3
ONCE ARTEMIS HAD returned all of the dogs to their ungrateful owners and accepted her derisory pay, she did not, as was her usual habit, return to the park to catch some squirrels, but instead headed straight for home.
She paused outside the front door. The once-glossy black paint was peeling off in long, jagged streaks, and the knocker, in the shape of a laurel wreath, was so tarnished that it was impossible to tell what kind of metal it had been originally. Artemis always waited a few moments on the doorstep before heading inside, to shrug off the disdainful world and regain her rightful stature. And also because it was the last peace and quiet she was going to be getting for a while.
This time, before she had even opened the door she could feel the elephantine stamp of a heavy beat reverberating in her chest. She pushed into the house against the tidal wave of music and forced her way down the front hall into the kitchen at the back of the house. Her half brother Dionysus had set up his decks at the kitchen table. Beside him on the floor was a stack of records, and in front of him an empty bottle of wine and another that was a fair way gone. Dionysus was busy cueing up another record, headphones on, a blissful smile upon his goatlike face.
Behind him, Athena was shouting. She was barely audible above the music.
“Have you any understanding of the duties other members of the household are performing at this hour?” she screamed. “I am undertaking a groundbreaking research initiative in the upper rooms! The amount of noise that you are producing is rendering that task impossible! I would move that your so-called hedonism is merely a mask for deep selfishness!” Athena was getting so agitated that her glasses had steamed up. She didn’t actually need glasses, but she wore ones with plain lenses in order to enhance her air of wisdom.
“Has either of you seen Apollo?” said Artemis.
Dionysus carried on mixing (or perhaps scratching—Artemis didn’t know the difference). Athena carried on screaming.
“My research is not performed just for the pleasure of it! It is undertaken for the good of the entire deistic community! Including yours, you pickled lump of goat meat!”
Artemis left them to it and surfed the wave of beats back down the hall and into the living room at the front of the house. All of the sofas and chairs in there were torn or broken, so Ares was sitting on a cushion in front of the rickety coffee table, his maps and charts spread out before him, a pair of calipers in his hand. His brow was furrowed; he appeared to be performing some complex calculation. He didn’t look up as Artemis came in.
“You need a shave,” said Artemis, standing in the doorway.
“Mmm,” said Ares, without turning his head. “This war on terror isn’t producing enough casualties. Bringing in Iran is the obvious choice, but I don’t think they’ve got enough firepower yet. I wonder if I could somehow antagonize Japan?”
“Have you seen Apollo?” said Artemis.
“Bathroom,” said Ares. “Tell him to get a move on. I need a shave.”
“Yes, I just said that,” said Artemis.
“There’s always Russia,” said Ares, “but they’ve been harder to provoke since the end of the Cold War. Why are mortals so hung up on peace?” He shuffled through his papers. “Or maybe it’s time to broaden out some of the African civil wars?”
Artemis slammed the door and went upstairs to the landing, where Hephaestus had installed the bathroom in what had been Athena’s old study—a decision that had not gone down very well with Athena. Artemis didn’t knock. Artemis never knocked. She merely kicked the door open and swept inside.
Apollo was naked and sitting, legs mercifully crossed, on the toilet seat, painting his fingernails with clear polish. Before Artemis could speak to him, though, the shower curtain was yanked aside to reveal Aphrodite, glistening wet and smiling a serpent’s grin.
“Shut the door, would you?” she said. “You’re letting in a terrible draft. Look, my nipples are all erect.” She fingered one as if testing a cherry for ripeness.
Artemis refused to rise to the bait. She knew that Aphrodite delighted in trying to shock her. Instead, she grabbed a towel from the rail and threw it to her aunt.
“Wrap yourself up, then,” she said.
Aphrodite caught the towel and coiled it around her hair. Artemis turned away from her and faced her twin.
“I need to have a word with you, Apollo,” she said. “Is now a good time?”
“No,” said Apollo.
“Good,” said Artemis. “I was out running on the Heath today, and guess what I found?”
“Two men rogering each other in the bushes?” suggested Aphrodite, who was now perched on the edge of the bath.
Artemis suppressed a shudder. “I wasn’t aware that I’d invited you to join this conversation,” she said.
“You didn’t,” said Aphrodite.
“Apollo,” said Artemis. “Any suggestions of your own?”
“Not a clue,” Apollo said, but he looked a little pale. He knew what was coming, and he rather hoped that he was wrong.
“Allow me to jog your memory,” said Artemis. “Does the name Kate mean anything to you?”
Apollo was genuinely surprised. “It doesn’t, no,” he said.
“Typical,” said Artemis. “That makes it even worse. Kate is the Australian mortal that you turned into a tree yesterday.”
Apollo’s face went from pale to white. He looked like a statue of himself.
“You did what?” said Aphrodite, rising to her feet. If anything, she sounded even angrier than Artemis felt.
“I . . . ,” said Apollo. “I . . .”
“You wouldn’t heat up so much as a cupful of water for me, and yet you were willing to waste gallons of your power on transmogrifying some stupid mortal slut?”
“She wasn’t a slut,” said Artemis. “Not with him anyway. I think that was the problem.”
Artemis and Aphrodite shared a rare, complicit laugh. It was the final straw for Apollo, who leaped up.
“It’s none of your business what I do with my power!”
“Actually,” said Artemis, “I think you’ll find that it is. It’s all of our business.” She stalked over to the bathroom window and yanked up the blind. “Did the sun come up today?” she said, squinting outward. “I think it did. Lucky for you.” She closed the blind again and turned. “Did it come up on time though, or maybe it was slightly late? Is it shining as brightly as it usually does? Is it as warm as it should be? I’m not so sure. Maybe the sun is fading. Maybe it’s going out. Because the god who’s supposed to be in charge of it is too busy throwing away what’s left of his power on inventing a humanoid species of eucalyptus to do his job.”
“Don’t be such a hypocrite,” said Apollo. “What about you? They’ve just banned hunting in this country, you know. And chastity? What kind of an outdated concept is that? It doesn’t sound to me as if you’re using your power where you’re supposed to. Or maybe you’re the one who’s got none left.”
“That’s not fair,” said Artemis, her eyes appealing to Aphrodite to back her up.
“Two words, Apollo,” said Aphrodite to her nephew. “Global warming.”
“Don’t you start,” said Apollo, spinning to face her. “Goddess of beauty? That’s going very well, isn’t it? Aren’t you aware that there’s an obesity epidemic sweeping this planet at the moment? Is that what you call beautiful?”
“The difference between us,” said Artemis, “is that Aphrodite and I don’t go around willfully wasting our power on unnecessary procedures just because some mortal won’t let us . . . let us . . .”
“Stick it in her,” finished Aphrodite helpfully.
“You mean you don’t get caught,” said Apollo.
“You,” said Artemis, ignoring his comment, “are going to take an oath that you’re not going to do anything like this ever again. No more squandering your power turning mortals into trees or anything else like that.”
“An oath on Styx,” added Aphrodite. Oaths sworn
on the river Styx were absolutely binding for gods, which was why they hated taking them so much.
“That’s not fair,” said Apollo. “You have no right to make me swear an oath. I won’t do it.”
“Fine,” said Artemis. “I’ll just call the rest of the family in here and tell them what you’ve been up to. Then we can decide democratically what to do about it. If you really think you’ll get a better deal from them—”
“No, no,” said Apollo, “don’t do that. There really isn’t any need for anyone else to know.”
“So make the oath,” said Artemis.
“Hang on, no,” said Apollo. “You’re not making sense, you can’t just make me swear an oath like that. None of us know what’s going to happen in the future.”
“Not even you?” said Aphrodite.
“Athena might come up with something to make us powerful again,” Apollo continued. “And what is the point of being powerful if you can’t use your power to do whatever you like?”
“Until Athena figures out a way to turn back time, we are stuck with the power that we’ve got, and when that’s used up . . . ,” said Artemis.
Beside her, Aphrodite’s lovely face turned ashen at the thought.
“Face it, Apollo, we’re getting old,” Artemis said. “You can’t just go around using up all your power on frivolities. You won’t have any left. And we need you. We can’t run the world without the sun. You have to cooperate.”
“So I’ll cooperate,” said Apollo. He made a move to go.
“That’s not good enough,” said Artemis. “I need a guarantee.”
“Which means you have to swear on Styx.” Aphrodite smiled.
They were between Apollo and the door. He knew that both were stubborn enough to wait there for years, if need be.
“So what do you want me to swear?” he said eventually.
Artemis took a few moments, then announced gravely: “Apollo, you must take an oath on Styx that you will not use your power unnecessarily until such a time when our strength is regained.”
“Wait a second,” said Apollo.
“What now?”
“I’m not swearing that. It’s a totally disproportionate restriction of my abilities. We don’t know what Styx is going to define as unnecessary. She’s a river. There isn’t a huge amount that’s necessary to her.”
“He has a point,” said Aphrodite. “All she does is flow.”
“Okay,” said Artemis, “this is what we’ll do. You’ll have to swear not to use your power to harm mortals unless we get our power back.”
“No,” said Apollo. “That’s not fair either. I might need to harm mortals. Sometimes it’s important, you know that, you’ve had enough men torn into tiny pieces for watching you get undressed.”
“True,” admitted Artemis.
“Plus, you said yourself we might never get our power back, and I don’t think you have the right to make me swear to do anything that could last forever. All I did was turn one little mortal into a tree. This is getting totally out of proportion. Harming mortals is fun. We’ve all done it.”
“You still deserve to be punished,” said Aphrodite. “Artemis, he still has to swear something.”
“I agree.” Artemis thought carefully, then said, “Right. You will swear not to harm any mortals unnecessarily for a century or until we get our power back, whichever is sooner.”
“A year,” said Apollo.
“A decade,” said Aphrodite.
“Done,” said Artemis.
Apollo looked sulky, but he knew that he had no choice.
“I swear that—” he said.
“On Styx,” Aphrodite reminded him.
Damn. “I swear, on Styx, that I won’t cause any unnecessary harm to mortals for the next ten years or until I get stronger again, whichever comes first. Satisfied?”
“Satisfied,” said Artemis.
4
“SO WHAT DO you think?” whispered Alice.
The door was shut; there was no risk of them being overheard. But Alice never liked to speak loudly in case it drew undue attention to herself.
“It’s very nice,” said Neil. “Very tidy.”
He had the reward of Alice beaming at him, her cheeks flushing pink with pleasure and embarrassment.
“When I first started working here it was terribly messy,” she confided. “The cleaning products were all over the place and some weren’t properly sealed. That can be dangerous, you know. With children, for example, or pets.”
Neil nodded. It was unlikely that children or pets would find themselves inside the locked cleaning storeroom of a TV studio, but Alice thought of everything.
“And the mops and brooms were just here and there. Here and there,” Alice repeated, with a small look of horror. “Now I have a system so I can find everything I need straightaway. It’s far more efficient that way.”
“They’re very lucky to have you,” said Neil.
“Oh no,” said Alice, shaking her head vigorously. “No, no, not at all.”
Neil looked around the room—was it a room or a cupboard? There was some basic furniture, and Alice had described it as her office, but in reality it was narrow, dark, and cramped, dominated by neatly stacked piles of cleaning materials, so carefully sorted by size, type, and function that it was like being in the archives of a cleaning museum. The air was thick and stale, but not a single dust mote swam around the bare bulb that dangled at a height that would have been dangerously low had Neil and Alice not both been unusually short.
“Does it get warm in here?” said Neil. “Without any windows?”
“Oh, they let me bring a fan,” said Alice. “It’s under the table.”
Indeed there was a small electric fan underneath the table, unplugged, with its cable modestly curled around it in deference to the month of February, even though the room was already unbearably stuffy. On top of the table, Neil noticed, was a selection of the small china figurines that Alice collected, adding a homey touch to the room. Last Christmas, Neil had bought her one, a little shepherdess leaning forward to gather up a stray lamb, and Alice had been so happy that he had thought she might kiss him, but she hadn’t. But she had put the figurine right in the middle of her mantelpiece, moving aside the dancing fawn that he knew was her favorite, which was almost like a kiss, after all.
“So are you going to tell me what we’re seeing yet?” said Neil.
“No,” said Alice. “It’s a surprise.”
“Should we go straight to the auditorium, then?”
“Not yet,” said Alice. “I’m sneaking you in. Cleaners aren’t really supposed to go into the audiences of programs. It’s bad for the company image.”
“I can’t believe you would be bad for anyone’s image,” said Neil.
“It’s just a policy.” Alice looked down and tucked a stray blond hair behind her ear.
“You’re not going to get in trouble, are you?” said Neil. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“No, no,” said Alice, looking back up at him. “Please don’t worry. It’s okay. Nobody notices me. I’m just the cleaner. And anyway, it’ll be fun. I don’t usually break the rules.”
“Well, as long as you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” said Alice. She smiled, and Neil felt his heart jump. “It’s nice of you to be so concerned,” she whispered, even more quietly than usual.
They stood stiffly opposite each other, as if carrying an item of bulky furniture between them. Their eyes didn’t quite meet, and neither made a move to sit. There was only one chair, made of orange molded plastic, clashing with the sticky yellow varnish of the tabletop that it was tucked beneath. Alice had hung up her cardigan on the back of the chair, the same sensible navy blue that she used to wear when she cleaned the office where Neil worked, before the maintenance had been contracted out to a larger, cheaper company. Then as now he had wanted to pick up the cardigan and bury his face in it, inhaling deeply, to find something in her smell that would g
ive him some, any, information about this mysterious woman, this enigma that was Alice.
“Do you want to sit down?” said Alice.
“No,” said Neil, “I was just . . . I . . .”
“You were looking at the chair.”
“I was wondering if maybe you wanted to sit down,” said Neil.
“No, I’m fine,” said Alice.
The silence resumed. Neil could see himself reflected in Alice’s glasses, a small, molelike creature with wiry brown hair that stood straight up, like a brush. He wondered whether Alice ever thought about him for even a single second when he wasn’t around.
Suddenly Alice’s face fell. “Oh dear. I hope you’re not going to get bored in here, with only me to talk to.”
“No!” said Neil. “Not at all. Please don’t think that. Actually, I was just thinking the same thing myself. I mean, you, about me. I mean, you getting bored.”
“Oh no,” whispered Alice. “I don’t find you boring at all, Neil. Not a bit.”
In the kind of novels that Neil sometimes read in secret, this would be the moment when the hero took the heroine in his arms, pressed his lips roughly to hers, and then ravaged her.
“I’ve got Scrabble on my Palm Pilot,” he said. “Multiplayer.”
“Neil, aren’t you clever,” said Alice, restored to animation. “And I think I’ve got”—and now she looked slyly naughty as she rummaged in the big quilted bag she carried everywhere—“yes! Some orange juice.” She pulled out two individual-size cartons with straws and handed one to Neil. “It’ll be like a party. Only we’ll have to sit on the floor unless you want to share the chair.”
Before Neil could say that sharing the chair was fine with him, she lowered herself onto the ground, leaning back against a metal stepladder and pulling her skirt down over her knees.
“Do you want to play with the replaceable blank?” said Neil, sitting down opposite her. Catching the near-imperceptible widening of her eyes, he quickly added, “Because I don’t.”
Marie Phillips Page 2