“Silence!” bellowed the third judge in a voice that Pandy thought was almost exactly like one of the others.’ In fact, all three voices sounded slightly off—as if each man had a cold or a sore throat. She also noticed that the movements of the judges’ arms and legs were stiff and slightly jerky.
“We care not what your excuse might be, spirit,” said the first who had spoken. “We care not for your names, only your crimes.”
Suddenly, ignoring the odd voices, Pandy was struck with panic; these men weren’t listening to her and had no intention of listening to her. She knew enough to be certain that their word was final and, even though the underworld was in chaos, they could end her quest right here and now.
“You are westerners all,” the judge went on, unblinking. “And therefore I, Aeacus, shall decide your fate.”
“And if it is not harsh enough, I shall devise a punishment twice as horrible,” said the judge who was obviously Minos.
“I only wish I could have a hand in this decision,” said Rhadamanthus, grinning evilly.
“Wait!” said Iole. “Not only are you all in error, but you seem to have decided that we are criminals without truly knowing anything about us.”
“Unless,” Pandy said, turning to Iole, flashing on the worst-case scenario, “the deadline for the quest has come and gone and Fear remains loose in the world. I’d have to get punished for that. But not you all.”
She turned back to the judges.
“Not them! Alcie, Iole, and Homer deserve nothing but the Elysian Fields.”
“Pandy,” Alcie cried, “we’re not dead yet.”
“Be silent!” screamed Minos. “We are not without mercy. We shall send each to his respective and deserved fate. If you each wish to make your case, I welcome your …”
In a swift motion, Aeacus hit Minos in the stomach with his arm—as if Minos had spoken foolishly and needed to be shut up. And that was the moment that registered with Pandy that the scene was not just odd but, once again, terribly wrong. As Aeacus lowered his arm after hitting Minos, who had only acknowledged the blow by closing his mouth, Pandy saw a fine string lifting up the sleeve of Aeacus’s robe. She realized that Aeacus’s hand hadn’t moved, his fingers hadn’t clenched in anger. She followed the string upward with her eyes until it finally disappeared into the branches of the enormous tree. Then she saw that fine strings were attached to the sleeves and ears of all three men and that there were even finer strings attached to the corners of each man’s mouth. Someone or something was controlling the movements of the judges—as if they were crude festival puppets! Then Pandy took a good look at the eyes of the judges; their eyelids had been roughly sewn closed, and fake eyes, far too bright to be real, had been painted on top. Pandy and the others then heard heated whispering from the branches overhead. Looking up they could see nothing, but Dido began to whimper and gave a short bark. Pandy, Alcie, Iole, and Homer all glanced at each other.
“Uh, yes. My fellow judge has spoken too hastily,” said Aeacus. “We are not interested in hearing your pleas. And now for your judgments …”
“Excuse me,” Pandy said boldly in an effort to buy a little time and discover the secret of the strings and those dreadful eyes. “But can you tell me, if someone is bad, where do they go?”
“Idiotic mortal,” said Rhadamanthus. “Did you truly learn nothing at the Athena Maiden Middle School? A bad life warrants an eternity in Tartarus.”
“Yeah, I get that,” Pandy said, with a glance to Alcie. “But if they’re really, really bad, then what?”
“Uh,” said Minos as Pandy watched the grotesque movement of the corners of his mouth. “Uh. Then they go into the hottest fires of Tartarus, silly!”
“Wrong!” said Alcie. “The really bad souls go to the little rooms in the palace to be locked away with their mothers. I’ve been there, I’ve seen it. You should have known that.”
“They would have,” Iole said quietly, now seeing the strings, “if they were really who they say they are.”
She glanced upward and the others followed her gaze. Pandy and Alcie had to move slightly, but they finally saw the wide behind of Hera, wrapped in heavy padding, resting on a high, thick branch. A flash of orange and yellow autumn leaves in the otherwise grayish-green tree told them that Demeter was also high over their heads.
“Our decision has been made,” said Aeacus. “It’s Tartarus for all four of you! And since you are not dead, I cannot imagine the unending torment of fire consuming live flesh—for eternity!”
Minos’s arm began to raise and motion in the direction of the gate to the left.
“Don’t let him point!” Iole cried. “Actual judge or not, if he points and the gate opens, we have to go!”
“Dido, JUMP!” commanded Pandy, and the snow-white dog leapt forward, his strong forelegs knocking Minos and Rhadamanthus square in their chests. The two men toppled to the ground as if they were made of paper, the strings on their sleeves pulling taut and causing their mouths to gape open unnaturally, horrifyingly wide. Pandy heard a scream overhead as both Hera and Demeter, each holding many strings, were jerked from their perch and plummeted downward—smacking into several branches as they fell. Demeter landed on her side, but Hera hit directly on her bottom, causing her to bray in agony. Moments later, a golden tub—about the size Sabina had used to wash her mother’s delicate undergarments, Pandy thought—fell out of the tree and landed with a thud, sending glistening gray matter flying in every direction, much of it splattering on Pandy and Alcie.
As the goddesses rolled in pain, Pandy and the others took in the scene. Aeacus had pitched forward as he’d fallen and now lay on his stomach at Homer’s feet. The collar of his red robe had been torn off his shoulders, and there was a huge gray gash from the back of his head to—far, far down, Pandy surmised. Pandy instantly recognized the glittering gray substance from the tub as brains, hearts, tongues, and various other internal organs. Hera and Demeter had murdered the spirits of the judges; something that astounded even Iole and her vast knowledge. No one had conceived that such a thing could be done, but the proof was lying on the ground before them. The judges had each been separated from their insides to make them truly mute, enabling the goddesses to speak through them.
Demeter was on her feet and thrusting her shoulders back in indignation, preparing to pounce on Pandy.
“Helloooo?” Hera called to her, trying to roll over on her side.
“Oh, honey,” Demeter said with a backward glance. “Can’t you get up?”
“No. And you’d better help me if you know what’s best for you!”
“Here, let me …”
“Iole,” Pandy said quietly, as Demeter tried to get Hera on her feet, only to end up tumbling head over heels herself, “take hold of Aeacus’s right arm.”
Iole understood at once and propped up the judge’s empty shell as it was finally about to collapse.
Hera was on her feet at last, batting Demeter out of the way as she straightened her robes neatly over her backside. Subtly, Pandy grabbed a mass of gray goo as it slid down her hip. In the last second before Hera focused on her, she made eye contact with Alcie; Alcie saw what was in Pandy’s hand and nodded her head, reaching up and taking hold of a gray mass on her shoulder.
“Some time ago, brat,” Hera hissed, “you made reference to the fact that I talk a great deal, but my—what shall we call it?—follow through, is a little weak. I’m going to amend that once and for all. Yes, I could strike you here and now, but I’m going to pass the sentence that’s been ordered. You all, including that four-legged flea-bag, are going to spend the rest of your natural and unnatural mortal lives in …”
“The Elysian Fields,” Pandy screamed. “Iole, POINT! Dido … Demeter! Knock her down! GO!”
She flung the gray blob, which she realized was a kidney, at Hera, catching her in the throat. Alcie threw a piece of lung and walloped Hera right between the eyes. Iole lifted Aeacus’s spiritless arm and pointed in the direction o
f Hades’ palace and the Elysian Fields, which lay beyond. At the motion of the judge’s arm, the black gate swung open, and Pandy and the rest were rushed by an unseen force toward the wall. At Pandy’s call, Dido had sprung at Demeter, who’d thrown her arms up to protect herself only to find Dido’s fangs sunk into her right hand. Dido chomped down hard, then was also made to follow after his mistress, taking an immortal pinky in his teeth. They’d all been propelled at such a speed that everything blurred around them until they were safely through the gate, with Hera and Demeter screaming in fury and pain on the other side. With no time to waste, everyone took off at a run toward the palace, not knowing if Hera would follow or if someone, somewhere, would know that these four could never be assigned to the Elysian Fields—not yet, anyway.
“My little finger!” Demeter was howling. “The dog ate my little finger. And I even tried to help him when you had him cornered in your apartments on Olympus!”
“Shut up,” Hera snapped. “Shut up about your stupid finger. Grow another one, you fool. Oh, my husband’s toenails! I had that beastly mutt in my possession and should have murdered it when I had the chance. I’m just too sensitive and kindhearted, that’s the problem. That’s always been my downfall. And the brat is right: I talk too much. But something about gloating is so delicious.”
“Yes,” Demeter said casually but with a slight exasperation, wrapping one of the puppet strings around her stump to staunch the blood flow. “But look where gloating gets you: you simply have no control. Not over the girl. Not over her dog. And certainly not over your mouth.”
Hera turned with an icy glare to her friend, whose hair was now growing the dried grasses of summer.
“Really?”
“Mm-hmm,” Demeter said, tying off the string with her mouth.
The next moment, Demeter had become a small apricot poodle whose tail sprouted dried grass, then autumn leaves, then winter icicles, and so on.
“You can’t be serious,” Demeter said. “A dog?”
“Until I decide otherwise. Whaddya gonna do about it, Demetie? Bite my finger?”
“What if I said I was sorry?”
“Save it,” Hera said.
Hera twirled her hand in the air, materializing a long, emerald-studded leash. Fastening it to Demeter’s emerald-studded collar, Hera patted the top of her head.
“I’ll show you just how much control I can have over a dog,” Hera smirked. “Now, what to do—what to do?”
“You ungrateful wretch,” Demeter yapped. “When I think of the risks I’ve taken for you!”
Hera kicked the spiritless, gutted body of Rhadamanthus out of her way and led Demeter toward the dull orange glow, then she turned in the direction of the palace.
“The question is, do I head over to the palace now and be there to greet Pandora when she arrives and kill her then?” Hera pondered, glancing down at Demeter. “And I will. I swear by all my priestesses, the next time I meet the brat I will not let my sensitive, generous nature get the better of me and I will kill her. Or do I go to Tartarus and make certain that Hades is still confined to the fire pit? It was easy enough to trick and capture him, but have his bonds held? It would have saved some time if Pandora and her friends had taken the bait and let themselves be sent into the flames, ending their pathetic lives and assuring that Fear remained loose. But now that I think of it, she really only has one path to trudge and this way, going by way of the palace, she might take so long that she’ll run out of days, fail in her quest—and that would enrage my husband and provide delightful entertainment. I really must look into why I am so magnanimous where this girl is concerned, why my benevolence is such that I have yet failed to kill her or her friends. Why I have such a big, fat heart. Ah, well. We’ll get ourselves warm, shall we, doggy? We’ll go to Tartarus. I don’t know where Fear is, but I know once Pandora discovers that Hades is my prisoner, she’ll race to help him—and help herself—I’m sure. We’ll meet again, not-so-pretty maiden!”
Hera felt something warm and wet on her foot. She looked down and gazed into Demeter’s little poodle face, saw her hind leg lifted and a wide poodle grin on her face.
“Control this, Queenie!”
Chapter Twelve
The Palace: Garden … and Ovens
Hades’ palace, which had seemed so close from the other side of the gate, now appeared to be quite a distance away and getting farther with every step—as if with each footfall, the immense black-and-gray building receded back into the surrounding mist. They’d been running flat out for a while, all of them afraid to turn around for fear of what might be right behind them. Finally, Pandy had to slow down, completely out of breath.
“Homer,” she panted. “Homer, stop. I can’t go on without a break.”
Homer turned immediately.
“Would you like me to carry you?” he asked, without a trace of arrogance or weariness. “I could carry all of you. Although with Dido, it might get a little tricky.”
Dido barked, indignant that anyone would ever think he needed to be carried. But he did flop down on his side in the gray grasses that bordered the road, his chest heaving.
“Where’s Iole?” Homer asked.
“Huh?” Pandy said, looking around.
There was nothing past Alcie, who was hunched over on her knees, taking in gulps of air—except a tiny speck far, far back. Homer took off at a sprint and soon returned with Iole slung over his shoulders. Gently, he set her down on the ground.
“Thank you, Homer,” said Iole, then looked at Pandy. “He’s had to carry me on this quest far too many times for my liking.”
“What happened?” Pandy asked.
“I just stopped for a moment and turned to observe if we were being followed and when I turned back to keep running, my legs refused. I had this mental image of my legs laughing at me—my kneecaps turning into smiling faces. Then I passed out and the next thing I knew I was upside down on Homer’s back.”
“Feel better now?” Alcie asked.
“Much, thank you,” Iole said, squirting some water from her water-skin into her mouth.
“And are we?” Alcie went on.
“Are we what? Oh … being followed? I don’t think so.”
“That’s just weird,” Alcie replied. “Just plain weird. I know—she’s a goddess and goddesses are strange, but come on!’
“All the immortals are unpredictable,” Pandy agreed. “It’s as if they have no filter in their brains.”
“They don’t need filters,” Iole said. “There are basically no consequences for anything they do.”
“Hera could have killed us all five times over by now,” said Pandy. “She hasn’t. But it’s not because she doesn’t want to. And she could have followed us just now, but it’s almost as if she gets distracted by something and heads in another direction. She put a lot of effort into the puppet show, then she just drops it without really putting up much of a fight.”
“Until the next time she just pops up,” Alcie added.
“As if the overall focus of killing you loses importance when she sees a bright, shiny object,” Iole observed. “Figuratively speaking, of course.”
“She’s a big fat baby, is what she is,” Alcie said, definitively. “I’m glad Zeus spanked her. And she’s still wearing the bandage; that must have been some thrashing.”
“So,” Pandy said, changing the topic and getting to her feet. “I see the palace, a little more of a hike than I originally thought—that’s okay, no biggie. But isn’t the whole thing supposed to be surrounded by the Elysian Fields? Where the green?”
Iole opened her mouth to answer, but Alcie cut her off.
“The Elysian Fields, at least the ones that I saw, are only on one side of the palace. I’m guessing the far side.”
“But you didn’t actually see them,” Iole reminded her.
“Well, if you’re going to get specific about it, no, I didn’t lay my eyes on them. I saw only flashes of green through the windows before the shrub
bery grew over and blocked my view. But believe me, if they were anywhere close by, we’d know it. That’s a color you can’t miss.”
“I’m only suggesting that, when you were in the palace, you didn’t know exactly which direction you were facing and you might have—”
“What? Gotten confused? You know, just because you have a brain the size of Athens does not mean the rest of us can’t think.”
“Guys! Come on, knock it off!” Pandy cried. As Iole and Alcie both turned to face her, each about to protest bitterly that the other didn’t know what she was talking about, their jaws dropped and their eyes widened. Looking up, Homer gasped and Dido whined, then hid behind Pandy’s legs.
Less than five steps away, the outer palace wall rose above them to a height well beyond Pandy’s ability to see or calculate. The single black stones that formed the wall, of which there were thousands upon thousands, were each the size of Zeus’s throne on Mount Olympus; no human could have set them into place. The mortar was black and coarse with bits of white bone mixed in. And the entire wall was covered in the same blackish-red substance that she’d seen on the mammoth gates leading into the underworld. So close now, she could swear that it was, indeed, blood. The whole building was steaming as if the blood coating were baking in the sun—except that there was no sun.
And, of course, the palace hadn’t been there ten seconds before.
“Great!” Pandy said when she recovered from her initial shock. “That saves us a little time. C’mon.”
“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” Alcie said, following Pandy along the wall toward one side of the palace.
“Alce, I haven’t had a good feeling about pretty much anything since I walked out of our courtyard over five moons ago,” Pandy replied, rounding a corner.
Over four hours later, Pandy finally stopped in front of a crude wooden door on a rusty hinge.
“This is it?” Alcie asked incredulously. “No way. Where are the doors? A place this big has to have a big door!”
Homer grabbed a fistful of his cloak and aimed to a spot on the wall off to the side of the door. Carefully, he wiped away eons of dirt and gooey blood to reveal a small bronze plaque.
Pandora Gets Frightened Page 10
