Simply the Quest

by Maz Evans

  ‘This is quite lovely,’ said Virgo, taking in the scenery. ‘I had been led to believe that London was filled with rude, impatient mortals.’

  ‘You’ll fit right in,’ said Elliot, putting out his arm to prevent her from walking in front of a black London taxi-automobile.

  ‘Oi – are you blind?’ yelled the driver.

  ‘Not at all – I can see your second chin from here,’ snapped Virgo after him.

  ‘See – you’re a natural,’ smiled Elliot, and Hermes snorted behind them.

  They crossed the road, passing a large memorial topped with a bronze winged statue. This impressive centrepiece was covered in scaffolding and builders, with signs dotted around the outside saying RESTORATION IN PROCESS. Virgo was impressed by the mortal regard for history, although as she choked on the traffic fumes thickening the air, she felt they should pay more attention to their future.

  They arrived at the palace gates, which were heavily guarded by soldiers and policemen.

  ‘Hermes – the invisibility helmet, please?’ asked Elliot.

  Hermes began rummaging through his infinite bag. Out came a frog, a tagine, an ornate lamp-stand and a mouthguard for a riding camel. But despite his frantic grabs, Hermes couldn’t find the helmet.

  ‘Mate,’ he whined. ‘I must have left it in my other bag. I am such a turnip. Major misbosh . . .’

  This was most sub-optimal. The royal pardon was vital to the success of the quest. Virgo decided she wasn’t going to panic.

  ‘How are we going to get in?’ she panicked.

  ‘Not sure,’ said Elliot, looking around for inspiration.

  An American mortal in a large hat approached a policeman as the gates opened to let a car into the palace courtyard.

  ‘Excuse me, officer,’ he said loudly, ‘is this Bucking Ham Palace?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said the policeman with a shudder. ‘How may I help you?’

  ‘Can I get a selfie with the Queen?’ said the tourist. ‘My mama’s just crazy ’bout her.’

  Virgo looked towards the open gate. If they were quick, perhaps they could just . . .

  ‘Can I help you?’ said the policeman suddenly, as if he’d read Virgo’s mind.

  ‘Er . . . um . . . yes, pleeeeeze,’ said Elliot, putting on a ridiculous accent for reasons that weren’t entirely clear. ‘Is theeez my hotel? I just arrive in Londooon and I looking for somewhere to stay. I very tired and want to sleeeeep.’

  Virgo had recently learnt the word ‘muppet’. Elliot was an excellent example of one.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said the policeman in a slow, loud voice. ‘You’ll have to find somewhere else. This building is fully booked.’

  Suddenly, from deep inside Elliot’s satchel, Virgo heard a series of musical chords. This was no time for a performance from Jason’s lyre.

  ‘OK, zank you, Mr Policeman, sir,’ said Elliot, in an entirely different accent to the first one as the lyre started to play more loudly. At the sound of the tune, the policeman involuntarily began to tap his feet. ‘I’ll just keep looking for . . .’

  ‘Young man!’ said the policeman suddenly, in time with the lyre. ‘There’s no need to feel down!’

  ‘Er . . . thanks,’ said Elliot. ‘I’m feeling fine, actually . . .’

  ‘I said – young man!’ said the policeman again, doing a neat spin on the spot. ‘Pick yourself off the ground!’

  ‘Really, I’m all good,’ said Elliot as the policeman stepped, tapped and clicked his fingers. ‘I’m sure there’s a Budget Inn down the road . . .’

  ‘I said – YOUNG MAN!’ bellowed the policeman, gyrating to the lyre. ‘’cos you’re in a new town, there’s no need – to – be – unhappy!’

  A nearby builder front-flipped off the Victoria memorial and knelt at Elliot’s feet.

  ‘What is this curious mortal ritual?’ Virgo whispered. ‘Are Londoners quite optimal?’

  ‘Young man,’ sang the construction worker, ‘there’s a place you can go!’

  ‘I said – young man,’ sang the American mortal, ‘when you’re short on your dough.’

  ‘You can stay there,’ boomed a deep voice as one of the Peter Pan actors wearing some kind of ceremonial outfit joined them, ‘and I’m sure you will find many ways – to – have – a – good time.’

  ‘What’s that one?’ asked Virgo.

  ‘A Native American chief,’ smiled Elliot.

  The lyre plucked a series of five identical chords. The policeman, the builder, the American mortal, the chief and everyone nearby burst into a chorus:

  ‘It’s fun to stay at the Y-M-C-A!’ they sang in perfect harmony. ‘It’s fun to stay at the Y-M-C-A!’

  Virgo looked around her. London had come to a total standstill as everyone joined in with Jason’s lyre. As far as the eye could see, tourists, businessmen and a particularly enthusiastic traffic warden were singing and dancing to the lyre. It was the most bizarre, if beautifully choreographed, spectacle Virgo had witnessed.

  ‘Come on – quick!’ Virgo gestured to Elliot and Hermes, who were arguing over the correct way to make an ‘M’ with their arms.

  They darted inside the gates, careful to avoid the two secret service officers, who were busy assuring each other they could get themselves clean and have a good meal.

  ‘Well,’ said Virgo with an approving nod, ‘I’ll give London this much. Its tourist information is most illuminating.’

  22. A Right Royal Barbeque

  Elliot, Virgo and Hermes snuck around the outside of the palace until they were in the gardens. Immaculate flowerbeds punctuated the beautifully manicured lawns, which spread out like a velvet green carpet as the sun started to descend from the sky.

  ‘This is optimal,’ nodded Virgo approvingly.

  ‘Shhhh!’ scolded Elliot. ‘We don’t want to draw attention to our—’

  The sound of a dozen triggers being cocked told Elliot that it was a little too late.

  ‘Who are you?’ shouted a secret service officer. ‘And how did you get in here?’

  ‘I’m . . . I’m . . .’ spluttered Elliot, thinking how many bullets were aimed at his skull.

  ‘Mr Hooper,’ said an elegant voice. ‘Terrence, instruct your men to stand down. Mr Hooper is an old friend.’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am!’ yelled the head of the secret service, whipping his hand to his head in a salute. ‘Lower your weapons! Sorry, sir.’

  Elliot felt the blood return to his veins as the guns sank to the ground.

  The guards parted, revealing Her Majesty the Queen. She exuded her natural regal grace – which was particularly impressive given that she was wearing a Wonder Woman apron over her immaculate twin-set and holding a large sausage on a fork. She extended her hand. Elliot wasn’t sure whether to shake or kiss it, so he did a little bit of both, essentially wiping his nose over the Queen’s knuckles.

  ‘And Miss Virgo, how lovely to see you again,’ said the Queen politely. ‘Is Pegasus not with you today?’

  ‘No, Ma’am,’ said Elliot quickly. ‘But this is Hermes – he’s the Messenger God.’

  ‘Your Maj,’ said Hermes with a grin, fluttering up and bowing mid-air. ‘It’s an honour to meet you, your Royal Babeness.’

  ‘Enchanted,’ said the Queen with a warm smile. ‘We’re just having a barbeque supper. Would you care to join us?’

  ‘Cor – yeah!’ said Elliot, who had nothing in his stomach but toasted jammie dodgers.

  ‘Marvellous,’ said the Queen. ‘Come and meet the family.’

  She led the way to a sheltered patio area, where the other members of the royal family were enjoying their barbeque beneath a row of heat-lamps.

  ‘Everybody – this is Mr Elliot Hooper, about whom you’ve heard so much,’ said the Queen.

  ‘Hello there!’ Prince Harry and Prince Philip waved their cheeseburgers. ‘Good to meet you.’

  ‘Care for a banger?’ said the Prince of Wales as the Duchess of Cornwall tended the barbecue.

 
‘Did you bring any Daemons with you this time?’ joked Prince William as he and the Duchess of Cambridge encouraged Prince George and Princess Charlotte to eat their vegetables.

  ‘Not today,’ grinned Elliot.

  ‘I’m glad you found us all right,’ said the Queen, putting another slice of processed cheese on her burger. ‘It can be frightfully tricky to get in and out. It’s a nightmare when one wishes to nip out for a kebab.’

  ‘Tell me, Liz – one icon to another – how do you stay in such banging shape?’ asked Hermes.

  ‘Well, the corgis do keep me on my toes . . .’ said the Queen, patting her neat hair.

  ‘Do you have a martial arts sensei who trains you for hours every day?’ asked Virgo.

  ‘Not at all!’ laughed the Queen. ‘But it’s amazing what one can pick up from celebrity fitness DVDs . . . Now, who wants a hot dog? Oh, what a shame. It’s clouding over. Looks like it might rain.’

  Elliot looked up into the early evening sky, where a large black cloud now hovered over the palace.

  ‘Your British weather is even less reliable than your buses,’ sighed Virgo.

  They watched the cloud begin to descend, blackening the air. Elliot suddenly had a very, very bad feeling.

  ‘Children,’ said the Queen slowly while the cloud unfurled long, black wings. ‘Go behind that wall. I think we have an uninvited guest.’

  ‘Nyx!’ said Hermes as the black cloud transformed into a ferocious winged monster swooping down towards them. ‘What the—?’

  ‘So you’re having a party?’ screeched Nyx, revealing the rocks that were clutched in her talons. ‘Mind if I join you? Here’s my contribution . . .’

  The party scattered like drops on a window pane as Nyx pelted them with the huge rocks, which shattered into a million pieces, sending shards of shrapnel flying across the garden. She raised one high in the air and aimed it straight at Elliot.

  ‘Elliot – no!’ cried Hermes, diving in front of him and taking a hit to the head.

  ‘Hermes!’ cried Virgo as the Messenger God fell dazed to the ground.

  ‘Is everyone all right?’ asked the Queen from behind the barbecue lid she had used as a shield.

  ‘I’m fine,’ shouted Prince Philip, wearing a silver salad bowl on his head like a helmet. ‘But that wretched creature spilt my drink!’

  ‘Look out – she’s coming around again!’ yelled the Prince of Wales, diving into a nearby fountain.

  Nyx swooped back up into the sky as a plume of black smoke, spinning around to throw her next batch of missiles.

  ‘Who’s Nyx?’ Elliot shouted.

  ‘Goddess of the Night,’ Hermes mumbled groggily. ‘Aka – Thanatos’s Mum. Like, literally, the mother of all unbosh . . .’

  Elliot’s heart raced. Given how her sons had turned out, he didn’t have high hopes for Thanatos and Hypnos’s mother.

  The Messenger God slumped to the ground unconscious.

  ‘Elliot!’ shouted Virgo. ‘Jump!’

  The pair leapt from their hiding place just as a huge boulder landed where their broken bodies would have been had they remained there a split second longer.

  Another giant rock smashed a nearby crystal bowl, splattering the Queen with potato salad.

  ‘How dare you!’ shouted Her Majesty, wiping mayonnaise out of her eyes with a lace hankie. With a terrifying, disapproving glare, the Queen retied her scarf around her forehead like a commando and pulled a machine gun out of her apron pocket. ‘Right! That’s it! One is frightfully sorry, Nyx, but you have not been granted an audience! Family – let’s kick some bottom!’

  The Queen grabbed some corn on the cob and loaded it into her gun as ammunition. She fired. Pieces of corn whistled through the air, pelting Nyx with a relentless barrage of tiny bullets but doing nothing to stop her swooping down on the gathering again.

  ‘One needs something bigger, harder, more deadly,’ said the Queen. ‘Camilla – where are those rolls you baked?’

  ‘Already on it,’ shouted the Duchess of Cornwall, yanking a statue out of the ground by its personals, revealing that the garden ornament was in fact a huge bazooka. Kicking off the statue’s head, she loaded her baking into the weapon.

  ‘Nyx!’ she screamed, pushing her Chanel scarf aside so she could hoist the bazooka up to her shoulder. ‘Your bread is buttered!’

  A shower of bread rolls exploded at Nyx, sending her spinning off course.

  ‘Yesssss!’ said Camilla, dropping to her knees with a fist-pump. ‘Catherine – you’re up!’

  ‘I know,’ said the Duchess of Cambridge, rummaging through an elegant salmon-pink handbag, pulling out wet wipes, a tiara and the perfect shade of nail polish for her outfit. ‘It’s in here somewhere . . .’

  ‘Come along, darling,’ smiled Prince William, loading halloumi kebabs into a small cannon while wiping ketchup from Princess Charlotte’s face.

  But the pause was enough for Nyx to recover. Her green eyes sought out her prey and homed in on Elliot. With an awful smile, she stretched out her wings and leant forward into a dive, her talons outstretched.

  ‘You’re coming with me!’ she screeched at Elliot, who stumbled backwards across the lawn. He picked up some flowerpots and threw them at the approaching Goddess. He wasn’t going anywhere without a fight.

  ‘Catherine, dear,’ said the Queen calmly as Prince Charles emerged from the fountain with his tie around his head and a flame-thrower in his arms. ‘Could you move it along a little, please?’

  ‘You is a stinky poo-poo head!’ shouted Prince George at Nyx as Prince Harry manoeuvred a small tank across the lawn.

  ‘George – we don’t speak like that,’ chided Prince William. ‘What we say is: One is a stinky poo-poo head.’

  ‘Found it!’ said Catherine, flicking her perfect hair out of her eyes as she pulled a hand grenade out of her bag. She pulled the pin out delicately with her teeth, reapplying her lipstick with her free hand. She grabbed a nearby lacrosse stick and lobbed the grenade into the air. ‘Nyx – catch!’

  ‘Quick – duck!’ said the Queen, grabbing Elliot and Virgo and diving behind an upturned picnic table.

  The explosion ripped through the sky and sent a stunned Nyx spiralling through the air. She turned and tumbled and, for a moment, looked as if she might drop from the sky altogether. But after a few disorientated seconds, she once again spread her dark wings to steady herself.

  ‘So you don’t like my presents?’ she screeched manically down at everyone. ‘Well, let’s see how you like my fireworks!’

  Nyx jetted upwards, closing her eyes and muttering sinister incantations as the sky darkened at her command. Flashes started to illuminate the darkness, wiry fingers lacing together to form an almighty red bolt of lightning.

  ‘She’s going to strike the palace!’ said Elliot. ‘It’ll burn it to the ground – quick, we have to warn everybody!’

  But there was no time. As Nyx commanded the darkness, peals of thunder rumbled and the lightning filled the sky.

  ‘Hermes! Hermes, wake up!’ shouted Virgo at the motionless God as Elliot ran towards the palace.

  ‘Here you go!’ cackled Nyx as she summoned the lightning to her hands to aim it at the palace. ‘A party fit for a queen!’

  But just as she brought her arm back to hurl the thunderbolt, a huge searchlight flicked on with a clunk. The Goddess of the Night instinctively shielded her face with her wings, casting the lightning aimlessly into the evening sky. Another searchlight followed. And then a third. Nyx started weaving around in mid-air as she tried to get her balance. This split-second delay was all the security guards needed to regroup.

  ‘Take aim!’ shouted Terrence.

  ‘I will hunt you down, Elliot Hooper!’ cackled Nyx, wincing at the light. ‘It’s only a matter of time!’

  ‘Fire,’ ordered the guard as a hundred bullets were launched at Nyx, who simply clicked her fingers and disappeared in a wisp of black smoke.

  ‘Is everyone all right?’ aske
d the Queen as the security guards surrounded her family. ‘We haven’t had a scrap like that since we played charades last Christmas.’

  ‘Er – mates, babes – I’m fine, in case you were wondering,’ said a dazed Hermes, picking himself up and pulling a chicken drumstick out of his winged hat.

  ‘What a nasty piece of work,’ said the Queen, straightening her apron. ‘Calm down, everybody. I’m fine. Just the British weather playing its tricks. Who’d like a nice cup of tea?’

  ‘We’d better motor, mate,’ said Hermes. ‘Looks like Thanatos has good old Mum to do his dirty work. That is a chronic bosh-not for you. Your Babeness – we have something to ask you.’

  ‘Of course,’ said the Queen.

  ‘How might I help?’ Elliot explained about the Air Stone, the Natural History Museum and the need for a royal pardon. Virgo talked about her kardia and why mortal digestive systems were sub-optimal.

  ‘I see,’ said the Queen, pulling a scroll out of her apron and handing it to Elliot. ‘Well, as our friend has just reminded us, you are acting in the interest of world safety. Here, take this. One always keeps a royal pardon to hand in case one breaks wind.’

  ‘Epic,’ said Elliot. ‘Er . . . it doesn’t work anywhere else, does it? Like school . . .?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ smiled the Queen.

  Shame. Elliot liked the idea of shoving a royal pardon in Boil’s face every time he threatened detention.

  ‘Before we go, I’ve brought you something,’ he said, rummaging around in his bag. ‘Sorry it’s a bit late.’

  He produced the Imperial Crown from his satchel and presented it to the Queen.

  ‘How kind, Mr Hooper,’ she said. ‘People are always borrowing things and not returning them. One has been waiting for ever for the Sultan of Brunei to return one’s boxed set of Harry Potter.’

  ‘Kids – we gotta split,’ said Hermes. ‘The museum shuts in twenty minutes!’

  ‘Terrence – take our friends to the Natural History Museum,’ said the Queen. ‘They’re in a rush.’