Curious now, Aries craned his neck around the door-frame for a proper look. Seeing the small space, filled with gold chairs, and walled either side by panels of fancily twisted wood, he realised that this theatre was much snootier than the one Hazel had performed in. Rings of small enclosed spaces like the one he and Alex were standing in, that’d we’d recognize as theatre boxes, stretched around the circular wall, brimming with pink-faced men and ladies, staring over a lavish gold balcony into the crowded auditorium below.
Noticing a rather frosty old lady fanning herself in the next box, he hunched down and began to creep, commando-style, along the carpet. Rams, as you might imagine, aren’t made for stealth. It’s just one of the reasons you never see them serving as soldiers in the British Army. Quite apart from the fact that they keep making horn holes in their berets, their derrières are easily spotted from miles around. But undeterred and determined not to draw attention to himself, he slumped down and stuck his muzzle through the balustrade.
At the front of the auditorium, musicians were playing. The men wore black coats with tails like swallows. The women were dressed in shimmering purple. Everyone plucked and strummed and blew, watching a scrawny man at the front whirl a small stick in the air. Aries swivelled his eyes, right and left, looking across row after row of heads and hats for a glimpse of Jason as slowly the sumptuous theatre curtain rose to reveal a man and a woman, singing, on what appeared to be a little humpbacked bridge.
Suddenly feeling an unceremonious poke on the flank, Aries twisted back to see Alex framed in the doorway, gesturing furiously for Aries to join him.
Huffing at the indignity, he quickly reversed out and followed the boy down the corridor.
‘We have to keep out of sight!’ scolded Alex, checking back over his shoulder.
Behind him, Aries was still busy pulling a face, when the boy stopped in front of a door marked ‘No Entry to the Public’ and quickly pushed it open to reveal a grimy stairwell. ‘Come on! We should be able to keep out of sight this way.’
A minute later, they found themselves at the end of a long, well-lit corridor, lined with doors and hung with more pictures of singing people. Large wooden boxes were stacked against the walls. A mop leaned against a wall, stood in a red bucket.
‘“Dressing room”,’ read Alex uncertainly, leading Aries past the first door. He walked on, reading out the signs on the other doors. ‘“Make-up”, “Wardrobe”, “Green room”.’ Then he stopped. ‘This looks better,’ he said, nodding towards its sign, which said ‘Store room’.
Gently turning the handle, he opened the door a fraction to see a room jumbled with piled-up tables and chairs, more boxes and two rails of clothes carelessly jammed against the wall.
‘Wait here,’ he instructed, ushering Aries inside and glancing up and down the corridor. ‘And do not step through this door. I’ll find Jason and then we’ll both come back for you. All right?
All right?
Hardly.
Ten minutes later, Aries lay gloomily on the floor, with Alex’s instructions still echoing in his mind, thumping into each other like bad-tempered rabbits in a burrow. ‘Don’t move!’ ‘Remember what happened last time we stepped on to Earth?’ ‘We don’t want to cause a scene again, do we?’ ‘Well, of course I have to look for him. He’s leading the quest!’ ‘Don’t pull that face!’ ‘Are you listening to me?’
Sighing, he stretched out his back legs, accompanied by a small sour twang of the lyre. Less than half an hour into their new quest and golden boy had already abandoned them.
Not that Aries was surprised.
The only surprise was that Alex had immediately decided to shunt him in here. Greek heroes were never stuffed into cupboards, and yet here he was, bundled away like an unwanted stage prop whilst the boy searched the building to try and find Jason and remind him of what they were supposed to be doing in the first place.
A sudden snatch of conversation, out in the corridor, made Aries prick up his ears. The voices sounded horribly close. What if someone decided to come in? He hunched down – which, when you’re the size of a chunky chest of drawers, doesn’t make a lot of difference – and sank his head against his chest. What could he do? A cold fear now curdled his earlier frustration, knowing that if it were only the two of them, Alex would never have chosen to leave him on his own.
A few seconds later the voices faded away but, still feeling rattled, he turned his attention to a framed poster leaning against a nearby table. Gold letters at the top spelled out ‘Manaus Opera House’.
Wondering what a Manaus was, Aries glanced at the picture below. In it a woman with a powdered-white face, a small red mouth and lots of black hair piled high on her head looked sadly at a branch of blossom. ‘Madama Butterfly’ announced the words at the bottom, which, as you might imagine, what with Aries being a ghost Greek ram, meant nothing to him.22 However, that blossom, so succulent and juicy, was quite a different matter, and now, licking his lips, he realised that he was feeling rather peckish.
Of course, worry and frustration always makes rams horribly hungry, and now with his spirits drooping somewhere around his hocks, he swung his head back to re-examine the items hanging from the infernal contraption Artemis had strapped to him, just in case there was anything that might pass as a snack.
Like the roll of blue velvet hanging from his right shoulder, perhaps?
He’d been so furious back in the cave that he’d hardly listened to what each gift was, but the fabric certainly looked tasty. And, surely a little nibble couldn’t hurt? Stretching his neck, he managed to clamp one corner with his mouth and, tugging it towards him, began to chew, surprised at how delicious it tasted. Not only was the fabric soft and yielding but it seemed to be flavoured by something sweet and flowery. Quickly beginning to feel brighter, he took a second bite, then another, ignoring the twinkling passionflower petal that spun away to the floor. Much calmer now, he settled down properly, bustled his rear into a rail of sparkly jackets, aware of the sound of a woman singing. As her lucid notes floated into the room, he took another mouthful and found his mind drifting to the orange blossom and harbours and fine days of her song. Soon, his ears began spinning, scooping up the beautiful trilling like twin spoons in his favourite oatmeal. Not for one moment – as his heart soared, his hooves tingled and his nostrils flared – did he suspect that it was the work of the love mixture Aphrodite had given to Jason. All he knew was that her voice was the most perfect, the most exquisite thing he’d ever heard in his life, or death.
Who was she?
Where was she?
And, more importantly, how could he find her?
Suddenly propelled by an irresistible urge to discover the owner of such an intoxicating voice, he scrabbled up on to his feet and without a second’s thought for Alex’s stern warnings, butted open the door and hoofed out along the passageway in the direction of her voice. He paused, tilting his head, to listen. It was definitely coming from somewhere behind that pale green door up ahead. The one marked ‘Stage’.
Rosita de Bonita, the world-famous opera star, was as curvy as a cello. Now, standing in front of a paper-walled house on stage, she cast a formidable figure as Madama Butterfly, bundled into her black-and-pink whorled kimono, her silk sleeves trailing to the floor as she flung out her arms, warbling at the top of her lungs, yearning for her love to return.
Aries gaped.
She was the single most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
Oh, how his heart leaped as he gazed at her from the wings: her dark kohl-rimmed eyes, her luscious thick, black hair piled high into a bun on top of her head, decorated with a small bunch of cherries and combs dangling with strings of yellow beads, the way she raised her hands, like two chubby pink starfish reaching out into the crowd, calling for her lost love.
And here he was.
Positively bursting with affection, he could stand it no longer and he edged his head coquettishly around the curtain. ‘Yoo-hoo!’
De Boni
ta’s eyes shot sideways and grew larger. Now her perfect note began to slide upwards, rising unsteadily through one octave after another. As she hit a perfect top C, the audience burst into a flurry of applause and then stopped abruptly as her note carried on rising, rising, thinner and shriller, into an ear-detonating screech.
The violinists crossed their eyes. A wine glass on the second tier exploded and drenched three nuns below with vintage port. A cat on a nearby roof began to wail.
As de Bonita finally spluttered to a stop, Aries stomped out from the wings and clopped into full view of the audience. The orchestra slithered to a squealing halt. On stage, Suzuki, Madama Butterfly’s trusted maid,23 screamed and tried to run away. Instead, her legs tangling in her tight kimono, she flew over backwards, pulling a cardboard tree down on top of her.
Someone sniggered from the front row of the audience.
Sidling over, Aries leaned against de Bonita’s hip, gazing lovingly into her shocked face, and puckered up expectantly. Horrified, she leaped backwards and, producing a paper fan from her belt, began thwacking Aries on the forehead in time with her croaked words.
‘GET …’
Aries took another step forward, smiling widely as paper blossom rained down like a snowstorm.
‘… OFF …’
Cherries ricocheted from Aries’ muzzle.
‘… ME!’
In reply, Aries gave de Bonita’s ankle an amorous lick, sending her shrieking on to the humpback bridge as the funny little man from the musicians below scrambled up on to the stage and began jabbing Aries in the rump with his short stick.
‘Call the police!’ bawled de Bonita. ‘A vet! A farmer!’
She spun away furiously. It was unfortunate that as she did so her Geisha wig, made for sitting prettily rather than running away from rams, flew off, whirled over the stage and landed on the head of a man in the front row. Now the audience erupted into gales of laughter, as an appalled de Bonita patted her head, horrified to discover her wrinkled stocking cap, skull-tight over her hair and leaving her looking like a bank-robbing walrus.
Which was when Aries noticed Alex race on to the stage.
‘You didn’t!’ he cried, grabbing hold of the torn blue velvet roll around Aries’ neck.
Aries looked up at him, bewildered.
‘Get him out of here!’ bellowed de Bonita, scooping up her fan and what was left of her dignity to race off stage.
Alex threw his arms defensively around Aries as a gang of burly stagehands dressed in black raced in from the sides of the stage. ‘He doesn’t mean any harm!’
Grabbing a ram, in case you haven’t tried it, isn’t easy at the best of times and particularly when they are as big as Aries. Now, trying to curtail a furious Aries, loaded up with a thunderbolt, lyre and a quiver of slapping arrows, it was like being sucked into a mad game of Buckaroo. In desperation, Alex grabbed hold of Aries’ horns and forced him to look into his eyes.
‘It’s the love petals, Aries! That’s all!’
Aries blinked. ‘Love petals?’
At which Alex shot off the ground, dragged backwards by three pairs of hands. Suddenly, several more hands laced through the leather straps of the harness on Aries’ back and began towing him behind Alex, off the stage and out into the corridor.
But on the up-side, at least they saw Jason.
He was happily strolling down the corridor in the opposite direction, whispering to a woman with curly brown hair tangling down her back.
‘Jason!’ yelled Alex. Aries heard the gladness in his voice, so relieved to have found him.
From the other end of the corridor the woman yelped and clamped a hand over her mouth as Jason glanced back and blanched.
‘We’re over here!’ called Alex. Struggling against his captors, he looked down at Aries. ‘Thank Zeus!’ he gasped. ‘He’ll help us sort this mess out and we can be on our way to Rose again!’
Which was when Jason muttered something to the woman, wrapped his arm around her … and they vanished around the corner together.
‘Jas––?’ shouted Alex.
Aries snatched a last glance of the boy’s face, crumpled in confusion as they were hauled away, their feet and hooves sliding over the tiles, yanked out of the corridor into a glittering foyer in the direction of a grand, gold-framed door.
A door through which five Brazilian policemen were now charging, brandishing handcuffs and ropes.
Which was just great.
22 And in case they mean nothing to you too, let me explain that Madama Butterfly is an opera about a Japanese lady. However, despite its name, it doesn’t have a single butterfly in it. This is because such creatures only have teensy-weensy voices that nobody can hear properly and, worse, they tend to flap out of the theatre in fright as soon as they spot the audience.
23 No, not Madama’s motorbike.
LOOK WHO’S STALKING
Things weren’t going terribly well for Medea either.
Glowering at her spell book (flung face-down on the floor) and her chart of tropical moon phases (crumpled into a ball and stamped on), she clenched her fists, brooding yet again why ever since she’d woken up that morning thoughts of Jason had swarmed through her head like a plague of locusts, whirring and skittering and making it impossible to concentrate on anything else.
Her astral calculations were all wrong. Her mixture of lizard blood and scorpion sting had curdled miserably. Even the moments spent scrying on Hazel as she discovered that glorious spider crawling up her bedsheets had been ruined by her ex-husband poking his annoyingly handsome nose into her mind.
But why?
Frowning at the sudden chatter of budgies outside her window, she realised that she hadn’t felt this sort of mental itchiness for centuries. Not since she’d been a fledgling witch had her natural ESP – Extra Sorceress Perception – been helpful to her by alerting her to things before they happened because since then she’d always had far more powerful magic at her fingertips to answer any questions she had.
Yet it was bamboozling her now.
Then a strange thought crossed her mind.
Surely Jason hadn’t – wouldn’t – come back to Earth? Jason? Her Jason? Leave the Underworld paradise he’d been partying in for years to do anything as dangerous as step back on to Earth? The thought was so absurd it made her laugh out loud.
Her mind spun her back to the palace she’d shared with him years ago on Iolkos. Bitterness flooded through her veins as she saw herself lying in her shuttered chambers, the Golden Fleece abandoned at her feet, jamming her fingers into her ears, trying to escape the sound of the city bells announcing Jason’s engagement to Glauce. Of sobbing until her eyes burned and, in despair, throwing herself on to the scratchy curls of the Fleece, hating it, cursing it, blaming it for ruining her life, and in her furious misery pummelling it with her fists, tearing at its ringlets until her fingers bled.
When it had begun to glimmer with new life.
Back in the hut, she slowly turned her hands palm upwards.
The scars were still there.
Growling, she set her scrying bowl down with a violent clang, determined to find out why her ex-husband was stomping through her thoughts. Obviously, she scolded herself, muttering as she snatched up her potions and lit the flame, this would be a complete waste of time. There was no way he’d appear because there was no way he’d be back on Earth. (Scrying, you see, simply isn’t powerful enough to see into the Underworld. Something to do with all those rocks and roots and buried dinosaur bones, not to mention a barrier of godly protection, overwhelmed such first-grade magic.)
Except that a few minutes later she found herself transfixed, watching the colours in the liquid spiral out to reveal a magnificent pink-walled building beneath a domed roof of green and gold mosaic, sparkling in the rain. Abruptly, the view zoomed dizzyingly down to the building’s front doors as they slammed open.
And Jason strolled out.
He.
Was.
&n
bsp; Back.
On.
Earth.
There was absolutely no doubt about it.
Feeling her breath snag in her chest, Medea leaned in closer, willing her brain to believe what her bewildered eyes were seeing: Jason, son of Aeson, hurrying down a flight of steps into an empty town square, his arm wrapped around the shoulder of a young, dark-haired woman.
That bit, at least, was easy to believe.
Stunned, she forced herself to calm down. Then, sensing her heartbeat dwindle to its usual crocodile slowness, she looked more carefully at the building behind them, at its domed roof twinkling like a giant mirrorball in the rain, and knew that she’d seen it before. From the plane – that was it! – on the day she’d flown into Brazil.
The Manaus Opera House.
Leaning closer, she watched Jason and the woman splash away through the puddles, feeling her curiosity prickle as he tapped the long and – now she came to consider it – curiously old-fashioned key sticking out of his back pocket.
She began pacing the hut, running her hand through the violet streak in her hair, thinking, thinking. Clearly the boy and the ram must have blabbed to the Underworld about her awesomely terrible magic and some bothersome do-gooder like Athena had decided to stick her snooty little nose in. Yet they’d known that without new fleeces she had no real power left. So why had Athena sent her shiny Jason back to Earth? To spy on her? To stop her from trying something else? Stop her, indeed! She sneered, imagining the goddess of war prancing around with her big silly shield. Soon, oh, so very soon, she’d wipe that smug little smile off her face for good. And how much more delicious would it be if she were to use Jason to do just that?
To and fro, fro and to, her jungle boots thudded on the mud floor as her thoughts grew colder and colder still, slowly crystallising into a new and delightfully poisonous plan. After all, wasn’t it perfect that he should reappear precisely when she was on the cusp of seizing more magical power than she’d ever known in her long and malicious life? Because couldn’t she, with a little careful planning, use him as her own finishing touch, like drizzled honey on her baklava of evil?
Rampage! Page 8