by Maz Evans
‘All I’m trying to say is—’ Zeus pleaded.
‘Oh, I hear what you’re saying,’ said Elliot. ‘I hear it loud and clear. You’re not prepared to help me. And if that’s how it’s going to be, then it works both ways.’
‘Elly, you don’t mean . . .’ said Aphrodite, coming to take Elliot in her arms. He roughly shrugged her off.
‘Yes, I do,’ said Elliot. ‘If you won’t help me, you can forget about it. Everything. The Chaos Stones. Thanatos. Living here. It’s over.’
‘Elliot,’ gasped Athene. ‘That’s blackmail. That’s not you.’
‘Well, maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do,’ Elliot glowered.
He stared at the King of the Gods. They were both trembling.
‘You’d really risk us losing to Thanatos?’ said Zeus incredulously.
‘You’d really risk me losing my mum?’ Elliot replied.
Zeus’s eyes went straight through Elliot’s soul, as they had done so many times before. But this time, Elliot wasn’t budging.
‘So, what will it be?’ he said, his fingers encircling the watch in his pocket. He felt the power of the Chaos Stones giving him the strength he needed. He fought the urge to get them out. That would bring the conversation to a quick end.
Zeus bowed his head and sighed deeply.
‘I’ll help you look for it,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m only trying to protect you.’
‘And I’m only trying to protect Mum,’ said Elliot. ‘Swear it.’
‘Elliot, you know I’d never—’ Zeus began.
‘Swear it,’ Elliot repeated more firmly. ‘Swear on the Styx you will help me find Panacea’s potion.’
The King of the Gods stared deep into Elliot’s eyes.
‘I swear it,’ he whispered. ‘I swear on the Styx, I will help you find Panacea’s potion.’
‘Whatever it takes?’ Elliot insisted.
‘Whatever it takes,’ Zeus repeated reluctantly.
The King of the Gods stared at Elliot as if seeing him for the first time. Elliot felt himself soften – these were his friends. An apology bloomed in his heart. But he refused to let it out of his mouth.
‘Well played,’ whispered Hypnos. ‘Show ’em who’s boss.’
But as Elliot released his grip on the Chaos Stones, he didn’t feel like the boss. He felt horrible.
For a few moments, no one spoke. Eventually, the house phone broke the tense silence in the kitchen.
‘I’d better get that – it’s been ringing all afternoon,’ said Athene. ‘I’ll be straight back.’
‘You,’ Zeus growled at the Daemon. ‘What do you want?’
‘Before big bro came back, I was a gambler, I was lazy, I was deceitful,’ said Hypnos wistfully. ‘It was wonderful. I just want my old life back. With Thanatos on the loose, I’ll never have that. He won’t rest until I’m gone. And I can’t rest until he’s gone. You’re the only people who can get rid of him. And I’m the only person who can help you do it.’
‘And in return?’ said Zeus in a menacing whisper.
‘Think not what you can do for your Daemon – think what your Daemon can do for you,’ grinned Hypnos, waggling his eyebrows. ‘How are you getting on with those Chaos Stones?’
‘You lied to Elliot,’ Zeus glowered. ‘Poloformous doesn’t exist.’
It was true. Elliot and the Gods had poured over maps of the mortal and immortal realms for hours, searching for the place where Hypnos had told Elliot he had hidden the Water Stone – Poloformous. It was nowhere to be found.
‘Oh, yes he does,’ sang Hypnos.
‘He?’ said Elliot, ignoring memories of all the school reports that insisted he listen more carefully. ‘You mean . . .’
‘Yup!’ chirped Hypnos. ‘It’s not a place, it’s a person. And it’s not Poloformous. It’s Polyphemus.’
‘Told you your hearing was sub-optimal,’ Virgo sighed.
‘Polyphemus!’ bellowed Zeus. ‘As in—’
‘You got it, grandad!’ said Hypnos, taking off around the kitchen. ‘He’s got his eye on the prize . . . it’s Polyphemus the Cyclops!’
‘Why in the name of a Nereid’s knickers would you give a Chaos Stone to a Cyclops?’ roared Zeus.
‘Why not?’ shrugged Hypnos. ‘Like all the Cyclopes, Polyphemus is terrified of water. I felt sorry for him – with the Water Stone, he could protect himself from it. You told me to hide them where no one could find them. Who’s going to go to the Island of the Cyclopes?’
‘I am,’ said Zeus darkly. ‘We need to get that stone before your brother does. Peg!’
‘Not so fast,’ whispered Hypnos. ‘He’ll never give it to you.’
‘He won’t have a bally choice!’ yelled Zeus, putting his hand to his thunderbolts.
‘Er, yeah, he will,’ said Hypnos. ‘Since his run-in with Odysseus, he’s become kinda . . . paranoid. Even if you blast him back to the Hellenistic period, you won’t get past his security system to get the stone. For that, you’ll need me.’
‘Fine,’ glowered Zeus. ‘You and I leave at first light.’
‘And Elliot,’ said Hypnos.
Zeus laughed a laugh that Elliot knew wasn’t funny.
‘Don’t be so ridiculous!’ cried the King of the Gods. ‘I’m not letting Elliot go on such a perilous journey! You’re even crazier than you look!’
‘I’m telling you – you won’t get the Water Stone without him,’ whispered Hypnos. ‘We need someone Polyphemus doesn’t know. And Elliot has the Earth and Air Stones for protection.’
‘And you. And Hypnos. And Dad,’ Elliot chimed in. ‘I’m going.’
‘You’ve let him before . . .’ Hypnos hissed.
‘Taking a stone from mortal buildings is one thing,’ hissed Zeus. ‘Stealing it from one of the most ferocious creatures in the immortal world is quite another! We are invulnerable. Elliot is not, even with the Chaos Stones. Besides, there’s too much going on here. He has school . . .’
‘No, he doesn’t,’ sighed Athene, walking slowly back into the room.
‘What?’ said Elliot.
‘That was Mr Sopweed,’ said Athene. ‘From what I could gather through the sobbing, in light of today’s . . . incident, you are suspended until further notice.’
‘Good,’ said Elliot, feeling a surge of angry pride. ‘I hate that place anyway. I’m going with you.’
‘Well, that’s settled then,’ said Hypnos, winking at Elliot. ‘Boys’ road trip! Trust me, we need him. We’ll pick up the Water Stone – and who knows? It just might lead us to Panacea’s potion. When you’re looking for one thing, another always turns up . . .’
‘If you’re lying to us—’ said Zeus menacingly.
‘Then you’ll fry me with a thousand thunderbolts, blah, blah, blah,’ said Hypnos, pinching his thumb and fingers together. ‘Listen, chief – if I am lying, you get to pull me apart like yesterday’s roast chicken.’
‘You can count on it,’ growled Zeus.
‘Good to know,’ said Hypnos. ‘But if I’m not, you can get your hands on the Water Stone. And I’m telling you now – if you don’t get it, Thanatos will. If you’d rather waste time chatting, however . . .’
Zeus stared angrily at the Daemon.
‘So be it,’ Zeus hissed. ‘We leave at dawn.’
‘I’m coming too!’ said Virgo.
‘No, you’re not,’ said Athene and Zeus together.
‘You still have school,’ said Athene.
‘Temporarily,’ said Virgo. ‘Tell them I have acquired the vomiting bug that the dinner lady so kindly served with her spaghetti bolognese. That’ll give me a few days.’
‘You’re not coming,’ Zeus insisted.
‘Zeus, if I may,’ Virgo began in a whisper that everyone could hear. ‘I will be invaluable on this mission. I am the only one who is able to force some sense into Elliot’s head. Unless it’s regarding his personal hygiene – or total absence thereof – he listens to me. I can help.’
>
Zeus considered her point. He nodded reluctantly.
‘Excellent,’ said Virgo. ‘Besides, soon I’ll have my kardia back and will be returning to the Council.’
‘You’re very confident all of a sudden,’ said Aphrodite. ‘Did they say something to you up there?’
‘No,’ said Virgo quietly. ‘I just have an optimal feeling.’
With the Gods busy quizzing Virgo, Hypnos whispered into Elliot’s ear.
‘Right,’ he hissed, ‘now we’ve got Zeus on the loose, we need to get him in the sea if you want to find your potion. Follow my lead . . .’
‘OK,’ said Elliot uncertainly.
‘Hmmmmm,’ mused Hypnos loudly, nudging Elliot unsubtly in the ribs. ‘How to get to the Island of the Cyclopes?’
‘Uh – we could sail there,’ said Elliot. ‘Perhaps Charon could take us on his ship—’
‘NOOOOOOOOOOO!’ roared Zeus, making the kitchen tremble.
Everyone was stunned into silence.
‘Told you,’ Hypnos whispered to Elliot.
‘Er, I just mean . . . I hate travelling by sea. Makes me, er . . . terribly queasy. We’ll go by plane. I know just the chap.’
Dave strolled back into the kitchen.
‘So, about school,’ he said severely, taking Elliot by the shoulders. ‘I’m not gonna lie, I’m disappointed in you, son.’
Elliot looked down at his feet.
‘I’m disappointed it’s taken you this long to smack that idiot in the face.’ Dave smiled. ‘Sounds like he had it coming.’
Elliot accepted his dad’s high-five, ignoring the disapproving looks of the Gods.
‘Listen, we’d better pack,’ said Elliot. ‘We’re going to need . . .’
‘Er, son – I think I’d better sit this one out,’ Dave said quietly.
‘What?’ said Elliot. ‘You’re . . . you’re not going to come?’
‘Think about it, mate,’ said Dave. ‘You don’t need me – you’ve got the King of the Gods and the Daemon of Sleep on your side!’
‘How do you know he’s the Daemon of Sleep?’ said Athene darkly. ‘He never said.’
‘Oh, come on!’ Dave laughed. ‘Like I haven’t heard you lot banging on about Hypnos enough . . . ! And anyway – Josie needs me.’
‘Josie has us,’ said Aphrodite, standing next to her sister.
‘Yeah, but – no disrespect – it’s not the same, is it, girls?’ shrugged Dave. ‘I’m better off taking care of everything here.’
‘Elliot?’ said Zeus quietly. ‘What do you want?’
Elliot was getting tired of making impossible decisions. Of course he wanted his dad to come with him. They’d missed out on so much together. And however dangerous the journey, he would feel a lot better with his dad along for company.
But if Mum needed him . . .
‘You’d better stay here,’ he said quietly to the floor. ‘With Mum.’
‘Excellent,’ said Dave, rubbing his hands together. ‘There’s plenty to be getting on with here. You do what you’ve got to do. I’ll take care of everything.’
Elliot smiled weakly at his dad. This was for the best. Of course it was.
‘You’d better get some rest,’ said Athene, putting her hand gently on Elliot’s arm.
‘We all had,’ said Zeus. ‘Hypnos, you’re coming with us to the shed. I don’t want you out of my sight.’
‘I’m flattered,’ said Hypnos with a wink. ‘Nighty-night.’
‘Goodnight, Elliot,’ said Zeus, not turning to look at him as he left.
As the kitchen door closed, Elliot released the breath he’d been holding.
On the one hand, he felt awful. The Gods were his friends. And he’d just threatened them. He felt the Chaos Stones in his pocket. Zeus had warned him of their corrupting power. Were they starting to work their dark magic on him?
But on the other hand, he had no choice. He didn’t care who he had to threaten, or what he had to do. He was going to find Mum that potion if it was the last thing he ever did.
8. Millionaires’ Row
‘. . . and then he swung at me with a huge left hook, but I dodged beneath it, grabbing his other arm and pinning it behind his back,’ panted Boil, as he struggled to keep up with the brisk pace. ‘Of course, I could have put him out cold, but these bleeding-heart liberals and their precious rules about beating children . . . Anyway, another student came down the hall and – without a thought for my own safety – I went to protect her. Little blighter landed a lucky punch. I barely noticed it, but Sopweed insisted I take the day off . . .’
His companion stared at him suspiciously in the dying light of the day.
‘I see,’ said Patricia Porshley-Plum slowly, trying not to look at Mr Boil’s revoltingly bruised eye. She hadn’t seen one that swollen since she’d defended herself from that man who demanded her money in the street. And she’d do it again – those charity collectors were a menace.
With a perfectly judged sneer, she turned her attention to her latest purchase. Auld Manor: her new house.
Patricia had snapped up this stately home for a bargain after the previous owner, Lord Farmer, was sent to prison for robbery. Yes, she’d have to maintain the thirty-six-bedroom house and 143-acre estate, but that was the burden she would have to bear as a multi-millionaire lottery winner. And faking that robbery had saved her a fortune. She allowed herself a small smile. Patricia Porshley-Plum was back.
‘Tell me more about this welfare visit to the Hoopers,’ she said, opening the vast oak door to her new home.
‘Total disaster,’ Boil crowed, his voice echoing around the great entrance hall and up the twin staircases ahead. ‘They want to move the mother out.’
Patricia’s blackened soul belched with delight.
‘Indeed? Josie’s being moved on? The boy will be shipped off. Home Farm will be up for sale. And I’ll be there to snap it up in cash. I think this calls for champagne,’ she drawled. ‘Dawson!’
An aged butler shuffled out from behind a nearby door.
‘GOOD AFTERNOON, MRS NAUSEOUS-THUMB,’ he shouted cordially. ‘LOVELY TO SEE YOU AGAIN.’
‘It’s Porshley-Plum!’ snapped Patricia, her anger reverberating off the cracked walls.
‘BEG YOUR PARDON?’ shouted Dawson. ‘I’M A TOUCH DEAF IN ONE EAR.’
‘You’re a touch stupid in half a brain,’ muttered Patricia. ‘We’ll have two glasses of champagne.’
‘TWO VASES OF LAMB MAIN COMING UP,’ said Dawson. He was about to shuffle away when a lady in an ageing cook’s outfit bustled over.
‘SHE SAID CHAMPAGNE, YOU DOLT!’ she shouted in his ear. ‘Go fetch – and don’t be long about it.’
Dawson moved as fast as he could – which, Patricia observed, wasn’t nearly fast enough.
‘You’ll have to excuse my husband,’ said the cook, performing a small curtsey. ‘He’s a touch deaf in one ear.’
‘So he shouted,’ said Patricia. ‘What do you want?’
‘Well, you see, m-ma’am,’ Mrs Dawson stuttered. ‘Me and the other staff, well, we were wondering, see – now the old master has gone – what your plans are for us?’
‘You want to know about your jobs?’ said Patricia.
‘Please, ma’am,’ said Mrs Dawson. ‘You see, most of us were born and bred here. We ain’t never worked nowhere but Auld Manor. We don’t know any other way of life . . .’
‘Layabouts,’ grunted Boil beneath his breath.
‘And you see, we love it here. It’s our home. So we were hoping—’
‘Oh, muffin,’ Patricia said with a smile, taking Mrs Dawson’s hand in hers. ‘Of course I want to keep you all on. What kind of person do you think I am?!’
‘Well,’ said Mrs Dawson uncertainly, ‘I’d heard the rumours . . .’
‘Pish!’ laughed Patricia. ‘Like you say, who else would employ you?’
‘That’s right, ma’am,’ said Mrs Dawson sadly. ‘Don’t think we’re no good to no one no more!’
<
br /> ‘Hush now!’ trilled Patricia. ‘After all – where would you all live? If you didn’t work here, you’d all be out on the street.’
‘Can’t begin to imagine,’ said Mrs Dawson, allowing herself a small sob. ‘Me and Mr Dawson have lived here all our lives – met and married here, raised our kids on the estate – our Polly is a maid. And now we’re in our autumn years, the thought of moving on . . .’
‘Shhhhhh,’ Patricia said softly. ‘Let’s have no more talk of that. We all know you must stay . . .’
‘Oh, thank you! Thank you, ma’am,’ cried Mrs Dawson. ‘You have no idea—’
‘On half your current wages,’ Patricia added.
Mrs Dawson paused and put a finger in her ear. ‘Lord – I think my hearing’s going now – I thought you just said—’
‘I did,’ said Patricia, dropping the cook’s hand like a soiled lace handkerchief. ‘You said it yourself. You’re all over the hill and far away. You’re not fit for purpose – frankly, you’re lucky I’m keeping you.’
‘B-but . . . but . . .’ stammered Mrs Dawson.
‘Of course, if you’d like to seek alternative employment,’ Patricia mused. ‘Remind me how many other stately homes there are within a hundred miles that need domestic staff . . .’
‘There ain’t none,’ said Mrs Dawson quietly.
‘Oh, dear. Then there’s my offer,’ said Patricia, turning away to look at the grand staircases. ‘Take it or leave it.’
Mrs Dawson’s face soured into a dark, dark scowl.
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ she said quietly. ‘Will there be anything else?’
‘Hurry that husband of yours along with my champagne,’ said Patricia. ‘He might be deaf as a doorpost, but he still has the use of his legs.’
‘As you wish,’ said Mrs Dawson, turning angrily back towards her kitchen.
‘Superbly handled,’ said Mr Boil, breaking into a small round of applause. ‘You can’t afford hangers-on who are only after you for your wealth. Speaking of which, you couldn’t lend me—’
‘No,’ said Patricia firmly. ‘Is that everything?’
‘Not quite,’ said Boil excitedly, his multiple chins wobbling with anticipation. ‘The welfare woman found something else at Home Farm . . .’
