enough playing for Mrs Parry. Now she had to play for Orpheus, the greatest musician who ever lived.
Slowly she opened the violin case. There was the coin, glowing faintly. There was now a lyre on its front. Susan picked up the coin and wished that she could play beautifully. The magic owed her that much. Then she popped the coin in her pocket, and tucked the violin under her chin. Orpheus looked at her, beaming. Oh please, magic, do your stuff, she thought.
Then Susan started to play. Trees flung back their branches. Angry growls came from the bushes.
Orpheus covered his ears.
‘By the gods, what a sound,’ he said.
Susan blushed bright red. That rotten, horrible coin has let me down, she thought.
‘Told you I couldn’t play,’ she snapped.
‘I am not familiar with your instrument,’ said Orpheus kindly. ‘May I try it?’
Susan handed him the violin. ‘Go ahead.’
Orpheus stroked the wood, and dangled the bow from his left fingers.
‘Hold the bow in your right hand,’ muttered Susan.
‘Ah,’ said Orpheus. Then he raised the bow to the strings and began to play.
His fingers darted up and down the keyboard, his bow sailed across the strings.
Susan could not believe her ears. How did the wooden box which sounded so scratchy under her fingers give forth such magic under his?
‘How do you do that?’ she asked.
‘It is my gift,’ said Orpheus simply.
They walked in silence down into a barren valley, bordered by bare, steep cliffs. Susan noticed there was no sound – even the birds were silent.
‘We’re here,’ said Orpheus quietly, standing in front of a narrow opening in the cliffside, partly blocked by a heavy boulder.
‘This is Taenarum, the entrance to Hades,’ he said. ‘Are you brave enough to enter?’
‘Of course I am,’ said Susan, while inside her a voice screamed, No you aren’t! Get out of there while the going’s good!
Orpheus strummed on his lyre, and the giant boulder heaved itself aside.
‘Actually I’m late for my violin lesson,’ said Susan. ‘Perhaps another time.’ But Orpheus had already disappeared inside. Susan hesitated for a moment. I don’t suppose there’s any point in wishing I wasn’t here, she thought, closing her eyes. Then she opened them again. The entrance to the Underworld was still there.
‘Nymph, where are you?’ came a panicky-sounding voice from inside the mountain.
Susan squared her shoulders, and followed Orpheus down inside the earth.
BUMP! In the darkness Susan collided with him.
‘Hey!’ she snapped. ‘Watch where you’re going!’
Orpheus muttered something under his breath.
‘What?’ said Susan.
‘Would you walk first? I’m scared of the dark,’ murmured Orpheus.
‘Now you tell me!’ said Susan. She didn’t like the dark much either, if truth be told.
‘All right,’ she said.
‘Thank you, nymph,’ said Orpheus humbly. ‘If you don’t mind I’ll just hang on to your tunic.’
Down, down, down they descended into the pit. At times the path widened and they scrambled across dark valleys, then down, down, down through the narrow, twisting tunnels of the Underworld. The air was dank and musty, the darkness terrible. Her violin case clunked against her back. Susan resisted the urge to pitch it into the abyss.
Just when Susan thought her aching feet could not walk another step, they reached the misty shores of the black river, Styx. Across its still, stagnant waters, a ferryman sat, head bowed.
‘You get his attention,’ whispered Orpheus. ‘My courage is failing.’
‘Why me?’ said Susan.
Orpheus turned pleading eyes on her. ‘You do the talking, I’ll do the playing.’
Susan sighed.
‘Yo! Ferryman!’ she called. Her voice reverberated across the swamp, a shrill, thin echo.
The old man looked up. He seemed so shocked that for a moment Susan thought he was going to topple backwards out of his black boat. Then he spat, dipped his oars and rowed close to them.
‘And where do you think you’re going?’ snarled the man. ‘Yes, you two, in the bodies. This is a place for dead people only.’
‘We’ve come to fetch his wife, Eurydice. She shouldn’t be here,’ said Susan.
The ferryman laughed and rowed a little closer.
‘That’s what they all say. Only the dead can cross this river, mortals. And even if I did row you across, which I won’t, no matter how many obols you’ve got under your tongue, that watchdog with the three heads and the fangs will soon stop you sneaking through the gates. So scram.’ He snorted and turned away.
‘There’s no need to be so rude,’ said Susan.
The slap-slap of the oars on the water was her only reply.
She turned to Orpheus, who appeared transfixed by the fast-disappearing ferryman.
‘Play!’ hissed Susan.
Orpheus shook himself and raised his lyre. The song of sadness filled the misty air. Slowly, the boat drew closer to them until its tip touched the boggy shore. Orpheus, still playing, climbed aboard. Susan followed.
They rowed across the steaming, sulphurous river, between sheer black walls. All around were moans and sighs, as the souls of the dead reached out across the water. The foul stink of pitch and gas and sulphur stung their nostrils.
As they left the boat, a terrible howl echoed across the dripping black walls. Susan shivered.
Then a monstrous three-headed hell-hound loomed up, lashing its snake tail, with serpent heads writhing all over its back. The beast towered above them, snarling and snapping, its cruel jaws dripping with foam.
‘What’s that?’ gasped Susan.
‘Cerberus, who guards the gate,’ said Orpheus, ducking behind Susan. He looked pale.
‘Go on, sing!’ said Susan.
Slowly Orpheus raised his lyre.
‘Hurry! Before he eats us both!’ screamed Susan.
Cerberus, bellowing, stalked towards them. Orpheus froze.
‘Help!’ he squeaked.
‘Play! Play!’ she urged.
‘Plink! Plink!’ came the pitiful sound from Orpheus’ lyre. Then he opened his mouth to sing. A hoarse whisper came out.
‘What’s wrong?’ shouted Susan as Cerberus advanced, snarling, the snakes hissing and twisting on his back.
‘I can’t. I’m scared of dogs. You play!’ gasped Orpheus.
There was no time to argue. Cerberus
was now so close Susan could smell the foul breath pouring out of his three slavering jaws.
Hands trembling, Susan got out her violin. I swear I’ll practise more if I come out of here alive, she vowed, grabbing the bow.
‘Twinkle – SHRIEK – twinkle, little star – SCRATCH!
How I wonder what you are,’ yowled the violin.
For a moment Cerberus stopped barking.
‘Carry on,’ whispered Orpheus.
Susan played on. Then Cerberus, standing still, started snarling again.
They took one step closer to the gate.
The monster’s yowls changed. Each head started howling in time to Susan’s playing.
Closer and closer they got to the gate. Cerberus sank to the ground, howling happily.
‘What’s that horrible racket?’ snapped Tantalus, pausing for a moment from reaching for a pear that dangled just out of reach.
Sisyphus looked so stunned that he stopped pushing his stone up the hill.
‘What’s this, some new torment for me?’ he shouted as the rolling stone knocked him backwards.
Then Susan and Orpheus were through the black gates. Behind them Cerberus whimpered sadly.
‘Well done,’ said Orpheus.
Susan glowed. Not many musicians could say they’d been complimented by the greatest player of all.
Ahead, through the gloom and the shadowy shapes billowing aimlessly around them, Susan saw a towering black palace. Trembling, she and Orpheus walked through the marble doors and into the vast throne room, where the King and Queen of the Underworld sat in stony silence.
The grim king rose as they approached.
‘How dare the living pollute our land with their hot stench,’ he boomed.
‘What cheek!’ agreed his grey queen, Persephone, her cold eyes raking them.
Susan grabbed Orpheus.
‘If you love her, play! Play!’ she hissed. ‘Play as you’ve never played in your life.’
And Orpheus played. He sang of his sorrow, his loneliness, and his love. He sang of Eurydice, her beauty, her youth, their short time together before the cruel snake tore them apart.
Hades curled up on his throne and cried. Persephone cried. Susan cried. And still Orpheus played till it seemed that the walls would melt with the beauty and the sorrow of his music.
Helping Hercules Page 2