The lanky git pushed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose with a long index finger, cleared his throat, and said, “Hello, I’m Reginald, your liaison with the Ministry of Small Gods. May I come in?”
“Tony’s never going to believe this.” She stepped out of the way to let Reginald into the house.
Twenty minutes of internet searches, document checks, and telephone calls to two of Tony’s former schoolmates who did secret sneaky things in the name of Queen and country confirmed Reginald was, in fact, Reginald. The Ministry of Small Gods was his domain.
Reginald, for his part, could not stand still. He bobbed, weaved, shifted from foot-to-foot, twitched, and once, even did the cha-cha while sweating bullets under an unhappy Tony’s gaze.
“Well, you see . . . ” Reginald pushed his glasses back into place, bobbed his like a chicken, cleared his throat, and then said, “as newly identified deities, I am here to help you—” he shrugged his right shoulder “—ah . . . inform you what you can do for your country.”
It was his third run at the speech.
It was not received any better than either of the previous attempts.
“This’ll be a laugh. Go ahead, son, show us what you’ve got.” Tony crossed his arms against his chest and waited.
“Well . . . okay. Right.” Reginald spun in circles, his head snapping from side to side.
“Stop before you hurt yourself. What are you looking for?” asked Moira.
“I put . . . here!” Reginald fished his tablet computer out of his briefcase and hit the home key. “We’re not heathens, so no worries, you won’t need to start until after your honeymoon, which will be in Dorset.”
“No, we’re going to Italy for two weeks.” There was a hint of laughter in Moira’s voice.
Reginald wrinkled his nose, bobbed liked a cork, then said, “Sorry! Your passports have been canceled. Bad luck that, but we can’t be having any unscheduled plane crashes, now can we? No, of course not. Oh, and sorry about this, but of course, if you refuse to do this small gift of a lifetime of service to your country, both of you will be prosecuted for a variety of crimes against the state.” His toothy grin failed to amuse. “Okay. Right. Shit. Okay, well—” he flicked his index finger across his iPad screen twice “—stopping the Eye, causing an Oyster reader failure at Tottenham Court Road, signal failure at Shaftesbury Avenue and Monmouth, theft of a Matisse from the exhibition at the National Gallery . . . ”
Moira shot a hot glance at Tony. “I thought it was a print.”
“Ours is a print.”
Reginald continued. “The theft of three sheep from an Inverness market, multiple car thefts, interference with twenty-three ongoing police investigations, and—” his right eyebrow crept into his hairline “—a rash of cat shavings in the East End.”
“He can be prosecuted alone for that one,” said Moira with a scowl.
“It was your idea.” Tony scowled at her in return.
“And that is just what you have been up to the last fortnight. Need I go on?” Reginald looked up from his iPad to find two pairs of angry eyes staring back. Nerves frayed raw, he did a neat little box step cha-cha combination, pushed his glasses up his nose and his mop of curls off his forehead, and then dropped into a gray linen club chair.
“How is Dorset this time of year?” Moira asked Reginald.
A broad grin broke across his sweat-damp face, and his shoulders sagged in relief. “It’s lovely.”
About the Story
* * *
“Small Gods” is the first story in the new series: “Ministry of Small Gods.” Stay tuned for more Moira, Tony, Phyllida, Reginald, massive system failures, crap accents, and seriously shifty business.
The grift will continue in: The London Guild of Minor Gods, coming in June, 2017.
* * *
ChandaElaine Spurlock
7
Queer Eye for the Dead Guy
Rhonda Eudaly
“Why? Why? Why me?” Hades slapped his palm against his forehead in time to the questions. “I became the god of the Underworld to get away from those two! How could Zeus do this to me? I haven’t done anything to him . . . lately.”
“You know what this place could use?” A highly chipper and bubbly voice echoed through the reception area.
“Besides a good scrubbing? Did you see that river?” A nearly identical voice answered. Both voices giggled.
Hades vaulted off his throne and frantically scanned the room for an escape route. He had too many choices, too many doors. One headed to Tartarus. One was the gateway to the Elysian Fields—which few people realized was actually a small town in East Texas. The third door led back to the rivers and the Gates to Hades. The fourth led to Hades’s personal living quarters. Unfortunately, most of the chambers in this part of the Underworld were made of stone, so there was no telling exactly from which route the voices came.
“Hades! There you are!”
He froze—something most thought impossible in the Underworld—as the two annoying minor gods approached from the rivers. He turned and forced himself to smile through clenched teeth at the immaculately coiffed and attired twins. “Debris. Detritus. What can I do for you?”
“Do?” Debris cocked his head, puzzled.
“For you?” Detritus echoed. They looked at each other and laughed. “Oh, my Olympus, no.”
“It’s not what you can do for us, dear Hades.” Debris made a grand, sweeping gesture. “But what we can do for you.”
“Oh, yes, Hades, Zeus sent us just in time. This place needs a complete makeover. It’s so . . . so. “
“Last Millennium?”
“Exactly.”
“Do you have to do that?” Hades demanded, rubbing his temples.
“What?” the twins chorused.
“Do that weird twin speak, finishing each other’s sentences thing,” Hades said hotly. “It’s giving me a headache.”
“Your headache is probably because the Feng Shui in this place is all wrong!” Debris flung his arms out to include the whole room.
“Or it could be the dust.” Detritus flicked a linen handkerchief and dabbed his nose. “It’s a more common and insidious allergen than most people know.”
“Give us a week,” Debris said. “You won’t recognize the place, and you’ll feel better. We guarantee it.”
“What are you going to do?” Hades enunciated every word.
Detritus puffed out his chest. “We’ll do for you what we did for Olympus. For Zeus. It’ll be fabulous. You’ll love it. Just think of how much better this place will be with a few potted plants!”
“Throw pillows!” Debris’ eyes glittered. “Can’t you see this place with big, colorful throw pillows?”
“Pillows? Why do we need pillows?” Hades’s headache bloomed brighter, bordering on migraine.
“And you know, a nice light wash on the walls would really brighten up this dreary room.” Debris completely ignored Hades, and his gestures grew more flamboyant as his excitement rose.
Hades ducked more than once to keep from getting socked in the jaw. If anyone was going to be hit before all of this was over, it wasn’t going to be him. “Though something to throw might not be so bad.” No one heard him.
He finally cleared his throat. “Excuse me, what about me? Don’t I get a say in this? It is my Underworld after all.”
“Darling, why would you want a say?” Detritus asked, without looking at him. “You had your chance. Now it’s our turn. Zeus decreed, and we must obey.”
“You have got to be kidding me.” Hades rubbed his temples a bit more. There was a vein in his forehead starting to throb. “I’ve got to do something about this headache.”
“We’ll be here.” Debris pulled out a tape measure. “There’s a lot to do.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Hades said as he fled to his quarters. He could still hear them.
“You know what I’m seeing here, Debris?”
“I think I know
where you’re going, Detritus.”
“Curtains!” they chorused.
“Persephone!” Hades bellowed.
“Well, they did say you wouldn’t recognize the place,” Persephone said uncertainly a couple of days later.
“It hasn’t been a week yet.” Hades raked aggravated fingers through his hair. “What else could they do?”
“It’s not that bad, Hades, and I think the cushions on the thrones are nice. I didn’t like sitting on cold stone all the time. It was hard on the posterior. And if you don’t stop pulling your hair, you’re going to go bald.”
“But this? This isn’t so bad?” Hades yanked his fingers out of his hair and gestured at the River Styx. “Just look what they did to Charon and Cerberus! At least they have the decency to look embarrassed.”
“Yes, Master,” Charon picked at the gold-trimmed sleeve of his new white uniform.
“Well, it’s a bit classier than that old black shroud,” Persephone tried to find the bright side to things. “Welcoming, even.”
“Welcoming?” Hades voice rose in volume and timbre at the thought. “We’re not supposed to be welcoming! No one’s supposed to want to come here—not even the ones who make it to the Elysian Fields!”
“Well, Charon does look like a refugee from the Love Boat; maybe that’ll scare some souls off.”
“There is that,” Hades grudgingly admitted. “But what about poor Cerberus? Look at him.”
The Hellhound guardian hung all his heads in shame, his serpent tails tucked between his legs.
“What’s wrong with him?” Persephone asked.
“He’s been groomed! They’ve put bows around his necks,” Hades stormed while pacing the banks of the Styx. “And what did they do to his tails? Have they molted? How’s he supposed to turn back unwanted souls looking like that? Wait, what are you doing?”
Persephone looked up from scratching Cerberus’s ears. The hound had rolled over on his back with all his tongues hanging out in pure doggie pleasure. “What? I’m sorry, honey, but I couldn’t resist. He’s cute!”
“Oh, for Olympus’ sake!” Hades threw up his hands and stalked off. “I’m going to have words with those neatniks. Where are they?”
“I think they were going to tackle Tartarus today, dear.”
“No! Not Tartarus!”
Hades took off through the Underworld at a dead run.
“This has got to go, don’t you think, Detritus?”
“Oh, absolutely, Debris.”
Hades slid to a halt and couldn’t hide his complete horror as his jaw dropped open. The brimstone smell was gone. So were the open pits of lava. He couldn’t hear one scream of everlasting terror, not one whimper of unending regret. “What’s going on? Your changes to the Elysian Fields were one thing. The Fields are supposed to be nice. Souls are supposed to strive to go there, but this is Tartarus. What have you done? Where’s the fire? Where are the tortured souls?”
“Oh, all that stuff had to go,” Detritus said with a flick of his wrist. “It was all garbage, and trust me, we know our garbage. Renew. Recycle. Reuse. Resale! We made a bundle in that rummage sale over in the Elysian Fields. Those good souls know a bargain when they see one.”
“Though to some people, we do unearth treasures,” Debris added. “Did you know you had a full collection of world dictators down here? You could make a fortune on the collector’s circuit. On eBay alone.”
“Oooh, eBay? Not eBay. It’s so passé.” Detritus tapped his chin while he thought. “I know! Craigslist! We could unload some of the picked-over stuff that way.”
“That’s a fabulous idea! Detritus, you’re brilliant.”
“Why thank you, Debris. I thought so myself.”
“Why can’t you just leave everything alone?” Hades finally lost his temper.
“Where did we put those Asian wall hangings?” Debris asked. “Those would so go in this space. Those bloody battle scenes would be perfect in here.”
“Battle scenes, Debris? I don’t think so. Take a look around you! This place doesn’t want more blood and gore. It wants contrasting themes. Flowers. Bunnies. Puppies!”
“You know, Detritus, you may be right. Some nice fluffy kittens, maybe. What do you think of chihuahuas?”
“No, not chihuahuas. They can go feral, you know.”
“That would be bad, but I see flowers.”
“What are you . . .? How . . .? Chihuahuas? Bunnies? Flowers?” Hades couldn’t make the words come out. “This is Tartarus. It’s not supposed to be . . . Excuse me . . . I have to go . . . ”
Hades didn’t see Persephone when he stormed into their quarters. She looked up from the basket she was rummaging through when he started banging around. “Problems, dear?”
“I need something for a headache. Then I need to talk to Hermes. Zeus has to take them back before someone dies.”
“That’s nice, dear. I assume Hermes won’t be staying for dinner,” Persephone said absently, bouncing a ball in her hand and heading for the door.
“Not unless you want him underfoot for the rest of time.” Hades finally focused on the ball. “What’re you doing?”
“Cerberus wants to play.”
Persephone closed the door behind her, cutting off Hades’ frustrated scream.
Hades slumped at the table with his head in his hands.
“Dude! That must’ve been some party. You should’ve invited me, man.”
Hades dragged his head toward the young voice, glaring at the messenger god.
Hermes took a step back and lifted his hands in surrender. “Whoa, dude, sorry. Guess it wasn’t a party. Wassup?”
“I need you to get a message to Zeus. I need him, now.”
“No can do, Hades.” He looked around. “Something seems different. Have you done something to the place?”
“Why can’t you deliver my message to Zeus?” Hades asked.
“He’s gone to ground. Mortal ground.” The messenger god looked around puzzledly. “Hera’s in one of her Moods. Dude, what’s different?”
“Great. Just great. It’s going to mortal ground that puts Hera in those Moods. Now what do I do?” The god of the Underworld slapped his forehead repeatedly with the heel of his hand.
“Dude, why’re you doing that?”
“Because if I bang my head against the wall, it would leave a bloody mess, then I’d never get rid of them.”
“Get rid of whom?”
“Debris and Detritus.”
“Oooohhhhh.” Hermes nodded knowingly. “Enough said. I wondered where they went. I’ll do what I can, man. But you know how Zeus gets when Hera’s in one of her moods.”
“Why do you think I took on the Underworld instead of staying on Olympus?” Hades shuddered picturing Hera’s tantrums.
“I hear you, man. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks.”
Hermes was on his way out when he looked back. “By the way, who’re the serious babes I saw coming in? Usually I get a bunch of grief from the Furies, but I didn’t see them, just some hot chicks . . . ”
“No! Not a makeover on the Furies! They didn’t!” Hades took off at a dead run. “That’s the last straw! Find Zeus before I do something drastic!”
Hades paced on the edge of the mortal realm when he saw Zeus coming. “It’s about time you showed up. Didn’t Hermes tell you it was urgent?”
Zeus shrugged. “I came as soon as Hermes found me. And you know if he can find me, Hera’s not going to be too far behind. She’s still in the breaking-things mood, and that usually means me. So let’s make this quick, okay?”
“Hera’s not the one you need to be concerned about, it’s me.”
“What’re you talking about?” Zeus asked.
“Debris and Detritus. You have to take them back. Now.”
“Oh, come on, what’s got your chiton in a twist, Hades? They’re good kids. Besides, they’re good at what they do, and they were getting bored. They’ve done all they can with Olympus
. I had to do something before they started trashing things just to have some garbage to deal with, though with Hera, there’s almost always something in pieces.”
“So you sent them here? Without warning and without asking? Gee, Zeus, I know you’re in charge and all, but wasn’t that a bit harsh? I haven’t done anything to you . . . lately. Just wait till you see what they’re doing with the place. It’s not the same anymore.” Hades dragged Zeus into the Underworld with him.
Debris and Detritus were oiling the hinges on the Gates of Hell when the two major deities found them.
“No!” Hades rushed forward, totally forgetting Zeus was with him. “You’re going too far this time! You can’t oil those hinges!”
“Why not?” Debris and Detritus asked together. Debris looked particularly puzzled. “What’s wrong with a gate that doesn’t squeak from all the rust and corrosion? A well-oiled gate is a long-lasting gate. And who says the Afterlife has to be an unpleasant experience?”
“I do!” Hades shouted. “I say so! I have a particular ambience set up down here, and you’re ruining it!” He turned to Zeus and gestured madly. “Back me up here, Zeus. You have to take them back to Olympus with you. They’re driving me crazy.”
“Maybe they have a point?” Zeus shuffled uncertainly. “I never really did like the noise those gates made. It was an awful lot like that fingernails-on-a-chalkboard sound.”
“That was the point!” Hades was losing ground. “You have to see what else they’ve done. This is no longer the Underworld mortals have come to know and fear.”
Hades took Zeus on a thorough tour of the “new and improved” Underworld. The god of the Underworld felt his rage build to epic proportions as he discovered further changes. Debris and Detritus had been busy while his back was turned.
“You should do something about your anger issues,” Zeus said as they toured Tartarus. “That vein in your forehead is about to burst. And trust me, the results aren’t always that pleasant.”
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