by 4 Ye Gods!
'But Boss,' George said, 'I always do what you tell me, don't I?'
'Yes, yes,' Jason said, 'but that's because I always tell you what I'm supposed to tell you. Look,' he went on, 'I'm not in the mood for deep metaphysical discussion so let's just get going, shall we, before anybody notices.'
George shrugged. 'Whatever you say, Boss. Next stop Thessaly.'
'No,' Jason said, 'Piccadilly Circus.'
'You sure?' said George. 'Look, it says here on the manifest: Larissa, ancient capital of Thessaly...'
'That's what I've been trying to tell you, George,' said Jason wearily. 'We aren't going to Thessaly, we're going to Piccadilly Circus. Instead,' he explained.
'Why?'
'Shut up and drive the bloody car, will you?'
The little electric buggies supplied to Heroes are manufactured by Vulcan, ex-God of Fire and Craftsmen, and being of divine manufacture they can burn off Porsches without going into second gear. They also come with a twenty-million-year warranty and centralised locking as standard. It therefore took George less than thirty seconds to get to Piccadilly Circus; which was just as well, since it then took an hour and a bit to find a parking space.
'Will here do you?' George asked.
'Here'll do fine,' Jason replied. 'I shouldn't be more than a couple of hours.'
'I hope you know what you're doing.'
'So do I.'
George shrugged. 'Please yourself,' he said. 'What's in the carrier bag?'
'Sandwiches,' Jason said, 'and a thermos. If anyone wants me, tell them I died of cholera, OK?'
Jason climbed out, tied up the canvas bag carefully, and descended the stairs to the Underground station, where he stood in front of the ticket barrier and waited. After a few minutes, a very tall, thin man with a flower in his buttonhole walked up to him and coughed.
'The worship of Mithras,' he said slowly, 'has all but died out in Saxmundham.'
'You what?'
'The worship of... Oh bugger, sorry,' said the tall man. 'Thursday is not a good day for peeling onions.'
'Friday,' Jason replied self-consciously, 'is even worse if you happen to be left-handed. So you're Virgil, are you?'
'Sh!' said the tall man, 'keep your ruddy voice down, will you? I'm not supposed to be here.'
'I know,' said Jason. 'Neither am I.'
'I told them at the office,' Virgil went on, ignoring him, 'I was going to a seminar on "Whither Hexameters Today?" at Spoleto, but I bet someone's going to phone through and find out I'm not there. I'm a fool to myself to be doing this.'
'You're dead,' Jason said; 'what's it to you?'
'Just because you're dead; Virgil hissed darkly, 'doesn't mean they aren't still out to get you. Anyway, this is definitely the last time I get mixed up in anything like this.'
Jason tapped his foot ever so slightly. 'All right; he said, 'you've made your point; now let's get on with it, shall we? And next time I need a guide to the Underground, I'll buy one of those little maps.'
Virgil gave him a poisonous look and produced a couple of tickets from his raincoat pocket. They weren't like ordinary subway tickets, being luminous and made of gold. 'Don't lose them,' he said. 'Right. Abandon Hope All Ye, and all that stuff. This way.'
They walked for a long time down gloomy winding passages which echoed with unearthly noises. All around them, Jason became aware of what looked suspiciously like souls in torment -- murderers, parricides and people trying to find the westbound platforms. For all that he was a Hero, he shuddered slightly.
'It only goes to show; Virgil was saying, 'the truth of the old saying that a friend in need is a pest. Just because I showed Dante the way through the Inferno when he got lost that time -- you know, one poet helping another and all that stuff, though that's a myth if ever I heard one; you try asking a poet to help you mend a puncture in the rain and see how far you get -- just because of that, they've got it into their heads I'm a sort of one-man package holiday company. Mind you,' he went on, 'I blame my agent, the damn fool. He encourages them. He's got me taking a party of schoolchildren round the Dutch bulb fields next month, which really isn't my idea of a good time. I'll never forget...'
'Virgil,' Jason said.
The Mantuan turned his head. 'Yes?' he asked. 'What?'
'Are we going the right way?'
Virgil sniggered unpleasantly. 'Down here,' he said, 'there isn't a right way. The right way is to go by bus. We go left here, I think.'
'But we've been walking for ages,' Jason said.
'True,' Virgil replied, helpfully.
'So which line are we taking?'
'Ah,' said Virgil, 'that'd be telling.'
They turned a corner and came across a busker. He had a hat with no bottom and a guitar with no strings, and when he opened his mouth, no sound came Out. A mouth organ hovered round his head like a large chrome hornet, buzzing ominously and occasionally swooping in and biting his ear. Virgil stopped and felt in his pocket.
'Oh good,' he said, 'I thought I had some somewhere.' He took out two pesetas, a corroded pfennig and a fruit-machine token and dropped them into the hat. They vanished.
'A sad case,' said Virgil. 'In life he was a great conductor but one Christmas he agreed to appear on one of those television comedy-variety programmes and after that it was downhill all the way. First it was chat shows, then double-glazing commercials, and when he died, it was straight down here. Diabolical, what they come up with sometimes.'
Jason stared. 'You mean he's dead?' he asked.
'Of course,' Virgil replied. 'You're in the Underground now, you know.'
Around the next corner they came across a woman. She was crouched on the ground, hard up against the tiled wall of the corridor, with her hands clenched over her ears, in which were the earphones of a Sony walkman. Although the music was plainly audible to Virgil and Jason as they passed by, it was clear that the woman couldn't hear a note of it.
'That one,' Virgil commented with a shudder, 'speaks for itself.'
For someone who didn't know the meaning of Fear, Jason was beginning to feel decidedly edgy; but since Virgil seemed to be taking it all in his stride, he did his best to conceal it. Thus, when a haggard woman with staring eyes jumped out at them and demanded to know the way to Platform Seven, and Virgil told her, and she darted off in the opposite direction, Jason fought back the impulse to whip out the Sword of Sod It I've Forgotten Again and sweep her head off, and just stood back feeling embarrassed.
'Another hopeless case,' said the poet, as the woman's hysterical laughter died away in the distance. 'Her crime was forever to be nagging her husband to ask someone the way whenever they got lost. Serves her right, I suppose, but still...'
It had been getting darker and darker the further they went, so that now they could only make out the walls of the corridor in front of them by the glow of the burning graffiti-artists conveniently nailed just above head height at regular intervals. The shadows in between contained strange, shuffling figures who made disturbing noises, which Jason did his best to ignore.
'Nearly there,' Virgil said. 'I'd better warn you, the next bit's not for the squeamish.'
'Oh super, 'Jason murmured.
They turned yet another corner and came to a set of steps, which led down to a short passageway. Onto the walls of the passageway were glued a number of screaming, struggling people, on whose faces demoniac posters were drawing in moustaches. Then they came out onto a platform. It was empty.
'Here,' Jason said, 'this isn't too bad.'
'You wait,' Virgil chuckled grimly.
There was a clanking noise in the distance which gradually got closer, and a Tube train appeared. As it went past them, Jason could see it was filled with wan, spectral figures, all standing on one another's feet.
'Once a commuter,' said Virgil, 'always a commuter. Horrible, isn't it?'
The train slowed down and stopped, and the doors opened. Some of the people inside made a dash for it and tried to get out, but at once the
doors slammed shut on them with sickening force. Jason noticed with a spurt of terror that the doors had teeth.
'Can't say they weren't warned,' Virgil said sadly. 'Do Not Obstruct The Doors, it says, plain as the nose on your face. Hang on, it'll stop soon.'
After what seemed to Jason a very long time, the doors finished chewing the people and a big red tongue appeared and drew them back inside. The doors closed, and when they opened again the carriages were empty. From somewhere near the driver's compartment came an unmistakable belch.
'Right; said Virgil. 'I don't know about you, but I like having my back to the engine.'
Jason grabbed his sleeve. 'I'm not getting in that,' he said.
Virgil gave him a contemptuous look and got into the carriage. Behind him, Jason sensed that there were people coming down the steps onto the platform that he really didn't want to meet, and so he closed his eyes and stepped in. The doors closed.
When Jason opened his eyes, all he could see was a perfectly ordinary Underground carriage, and Virgil sitting on one of the seats, meditatively stirring a large pile of ash and charred bones. Jason winced.
'Let me guess,' he said, 'this is a No Smoking carriage.'
'On the contrary,' Virgil replied. 'Only here, the train smokes the people. Sit down and have a rest. It gets a bit hairy in a minute.'
'Not again!'
Apollo nodded.
'Honestly,' Minerva said. 'We're going to have to get him one of those collars with a little bell on it. Right, then, where did you see him last?'
'Piccadilly Circus,' Apollo said. Minerva raised both eyebrows.
'Really,' she said. 'Well, well, fancy that. No prizes for guessing where he's gone, then.'
'Let's not be too hasty about this,' Apollo said. 'Maybe he just wanted to catch a train or something.'
Minerva ignored him. 'You stay there; she said. 'I'll go and see where Pluto's got to.'
After a long search she eventually found the ex-God of the Dead lying down, in a beautifully-tailored box, in the cupboard under the Stairs of the Dawn. She made an exasperated noise and tapped on the side of the box with her foot.
'Job for you,' she said. 'Up you get.'
'I've retired,' Pluto murmured sleepily. 'Go away.'
'If you're not up and dressed in five minutes,' warned Minerva, 'it's a wet sponge down the back of the neck for you, my lad. We'll be in the observation saloon.'
When she got back to the saloon, Apollo was studying the Earth through some kind of optical instrument, which he unsuccessfully tried to hide between his knees when he realised his sister was back in the room. Minerva made a familiar clicking noise with her tongue and held out her hand. Reluctantly, Apollo gave her the instrument.
'How does it work?' she asked.
'I'm not entirely sure,' Apollo replied. 'Apparently it sort of picks up waves of random particles activated by disturbances in the fabric of possibility.'
Minerva frowned. She was hopeless with gadgets but refused to admit it. 'Like a smoke detector, you mean?'
'Something like that, yes.'
'Got anything?'
Apollo shook his head. 'He left a trail of fused alternatives all the way down to somewhere under the Cafe Royal, but then the screen just went white and started bleeping at me, so I switched it off. My guess is that it means he's already entered, you know...'
'Yes,' said Minerva hurriedly. Gods do not like to mention the place directly beneath the cellars of Hamley's by name if they can help it. Bad vibes.
'Which means,' Apollo went on, 'he's effectively given us the slip, doesn't it?'
'Nonsense,' Minerva said, and as she spoke Pluto walked in. He was wearing a black dressing-gown and slippers, and he was yawning. He hadn't had a haircut or trimmed his fingernails for a very long time.
'Well?' he asked sleepily. 'What's going on?'
'We need someone to go 'out to, er, Regent Street for us; Minerva said.
Pluto scowled. 'Oh come on, Min,' he said. 'You know that place gives me the willies.'
Minerva gave him a look. 'Don't be such a baby; she said.
'All right,' said Pluto, 'you go.'
'It's your kingdom.'
'Was,' Pluto reminded her. 'I sold out to an Anglo-French consortium, remember? They were going to try and link it up with the Paris metro. Bloody silly idea if you ask me, but...'
'Yes,' Minerva interrupted, 'now, if you've quite finished, you can be getting along. We're looking for a Hero, tall, muscular, blond, the usual thing, answers to Jason Derry. I'll put him up on the screen for you.'
Minerva fiddled with the controls for a moment, and a thousand-mile-high hologram of General De Gaulle appeared in the night sky just below the Great Bear. Whoops,' said Minerva, 'sorry, wrong disc. Now, try that.'
General De Gaulle was sucked back into the heart of the Pole Star and was replaced by Jason Derry, standing with one foot on the severed head of a huge reptile and looking bored. 'That's him,' Minerva said. Jason vanished.
Pluto stood scowling at where the hologram had been for a few seconds and then tightened the cord of his dressing gown. 'Dangerous, is he?' he asked.
'Depends what you mean by dangerous,' Apollo said. 'In general terms, globally speaking, yes he very probably is. On the other hand, I don't imagine he'll try and bite you.'
'Sod it,' said Pluto, 'I think I'll take the dog.'
The train stopped.
Jason looked out of the window. There was nothing to see.
Where are we?' he asked. Virgil looked at him gravely.
'You should know better than to ask questions like that, son of Jupiter,' he replied. 'Particularly here, of all places.'
'Why?' Jason asked. 'We haven't broken down or anything, have we?'
'No,' Virgil said, looking down at the floorboards, 'not exactly. This is where we were supposed to come to. It's what you told me you wanted to do.'
Jason nodded. 'So why aren't the doors opening?' he asked.
'They don't.'
'How do you mean?'
'This isn't a station,' Virgil told him. 'If anything, it's a state of mind. This is where the train stops, but you can't get out here.'
'Why not?'
'You're probably the first person in the history of Creation ever to ask that; Virgil replied. 'The doors don't open here for pretty much the same reason as they don't open the windows on Concorde. The environment out there is somewhat hostile.'
'Is it?' Jason looked hard, but he couldn't see a trace of any sort of environment, hostile or not; there was just that sort of darkness that means that all you can see is your reflection in the window. He said as much to Virgil.
'That,' Virgil answered, 'is the whole point. There is nothing out there. It's probably the largest accumulation of nothing in the entire cosmos.'
'Oh,' Jason said. 'In that case,' he added, after a pause, 'someone's been pulling my leg.'
'Really?' Virgil studied his fingertips. 'And who might that have been?'
Jason felt a slight twitching under his scalp. 'Oh, just someone I met,' he said. 'And he told me that -- well, something I was looking for was to be found at the Underground stop directly under Hamley's. And I said that as far as I knew there wasn't one, and he said I should ask you to take me there. So I did, and now you're telling me I can't get out here.'
'I said nothing of the kind,' Virgil replied. 'All I said was that if you're so incredibly fed up with life that you want to get out here, the doors aren't going to aid and abet you. That's all.'
Jason leaned back in his seat and sighed. That seemed to be that, he told himself. And yet...
'Virgil,' he said, 'can I ask you something?'
'Be my guest; said the Mantuan.
'If you had a little voice in the back of your head; said Jason, 'that kept telling you to... no, suggesting that you do things that you really don't want to do, because they're dangerous and you don't understand why they need doing anyway, how would you react7'
'I'd have a lobotomy,' Vi
rgil replied unhesitatingly. 'Nothing worse than a chatty brain, I always say.'
'I see,' said Jason. 'Only I have this awful feeling that I ought to get off the train here and go and look for -- well, the thing. It. I don't want to,' he added, 'not one little bit, but somehow I feel that I should. Do you understand?'
Virgil nodded. 'Indeed,' he replied sadly. 'I wouldn't worry about it, if I were you. Lots of people get that.'
'Oh,' said Jason, encouraged. 'Do they?'
'Yes, masses; Virgil replied. 'Just before they get killed. A lot of people do get killed, you see, and...'
'Will I get killed if I get out of this carriage?' Jason asked. 'For certain, I mean; no possibility of survival.'
'I wouldn't say that,' said Virgil.
'What are my chances, then?'
'I really couldn't guess,' said the poet. 'You see, no mortal has ever been where you're proposing to go. Or at least never gone and come back. Therefore, reliable data is a bit thin on the ground.'
'Ah, the hell with that,' Jason said, striving to sound cheerful. 'Nobody had been to America before Columbus.'
Virgil looked at him and leaned forward. 'Have you ever considered,' he asked, 'how many people before Columbus tried to get to America but failed because they fell off the edge of the world?'
'But that's...'
'You can say that,' Virgil interrupted him, 'because you don't know what you're talking about. And; he added, 'I'm buggered if I'm going to waste my time telling you, because very shortly you won't exist any more. Or at least, if I tell you, then you soon won't exist any more, because you'll leave the train. Whereas if I scare you shitless about what's Out there instead of telling you the truth, then you won't leave the train and therefore you won't die. Clever, isn't it?'
'I don't know,' said Jason, 'you lost me quite early on, I'm afraid.'
'It's a bifurcation,' Virgil said. 'To be precise, it's an Impossibility Frontier. It's impossible for a mortal to know what's out there and live to tell the tale. You have to follow one of the two alternatives -- know and die, stay ignorant and live. There is no third choice.'