Centaur School

by Lucy Coats

  Pan stretched, the great muscles in his chest rippling. “I must be off again,” he said. “But before I go, is there anything I can give you, Son?”

  Demon knew he should probably say “nothing,” but this was too good a chance to pass up.

  “Is there a way I can use your pipes to put just one animal to sleep at a time?” he asked, trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice.

  A look of pleased surprise crossed Pan’s face. “What? No magic cloak of invisibility or sandals with wings?” he asked. “Not that I’m very good at those, but it’s usually what people ask for.” Demon shook his head.

  “I’m sure they’d be nice, but I’d rather learn to use your pipes properly,” he said. “They’ve been very useful so far.”

  “Very well, then, my boy.” The forest god raised his pipes to his lips. “Look into the beast’s eyes and do this.” He blew a tricky little low twiddle that raised all the hairs on the back of Demon’s neck. Then he played a high, screechy set of notes that made Demon’s teeth hurt. “That’s the wake-up one, as well, in case you need it. Now you try them.”

  After Pan had left, Demon practiced all the way back to Chiron’s cave until he had the notes just right. Then he looked into Little Stinktail’s eyes and put her to sleep while he sewed and bandaged her paw. By the time he’d woken her up again, Chiron was back.

  Demon showed him the ointment he and Peleus had made. As the centaur sniffed it and gave Demon an approving nod, Demon thought of something. “How do I get the griffin’s feathers back?” he asked. “There are too many of them to stick on, and anyway, I don’t think I’ve got any of the glue left from when Autolykos stole the winged-horse feathers.”

  Chiron looked at him. “I don’t approve of that box of yours normally, but didn’t I hear something about you regrowing the feathers on some Stymphalian Birds a while back? You could add a few drops of that medicine to the ointment if you’ve got any left. Otherwise, I’m afraid it’s time and patience.” He handed Demon a mask, a bag of pungent herbs, and a huge bottle of green liquid. “Burn all the straw from the griffin’s cage, then fumigate the Stables with this sage. Tomorrow at dawn, you must sprinkle the whole place with my patented cleaning liquid. That’s when the ingredients are at their strongest. Don’t forget now. It’s important.”

  As Demon got off the Iris Express, his head was buzzing with his teacher’s instructions. He ran straight to the hospital shed and found the small vial with the feather-regrowing medicine in it. Luckily there were a few drops left. Mixing them into the ointment with a spoon, he walked over to see the griffin.

  It was not in a good mood. It was stalking around the cage, growling, and emitting ear-piercingly angry griffin shrieks. Its purple spots were now huge and glowing, and some of the ones on its head had burst in showers of revolting yellow pus that oozed and trickled down its beak.

  “YUCK!” said Demon, before he could stop himself. “That’s disgusting.”

  As he put down the ointment and let himself into the cage, the griffin’s beak whipped out quicker than a bolt of lightning and snapped off Demon’s left little finger, spitting it out immediately.

  “I warned you, Pan’s scrawny kid! I warned you!” it screamed.

  Demon screamed, too. He couldn’t help it. The little stump was pouring blood, but there was no time to fix it, because the griffin was coming at him again, going for his bare toes.

  Frantically, Demon grabbed his pipes, looked into the raging beast’s eyes, and blew Pan’s new twiddle. Immediately the beast dropped like a dead thing, slumped on its back with outspread wings and head lolling to the side. Trying not to scream again, Demon fell to his knees, searching for his finger. Was it too late? Had it been burned up by toxic griffin spit? No, there it was!

  “Offy! Yukus!” he gasped, holding up the bit of his finger. It looked like a limp pink slug. “Help!” The healing snakes whipped into action, one taking his finger in its tail and pressing it to the stump, the other squirting golden liquid onto the wound from its fangs. Demon began to see stars, silver and green and purple, floating in front of his eyes. Then everything went black.

  He woke to find himself sprawled beside the sleeping griffin, with a snake tongue tickling each earlobe. “Whaa . . . ?” he murmured, as his eyes focused again. He looked at his hand. It was a bit smeary with blood, but the finger was back as if it had never gone. “Oh, thank goodness,” he said. “I don’t know what I’d do without you two.”

  “A pleasure asss alwaysss, young massster,” the snakes hissed.

  Demon scrambled up and went to the hospital shed to wash. Then he smeared all the griffin’s feathered bits with the new ointment. By the time he’d done his chores and followed all of Chiron’s instructions, including making a bonfire of the straw in the beast’s old pen, his eyes were closing on their own. He fell into bed, needing desperately to sleep, but every time he dropped off, he jerked awake again, worrying that another of his feathered beasts might have caught the Purple Spotted Feather Plague.

  CHAPTER 5

  OWL EMERGENCY

  Dawn came far too soon. As Eos drew back her pink curtains, Demon sprang out of bed, seizing the huge bottle of green liquid. He put on his mask and went around every pen, sprinkling all the beasts and every inch of the Stables as he mucked out. The Caucasian Eagle was not at all pleased with being sprinkled, nor with being sent away to spend time with Prometheus.

  “I have to peck his disgusting liver out every day—I don’t need to socialize with the guy,” it grumbled, giving Demon a sharp peck. “He keeps asking me to go and talk to Zeus’s eagle for him, too. As if I’m some kind of best friends with that scary old bird.” But it flapped off eventually, still grumbling, and promising not to come back till Demon sent word.

  The winged horses were not enjoying the green liquid, either.

  “It smells like rotten grass,” they whinnied, rearing and bucking and battering him with their wings until Demon had to duck and dodge for fear of being trampled. He sniffed at it. It did stink a bit underneath—but it also smelled like nice things like eucalyptus, ginger, hyssop, lavender, and thyme.

  “Do you really want all your feathers to fall out, and your skin to break out in purple popping spots?” he asked Keith, the boss winged horse, after the herd had calmed down a bit. Keith rubbed his tiny gold horns against Demon’s shoulder.

  “Nohohoho,” he neighed, just as Demon heard a very strange noise outside the Stables.

  Hic-a-hoot hic-a-hoot hic-a-hoot, it went.

  He put down his bottle and went to investigate. As he saw the tall figure in silver armor approaching, his heart started to thump so hard that he could almost feel it trying to burst out of his ribs. Athena, goddess of wisdom, had come to visit, and in his experience, a visit from one of the Olympian gods or goddesses was never good news. Normally it led to threats of leg-twisting or seabed-scrubbing or plain old burnt-to-a-little-pile-of-charcoal-ing.

  “Oh, do get up, Pandemonius,” she said as he dropped to his knees in the dust. “There’s no time for that. My poor Sophie here has got a terrible case of the upside-down hiccups. She just can’t seem to stop.” Athena made a face. “She keeps cuddling up and giving me horrible, smelly owl kisses too.” As Athena spoke, the large owl on her rather stained shoulder snuggled in under the goddess’s silver helmet and nibbled on her ear lovingly, continuing to hic-a-hoot. Suddenly, there was a particularly loud hiccup, and out of her beak shot a stream of mangled mouse bones and other more unmentionable things. Demon dodged one particularly juicy something that splatted on the ground at his feet with a wet squelch. Oh no! he thought. Just what I don’t need—another sick feathered creature! What should he do? He had to warn Athena about the plague, even if it made her angry.

  He cleared his throat, with a high squeaking sound like a mouse whose tail has just been stepped on. “P-please don’t bring her any closer, Your Wondrous Wisene
ss,” he said, holding up a hand. “I don’t want her to catch the Purple Spotted Feather Plague as well as the hiccups.”

  Athena stepped back hurriedly. “Explain, stable boy,” she said, in the kind of voice that would have frozen any nearby volcanoes. “Fast.” She pointed her silver spear at him menacingly, its sharp tip leveled right at his thumping heart.

  So Demon explained, almost tripping over his words in an effort not to be stabbed.

  “Very well, then,” said Athena when he’d finished. “I shall leave Sophie roosting in one of my olive trees by the Iris Express. She’ll be safe there, and then you can take her down to Chiron with the winged horses.” She stroked the owl’s soft feathers, looking worried, then frowned at Demon, her gray eyes flashing silver sparks. “You’d better have her cured by this afternoon, or I shall turn you into a nice fat black olive and crush you into oil,” she said, turning to leave. “I’ve got to go and sort out an argument between Eos and Tithonus now, but I’ll be down to collect her soon. Don’t mess this up, Pandemonius. I’ve got a meeting with Zeus later, and he won’t appreciate it if that big eagle of his catches whatever Sophie’s got. Or the Purple Spotted Feather Plague, for that matter.”

  As the goddess left, Demon let out a sigh of relief so huge that it almost blew down the door of the Stables. Athena’s silver spear had come so close to his heart, he’d almost felt it. But he couldn’t think about that—or about being turned into an olive—because he had too much else to do.

  “The griffin,” he muttered. “Must see to the griffin.” He trotted over to the isolation pen and put a cautious nose between the bars. The beast was still lying exactly where Demon had left it the night before, on its back. Loud, scratchy snores were coming from its beak, and its eyes were firmly closed.

  “Griffin?” Demon said cautiously. “Griffin? Are you awake?” But there was no reply. The new pipe twiddle he’d learned from his dad was still working. He let himself into the pen and inspected the purple spots. They had definitely receded, though there were still a few left. Demon bent closer. Was that a new feather he saw? Yes! A row of new, tiny feathers had appeared right on top of the griffin’s head. The ointment must be taking effect! He reached for the now half-empty pot and started to smear on another layer. There was no harm in putting on a little extra, just in case. Unfortunately, one of the bigger spots on the griffin’s neck burst with a loud POP! just as he touched it. Horrid yellow slime leaked onto his hand and all over his tunic.

  “YUCK!” he said, jumping back and grabbing a handful of straw to wipe it off. “I can see I’m going to be washing a LOT if this keeps happening.”

  Demon knew that when he eventually woke up the griffin, it’d be crankier than a cross manticore and hungrier than at least fifty packs of starving hellhounds. He’d need to find more than ambrosia cake if the beast wasn’t to chomp on all his other fingers and toes—and probably the rest of him, as well.

  He scratched his head absentmindedly, then shut the pen and went to scrub the yuck off and change. Maybe one of the kitchen fauns would help. But he’d have to find something to bribe it with. What did fauns like? Shells? He had some of those from his time down in Poseidon’s watery kingdom. Or maybe he’d have to give up his spider-silk blanket . . .

  Demon thought about this new problem all the way to the kitchens, but he still hadn’t come up with a suitable bribe by the time he got there. As usual, there was a riot of heat and good smells. His mouth watered as the scent of his favorite honey cakes reached his nose. Surely he could beg for just one?

  A large hand fell on his shoulder, and he leaped into the air, letting out a squeal of fright.

  “What are you doing sneaking around my kitchen, Pandemonius?” asked a voice like cream and honey on hot rocks. Oh no! He’d been caught by Hestia, goddess of cooking. She gave him a little shake. “Don’t bother trying to lie to me, young stable boy, because I’ll know.” She took him by the ear and turned him around to face her.

  “It’s the griffin,” Demon began. The story poured out of him for the second time that day. “And . . . and it says it needs a special diet of minced lamb with blood gravy and a sprinkle of scarab beetles,” Demon finished.

  Hestia frowned, tapping the silver ladle she held against her hip. “And what will you give me if I make the beast what it asks for?” she said. If thinking of something for a faun had been hard, thinking of something for a goddess was practically impossible. Demon didn’t even try.

  “What do you need, Your Goddessness?” he asked, trembling a little. “I’ll give you anything.”

  She smiled. It was a smile with teeth in it. “Don’t make rash promises to goddesses, Pandemonius. They can lead you into all sorts of trouble. Just tell my brother the centaur that I need a bunch of five-leaf panax and a pot of bee gold from his stores. Bring it with you when you return to Olympus. When I have it in my hands, I will make your beast its food—though I do draw the line at sprinkled scarabs.” She ruffled his hair. “I have a soft spot for you, young stable boy. Heaven knows why!”

  Demon looked up at her. “Th-thank you, Your Amazingness,” he stammered. He had no idea what five-leaf panax or bee gold were, but he could find out.

  “Well, that’s settled, then,” said Hestia, towing him into the kitchen behind her like a small bobbing toy behind a very large boat. “Now, come and taste my new batch of honey cakes.”

  CHAPTER 6

  ATHENA’S TERRIBLE TASK

  By the time Demon had licked the last of the honey cake from around his mouth, it was time to load the winged horses and Sophie the owl onto the Iris Express. The winged horses were very overexcited about their vacation and kept leaping into the air and doing little loop-de-loop somersaults. When Sophie saw him coming, she flapped out of her olive tree and onto his shoulder, wrapping one wing around his head and nibbling his ear lovingly—between hiccups. Demon peered around at her.

  “Have you stopped spewing out mouse bones and stuff?” he asked. “Because this is my last clean tunic.” Sophie just let out a mournful hic-a-hoot and snuggled in closer.

  The Iris Express arrived in a flash of rainbow light, and soon Demon was busy trying to herd all the winged horses aboard.

  “Go!” he shouted as the last hoof and tail crowded in. Demon tried not to look down. He was very near the edge, and there wasn’t much room. Suddenly a familiar stench hit his nostrils.

  “Oh no!” he said as he looked down. Tiny golden balls of horse poo were rolling around on the floor at his feet. “Who was that?” he asked sternly. The sturdy palomino mare called Sky Pearl hung her head.

  “Meheeheehee,” she neighed.

  “Well, try not to, the rest of you,” Demon said. “Iris won’t like it.”

  “Indeed I will not,” said Iris. Transparent rainbow arms picked up Sky Pearl under her wings and dangled her outside the rainbow. “If you do it again, I’ll drop all of you into the sea. See how you like THAT!”

  After that, the journey was not the smooth, swift ride Demon was used to. Iris bumped and jolted her passengers all the way down to Chiron’s cave and spilled them out onto the ground. She left in a huff, snarling.

  “Go and graze, all of you,” Demon said. “And don’t let them fly off, Keith.”

  “I wohohohon’t,” Keith whinnied, putting his head down and tearing at the long green grass.

  “Now,” said Demon. “Let’s see if we can find some owl medicine.” But just as he spoke, Sophie fell off his shoulder, flapping madly. She lay on the ground, eyes spinning like kaleidoscopes. An enormous hic-a-hoot erupted from her beak, and with it, a transparent pink heart-shaped bubble, followed by lots of smaller ones. Demon picked her up and stood her upright.

  “What in the name of Athena’s eyebrows is wrong with that owl?” asked a soft voice. Demon spun around. Standing astride two jagged rocks on the mountainside above was a tall nymph, dressed in floaty grays and greens and b
rowns that made her look like a part of the stones themselves. She jumped down to join Peleus, who came out of the cave, a great big smile on his face. He was brandishing a shiny silver sword, which flashed shards of sunlight into Demon’s eyes, making him blink.

  “Look, Demon!” he said. “The wolves found it for me! Thank you ever so much. I owe you a massive favor. Whatever you want, really, just ask!” He put an arm around the tall nymph. “This is my mom, Endeis, by the way. She’s the oread of this mountain.”

  “You have my gratitude, too, Pandemonius,” said Endeis. “You did a very brave thing, saving my son from those centaurs. But we can talk about that later. Right now your owl definitely has a problem that needs fixing.”

  Demon wasn’t going to disagree. Sophie was now hic-a-hoot-ing so fast that the pink heart bubbles had formed a thick cloud around both of them. Quickly, he picked her up and ran into the cave. Surely there must be something about curing hiccups in one of Chiron’s books. Although he’d never heard of anyone hiccuping out pink hearts.

  “What have you eaten, Sophie?” he asked. But the owl couldn’t answer. She was too busy hiccuping and trying to give Demon more owl kisses.

  “Stop it,” Demon said, fending her off. “If you can’t speak, then you’ll have to flap. Once for yes, twice for no, all right?” Sophie flapped once.

  “Did you eat anything you wouldn’t normally eat?”

  Flap.

  “Did someone give it to you?”

  Flap. Flap.

  Endeis interrupted.

  “Did you steal it from one of the gods?” she asked. Demon didn’t know that nymphs could speak owl. He thought it was only him.