by Mary Evans
‘Marvellous,’ said the waiter. ‘It is tattooed on the left knee of a wallaby. I shall send it over. We also have several specials this evening. As an appetizer, we have a Loch Ness monster cocktail, followed by Mignon of Minotaur with a pepper sauce.’
‘Excuse me,’ asked a diner on the next table. ‘Would it be possible to have a little more pepper sauce?’
‘Er . . .’ said the waiter, all colour draining from his face. ‘I’ll just go and ask ze chef.’
The maître d’ approached the swinging kitchen door, made the sign of the cross and walked inside.
‘So what is Theseus like?’ Virgo asked. ‘Will he be optimal for my quest?’
‘Oh, he’s a good bloke, really,’ said Hermes. ‘Bark is worse than his—’
‘HE WANTS WHAT?!’ a voice exploded from the kitchen. ‘BRING ME TO THIS TASTELESS PHILISTINE RIGHT NOW!’
The whole restaurant fell silent and the string quartet took refuge inside their instrument cases.
The waiter appeared – was thrown, in fact – back into the room, as Theseus slammed back the double doors. Elliot could imagine how he looked in his youth, but now his chiselled face was hot and red from the heat of the kitchen and his muscular body was covered in stained chef’s whites. Tucked beneath his arm was a gigantic pan of pepper sauce.
‘WHO WAS IT?’ he bellowed at the maître d’.
The miserable employee remained face down on the carpet and pointed a shaking arm at the nervous diner.
Theseus stomped to the table, making the man and his female companion shrink back into their seats.
‘I hear you wanted some extra sauce!’ Theseus yelled.
‘Er . . . yes . . . please . . . if it’s not too much trouble,’ said the shaking man.
‘I assume you spent the last four centuries at cookery school?’ asked Theseus.
‘Er, no . . . I did do an adult-learning course once, though . . .’ he replied.
‘But you must have studied under the best chefs in the universe?’ shouted Theseus. ‘Roux? Pierre-White? Swedish?’
‘No . . . not really,’ stammered his customer.
‘Then tell me where your restaurant is, so that I can sample your award-winning cusine!’ Theseus hollered in his face.
‘I . . . I don’t have one,’ whimpered the man, practically under the table.
‘THEN HOW DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH SAUCE IS ENOUGH?!’ screamed Theseus.
‘I don’t,’ said the man in a tiny voice. ‘I was wrong. I’m sorry.’
‘No, sir, the customer is always right,’ said Theseus, wielding a huge ladle from the pot. ‘Here, have some more!’
Elliot tried not to catch Hermes’s eye – he could hear the Messenger God sniggering behind his hand. With one of his muscular arms, Theseus ladled a huge dollop of sauce on to his customer’s plate, covering his food, the table and most of his lap.
‘Than-thank you, that’s fine,’ he said.
‘No, it’s not!’ said a wild Theseus, slopping on ladle after ladle of sauce until it dripped over the edge of the table. ‘Here – have some more!’
And with a great snort, he emptied the entire pot over the steak and the unfortunate diner’s head.
‘Now GET OUT!’ he roared.
‘O-OK, OK,’ stammered the man. ‘But please could I get my engagement ring back? I was going to propose to my girlfriend.’
‘Oh, Wayne!’ swooned his companion, wiping the sauce out of her eyes with a sauce-covered hanky from her sauce-filled handbag. ‘That’s dead romantic!’
‘Sure!’ shouted Theseus, grabbing a nearby giant meringue swan and punching it to retrieve the ring. ‘Here’s a proposal for you, sweetheart – don’t marry this tasteless moron of a gerbil dropping!’
With an almighty grunt, Theseus kicked the pot across the floor, scattering waiters like skittles, and stormed back into his kitchen, smashing a massive tower of plates on his way. The maître d’ crawled across the floor like a giant slug back towards Elliot’s table as the string quartet resumed their minuet.
‘Just to let you know,’ he squeaked. ‘We’re out of pepper sauce.’
That was it. Elliot and Hermes collapsed with the giggles.
‘I’m not sure how he’s going to help on my quest,’ said Virgo. ‘I don’t believe the Air Stone requires any condiments . . .’
‘Now that’s a chef’s special,’ said Hermes, wiping the tears from his eyes. ‘Let’s get Theseus over here. Mate – can we have a natter with the chef?’
‘No, please . . .’ said the waiter. ‘I’m just out of hospital from the time someone said their steak was over-cooked.’
‘No worries,’ laughed Hermes, ‘I’ll go ask him myself.’
‘No – please, sir, don’t! cried the waiter as Hermes strode confidently into the kitchen with a whistle.
‘NO CUSTOMERS IN THE KITCHEN!’ screamed Theseus as the door swung to behind Hermes. ‘GET OUT OR I’LL . . .’
The string quartet barricaded themselves in their instrument cases again, the maître d’ hid the steak knives, and everyone waited nervously for another eruption.
But the only sound from the kitchen was a gigantic belly laugh.
‘I bet he never played piano again!’ hooted Theseus as he came out of the kitchen with his arm around Hermes’ shoulders. ‘We were a right pair of terrors . . .’
‘Those were the days,’ laughed Hermes.
‘Get on with it!’ Theseus suddenly yelled at the string quartet. ‘And play something up-tempo. You lot are as cheerful as a Fury’s funeral.’
‘Kids – this is Theseus,’ said Hermes. ‘Theseus – Elliot and Virgo.’
‘Good to meet you,’ said Theseus, nearly pulling Elliot’s arm out of the socket. ‘Always delighted to meet a mortal. Even if you do have ketchup with everything, you tasteless idiots. Won’t hold it against you.’
Elliot smiled politely as he tried to get the feeling back in his fingers.
‘So what can I get you tonight?’ smiled Theseus. ‘The tempura Titan buttock is excellent.’
‘I’ll have an extra-large one, thanks,’ said Hermes.
‘Theseus – we need to enlist your help on a mighty quest,’ said Virgo. ‘We need to access the Vault in the Natural History Museum. We feel this fits well with your skill set and you might relish the chance to relive your heroic glory days.’
‘Glory days! Are you kidding me?!’ said Theseus. ‘They stank!’
‘But . . . I don’t understand. Your exploits are the stuff of legend,’ said Virgo.
‘Exactly – totally made up!’ said Theseus. ‘During my time as a hero, my stepmother tried to poison me, the Minotaur tried to kill me, I was chained to a rock in the Underworld for months, I lost my father, my son, two wives and my mojo! Being a hero is rubbish!’
‘So you don’t wish to return to your heroic past?’ said Virgo.
‘You catch on quick,’ sighed Elliot. This was not going well.
‘It’s really important,’ he added. ‘We need to get the Chaos Stones to defeat Thanatos. We really need you . . .’
‘No way!’ said Theseus. ‘It took me years of therapy to get over being a hero! I’ve had night terrors, anxiety attacks, abandonment issues – my therapist even suspects I have some unresolved anger, but I don’t see it . . .’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Virgo. ‘You are considered one of the greatest heroes who ever lived . . .’
‘Exactly!’ said Theseus. ‘I lived. And I want to keep it that way. But – I do want to help you guys. I hate Thanatos.’
‘For the misery he heaped on the world?’ said Virgo.
‘For giving me a bad review on Odyssey-Advisor,’ snorted Theseus. ‘If I ever get my hands on him, I’ll boil him for stock.’
‘Boom!’ said Hermes, offering a huge high five.
‘Take this,’ said Theseus, and he handed Elliot a ball of string.
‘Er . . . thanks,’ said Elliot, trying not to sound too disappointed. He needed to get
the Air Stone, not wrap a parcel.
‘I got it from Ariadne, my ex – nice girl, bad break-up,’ Theseus explained.
‘Mate – not being funny, but you, like, totally dumped her on an island and sailed away,’ said Hermes.
‘Yeah,’ said Theseus. ‘She was kinda clingy . . . Anyway, this twine will help you find anything. Majorly handy for impossible labyrinths. Like finding the loo in a shopping centre.’
‘Thanks,’ said Elliot, unconvinced, stuffing the string in his satchel. How was he supposed to save the world with string?
How are you going to save Mum? asked his dark voice.
‘Tell me,’ said Virgo. ‘Do you have anything positive to recommend from your time as a hero?’
Theseus paused. ‘Your quest may not lead where you expect,’ he said. ‘So make the most of the journey.’
‘Sounds like good advice, mate,’ said Hermes.
‘Oh – and set reminders on your phone for anything important,’ said Theseus. ‘I forgot to put the right sail on my boat and my father jumped into the sea . . .’
‘How tragic,’ gasped Virgo.
‘Not really,’ said Theseus. ‘Turned out the water only came up to his knees. But it made Christmas a bit awkward . . . Have you spoken to Jason?’
‘The Golden Fleece guy?’ said Elliot. Thank goodness – a lifeline.
‘Yeah – he was always up for a good quest back in the day,’ said Theseus. ‘I bet he’d be game.’
‘He sounds highly optimal,’ said Virgo happily. ‘We’ll visit Jason after lunch. And make mine a Buchis Burger – with extra ketchup!’
16. Jason
‘Can I ask you something?’ Elliot said to Hermes as Virgo snoozed off her seventh dessert in the back of Hades’s chariot.
‘Mate – do it,’ said Hermes, zooming through the Asphodel gloom.
‘Do you ever wish your family could be . . . different?’ Elliot said, looking at his feet.
‘Every single minute of most days – boom!’ laughed Hermes. ‘Not being funny, but my lot make Shakespeare look like a soap opera . . .’
‘If you don’t mind me asking – is Zeus a good dad?’
‘Well, he’s a better dad than a husband, that’s for sure . . .’ said Hermes. ‘Nah – we’ve had our beef, like all dads and their lads. It was tough growing up – he always had somewhere else to be, something to save, someone to marry . . . He had a shocking temper back then. I once nicked a spear from a centaur. Most kids would get a clip round the ear. I got a thunderbolt. And it weren’t in me ear.’
Elliot laughed. Hermes was so cool.
‘But you’ve forgiven him?’
‘Sure,’ said Hermes. ‘With an older bonce, I see how tough it was for him – all that pressure. So he made some mistakes. But he paid the price. I guess what I’ve learnt over the years is that he might be King of the Gods – but he’s only ever trying to do his best. All parents are.’
Elliot thought of his dad, locked away for ten years for his mistake. Had he paid his price? Had Elliot’s letter reached him? Would he write back?
‘And I’ll tell you another thing,’ whispered the Messenger God. ‘There’s only one true test of whether a parent is any good.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Elliot.
‘Their kid,’ said Hermes. ‘So your olds did a banging job.’
Elliot smiled as Virgo awoke with an almighty snore.
‘We’re here,’ said Hermes, pulling up outside a dilapidated building in the Asphodel Fields. Elliot looked around the shady realm. There was nothing to see but . . . murk.
‘Where’s here?’ Virgo asked blearily, looking at her surroundings with distaste.
‘Shabby Road,’ Hermes announced. ‘Recording studio to the former stars.’
‘What’s Jason doing here?’ asked Virgo.
‘Bit of a career change,’ said Hermes. ‘He’ll tell you all about it.’
They saw that the peeling door was open, so they wandered straight into the rundown building. Virgo surveyed the mould-covered walls, hung with faded pictures of singers gone by, and the empty recording studios, filled with cobwebs and dusty equipment. This seemed a curious environment for a mighty hero.
‘There he is,’ said Hermes as they came to the end of the corridor. ‘That’s Jason.’
Virgo walked up to the window and peered at the lone figure behind the glass. Jason was hunched over a lyre and singing into a large microphone. He was a pale, slight man with lank, dark hair, most of which was swept over his face in a long fringe. His intense, scrunched-up face as he strummed on his lyre suggested he either profoundly felt the music, or desperately required the lavatory.
Virgo took a deep breath. This was her last chance to bind a hero to her quest. She prepared her most optimal brilliance.
Jason looked up from his instrument and Hermes gave him a friendly wave. Jason gestured for them to come in.
The aroma of the recording studio reminded Virgo of Bessie’s dungheap.
‘Hey,’ said Jason warmly, but without smiling through his pierced lip. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Dude – great to see you,’ said Hermes, proffering a friendly fist. ‘These are my good friends, E and V.’
‘Guys – peace,’ said Jason mournfully.
‘Mate – love what you’re doing with your . . . everything,’ gushed Hermes. ‘Your debut album, What’s the Point?, is still one of my most banging favourites.’
‘Thanks, man,’ said Jason. ‘Always great to have a real fan. What’s your favourite track?’
‘Hard to say,’ said Hermes. ‘The Day I Lost All Hope was kinda catchy, although Death Do Me a Favour is a classic.’
‘That’s so cool,’ drawled Jason. ‘Everyone usually says I Can’t (Because a Chimera Ate My Heart) but it just sounds so mainstream now.’
Virgo looked over at Elliot, who appeared to be struggling with a snorting attack.
‘So what you working on?’ asked Hermes.
‘Something a bit different. I wanted my last album, The World is Crueller Than You Think, to bring people on a musical journey.’
‘Where did it lead?’ said Virgo.
‘The job centre,’ said Jason. ‘Turns out no one wanted to come with me. So my label dropped me. Now I’m writing jingles for adverts. Tell me honestly, what do you think of this?’
He started to strum a haunting melody on his lyre:
Life is full of hurt and pain
But DynoPlug can clear your drain.
‘Er . . . yeah, mate,’ said Hermes. ‘It’s . . .’
‘Deep . . .’ Elliot grinned in a manner Virgo knew to be disrespectful. ‘Like a blocked drain.’
‘Exactly! I just want to write something real,’ said Jason earnestly. ‘I want to write the truth. I want people to feel something. I want them to know the anguish of having hair in your plughole.’
‘That’s cool,’ said Elliot, pointing at a second lyre playing magically behind Jason.
‘Thanks, man,’ said Jason. ‘It’s played with all the greats. The Beatles. Clapton. Beethoven. Man, that cat could party. His “Moonlight Sonata” walk was, like, legendary.’
‘Epic,’ said Elliot. Virgo made a mental note to improve his vocabulary.
‘You like it? Here,’ said Jason, picking it up, ‘have this one, little dude. I’ve got loads.’
‘Wow – thanks,’ said Elliot, plucking the strings. ‘But I can’t play.’
‘You don’t need to,’ said Jason. ‘It plays itself. Uses the power of music whenever it’s needed. It’s powerful stuff, man. And Stairway to Heaven sounds, like, mind-blowing on it.’
‘So why aren’t you a hero any more?’ Elliot asked.
Virgo sighed. The child really did have the tact of a flatulent gorgon. This was not going to secure a hero. Nor her kardia.
‘My soul was like, empty,’ said Jason bleakly as Elliot’s lyre started to strum a sad tune. ‘Yeah, I was saving people, yeah, I was striking a blow for what is good and ri
ght, yeah, I had the love and adoration of the world. But – man. It was so creatively unfulfilling.’
‘Well – anyway – I need to talk to you about something,’ said Virgo, keen to return to her quest.
‘Is it the ad for that new cat litter?’ said Jason eagerly. ‘I’ve been hoping to land that gig – I’ve been working on something . . .’
Jason scrunched his face into the lavatory expression again and strummed some funereal chords on his lyre:
Lost and don’t know what to do?
Cat-Plop freshens kitty poo.
With Elliot and Hermes overcome with fits of snorting, Virgo decided it was time to take matters into her own hands.
‘I am on a quest,’ she said plainly.
‘Sister, that’s deep,’ said Jason. ‘I guess we’re all on a quest. Towards death . . .’
‘Well, I’m on a quest towards the Air Stone,’ she retorted. ‘I need you to—’
‘Let me stop you there, friend,’ said Jason. ‘I can’t go with you. I’m moving in a new direction now.’
‘Grunge? Techno pop? Jazz?’ asked Hermes.
‘Torremolinos,’ said Jason profoundly. ‘A moist-toilet-tissue company there wants a jingle. I think this captures it:
Your heart is cold. Your senses numb
Arriba! Wipes will cleanse your bum.
‘Respect, mate,’ said Hermes, apparently supressing a belch. Virgo nudged Elliot to remind him of the gravity of their mission.
‘Please will you come with us?’ said Elliot. ‘We really need some help.’
‘There’s more chance of my single Everyone You Love Dies being used for a Christmas ad,’ said Jason. ‘Being a hero just isn’t my identity any more. I prefer to be known by this.’
He held up his hand to reveal a tattoo on his palm.
‘What’s that?’ asked Virgo.
‘It’s an upside-down heart,’ said Jason. ‘It represents the turmoil in my soul.’
‘It’s a bum,’ said Elliot. ‘Is that in turmoil too?’
‘This is deeply sub-optimal,’ huffed Virgo. ‘No one will assist us.’
‘Hey, if being a hero taught me anything,’ said Jason, ‘it’s that it’s a lonely job. And that I’m majorly allergic to golden wool. Cruel, right?’
Virgo had heard enough. ‘So be it,’ she pronounced. ‘If we are unable to seek heroic assistance, we’ll just have to obtain the Air Stone on our own. Let’s get back to Home Farm. We have plans to make.’