For Adam Mars-Jones, just because
CONTENTS
COVER
TITLE PAGE
DEDICATION
1. HELPING HERCULES
2. OBLIGING ORPHEUS
3. PERSUADING PARIS
4. PARKING PEGASUS
5. MINDING MEDUSA
6. MIMICKING MIDAS
7. HORRIFYING HERCULES
HELP!
COPYRIGHT
1
HELPING HERCULES
Susan was not what you would call helpful. Her parents nagged her to do more tidying but it did no good. In Susan’s opinion, parents should do all the housework, leaving children free to enjoy themselves. She had far better things to do with her time than hoover the sitting room or dust the shelves.
Her parents, unfortunately, did not agree.
Every Sunday night her father handed out the weekly chores.
‘Freddie, you empty the wastepaper baskets,’ said Dad. (When Susan did it she made sure most of the rubbish ended up on the carpet.)
‘Okay,’ said Freddie, who was only five and got all the easy tasks.
‘Eileen, you set and clear the table,’ said Dad. (When Susan did it she always broke at least one plate and wiped all the crumbs straight on to the floor.)
‘Sure,’ said Eileen.
‘Susan, you clean out the kitty litter tray,’ said Dad.
‘It’s not fair! I always get the worst jobs!’ said Susan.
‘I cleaned the kitty litter last week,’ said Eileen. ‘Now it’s your turn.’
‘Everyone in this family has to help out,’ said Dad.
‘I’m far too busy and I’m not your slave,’ snarled Susan. ‘Clean it out yourself.’
She didn’t even like the cat. Stinky’s main pleasure in life was throwing up on the stairs and leaping onto laps with his claws out.
‘SUSAN!’ said Dad.
‘I won’t do it!’ shrieked Susan. ‘I hate this!’
‘Go to your room,’ said Dad. ‘And don’t come down until you’re ready to help.’
Susan flounced upstairs and went into her bedroom, giving the door a good loud slam. Just in case the taskmasters downstairs hadn’t heard, she opened her door and banged it shut again a few more times.
She’d show them. She’d starve before she came down and then they’d be sorry. She’d have a great time right here.
Susan looked around her messy room. She could play with her knights but she wasn’t really in the mood, especially since that brat Freddie had snapped off all the horses’ tails. She could practise her recorder . . . no way. Her bossy parents liked hearing her play.
Then Susan saw the old cigar box tucked up on a high shelf. Aha! Her coin collection. She hadn’t looked at it for ages, and she had that old Greek coin Uncle Martin had given her for her birthday.
Susan kicked her way through the dirty clothes, books and papers littering the floor, pulled her collection down from the shelf – knocking off a stack of books in the process – and got out her coin catalogue.
Then she unwrapped the precious coin. It had belonged to her grandfather and great-grandfather before him, Uncle Martin had said. Now it was hers. ‘We middle kids have to stick together,’ he’d said, pressing the silver coin into her hand. ‘Use it well.’ Susan held the coin and looked at it carefully.
The coin was small and round, with worn, uneven edges. The front showed a man wearing a lionskin cloak and holding a ferocious boar. Well, that was easy enough, it was Hercules. She flipped it over. But instead of the head of a god or goddess, there were strange signs and carvings.
Susan opened her catalogue, and searched. She looked at every picture of the Ancient Greek coins and then looked again. Then she checked the Roman coins to see if it could be there, even though she knew perfectly well it was Greek. But there was no sign of this coin.
How odd. There were two possibilities here. One, that the coin was so rare – and so valuable – that it was not in her catalogue. The second possibility – no. That was too silly for words.
Susan sat on her bed and held the coin up to the light. Was her mind playing tricks, or did a strange, dull gleam come from Hercules’ eyes? She turned the coin over in her fingers, feeling its worn surface. Was it her imagination, or did the coin feel warm?
Naturally, Susan did not believe in magic. Only little kids like Freddie believed in nonsense like flying carpets, magic lamps, and wishing wells.
‘Okay coin, if you’re magic, I wish . . .’ Susan paused for a moment and closed her eyes, ‘I wish that I could fly around the room.’ She opened her eyes. She was still plonked on her bed.
‘Ha,’ said Susan.
‘I wish,’ said Susan, ‘that everything on the floor would put itself away.’
She opened her eyes. Her bedroom was as big a pigsty as ever.
How silly I am, thought Susan. Then she looked at the coin, and smiled.
‘I wish,’ said Susan, closing her eyes and rubbing the coin between her fingers, ‘that I could meet Hercules.’
Next moment the bed seemed to give way and she fell heavily to the ground. But instead of falling on the familiar grey carpet, she landed on a cold stone floor.
Susan blinked. Her bedroom was gone. She was in the corner of an immense room, with stone columns, walls black with smoke, embroidered hangings and flickering torches. Men lined the walls on either side, all standing to attention, their eyes fixed on a little man huddled against the back of a large throne.
In front of her towered a giant man, wearing a yellow lion skin tied over his shoulder and round his waist. The beast’s fanged head glowered on top of his, like a bristling helmet. A great sword dangled by his side, and a quiver full of arrows hung from his shoulders. A huge olive-wood club lay beside him. In his arms the man held up a bellowing boar.
I must be dreaming, thought Susan.
Then the giant flung the frantic beast onto the floor. Its tied feet lashed the ground.
‘Here’s the Erymanthian boar, Eurystheus!’ boomed Hercules, for of course it was he.
The little man leaped out of his throne and started howling.
‘Get that thing out of here!’ shrieked Eurystheus.
Then he scrambled into a large brass pot, screaming with terror.
‘OUT! OUT! OUT!’
Hercules laughed, scooped up the writhing boar as if it were a bag of sugar, walked up to the open double doors and hurled the snorting boar through them. A few moments later Susan heard a gigantic splash.
I haven’t got my wish, this is only a dream, thought Susan. No need to worry.
But just in case, she crept behind an urn.
Hercules stomped back into the room.
‘Is that boar gone yet?’ whimpered the voice from the brass pot.
‘It’s gone, you big coward,’ sneered Hercules. ‘I flung him into the sea. I’ll bet it’s halfway to Crete by now.’
Two fingers appeared on the top of the jar.
‘Are you sure?’ whined the king.
‘YES,’ snarled Hercules.
‘Don’t you ever bring any more wild animals to my palace again,’ said Eurystheus, climbing back onto his throne. He smoothed his rumpled tunic and took hold again of his sceptre. The men lining the walls leaned forward, awaiting orders.
‘Right Hercules, next labour,’ said the king, and he started to giggle. ‘It’s the smelliest, stinkiest, most horrible job in the whole world and you’ll never ever be able to do it! Killing the lion and the hydra and capturing the hind with the golden horns and that boar was nothing compared to this! You’ve heard of King Augeas at Elis and his three thousand cattle? Well, I order you to go and clean out his stables in one day. And better bring something to plug your nose – those s
tables haven’t been cleaned for thirty years – ha ha ha!’
Hercules scowled but said nothing.
‘Who’s this?’ said the king suddenly, pointing straight at Susan.
I’m out of here, thought Susan. She rubbed the coin, which she still had clutched in her hand, and wished frantically to be home.
Nothing happened.
Then strong arms grabbed her and pushed her before the king.
‘Who are you?’ demanded the king.
‘I’m Susan,’ said Susan, trying to stop her voice from shaking.
‘Where are you from?’
‘London,’ said Susan.
‘Never heard of it,’ said the king. He looked at her more closely, and a big smile spread across his face.
‘See this girl, Hercules?’ said the king. ‘You take her along to clean the stables. I’m sure she’ll be a great help.’
‘WHAT?’ screamed Hercules.
‘And mind you keep her alive – that’s part of your labour, too,’ said the king, rubbing his hands.
Hercules glared at Susan. She glared back at him. But before she could say anything he tucked her under his arm, strode out of the palace and started walking along the cliffs high above the choppy, wine-dark sea.
‘Put me down!’ ordered Susan. ‘Put me down!’
Hercules ignored her.
‘I can walk by myself, thank you very much,’ said Susan.
‘Listen, pipsqueak,’ snapped Hercules. ‘I don’t like this any more than you do. But the sooner we get to King Augeas at Elis and muck out his filthy cattle the sooner you and I can go our separate ways.’
‘I’m not helping you,’ said Susan. ‘I’m not your slave. Clean out your own stable.’
‘Do you realize, brat, that I could crush you with my little toe?’ said Hercules.
‘You have to keep me alive – the king said so,’ said Susan.
Hercules gnashed his teeth.
‘I’m bigger than you, and you’ll do what I say,’ he growled.
‘Bully!’ said Susan.
Hercules twisted his thick neck and stared at her.
‘Watch your tongue, you little worm,’ said Hercules. ‘I’m famous for my bad temper.’
‘So am I,’ said Susan.
‘Oh yeah?’ said Hercules.
‘Yeah,’ said Susan. ‘When my sister Eileen squirted me with a water pistol I hit her. So go on, what’s the worst thing you ever did?’
‘When I was a boy my music teacher slapped me for playing a wrong note so I whacked him with my lyre and killed him,’ said Hercules.
Susan gasped. That was pretty terrible. She didn’t think hitting Eileen was quite on the same level.
‘What a grump you are, Hercules,’ said Susan.
Hercules gripped his great olive-wood club.
‘You’d be grumpy too if you were a slave to a snivelling little toe-rag like Eurystheus and had to do whatever horrible job he set you.’
‘Humph,’ said Susan. ‘So when do we get to the stables?’
‘Soon,’ said Hercules.
‘How soon is soon?’ said Susan. ‘I have better things to do with my time than help you.’
‘Be quiet,’ said Hercules. ‘And stop whining.’
On and on and on they travelled.
‘Aren’t we there yet?’ Susan moaned for the hundredth time. Then she sniffed. The fresh smell of olive groves had suddenly changed into something less pleasant.
Hercules sniffed.
‘Yup,’ he said. ‘We’re getting near King Augeas’ stables.’
A few more strides and the stink was overwhelming.
‘Pooh,’ said Susan. ‘What a smell.’
‘Pretty bad,’ said Hercules grimly.
They walked in silence through the choking stench until they stood in the stable yard. Far off in the distance Susan could see thousands of cattle grazing in the fields between two rivers.
Susan stared at the huge stables. Never in her most horrible nightmares had she ever seen so much filth and dung. The sludgy, slimy, stinky mucky piles went on for miles.
And the smell – goodness gracious, it was awful!
Hercules looked glum.
‘Right, to work,’ he said.
‘What’s your plan?’ asked Susan.
‘Get that bucket and start shovelling. We’ll heap all the muck out here.’
Susan gaped at him.
‘That’s your plan?’ she said. ‘We’ll never finish in a day.’
‘Shut up and start mucking out,’ ordered Hercules.
Very very reluctantly, Susan got her bucket. Even more reluctantly, she picked up a shovel. Holding her nose with one hand, she approached the first reeking corner. Of all the magic adventures in the world, she got to clean out a stable.
‘Yuck!’ squealed Susan. She poked her shovel gingerly into the nearest cattle dung.
‘Bleech!’ She tossed the first noxious shovelful into the stableyard.
‘Pooh! Ugh. Gross.’ This was worse than cleaning out the kitty litter. This was a million billion trillion times worse than cleaning out the kitty litter. If she ever got back home she would never complain again.
Beside her, Hercules shovelled like a whirlwind, bending and hurling and twisting so fast she could hardly see him.
Half an hour passed.
‘Right, ten stalls down, only 2,870 to go,’ said Hercules.
‘Actually, 2,990,’ corrected Susan. ‘At this rate, we’ll be here five years. You’re supposed to clean these stables in a day.’
‘Just keep working,’ snapped Hercules, digging ferociously. ‘If you’re so smart you come up with a better plan.’
Susan scowled. She could not bear the stench another second.
‘Wait a minute,’ said Susan. An idea had flashed into her head. She looked at Hercules.
‘Just how strong are you?’ she said.
Hercules went up to the thick stone wall at the side of the stable building and punched a gaping hole into it with one swing of his club.
‘THAT STRONG!’ bellowed Hercules.
‘Then listen,’ said Susan. ‘I’ve got a great idea. Remember those rivers we crossed coming here?’
‘The Alpheus and the Peneus? So?’
‘What if you dug a channel and diverted the rivers to run through the stables?’ said Susan. ‘The current would do the work for us and wash away all this muck. All you’d have to do is knock holes in the stable walls at either end, and then rebuild them once the stables were clean. Oh yes, and turn the rivers back to their original beds.’
Hercules stared at her.
‘Hmmm,’ he said. ‘Hmmm,’ he said again, grabbing his club and running off.
Soon Susan heard a shout.
‘Watch out! Water’s coming!’
Susan dashed into the fields, just in time to see a torrent of water pour into the stables.
In no time at all they were washed clean.
Susan cheered as she watched Hercules rebuild the walls and force the rivers back to their beds.
‘That’s that,’ said Hercules, looking over the sparkling stables with satisfaction. ‘Time for me to head back to that snivelling slave-driver. You’re free to go, so bye bye.’
Go where, thought Susan frantically. She fumbled in her pocket and took out the coin.
‘Wait. Look at this,’ she said, handing it to Hercules.
He took the coin and stared at it. Slowly he turned it over and over.
‘It’s me,’ he said at last. ‘I’m famous. Of course my muscles are much bigger than this picture shows but it’s not bad. Don’t I look handsome?’
‘You look okay,’ said Susan. ‘Turn it over. What does that writing say?’
Hercules looked for a long time at the Greek letters. Had he killed his Greek teacher too, Susan wondered, before he’d learned to read?
‘It says, TI ETHELEIS – what do you wish?’ he said at last.
‘I wish to go home,’ said Susan.
‘S
o go,’ said Hercules.
‘I can’t,’ said Susan. ‘I don’t know how. I wished that before and it didn’t happen.’
‘That’s how these magic things work,’ said Hercules. ‘You never quite know why or how. Let me try it. I wish a fountain would burst out of the ground when I stamp my foot.’
He stamped. The earth trembled, but no water appeared.
‘See,’ said Susan sadly, ‘it’s not very reliable. Can I have it back, please?’
‘Sorry,’ said Hercules, grinning stupidly at his carved picture. ‘I’ll keep this.’
‘Give me back my coin!’ shouted Susan.
‘No,’ said Hercules. ‘Finders-keepers.’
‘You didn’t find it, I just showed it to you!’ she screamed.
‘Tough,’ said Hercules.
Susan scowled at him.
‘I need that coin to get home,’ she said. ‘Is this the thanks I get? Or do you want people to know that the great Hercules needed a girl’s help to complete one of his labours?’
Hercules paused.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll give the coin back if you swear an oath you will keep your part in my labour a secret.’
‘I swear,’ said Susan.
‘Swear by the River Styx, the black river of Hades,’ said Hercules.
‘I swear by the River Styx,’ said Susan.
Hercules took one last look at his picture, then reluctantly gave her back the coin. Susan rubbed it between her fingers and wished.
At once Susan felt herself falling. But instead of landing in the dirt she found herself stretched out on her own soft bed.
Susan rubbed her head. She felt dizzy.
‘Gosh, what a horrible dream,’ said Susan, looking at the coin clasped tightly in her fist. She went to her bookshelf, took down her book of Greek myths and quickly read through Hercules’ labours.
‘What a creep!’ she said. ‘He did take all the credit for cleaning the stables. Hold on, I’m being silly,’ she said, thumping herself. ‘It was only a dream.’
She ran out of her bedroom.
‘Mum, Dad, I’m ready to help now!’ she shouted, clumping down the stairs. She paused at the kitchen door, where her family were eating dinner.
Everyone stared at her.
‘What’s wrong?’ said Susan.
Helping Hercules Page 1
