by Maz Evans
Elliot and Virgo shared bewildered looks as Josie ran around the kitchen searching for the keys.
‘HELP ME!’ she screamed.
‘Wh-what’s the matter?’ Elliot asked. Mum often got upset over little things, but he’d never seen her this distressed. This was scary.
‘Are you quite well, Josie-Mum?’ asked Virgo.
‘Here – here they are,’ said Elliot, pulling his own keys from his coat pocket.
‘Lock it!’ panted Josie. ‘Lock it now.’
‘O-OK,’ said Elliot, turning the keys in the kitchen door. ‘It’s locked. Everything’s OK, Mum.’
‘Good. Good. We must keep it locked,’ said Josie urgently, yanking on the door handle. ‘We must stay safe.’
‘Who’s that from?’ Elliot asked, trying to take the letter. ‘Let me see it . . .’
‘You are not to leave this house,’ shouted Josie, snatching the letter away and clutching it to her chest. ‘You stay inside! Always! Do you hear me, Elliot?’
‘Mum – I can’t be here all the time!’ Elliot laughed. ‘I’ve got to go to school . . .’
‘DO AS YOU’RE TOLD!’ screamed Josie, making Elliot jump. She hardly ever shouted at him. ‘YOU STAY HERE!’
There was a painful silence.
‘Josie-Mum,’ said Virgo softly. ‘Your breakfast will get sub-optimal. Yours too, Elliot.’
But Elliot didn’t want his breakfast. He remembered refusing to go to school when he was little. Josie had threatened to carry him there in his pyjamas.
Josie came back to the table, the letter already forgotten now it was stuffed in her pocket. Elliot and Virgo looked at one another. What had just happened?
The door handle jiggled frantically.
‘E! V! Mate! Babe!’ shouted Hermes from outside. ‘Peg’s getting proper chewy – reckons the air traffic’s gonna be a nightmare if you don’t motor . . .’
Elliot unlocked the door, not taking his eyes from his mother, who was now happily eating her eggs.
‘Morning, J-Hoops!’ called Hermes. ‘Looking good, babe!’
Josie grinned at Hermes. He always made her smile.
‘I’ll stay with her,’ said Athene, walking into the kitchen and putting a reassuring arm on Elliot’s. ‘You go and be star witness – Virgo needs you.’
‘It would be far more optimal if you could come,’ Virgo called to Zeus outside. ‘I think that Christmas Day . . .’
‘WE DO NOT MENTION CHRISTMAS DAY!’ Zeus hollered so loudly he made the ground shake. The King of the Gods blushed sheepishly. ‘I mean, er . . .’ he mumbled, ‘you don’t need us – you’ve got Themis. She’s a bang-up lawyer. Used her for my last seventeen divorces – top hole. Good luck, old girl.’
‘You too, Elly,’ said Aphrodite. ‘Sock it to ’em.’
‘Much as I’d love to join the cheerleading,’ drawled Pegasus, ‘I appear to have left my pompoms in my other saddle bag. If you wish to attend your trial before the verdict, however, I suggest we leave now.’
‘And shut the ruddy gate!’ Hephaestus yelled across the paddock.
‘Come on!’ said Virgo, grabbing her coat and running out of the door.
‘Nothing to worry about, kids,’ said Zeus. ‘You’ll be back home in twenty minutes for a cup of tea. Toodle-pip!’
Elliot looked over at Josie, calmly eating her breakfast and reading the paper. What he would have given a year ago to be banned from attending school.
But as Elliot Hooper was fast learning, a lot could change in a year.
3. Trial and Error
Three hours and forty-seven minutes later, there was no sign of home, nor a cup of tea. Virgo was feeling decidedly sub-optimal. She stared forlornly out of the window at the paradise that used to be her home. She’d had so many happy times here in Elysium. At least three.
The glass pyramid of the council chamber had been arranged like a courtroom for her trial. The Zodiac Council’s red sofas were in a semi-circle around the golden table, facing Virgo in the dock before them. On the evidence table between them lay Virgo’s crystal kardia, the heart within a flame that made her immortal. Would she ever get it back?
‘And that concludes the prosecution testimony for 5.01 p.m. to 5.04 p.m.,’ droned Aquarius, the water bearer, who was Council leader in February. ‘Who has 5.05 p.m.?’
‘Where is Themis?’ hissed Virgo to Elliot in the gallery nearby. Her lawyer still hadn’t arrived. ‘As a mortal, I only have a life expectancy of 81.2 years . . .’
‘ . . . and it is further alleged that at 5.05 p.m. and 23 seconds, Virgo, a junior Constellation, absconded from Elysium with the flask of ambrosia for Prisoner Forty-two – with neither permission, paperwork, nor any indication where the pencil sharpeners are kept – and went AWOL to Earth, before disobeying a string of Council rules,’ pronounced Capricorn, the half-goat, promptly eating his notes.
Virgo had heard enough. In this, as in all things, she was right. She just needed to help everyone to realize it.
‘Look, if I could just explain—’ she blurted.
‘No need!’ interrupted a triumphant voice as the chamber doors burst open in a flash of golden robes. ‘I have all the proof we need right here!’
‘Themis!’ exclaimed Virgo in delight.
The Goddess of Justice charged through the court, waving a piece of parchment. Virgo looked hopefully at her kardia. She could almost feel it back around her neck.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ Themis whispered as she passed the dock. ‘Got a bit held up. That’s the last time I agree to defend a chicken. Or an egg. I forget which came first. Right – I’ve got this sewn up tighter than a Titan’s swimming trunks.’
Themis took a moment to adjust her golden robes and fix her curled, white barrister’s wig, which Virgo realized was, in fact, her own hair.
‘This whole trial is a farce!’ cried Themis, approaching the Council’s golden table. ‘Here is the piece of paper that proves my client is innocent!’
Virgo tried to stop a smug smile. She failed.
‘This not only proves that she didn’t commit the crime,’ said Themis, walking slowly around the Council, ‘but she is also really nice to kittens and overdue a Girl Guide embroidery badge.’
‘Let me see that!’ snapped Cancer, the crab, snatching the parchment from Themis with a pincer. ‘Whatever are you talking about? This has nothing to do with Virgo. This is a receipt for a prawn vindaloo with extra chillies!’
‘Ah,’ said Themis, as the Gemini twins tore the parchment up and aimed the scraps at Capricorn’s snoring mouth. ‘Well, that solves the Case of the Exploding Bottom . . . But my client still didn’t do it!’
Themis sidled up to Virgo.
‘Remind me what you did again?’ she asked out of the corner of her mouth. ‘You opened Pandora’s box? No – you gave mortals fire? Ah – that’s right, you smelt it AND dealt it?’
‘She’s the one who released Thanatos,’ sighed Sagittarius, the centaur. ‘Allegedly. The Council denies all knowledge of knowing anything.’
‘Ah, yes!’ shouted Themis. ‘My client pleads not guilty to all charges!’
‘There is only one charge,’ yawned Leo, adding another sugar cube to his tall tower.
‘Then she’s not guilty of all the ones you don’t know about!’ the lawyer declared. Virgo worked out the statistical probability of getting her kardia back now. It was, as Elliot might conclude, “pants”.
‘Perhaps you’d like to call a witness?’ bleated Capricorn.
‘Absolutely. Tip of my tongue,’ smiled Themis. ‘What should I call them?’
‘Elliot,’ coughed Virgo. ‘Elliot Hooper.’
‘Quite right,’ shouted Themis. ‘I call upon . . .’
‘Elliot. Hooper,’ whispered Virgo loudly.
‘Mr . . .’ Themis continued, leaning so close to Virgo that the former Constellation could see right down her earhole.
‘E-L-L-I-O-T H-O-O-P-E-R,’ Virgo hissed.
‘Got it,’ whi
spered Themis with a wink. ‘The defence calls . . . Mr . . . SMELLIEST POOPER!’
The gentle thud of Virgo’s head hitting the table was the only sound in the chamber.
Elliot stepped into the centre of the pyramid. He winked at her and mouthed, ‘I’ve got this.’ Virgo hoped this referred to his confidence, not his bodily odour.
‘Hello again, Mr Hooper,’ said Aquarius with a thin smile.
‘Hiya,’ said Elliot, fiddling with something in his pockets.
Virgo had observed that mortal boys did this a great deal. She made a note to investigate what unsolvable puzzle they kept there.
‘Mr Hooper, why don’t you tell us what happened – in your own words?’ asked Scorpio.
‘Objection!’ yelled Themis. ‘My witness – I’ll ask the questions!’
Scorpio held his pincers up as Themis cleared her throat.
‘Mr Hooper,’ she began grandly. ‘Why don’t you tell us what happened – in your own words?’
‘Er . . . well,’ said Elliot. ‘See, it was like this. Virgo crashed into my cowshed in a big pile of poo. I thought she was mad – still do, actually – so I took her home to find her parents, but she kept saying she was a constellation, which sounded crazier than a box of sugar-high frogs, so I didn’t believe her until she went underwater for, like, ages. Anyway, she wanted to take this ambrosia stuff to a secret prisoner who, it turns out, was Thanatos – weird, right? So, we went to Stonehenge and I was going to leave, but I got chased by this fat security guard and ended up under the Heel Stone with her, but Thanatos did all this, like, Jedi mind-bending stuff and I believed him, so that was kind of my bad – he tried to tear Virgo to bits so I said he couldn’t have his ambrosia, he tried to kill me, he couldn’t, then Virgo whooshed us out of the cave in her star-ball thing . . .’
‘It’s a constellation!’ hissed Virgo.
‘Yeah – that,’ said Elliot, ‘and then we came here and you said she couldn’t use her powers any more. Then we got the Earth Stone, then I went to Thanatos, then she used her star-b— constellation – to get me back to Earth, then I’m alive again, then you made her mortal and now she wants her kardia back.’
The chamber fell silent again as everyone looked quizzically at Elliot. Virgo distinctly remembered telling Elliot exactly what to say. Clearly Elliot did not.
‘Think that’s about it,’ he added quietly.
‘Is that so?’ said Pisces, piecing the story together. ‘And where is Thanatos now? Not that he was ever anywhere. We know nothing about that.’
‘He’s squished beneath a heap of stalactites in the Cave of Sleep and Death,’ said Elliot. ‘But it’s only a matter of time before…’
‘How convenient,’ sighed Taurus. ‘So the truth is . . .’
‘YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH!’ yelled Themis, slamming her hand down, sending Leo’s sugar-cube tower clattering across the golden table. She leant into Virgo with a whisper. ‘Remind me again – what was the truth?’
‘The truth is,’ said Elliot, rolling his eyes, ‘if I’d let Virgo do her job, none of this would have happened.’
‘So what are you saying?’ asked Aquarius.
Elliot released a reluctant sigh. He appeared to have something deeply distasteful in his mouth. Virgo presumed he’d eaten the contents of his nostrils. Again.
‘What I’m saying is . . .’ he said eventually, ‘it was all my fault.’
Virgo felt her favourite sensation flood her body.
She was right.
Surely this changed everything! She looked hopefully at the Council.
‘Well, this changes everything!’ said Aquarius with a smile. ‘You know what this means?’
Virgo could barely breathe with anticipation.
‘This means,’ Aquarius continued, ‘it’s not our fault! WHOOPEEE!’
The Zodiac constellations bounced from their seats and started whizzing gleefully around the room as showers of stars.
‘Not our fault!’ squealed Sagittarius, reforming on his sofa. ‘Wow. That’s not happened since 1352 – this is a wonderful day!’
‘Marvellous!’ said Themis, accepting a celebratory sausage roll from Aquarius on her way out. ‘My work here is done. I’ll send you my bill . . .’
‘Er, Themis! Er . . . excuse me!’ Virgo called over the hullabaloo. ‘What about my kardia?’
‘Ah, yes, that,’ said Aquarius, calling the trial to order again. ‘You don’t deny that you broke Council rules and travelled to Earth without the proper authorization?’
‘Well, no, but . . .’
‘Nor that you revealed your immortality to a mortal, expressly contradicting your conditions of employment?’ said Scorpio.
‘OK, I shouldn’t really have done that . . .’
‘Nor that you used your constellation powers in defiance of this Council?’ asked Cancer.
‘That’s unfortunate, but, as Elliot says, he was mostly to blame,’ Virgo said desperately. ‘Please. Please give me one more chance.’
The councillors looked doubtfully amongst themselves.
‘I’m sorry, Virgo,’ said Aquarius gravely. ‘You have failed to provide any compelling evidence that you are worthy of your kardia . . .’
‘But . . . I . . .’ wailed Virgo desperately.
‘So if there’s nothing further, I declare the defendant g—’
‘Please!’ begged Virgo, extending her clasped hands towards Aquarius. ‘I can’t stay like this! Mortals are irrational! Mortals are unpredictable! Mortals grow hair in their armpits! Surely I don’t deserve that?’
The councillors looked unconvinced. Virgo stared helplessly at Elliot, hoping her silent pleas for him to speak out made it through all that ear wax.
The mortal boy rolled his eyes and belched slightly. Eventually, he stood up and turned to address the Council again.
‘Look,’ said Elliot. ‘Apart from the fact that I really need you to take her back because she’s an epic pain in the butt – seriously, how long does one person need in the shower? – it’s not fair to punish her for . . . for saving me. Thanatos nearly killed me. And if he ever escapes and gets his hands on the Chaos Stones, he’s going to kill loads of people. Virgo’s not the bad guy here, Thanatos is. She risked everything to save my life. In fact, if you look at it in kind of a weird, twisted, really annoying way . . . she was a hero.’
Aquarius raised an eyebrow. ‘A hero, you say?’ he said. ‘Interesting . . .’
Virgo smiled gratefully at Elliot, which he appeared to reluctantly accept. He had tried. And she could always arrange a presentation of all the things he did wrong later.
The councillors huddled together in a whispering frenzy.
‘All right,’ said Aquarius at last, as the councillors returned to their seats. ‘Virgo, we will grant you the chance to earn your kardia back.’
‘Yeeeeesssss!’ squealed Virgo. ‘I’ll do anything – you name it. I’ll alphabetize Cancer’s classical music CDs. I’ll clip Scorpio’s dodgy toenails. I’ll do Taurus’s laundry after Fajita Friday – anything, anything at all . . .’
‘The punishment should fit the crime,’ said Aquarius. ‘The child is right. Your reckless behaviour might have placed the mortals in terrible danger.’
‘Not that we know anything about that,’ added Leo.
‘If Earth is indeed an endangered realm, the mortals will need someone who is prepared to undergo unthinkable perils to protect them,’ said Aquarius. ‘They’ll need someone who will lead the fight against evil. They’ll need someone who will risk their very being to ensure their survival. If you want your kardia back, you really do need to give the mortals a hero.’
‘Great,’ said Virgo confidently. ‘Who?’
‘You,’ said Aquarius casually.
‘Me!’ exclaimed Virgo. ‘How am I supposed to do that?’
‘I’m afraid that falls under Directive 7408c: Your Problem,’ said Aquarius, bringing down his golden gavel. ‘Prove yourself a hero or kiss your kardia far
ewell. Case dismissed.’
4. To the Letter
Sharing his farm with Virgo and the Gods, Elliot had learnt to expect the unexpected. Over the past few months, his breakfast cereal had made him sing opera, his PE socks had been sacrificed on the barbeque to encourage a good harvest and a community of gorgons had claimed asylum in his downstairs loo.
But as Pegasus, Elliot and Virgo touched down at Home Farm, Elliot wasn’t expecting to see the King of the Gods throw a rusty tractor across the paddock.
‘Aaaaaaaaaaargh!’ Zeus puffed as the vehicle sailed over their head.
‘Must be Friday,’ sighed Pegasus, trotting back towards the shed.
‘AND THIS TIME – STAY OUT!’ bellowed Zeus, storming back into the farmhouse, barging past the faintly familiar figure at the front door. Elliot had only seen her once before.
The lady – Elliot instinctively felt she should be called a lady – took a deep breath and lifted a pale white arm to tuck a stray hair back into her immaculate dark bun. She turned her cool gaze on Elliot and Virgo.
‘Hello, children,’ she said, with a voice like a crystal dagger. ‘How nice to see you again.’
‘Your Highness,’ said Virgo, raising her right hand to her left shoulder in greeting. ‘What an unexpected honour. We haven’t seen you since . . .’
‘Christmas Day,’ said Hera.
Elliot had only briefly met the Queen of the Gods – Zeus’s ex-wife – when she knocked on his door that day. But she had made quite an impression.
‘To what do we owe the pleasure?’ asked Virgo.
‘I meant to come sooner, but my role as Chief Investigator of Immortal Conduct keeps me rather busy . . .’ said Hera grandly. ‘Just this week the Maenads have caused havoc on their rugby tour and as for Silenus’s stag night . . .’
‘You still here?’ roared Zeus, bursting out of the kitchen window and holding a thunderbolt aloft. ‘I said – GET OUT!’
‘It’s always so lovely to drop in on the family,’ said Hera with a small smile, elegantly sidestepping the thunderbolt that exploded at her feet. ‘I’ve been trying to deliver this to the prisoners . . . the probationers . . .’ she went on, handing a small golden box to Virgo. ‘But I’m having a little difficulty. Would you kindly pass it on? And if you could remind Zeus and his children that they are still expressly forbidden to leave Home Farm until their assessment has been completed. In order to help, I am deactivating all their transport.’
