by Maz Evans
“Marvelous,” said Thanatos.
“I first had the idea when I was a character called Colonel Thomas Blood in the seventeenth century,” said Hypnos, stretching out and putting his feet up on the desk. “I made friends with the guard, then knocked him out and shot him while I stole the jewels. Only I wasn’t stealing them—I put the Earth Stone in there! Various jewelers have moved it around—at the moment, it’s slapped on the front of the Imperial State Crown.”
“If this tower is impenetrable, how are you going to get my stone back?” hissed Thanatos.
“Your timing is impeccable, brother,” squealed Hypnos. “I have a golden opportunity this very week. Once a year the crown is worn by the Queen—she’s an important mortal the other mortals like to print on things—and she will have it in her palace in a few days! Taking it from her will be a breeze. It’ll be like stealing a hot water bottle from a granny!”
“Then go and fetch it,” said Thanatos.
“First I’ll kill the child,” said Hypnos, flying over to a safe concealed behind the Mona Lisa on his wall. “Shouldn’t be too hard. Then I’ll get your stone.”
“I’ll be at our old home in the Underworld, the Cave of Sleep and Death,” said Thanatos. “Until my stones are returned, I’ll be keeping a low profile. Meet me there with my Earth Stone. Don’t fail me.”
“What fun!” squealed Hypnos, pulling his ivory trumpet out of the safe and kissing it. “Come on, baby, we’ve got work to do. I’ll take my private jet. The boy will be resting in peace in no time.”
“He’d better be,” said Thanatos.
“Have a nice day, sir,” said Trent the bodyguard as Thanatos swept past him, disguised once again as Richard M. Trumpington.
“Have a nice day, sir,” said Trent again as a second Richard M. Trumpington raced out of the office, looking exactly like the first.
Trent removed his shades and wiped his eyes. He’d been guarding the office all night. Clearly he needed a coffee. He closed the door on the empty room.
Or at least, it appeared to be empty.
In his paranoia about who might enter his office, Hypnos hadn’t given any thought to what might already be inside it.
Had he paid closer attention, Hypnos might have noticed that among the expensive bric-a-brac, a new and especially good-looking jewel-encrusted Grecian urn had appeared the night before. And had he looked more closely still, he would have observed that the large handles on the side of the urn looked remarkably like a big pair of ears, flapping around to hear what might be said. The urn now started to wobble and shake, finally falling to the ground, where it immediately transformed back into the gasping form of Hermes.
“Shut uuuup!” he whispered. “The Earth Stone! Elliot! Everything! I’m not even joking. Where’s my iGod, I gotta call home!”
Hermes delved into his bag and groped around its bottomless depths. He pulled out a sock, a chandelier, a riding saddle, and a ferret, but with each desperate grasp, he couldn’t find his phone.
“No, mate! Anti-bosh!” he hissed.
The Messenger God recalled his hasty departure from the cowshed—he’d left his iGod on the hay bale. He had no way of contacting the Gods, but he needed to warn Elliot—right now.
Hermes ran to the door to escape the tacky horror of Hypnos’s office before transforming into the guise of Richard M. Trumpington.
“Have a nice day, sir,” said Trent to the third identical man to walk out of the room.
He rubbed his eyes again. He didn’t need a coffee. He needed a doctor.
Back on the low-way, Hermes revved his motorcycle as hard as it would go. He dodged in and out of traffic, jumping over the occasional cyclist as he careered back toward Home Farm at the opposite end of the country.
“Come on, babe,” he urged the bike. “Let’s go … ”
He revved the bike again, but was shocked when it started to decelerate instead.
“What … seriously?” he said as he came to a shuddering halt on the side of the road.
“Vehicle registration: B 0 5 H. Owner: Hermes. Category: Olympian,” boomed the nearest loudspeaker. “Libra calculates that this is your third speeding infringement. Your vehicle has been disabled. It’s only fair!”
“You’re joking!” shouted Hermes, and he kicked his bike in frustration. “I’m hundreds of miles away. It’ll take me … Urgh … ”
He delved into his bag and pulled out a pair of winged sneakers, which he swapped with the winged biker boots he’d been wearing.
“Looks like I’m going old-school,” he said as he fluttered into the air. “I hope I’ve still got it.”
And with a whoosh, Hermes took off, flying back to Home Farm and Elliot’s endangered life.
By Monday morning, Elliot was starting to appreciate living with a cowshed full of immortals.
In a single day, Hestia, the Goddess of the Hearth, had transformed Elliot’s shabby farm into a home that looked like it had jumped out of the pages of a magazine. Some changes were simply the result of a good eye for interior design—the peeling walls were covered in fresh coats of bright paint, sumptuous fabrics covered the plush new sofas and armchairs, and the bedrooms now had enormous fluffy beds that sank a foot when you lay on them.
Other alterations, however, suggested that this was no average DIY job. The bathroom had a shower that flowed like a warm, scented waterfall, with a bathtub that was big enough to swim in, permanently filled with hot, bubbly water. Even the toilets played a Mozart piano concerto when you sat on them. But Elliot’s favorite changes were in the kitchen, which boasted a self-emptying dishwasher, a washing machine that dried, ironed, and folded clothes before spiriting them back into their drawers, and—Elliot’s personal favorites—a fridge and a kitchen cupboard that always contained exactly what you wanted to eat.
Josie had accepted Elliot’s explanation that some friends were staying to help with the farm, even when Virgo had staggered into the kitchen under a tomato the size of a satellite dish, or when Hestia transformed their black-and-white set into a flat-screen HD TV with that expensive game console Elliot had fancied. If anything, Elliot thought Mom seemed better for having the Gods around, chatting to her about life on the farm, none of them batting an eyelid when she asked the same question several times or forgot something they’d just told her. It was a huge relief that someone could watch her while he was at school, and for the first time in ages, Elliot was feeling the benefits of having some help.
But no matter how great the house looked, he was still going to lose it unless he could find twenty thousand pounds by Friday. There had been no word from Hermes, and without the Earth Stone, Elliot had no idea how he was going to conjure up the money. He wondered if he should confide in the Gods—he was running out of time. Could he trust them … ?
Elliot didn’t know for sure. Until he did, it was safer to stay quiet.
While the cowshed was alive with Hestia’s building works—much to Bessie’s bemusement—and Hephaestus was working on the new fence, the other Olympians came up to the farmhouse for breakfast, which would have fed a small army for a week. As Virgo was coming to school with Elliot, Athene had woven two perfect Brysmore uniforms, consigning Elliot’s threadbare old one to the garbage.
“I intend to make the most of this opportunity to broaden my mind,” said Virgo, admiring herself in her new uniform.
“Try a microscope,” said Elliot, tucking into his third bacon sandwich.
With Josie sleeping in, Aphrodite doing his paper route in her car, some extra sleep, and the fullest stomach Elliot could remember, he felt in pretty decent shape for a Monday morning.
Until there was an irritating knock at the door.
“Coo-eee,” trilled the unmistakable whinny of Patricia Porshley-Plum.
“Hello, Mrs. Porshley-Plum,” groaned Elliot. “Can’t chat now, I was just—”
“Goodness, it’s busy around here!” Patricia smiled with her dead eyes. “It’s like Clapham Junction. That is stil
l a train station, isn’t it? I always take taxis; public transport is so … public.”
“Yes—we’re having some … home improvements,” said Elliot, quickly turning Patricia around so she couldn’t see the dishwasher Frisbeeing plates back into the cupboard. “But I have to get to school … ”
“Of course, my little pookums,” said Patricia. “I just wanted a quick word with Momsypops?”
“Er … she’s—” started Elliot.
“Lucky to have such a foxy friend,” drawled Zeus, wiggling his eyebrows..
“And who is this?” she asked with another empty smile.
“I’m Elliot’s uncle,” said Zeus smoothly. “I’m a plumber called Bob.”
“Well … Bob,” said Patricia, “I was hoping to catch … ”
Elliot shook his head behind her back to warn Zeus she was dangerous. Zeus winked discreetly and ushered Patricia out of the house.
“Drat and double balderdash.” He smiled, shutting the door firmly behind them. “Josie’s away for the day.”
“Away?” said Patricia, a fraction too high. “Wherever has she gone?”
“Shopping,” lied Zeus effortlessly. “Heaven help her credit card … Hephaestus? How are you coming along with that fence?”
“I’ll be done by lunchtime,” grumbled the blacksmith, heaving a fence post into place.
“Marvelous,” said Zeus to Patricia, tucking her reluctant arm into the crook of his elbow. “You can’t be too careful these days—never know who might want to get in.”
“Quite,” said Patricia, as she was half dragged up the path and out of the gate. “If you could let Josie know I came by?”
“Of course,” said Zeus, his eyes narrowing. “Mind how you go.”
“You too,” said Patricia, her eyes narrower still, as Elliot and Virgo brushed past her to set off over the fields to school.
Zeus had secured Virgo’s place at Brysmore with a phone call to Call Me Graham early that morning, pretending to be the headmaster of a prestigious girls’ boarding school. He spun a story that Virgo was Elliot’s cousin, a brilliant student who had just moved to the area and needed to continue her schooling. Clutching the certificates that Aphrodite had expertly forged, Elliot and Virgo walked up Brysmore’s grand driveway.
“You need to keep a low profile today,” said Elliot. “I can’t have any trouble.”
“I thought you’d be more concerned about this test,” said Virgo. “I’ve been studying all night and I still don’t think I can possibly pass it. Mortal history is weird.”
“Thing is, Virgo,” said Elliot smugly, thinking of the wishing pearl in his backpack, “you’ve either got it or you haven’t.”
“Got what?” said Virgo suspiciously, as Elliot swaggered toward the school.
“Morning, Mr. Boil,” he said to the teacher squeezing out of a compact car that smelled like old fish.
“Be quiet, Hooper,” sneered Boil as he finally freed his backside from the door frame. “Who’s this?”
“This is my cousin … er … ”
“Anna Hooper,” said Virgo moodily, unhappy with the mortal name Zeus had chosen for her.
“Urgh—another Hooper, just what we need,” said Boil unpleasantly. “Well, Miss Hooper, clearly there are a few things you need to learn about the Brysmore rules … ”
“Excellent. I always follow the rules,” Virgo said, nodding.
“Unless you change your hair color by tomorrow, you’ll earn yourself a detention.”
“Whatever’s wrong with my hair?” asked Virgo, running her hands through her long silver locks.
“Silver hair is against the Brysmore rules,” pronounced Boil.
“Then the Brysmore rules are ridiculous,” said Virgo plainly, making Mr. Boil gasp at her blasphemy. “I have no more control over my hair color than you do over your hair loss.”
“How—how dare you!” exploded Boil.
“Don’t mind my cousin, sir,” said Elliot, steering Virgo away. “She’s from … a long way away. Where she comes from, baldness is a sign of greatness.”
“No, it—” Virgo started.
“Nice to see you, sir,” called Elliot.
“I’ll be watching you today, Hooper,” Boil shouted. “Both of you.”
“Great way to keep a low profile,” sighed Elliot, as they made their way into school.
“What a funny little man,” said Virgo. “Is he always that much of a Minotaur dropping or was today a special occasion?”
“Nah,” said Elliot. “He’s always like that. Hates my guts.”
“Why?” asked Virgo. “What have your guts done to him?”
“He doesn’t like anyone who thinks for themselves,” said Elliot. “And it’s possible that last year I sewed sardines in his car seats. But he’s determined to get me kicked out—and I can’t start a new school. They’d ask too many questions about … ”
“Josie-Mom,” said Virgo quietly. “Athene explained it to me. Mortal children aren’t allowed to remain with suboptimal parents.”
“You have a gift with words,” said Elliot. “But Boil needn’t worry. These exams will get rid of me. He knows I’ll never get eighty-five percent.”
“All the more reason to prove him wrong,” Virgo said.
“Absolutely.” He grinned, tapping his backpack.
Elliot and Virgo walked to the exam hall, where a straggle of fellow pupils were trembling outside, clearly exhausted after a sleepless night of frantic study.
“Suckers,” Elliot muttered as Brainy Briony burst into tears and her boyfriend Dummy Dominic threw up in a wastepaper basket.
The waft of old vegetable soup announced that Boil had arrived. The sad gaggle of students trudged into the hall, holding their breath to walk beneath Boil’s smelly armpit as he held the door to count them all in.
When they’d taken their seats, Boil slammed an exam paper down on each individual’s desk, delighting in making his petrified students jump as the thuds ricocheted around the hall.
“You have one hour,” he announced with a ghoulish grin. “You may begin.”
Elliot watched scornfully as his classmates whipped over their papers in horror and started furiously scribbling away. Elliot casually turned over his test. He didn’t have a clue how to answer a single question. But then he didn’t have to. He waited until the patrolling Mr. Boil had walked past his desk.
“I wish,” he whispered as quietly as he could, “to pass this test.”
There was a tiny tinkling from his backpack.
Elliot sat completely motionless, his eyes closed, waiting for his mind to fill with inspired historical knowledge.
But nothing happened.
He cautiously opened one eye to see if the test paper had simply written itself. It was completely blank. He didn’t understand. Surely Aphrodite wouldn’t give him something that didn’t work?
Suddenly, Elliot’s hands snapped to his desk and grabbed hold of his paper. He darted his head around to check that Boil hadn’t noticed, but the history teacher was too busy looming over tearful Briony, narrowly missing Dominic’s second puddle of vomit. Elliot didn’t get it—how was this going to pass the test? He tried to let go of the paper, but he no longer appeared to have any command over his hands.
“What are you doing?” cut Virgo, seeing Elliot shake next to her.
“I don’t know,” whispered Elliot. “I can’t help it.”
“SILENCE!” roared Boil from the back of the hall, making everyone jump in their seats.
Elliot tried desperately to release the paper, but now his hands seemed determined to raise it off the desk.
“No, no, no,” whispered Elliot as his arms lifted off the table and veered sharply to the right, bringing Elliot to his feet and pulling him over to Virgo’s desk.
“What the blazes are you doing, Hooper? Sit down!” shouted Boil as he charged toward Elliot.
But Elliot was utterly powerless. His hands plonked his test paper heavily in front of Virgo.
“Ow!” she yelped. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Silence!” said Boil, arriving at her desk in a fury. “Hooper! You have precisely two seconds to return to your seat before I give you an automatic fail.”
“Sorry, sir,” said Elliot, relieved to be free of the paper and turning back to his own desk. But his hands suddenly sprang to life again, grabbing Virgo’s test and jerking toward the table in front of her. This time they forced him to deposit Virgo’s paper on Briony’s desk, who duly burst into tears again. The other students watched in bemusement as Elliot worked his way around the hall, picking up test papers and passing them on to the next person with increasing speed.
“Everyone get back to work!” puffed a flaming red Boil as he chased Elliot. “Hooper, I’ll have your hide for this!”
But Elliot was completely out of control, frantically running from one desk to the next, passing exam papers around the room as Aphrodite’s pearl granted his wish to the letter.
“Help me,” he panted at Virgo as he completed his third circuit. “Make it stop.”
Virgo ran over to restrain him, but she was powerless against the Olympian’s wishing pearl. Elliot darted from her grip and carried on passing the test from person to person, with a panting Boil shouting threats a few feet behind him.
“THIS EXAM IS OVER!” Boil eventually roared amid the chaos.
At his words, Elliot’s hands immediately dropped the paper he was holding and returned limply to his side, allowing the exhausted boy to crumple to the floor.
“You’ve all failed!” Boil spat to a chorus of groans as every last one of Elliot’s classmates shot him filthy looks. “Hoopers! You’re both coming with me!”
“But I haven’t—” started Virgo.
“Silence!” screamed Boil, dragging Elliot up by the back of his blazer and frog-marching him and Virgo straight to the headmaster’s office.
Call Me Graham was renowned for being a soft touch, and Elliot had always managed to talk himself out of serious punishment. But this time, Mr. Boil stayed too and no amount of sob stories was going to help.