by Lucy Coats
“Ah! Our Official Beast Keeper has arrived,” said Hestia. “Hello, Pandemonius. Would you like one of my special loukaniko sausages for breakfast? They’re a brand-new recipe—I added cinnamon and apples to the mix. All the gods and goddesses always want a home-cooked breakfast when they wake up after drinking Dionysius’s silly grape juice.” As she spoke, she whisked a sausage out of the nearest pan, grabbed a hot roll, slapped the meat into it, and handed it to Demon. The smell was divine. He bit into it, not caring that it was piping hot. It was utterly delicious, sweet and spicy and full of just the right amount of meat.
Oh no! Meat. He’d forgotten for a second.
“Yum!” he said hastily and indistinctly, chewing frantically. “Yum yum YUM!” He didn’t want to hurry this. It would be back to horrid ambrosia cake soon. “Er, Your Goddessness, I was wondering …”
Hestia shoved another full roll into his free hand. “Try this one,” she said. “It’s got just a touch of pine nuts and wild thyme honey. Oh, and don’t worry, I know what you’ve come for. I saw Hades go storming past about half an hour ago. I suppose he was upset about missing the feast last night. Glaukos over there is already loading up some supplies for those wretched dragons of his.” She pointed to a faun throwing large pieces of cooked flesh into a battered silver wheelbarrow.
Demon felt like falling to his knees with gratitude. Hestia was definitely the nicest goddess ever.
“Fank you,” he mumbled around another mouthful of bread and sausage. Hestia just waved him toward the wheelbarrow, before turning to smack a nearby faun about the horns with her wooden spoon. There was black smoke coming out of the frying pan he was looking after.
“Use those tongs!” she yelled. “Did I say I wanted them burned to a crisp? I’ll burn you to a crisp if you don’t CONCENTRATE!” Demon hurried away. Hestia might be nice, but he wasn’t taking any risks.
All the beasts were still asleep when Demon got back to the Stables, panting slightly from pushing the heavy barrowful of meat. He tiptoed up to the rock-walled pen and unlocked the fireproof doors, Pan pipes at the ready just in case. But both dragons were slumped on the floor. Small streams of ghostly smoke rose from their cavernous nostrils as they snored. He quickly tossed the meat into the large stone trough gouged out of the wall, hoping they wouldn’t wake. He didn’t want to be in the same place as two hungry dragons. They might see him as a tasty snack to finish off their meal. Sure enough, just as he was fastening the doors, there was a flash of flame and a great roaring and chomping noise. Obviously, like most beasts, dragons woke up at the smell of food.
He felt a sharp claw dig into his shoulder. “Saved me some meat, did you, Pan’s scrawny kid?”
asked the griffin menacingly. “You’d better have.” Clearly the dragons were not the only ones to have been woken up by the smell of food. Luckily there were a couple of small legs of lamb left. Demon tossed them to the beast, who caught them in his huge curved beak.
“Eat them quietly,” he hissed at the creature. “Or they’ll all want some.” Most of the beasts survived on stale ambrosia cake. The more carnivorous ones complained about it dreadfully. He picked up the dragon harness and struggled to sling it over his shoulder. Although his muscles had become stronger with all the shoveling and brushing and barrowing of poo he had to do daily, the mess of metal straps and breastplates was very heavy. He hauled them out to the front of the Stables and sat down on a bale of golden hay. Using a bottle of Eternal All-Shine he’d gotten from Melanie the naiad, he began to clean and polish the disgusting, charcoal-crusted harnesses.
Twenty minutes later, the harnesses were shining like new, all ready for Hades’s return. Demon just hoped he’d done a good enough job not to be turned into toast.
It seemed that he didn’t have long to wait for the god of death. Just as he’d finished clearing away the clean white bones that were all the griffin had left of its meal, the bars of sunlight falling across the floor of the Stables faded and turned to gray. There was a sudden breath of must and mold in the darkening air. Before Demon could even turn around, a heavy hand fell on his shoulder.
“Ssso, ssstable boy,” said Hades in his soft, hissing voice. “I sssee you haven’t been eaten by my dragonsss. Yet.” There was a sinister pause, and then he went on, his fingers digging in a bit, so Demon could feel the prick of his long nails. “My sssissster Hera tellsss me you’re good at mending sssick beastsss. Are you?”
Demon didn’t quite know what to say. If he said yes, it might sound like boasting, which he knew the gods didn’t like.
“Well, Your M-m-mighty D-d-dark Goddishness, I wouldn’t say good, exactly. I’ve had a lot of help from my father and Hephaestus … a-and a bit of good fortune with my cures.” He kept his eyes firmly on the floor, hoping that Hades would just go away and leave him alone now that he’d answered. But no such luck. The god clapped him on the shoulder so hard that Demon fell to his knees.
“A modessst boy. I like that. You’ll need to pack up your medical thingsss, ssstable boy. I need you in the Underworld for a while. I have a sssickly hound who needsss your attention urgently. Now, take me to my dragonsss. I have sssome treatsss for them.” As Demon led Hades toward the dragon pens, his mind was whirling. How could he go down to the Underworld? Surely that was just for dead people. And who would look after the Stables if he was gone? He left Hades crooning to his dragons as if they were puppies, tossing strings of entrails into the air for them to catch. Then Demon took to his heels and ran as fast as he could to the hospital shed. As soon as he was inside, he scooped up some lavender and aloe bandages, which he stuffed inside his tunic, and grabbed his magical silver medicine box by one handle. The griffin poked its head through the doorway.
“Bad luck, Pan’s scrawny kid. Word is you’ve got to go downstairs and visit with the Lord of Hell. I’d pack your warm cloak. Gets chilly down there, so I hear.” Demon set off back to the Stables, the griffin loping beside him on its lion paws. Demon lugged the box behind him, bumping it over the rough earth as he ran. It let out an indignant squawk, and four short legs appeared at its bottom corners.
“Emergency locomotion program in progress,” it squawked.
“Did I know you could do that?” Demon said, stopping dead in his surprise and letting go of the handle. The box bumped into him, knocking him over. “Ouch!” he said. His knees were going to be permanently scabbed at this rate.
“That box is full of surprises,” said the griffin. “Heffy gave it some upgrades, remember? Now come on. Hurry up. You have dragons to harness, and it doesn’t do to keep Hades waiting. Not the most patient of gods, old Hellface.”
“But who’s going to look after all of you?” Demon asked. “I’m supposed to be the Official Beast Keeper to the gods, but how can I do my job properly if I keep getting taken away from Olympus by gods and goddesses?”
“Don’t worry about that,” said the griffin. “Doris will do cleanup if you offer it snackies of extra ambrosia. Beats me why it likes that disgusting stuff,” it added gloomily.
A short time later, Demon had given Doris the Hydra enough extra ambrosia cake to keep it happy for days. It had given him loving licks with nine slimy green tongues and promised to keep the Stables clean till he returned. After that, he wrestled the harness onto two well-fed, happy dragons. He then led them up to the swirl of impenetrable black mist where Hades was waiting, tapping one pointy black boot impatiently. The box followed closely at his heels like a faithful dog.
“Hitch them up, ssstable boy, hitch them up,” said the god of death. So Demon closed his eyes, tugged on the reins, and stepped forward into the darkness. As soon as the mist touched him, it felt like he was being sucked down into a pit of grief. All the sad things that had ever happened in his life swirled through his head at once. The time the baby chicks had fallen into the pond and drowned. The time he hadn’t been able to save his favorite pet hen from the foxes. The time he’d found a wolf cub in a hunter’s trap. His mother weeping over a pat
ient she hadn’t been able to save … He stood, frozen, the blue-black metal reins dropping unnoticed from his hand, tears pouring down his cheeks.
“Ah,” said Hades. “I’d forgotten about the wretched ssside effect my pretty missst has on anyone who isn’t me. Here, boy, put thisss on and don’t lose it. You’ll need it down below. And for Hermesss’sss sssake, wipe your nose. I don’t want boogersss sssmeared all over my niccce chariot.” His gloved hand held out a ring made of shiny black stone. Demon fumbled it onto his middle finger, where it settled, seeming to shrink and cling like a small band of cold fog. Immediately the feeling of sadness lifted, and as it did, he noticed a chariot in front of him. Fixed to the back of its blue-black metal frame were two red lights in the shape of eyes. As Demon stepped closer, they swiveled around to watch him. The dragons backed themselves between the shafts, and Demon buckled the straps to hold them in. He patted them on their scaly shoulders and turned to Hades.
“All ready, Your Fabulous Formidableness,” Demon said, wiping his nose with the back of a grubby hand and sounding almost cheerful in his relief at not feeling sad anymore. The god shuddered slightly and held out a black handkerchief.
“Revolting boy,” he said, climbing into the driving seat. Demon started to follow him in, but Hades held up one black-gloved hand. “Nuh-uh, ssstable boy! No one travels with me. I’ll sssee you down in the Underworld sssoon. Mind the ghosssts on your way in from the gatesss.” With a malevolent grin, he cracked a whip of blue lightning above the dragons’ heads, and immediately they plunged downward into the opening that had just appeared at their feet.
Demon stood staring in shock as the red eye-lights of the chariot vanished, and the opening snapped shut again as if it had never been. Did Hades really expect him to get to the gates of the Underworld all on his own?
Apparently the answer was yes.
CHAPTER 4
JOURNEY TO THE
UNDERWORLD
“Oh,” said Demon finally, his mouth hanging open. “But …”
The griffin cackled behind him. “Expecting a lift, were you, Pan’s scrawny kid? Nope. You’ll have to do it the normal way—get Charon the Ferryman to row you across the Styx and all that. Remember to take a couple of coins for him—and a couple for the way back, if you’re lucky enough to survive. Go on, hurry up and hop on the Iris Express. She’ll take you where you need to go. He wasn’t joking when he said ‘ssseee you sssoon,’ you know.” The griffin’s imitation of Hades’s snakelike voice was uncannily accurate.
Demon trudged back to his room to fetch the coins and then headed to the Iris Express. He was still followed by the box, which was staying remarkably silent. He forgot all about his warm cloak in his worry about what to say to Iris. He’d never summoned the gods’ messenger before.
“Er, Iris Express, please. For me and my box. To go to the gates of the Underworld,” he said nervously. There was a whoosh and a swish, and a rainbow arced down from the blue sky and landed in front of him.
“Unaccompanied minors and inanimate objects must belt up,” said a tinkly voice from just above the rainbow as Demon stepped on. Immediately, multicolored bands looped themselves around him and the box, pinning them both so they couldn’t move. Demon’s heart began to beat very fast, remembering his last trip on the Iris Express. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, waiting for it to plunge earthward.
“Hold on, Iris,” said a light, cheerful voice. “Wait for me.” Demon opened his eyes. Standing in front of him was a tall, thin god with a mischievous smile on his face. Under one arm he carried a silver helmet. He had a strange carved staff in his hand, around which two golden snakes looped and turned in an endless figure eight. Demon recognized Hermes, chief messenger of the gods, and stood up as straight as he could while being strapped in.
“Good morning, Your Gargantuan Godness,” he said politely.
Hermes laughed. “Hello, Pandemonius. No need for the flattery. Just plain Hermes will do,” he said. “I’m not one of those gods who likes all that boring bowing and scraping. Now, I hear old Hades has snaffled you for some important medical work. Hephaestus thought you might want a bit of company on the first bit of the road. Tricky place to get through, the Underworld. Especially since Heracles …” He scowled. “Well, anyway, we’re all relying on you to fix things down there.”
“Me? Fix things?” said Demon. He had a nasty sinking feeling as he asked the next question. “Uh, what exactly am I supposed to fix? Hades just said he had a sick hound. What’s that horrible Heracles got to do with it?” Demon had a serious grudge against Heracles, who was always trying to kill the immortal beasts.
Hermes laughed again. “Sick hound? Oh, that’s a good one. I never knew my uncle Hades had a sense of humor. The beast is certainly sick, but he’s not exactly a hound. Anyway, you need to get there as quick as you can. I’m sure Hades will fill you in on what Heracles did when we arrive. Iris, take us down to that side gate no one uses anymore. It’s the fastest way in.”
With stomach-churning suddenness, the wisp of colored nothingness dropped downward, and Demon was suddenly concentrating too hard on not being sick to ask any more questions. Just when he thought he was going to lose the battle, there was a thump, the rainbow ropes loosened, and he fell forward. A strong arm caught him just before he hit the ground and set him on his feet.
“Here we are,” said Hermes. “Welcome to the side gate of the Underworld—or Hell, as some of the northerners like to call it.” They were outside the entrance to a very large cave. Long coils of green-gray moss and old spiderwebs hung from its top and all around the sagging iron gates on both sides, making it look like an old man’s toothless mouth surrounded by straggly silver whiskers. Although the sun shone outside, dark fingers of mist reached out from the cave mouth and clung to Demon’s and Hermes’s feet. The fingers had covered the silver box almost entirely, when Demon felt them wrap around his ankles and drag him forward. Then the clammy fingers started to crawl up his legs.
“Hey!” he yelled. “Stop it!” He tried to run backward out of their grasp, but they clung even harder. He began to panic and thrashed around in his efforts to escape. Then the dank tendrils touched the hand wearing Hades’s ring. Immediately the mist fingers shriveled and shrank back into the cave mouth.
“That’s it,” said Hermes. “Show them their master’s ring. Should get you in and out of most places down here. All we have to do now is get past the angry ghosts.”
“A-a-angry ghosts?” Demon asked in a small voice. He didn’t like the sound of that. “Couldn’t you just take me straight to Hades, Hermes? Please?”
“Now where would be the fun in that?” Hermes said. “I’ll get you past the ghosts, but then I’ve got to go and do a bit of business with some dead heroes. I’ll give you one tip, though: Hephaestus told me to tell you that the box will help if you get into a tight spot. You just have to access the special features. Now come on. It doesn’t do to keep Charon the Ferryman waiting. Follow me!”
With a playful hoot of laughter, he darted forward into the darkness. Demon followed at a run. He had no choice. Only Hermes knew the way. The sole comfort he had was the silver box waddling and hopping along behind him, special features and all. He shuddered, too scared to look back, and ran on through the twisting loops and turns of the steep passage. The god’s staff gave out a faint greenish-gold light that reflected off the black stone walls. There was a familiar damp smell of dead things in the air, which got stronger and stronger the deeper into the earth they traveled. Demon could hear a roaring noise up ahead, and suddenly he and Hermes burst out onto the banks of the River Styx. Across the river was an enormous crowd of spectral gray shapes, howling and moaning. Some were flinging themselves into the water, but as Demon watched, the water formed itself into lips that sucked them in and spat them back onto dry land. Others were tearing at each other, ripping off arms and heads in a bloodless frenzy of viciousness. As each ghostly limb or head dropped to the ground, it rose into the ai
r and reaffixed itself to its spectral body. These ghosts were clearly very angry indeed.
“D-do we h-have to g-get through THEM?” Demon stuttered. His legs and arms started to shake uncontrollably, and his heart was trying to climb out of his body. Being torn apart by furious ghosts while still alive would definitely be worse than being shriveled into a little heap of ash by a god, he thought.
“Yep,” said Hermes cheerfully. “But don’t worry. I have a trick or two up my godly sleeves.” Then he cupped his hands around his mouth. “Yo! Charon, you old lazybones. Get that ferry over here double-time. Two passengers bound for Hades.” A long black boat materialized from the opposite bank. The ferryman’s staff dipped in and out of the water without so much as a ripple. As the boat slid up beside them, Hermes leaped lightly over the bow and held out a hand to Demon. “On you get, young Pandemonius.”
The boat rocked slightly as Demon stepped aboard, and then there was a thump as the silver box stumbled on behind him and fell heavily onto its side. “System reboot, system reboot,” it said in a faint metallic shriek, blue sparks escaping from the slightly open lid. The small legs retracted, and with a click and a hiss, the box fell silent. Demon had no time to worry about it, though, as Charon stood up and loomed over him, holding out a hand, palm upward. It was a long, bony hand, almost fleshless, with yellow nails like horny talons.
“Pay the ferryman,” he croaked. Demon fumbled desperately in the hanging pocket inside his tunic and came out with two copper obols, trying not to touch the withered skin as he handed them over. Without another word Charon tossed the coins overboard into the river. As they sank beneath the surface of the still water, he pushed off with his staff. The shrieking ghosts drew nearer and nearer, and now Demon could see that they all had bloodred eyes and sharp, pointed teeth. Demon began to shake again. They were the scariest things he’d ever seen, and he didn’t want to be anywhere near them. He gave the river a desperate look. Maybe if he jumped in and swam downriver …