by Lucy Coats
“Don’t even think about it, Pandemonius,” said Hermes, giving him a sharp look and grabbing his arm. “The waters of the Styx do strange things to half-mortals. You wouldn’t want to end up serving Hades forever as a ghostly beetle boy, now would you?”
Charon cackled. It wasn’t a friendly sound.
“N-no,” said Demon. “But I also don’t want to go anywhere near those horrible ghosts. Why are they so angry, anyway?”
“They’re the souls of the murdered dead, seeking a way back into life to get revenge on their unpunished killers in the upper world,” said Hermes, letting go of him. “Can’t blame them, really, poor things, but I agree they’re not very nice. Now, grab hold of the end of my staff in one hand and that box in the other, and be ready to move as soon as we hit the bank. We’ll need to be quick.”
Demon bent down to grab the handle of the box, which lay still and dead in the bottom of the boat. “Any special features would be welcome right about NOW,” he said hopefully.
The box woke up immediately, beeped once, and began to flash silver and blue. “Initiating solo pteronautics mode,” it said in its annoying tinny voice. Just as Demon tugged on the handle to try to lift it, it shot up off the floor of the boat, suddenly light as a feather, pulling his arm up with it, so Demon dangled from one hand, legs kicking in the empty air beneath him. Large, bright blue wings erupted from the box’s sides, flapping frantically as the box listed to one side under Demon’s weight. The handle he was holding glowed bright red, and he let go with a yell and dropped heavily to the deck, sucking his burned fingers.
“Error code 781. Passenger mode disabled,” it beeped at him as he lay there, slightly stunned.
“Quick,” shouted Hermes again, his voice sounding frantic. “Grab my staff.” They hit the bank with a jolt, and the angry ghosts began to swarm aboard. Charon beat them off with his staff, laying about him left and right as he knocked them over the sides. Without even thinking, Demon launched himself at Hermes’s staff and seized it in both hands. The golden snakes wrapped themselves around his wrists. Suddenly he and Hermes were zooming upward, following the blue trails of sparks coming out of the now-flying box. Demon felt an icy cold hand wrench at his bare ankle, and then it was gone and they were soaring over the heads of the angry ghosts. Wails of rage followed them for what seemed like miles. Then, quite suddenly, they vanished. Demon, Hermes, and the box soared downward toward a barren landscape of pure silver-gray. The god’s sandals were just above Demon’s head. He saw that, like the box, they had wings, white ones with golden tips. As Hermes landed, Demon noticed an earthshaking noise far off to his left. It sounded like something was sneezing its head off. A ginormous something. At each sneeze, the ground trembled under his feet, and afterward a dreadful howling filled the air.
“What’s THAT?” Demon asked.
“THAT is your new patient,” said Hermes.
“It definitely doesn’t sound like a hound,” Demon said apprehensively. Anything that shook the earth when it sneezed was not going to be like any dog he’d ever come across, that was for sure.
“Told you it wasn’t,” said Hermes. Then he sniffed the air. “I’d better be going now. I smell the lovely graveyard whiff of my uncle, and he doesn’t really approve of me. Not much for fun and jokes, old Hades. The palace is that way.” Putting a hand on Demon’s shoulder, he pointed to a small uphill path between the rocks. “So long, kid. We’re all counting on you. Oh, and remember, whatever happens, DON’T EAT ANYTHING DOWN HERE.” Then he put on his silver helmet and disappeared. Demon was all alone in the Underworld, and the silver box had just flapped over the horizon.
CHAPTER 5
THE GUARDIAN OF THE UNDERWORLD
Demon set off at a run, scrambling up and over the pale rocks. Now he, too, could smell the unmistakable reek of death wafting toward him on the still air. As he reached the top of the hill, he saw an extraordinary sight. Immediately below him stood a vast palace, built of smooth black granite flecked with silver, each tower, turret, and spire crowned with a rotating silver skull with ruby eyes. On each side of the palace stretched walls so high that he couldn’t see over them. And there, lying chained in front of a massive pair of closed silver gates, was a beast unlike any he’d ever seen. Each of its three gigantic dog heads was crowned with a hissing mane of colorful snakes. It had a dog’s body, a serpent’s tail, and sharp golden-clawed lion’s paws. Hovering near it was the winged box, and beside it stood Hades, glowering like a furious black cloud.
“A-AA-A-A-AA-A-CCCCHHHHHOOOOOOO! AAARRRROOOOOOOO!” Each of the beast’s heads sneezed and howled over and over again in a thunderous chorus. They thumped and thudded on the ground, so that cracks were appearing all around where it lay. It was clearly exhausted.
“You’re late, ssstable boy,” Hades growled. “Come here NOW.” Stumbling and sliding over the trembling ground, Demon forced his wobbly legs to take him toward the angry god. If the poor beast hadn’t been there, he might have turned and fled. However, the sight of it lying on its side, sneezing its three heads off, and the sudden worry about what Heracles might have done to it made him braver.
“I-I’m sorry, Your High Hellishness. I got here as soon as I could.” He dared to look up at Hades. “What is this beast, Your M-m-m-majestic M-mightiness? And what’s the matter with it?” At least it’s still visibly alive and has all its heads attached, he thought.
Hades looked a tiny bit less angry as he heard the obvious concern in Demon’s voice. But not much. Steam was drifting out of his ears, and his eyes were glowing red.
“Thisss,” he said, “is Cccerberusss, my Guardian Hound of the Underworld. That oaf Heraclesss beat him up in a fight. Then he put a diamond chain around his neck and dragged him up to earth. He’sss never been the sssame sssinccce. It’sss all my wretched sssissster Hera’sss fault for giving Heraclesss sssuch a ssstupid tasssk. Now my poor hound is USSSELESSS.” He spat, and where the spittle landed, it hissed and smoked. Demon cringed. He really, really didn’t want to be in the middle of a fight between a scary god and an even more terrifying goddess. But then Hades beckoned him closer, and as Demon edged toward him nervously, Hades snapped open a small window in the silver gates. “Look through here, ssstable boy, and sssee what happensss when the Underworld has no Guardian.” Demon peered through and gasped. Far away, on a plain covered in white flowers stretching as far as the eye could see, were thousands and thousands of figures. They were not just ghosts (though there were masses of those) but a few real live humans, too. The humans were wandering around, pointing and chattering, behind a man with a red placard on a stick.
“That idiot Heraclesss left the upper gate open. Now we have LIVING HUMANSSS HERE!” His voice rose to a roar, which made the ground tremble. “There’sss a man called Georgiosss running TOURSSS! ‘Meet Your Favorite Hero’ is how he’sss ssselling it up there on earth. And Brother Zeusss has forbidden me to do ANYTHING about it till YOU make Cccerberusss better!
“He won’t ssstop sssneezing and howling. And he’sss doing it ssso loudly and ssso often that the foundationsss of my kingdom are SSSTARTING TO CRACK!” He gestured toward the largest rift. “Sssee, ssstable boy?” he hissed. Demon looked, trying to keep his balance as Cerberus sneezed and howled again and the ground swayed like a ship’s deck underneath his feet. The rock at the bottom of the cleft was moving, too, almost as if it was a barrier someone was trying to get through.
“I-it doesn’t look good, Your Hellish Hugenosity,” Demon said timidly.
“DOESN’T LOOK GOOD!” Hades roared. “That’sss Tartarusss down there! TARTARUSSS!”
Demon nearly let out a terrified squeak. He already knew that Tartarus was where the horrible hundred-armed monsters were imprisoned. The ones who’d tried to defeat the gods. The ones who ate all the poo from the Stables.
Hades bent his head closer. “You sssee the problem, ssstable boy,” he said in a scary whisper. “If thossse hundred-armed monssstersss essscape, they’ll dessstroy the wh
ole world. Sssooo …” There was an ominous pause. Demon closed his eyes and braced himself. He pretty much knew what came next when a god was this angry.
Hades seized Demon by the shoulders. “You’ve got until the end of the day to find out what’sss wrong with my Guardian, ssstable boy, and cure him,” he hissed. “Or I assure you, I’ll put you in a worssse pit of flamesss than Ixion and roassst your toesss to cccinders. That’sss jussst for ssstartersss. After that I’ll let my army of ssskeleton ghossst dragonsss chassse you and eat you over and over again for the ressst of your wretched mortal daysss … which I can make as long as I pleassse! How would you like THAT?”
Before Demon could answer that he wouldn’t like it at all, Hades threw him to the ground with a thump and strode off into the palace. He slammed its black stone doors behind him with the sound of a funeral bell. Demon lay there, wheezing, trying to get his breath back. Offy and Yukus slithered off his neck and curled around his bruises, soothing them so that he was able to get to his feet again.
Wretched gods, he thought, not daring to say it out loud in case Hades heard him. Why did they always have to be so violent? He’d have tried his hardest to cure poor Cerberus anyway. Did Hades really think that threatening him with such awful punishments was going to help? He sighed, trying not to think of how roasted toes and being eaten by skeletal dragons would feel, and went over to his patient. Cerberus’s three noses were red and running with yellow slime, and his eyes were swollen shut. The snakes that made up his manes sneezed continuously in a faint hissing chorus, punctuated by enormous volcanic ah-choos from the three heads. Demon stroked his rough fur.
“Poor old fellow,” he said. “We’ll get you well again.” Cerberus just groaned weakly in between sneezes and howls. Then Demon turned to the box. “I need you,” he said, “and none of your stupid word games. This is an emergency.” The box flapped over and settled down beside him. Demon opened its lid, and the familiar blue symbols glowed up at him. “Tell me what’s wrong with this beast dog,” Demon commanded it. At once three cotton swabs on strings flew out. Working quickly, they rubbed around the six nostrils and took samples of the yellow slime, then retracted, disappearing in a flash of silver light.
“Running diagnostics … running diagnostics … running diagnostics … ,” said the familiar metallic voice. Then there was a pause and a loud whirring sound.
“Tricephalic helionosos,” said the box in its usual smug way. Demon felt like kicking it.
“Stupid thing,” he said, too angry to be polite. “I TOLD you not to do that. Say it so I can understand.”
“Sun,” said the box, quickly flapping out of his way.
“What do you mean, ‘sun’?” asked Demon. “Sun isn’t an illness, is it?”
“Do I really have to spell it out?” sighed the box. “Patient is allergic to Helios’s rays in all three heads. Must have had too much exposure when he was up top with Heracles. It’s given him a permanent case of sneezes and earache, as well as swelling his eyes shut. He can’t see, he can’t hear, and he definitely can’t do any guarding.”
“Well, we need to cure him,” said Demon. “By the end of the day. Or I’ll be eaten by skeleton ghost dragons forever and ever.”
The box buzzed and hummed. Then it buzzed and hummed some more. The blue symbols flickered.
“Come ON,” said Demon. He looked over at the door of Hades’s palace. He had the uneasy feeling that something horrible was going to come out of it at any minute. “Hurry UP!”
The blue symbols turned a vile sickly green, and a small crystal bottle rose out of the box’s depths.
“Temporary stasis cure. Apply one drop on each eyelid and in each nostril,” it said tinnily.
Demon seized the bottle, hurried over, and started to do as the box had told him. The drops smelled like honey. As soon as he had finished, Cerberus heaved three huge sighs, rolled over, and stopped breathing. Demon nearly stopped breathing, too.
“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, YOU STUPID THING?” Demon yelled. The box flapped hurriedly out of the way as he frantically felt the unmoving beast’s chest for a heartbeat.
“Bought you time,” the box squawked sulkily. “That’s what a stasis potion does. It’ll keep the patient in limbo and stop him from sneezing for a while. That’ll just about give you time to get the ingredients I need to make the real cure before Hades comes after you.”
“Ingredients? What ingredients?” asked Demon. The box clicked, then spat out a piece of parchment with brightly colored pictures on it at Demon’s feet. He bent and picked it up.
“Great,” he muttered. “Three mysterious yellow petals, a fingerful of spiderweb, seven grass-of-Parnassus flowers, the toenail of a hero, a maiden’s sigh, the high and low notes from a lyre—and a Cauldron of Healing.” As he looked at the impossible-sounding list, Demon’s heart sank lower and lower.
He dropped down to the ground despairingly beside Cerberus’s still body, put his head in his hands, and groaned. He might as well call Hades to toast his toes now and be done with it. But just then, a cautious whisper came through the small window in the silver gates.
“Pandemonius! Pandemonius. Are you there?”
Demon raised his head. Only the gods called him Pandemonius—and his mother, when she was mad. Maybe Hermes had come back to help him. He got up slowly and went over to the gate, not daring to hope. When he peered through the window, he saw nothing except some wisps of white mist. Maybe Hermes was still wearing his invisibility helmet.
“Who’s there?” he whispered back. “Hermes, is that you?”
“No, silly, it’s me, Orpheus.”
Demon frowned. There’d been an Orpheus his mother had told him about—some musician boy who’d defied Hades for the sake of love. Demon still couldn’t see anybody, though, as he peered through the small gap.
“Where are you?” he asked. Gradually the wisps of mist formed into a shape right in front of his eyes—the shape of a teenage boy, carrying a musical instrument under his arm. A musical instrument? Could it be? Demon stared hard. It had a curving frame like two cow horns, with strings in between them. “Is that really a lyre?” he asked eagerly.
“Yes,” said Orpheus, still a bit see-through, but now fully visible. “It is. Now come on through the gate. Quick, Pandemonius! I don’t want Hades to catch me here!”
“Er, it’s Demon, really,” said Demon. “‘Pandemonius’ makes me feel like I’m in trouble.”
“Well, you WILL be if you don’t get through that gate RIGHT NOW!” Orpheus whispered urgently.
CHAPTER 6
THE BOY WITH THE LYRE
Demon was worried about leaving Cerberus by himself, but the box assured him that the Guardian of the Underworld would come to no harm.
“What if Hades comes out and sees him like this?” Demon asked, hesitating.
“Then you’re better off not here, aren’t you?” said the box in its metallic voice. “Now HURRY UP. Like Orpheus said, the clock is ticking, and you only have the rest of the day to find my ingredients.”
A few moments later, Demon walked through the silver gates, closing them gently behind him with a last look back at his enormous beast dog patient, who hadn’t so much as twitched a claw since having the potion. The box came flying up behind Demon, and together they met the ghostly figure pacing impatiently amid the white flowers. The red-eyed silver skulls on top of the palace swiveled to watch the two of them walk out onto the plain and then turned away.
Now Demon was truly in the land of the dead. He checked his body to see if it was still solid and human. Luckily it was. Then he took a deep breath and got a good look around for the first time. The dim twilight covered the landscape, making everything soft and blurred, as if it were not quite real. The sky (if it was a sky) had no clouds, stars, nor moon, but glowed eerie green as far as the eye could see. There were no birds overhead, only ghostly bats. The white flowers covered the ground like a carpet.
“How did you know I was here?” he burst out
. He was really longing to know whether Orpheus could still play the lyre in his present form, but hesitated to ask. He’d never had a conversation with a ghost before, and he didn’t want to say the wrong thing.
“Hermes said you were down here and might need a bit of assistance. Though I’m not sure how I can help, really.”
Demon sent a barrowload of thankful thoughts in Hermes’s direction. “Well, I can think of one thing right away,” he said. Never mind politeness. “Does your lyre still work?”
“Of course it does,” said Orpheus, sounding slightly offended, as Demon had feared he would. “I may be dead, but I’m still the world’s greatest musician, you know.” He pulled out the instrument and strummed his fingers over the strings. The loveliest trill of music rose up into the air as Demon hurried to explain about his impossible list and about the two lyre notes he needed to help cure Cerberus.
“But how will you catch them?” asked Orpheus.
“Oh,” he said. It simply hadn’t occurred to him that he might need to actually catch the notes. He looked down at the box. “Any clever ideas, oh mighty chest of wisdom?” he asked it.
The box didn’t answer. It just stomped over to Orpheus and shot out a long tube with a trumpet-like attachment, which fastened itself to the misty lyre like an octopus’s sucker. “Play a D and an E,” it instructed Orpheus.
The musician plucked two strings. The first thrummed so low that Demon felt it vibrate deep in his belly button. The second was so high that it set his back teeth on edge. As the two notes died, the trumpet thing made a slurping noise and gave a satisfied burp.
