Pandora Gets Heart (10 page)

CHAPTER ELEVEN
Not So Fast

Each time she turned around, there was no one behind her. Yet, as she raced down the palace steps and along the lower walls, Iole was certain she was being followed. At the path that intersected the back wall and led off into the forest, she heard a loud crack of a twig on the ground and whirled again. There was a slight rustling in the shrubbery, but all she saw was a wall of green hues. She hurried faster than she thought her legs would go until she spotted Homer in the twilight just ahead. Slowing her pace a bit, she waved at him until he caught sight of her and waved back.

“They’re not here yet?” Iole asked.

“No,” he answered. “I’m getting a little worried.”

“They’re probably just being especially diligent and precise, checking Pandy’s things, making sure the box is safe. No reason for consternation. Let’s not get agitated.” Then she paused. “Nice short outfit. Are you planning on changing into your old clothes?”

Homer looked down at his too-small serving toga. He picked up his carrying pouch and headed for a small copse of trees a meter away.

“Don’t go without me.”

“Wouldn’t consider it,” Iole said.

“And don’t look.”

“Gods. You’re worse than a girl,” Iole said jokingly, watching him disappear. “I see you’re still wearing your armband.”

Behind the trees, Homer quickly donned his old garments, then looked down at his arm and started peeling away the black fabric.

“ ‘Need something? Just ask!’ Like, that is the dumbest thing I can think of,” he called to Iole. “Like any of us knew what we were doing. Armbands! You were in the wedding procession and didn’t have to wear one of these. Of course you had to slosh through puddles and ice and leaves, but you got off lucky, right? Iole?”

An ox, yoked to a passing garbage cart, snorted loudly and Homer assumed that was the reason he hadn’t heard Iole’s response.

“Huh? Don’t you think, Iole?”

Homer stepped out from behind the trees, the circle of coarse black fabric balled up in his palm. He looked at Iole, completely unprepared to see a fat hand over her mouth, an arm encircling her waist as Iole struggled, a mound of silvery hair towering behind.

“Surprise!” said Echidna, peeking around Iole’s head. “You know, I anticipated this of the other two, trying to duck out without cleaning up and paying me my percentage of the tips, but somehow not of you two. Funny, you just can’t tell about some people.”

She waggled a long switch she was holding in the hand at Iole’s waist.

“Oh, if I had a drachma for every silly temp who thought they could get away with something and had to be taught the hard way. Now then, you are all scheduled until midnight, and until midnight you shall stay if I have to flog the living—”

Homer immediately flashed back to the rotting, undead corpse holding Alcie in exactly the same way during their adventure in the Chamber of Despair. Without saying a word, Homer threw the black armband, sending it with the force of an iron shot right into Echidna’s nose, catching her off guard. Iole took that moment of surprise to step hard on Echidna’s right foot.

“Oh! Aghhh!” Echidna cried, surprised and frightened.

As the tiny ball of a woman jumped up and down in pain, Homer stepped forward and lifted her by the arms high into the air. He carried her, dangling in front of him like a sack of something foul, over to the closest garbage cart and lightly tossed her on top as it began to descend the slope. As the cart disappeared into the darkness, all Homer and Iole could see were two sandals attached to two short, fat legs sticking up into the air.

Iole came and stood by Homer, watching the line of carts move away.

“Thank you, Homer,” she said quietly.

“Not a problem.”

“You’re very . . .”

Iole deliberated coming up with a very large word, or something a little witty and wry. Instead, she thought better of it.

“. . . nice to have around.”

Homer just smiled. At that moment Alcie came running fast out of the night.

“Hey,” she panted. “You guys ready? We’re over this way.”

“Are we going already?” Iole asked. “Do we know how to use the coin?”

“Yep. All handled,” Alcie called over her shoulder as she led the way. “Prepare to get smelly.”

“Top sacks are all bones,” he said, not looking back at her.

“Oh.”

She sat down again.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

She looked at him. Torches were now being lit along the pathway for the cart drivers. In their light, Hermes’ profile was nothing short of magnificent. His was not the most rugged face of the Olympians; that belonged to Zeus. Nor was it the most striking; Ares and Hephaestus shared that honor. Hermes’ face was, simply put, perfect.

“What?” he said, glancing back for a second.

“What?” she answered.

His mouthed twitched in a smile and then he patted the seat next to him. Immediately, Pandy made her way over sacks of crunchy bones and sat beside the god.

“So,” he said after a moment. “I hear you had a talk with future-dad.”

“Yeah. Yes,” she said, then she felt a pang. “Oh, no . . . did I wreck it? The future? I did, didn’t I? Is my dad going to meet my mom? Am I going to be born?”

“Easy, kiddo. Easy. All is well,” Hermes said, chuckling. “You didn’t ruin anything. Roughly thirteen centuries from now your father will take that final walk down the road to wedded
buh-liss
, and you and your brother will spring forth . . . and we may just have to go through all this again . . . and again. No, all Prometheus said to me was that he had a chat with a nice serving maiden when he was feeling rather low and that someday, if he ever had a daughter, he hoped that she would care enough to comfort someone in distress the way this girl had. Apparently you produced a tray cloth for him to blow his nose or something. He was impressed.”

Pandy smiled in the torchlight.

“Then he took off for a moonlit boat ride with one of Thetis’s sisters.”

“Okaaaay. I
so
didn’t need to know that,” Pandy mumbled.

“Hey, your father has thirteen hundred years to meet your mother, give or take,” Hermes said. “You want him to live like a temple dweller?”

“Kinda,” Pandy said softly.

“He can’t even take a nice woman out for a glass of goat’s milk?” Hermes asked, nudging her slightly in the ribs (which almost sent her off the top of the cart).

“No,” Pandy said, laughing at herself.

Just then Alcie, Iole, and Homer ran up.

Iole stopped short. A garbage cart?

“We’re just like Echidna,” she whispered to Homer, watching Alcie jump up and seat herself on a sack.

“Not in a million moons,” he replied, helping Iole onto the cart.

“Ready?” asked Hermes, when he felt the cart lower with Homer’s weight.

“Ready,” called Alcie from behind.

Hermes clucked to the oxen, handling the reins with precision as the team negotiated the narrow hairpin turn and moved slowly back along the path to the fork. Looking back, Pandy saw Chiron and Myron silhouetted in the light of the cave, dancing in the moonlight to the soft strains of Orpheus’s beautiful melodies, which carried through the dark from the palace above.

“Perhaps you want to get a little sleep?” Hermes asked, addressing all of his passengers. “I know it’s early yet, but it’s been a rough day, and tomorrow promises more of the same.”

“I need to talk to my diary first,” Pandy said. “Tell it everything that happened today before I forget.”

“As if you’ll ever forget,” Alcie laughed.

“As if any of us will,” Iole said.

Pandy withdrew her wolfskin diary from her pouch and carefully unrolled it. She looked at the beautiful wolf head and for a split second was struck by its uniqueness: a gift from Artemis that would record everything she ever said, and was holding within it the entire account of her adventure so far.

“Dear diary,” she said into one of its enormous ears. Immediately, the ears perked up and the eyes began to glow.

“Greetings, Pandora,” the wolfskin began solemnly. “What is it you wish to tell me . . . and, oh wow! What’s that smell?”

“It’s garbage,” she replied.

“Garbage. Nice,” said the skin. “Very nice. I can see you’re doing well for yourself.”

The diary, Pandy remembered, had also begun offering its own opinions.

“It doesn’t smell
that
bad,” Alcie said quietly to Iole.

“My nose is more sensitive than yours, Lefty,” said the wolf. “And so is my hearing.”

“I haven’t had two left feet for weeks, you talking rug!”

“Lefty.”

“Yeah, yeah, I was standing too close when the box first got opened! But they got changed back and my feet are
fine
now, you dried up piece of . . . !”

“Lefty,” the diary whispered.

“Diary! Just be quiet and listen,” Pandy ordered as Hermes laughed softly next to her. He guided the cart downhill as Pandy began to recount all the day’s events in order, with Iole and Homer filling in gaps during the time when they were all separated.

“Is this all?” the diary said when she paused for a long moment.

“I think so,” Pandy said.

“If I may interject,” Iole said. “Tell it that Homer and I sent Echidna down the mountain on one of the carts ahead when she tried to delay us and steal our tips.”

“Really?” asked Pandy and Alcie at the same time.

“Lovely,” said Hermes. “However, though I personally found her offensive, cleanup will be chaos back there without her.”

Hermes raised his hand, his index finger pointing straight ahead. He was still for a moment, and Pandy saw his brow furrow as if he was searching for something.

“Got her,” he said to himself.

Then he raised his finger and arced his arm back over his head. High above, they all heard a tiny scream as Echidna went sailing through the night, back toward the top of Mount Pelion.

“And that’s it,” Pandy said to the diary after looking at her friends for a moment.

“Very well, daughter of Prometheus. Sleep well in the arms of Morpheus,” the diary said, the glow in its eyes fading. “And bathe when you get a chance.”

“Sleep is a superlative idea.” Iole yawned as Pandy stowed the diary.

“Agreed,” Pandy replied, crawling backward onto the closest sack.

“Sounds good to me,” Alcie said, spreading her cloak over her like a blanket. “Okay, okay . . . pears! What’s in these sacks? I can’t sleep on this!”

“It’s bones,” Pandy replied.

“Shall I make you all a little more comfortable?” Hermes asked.

“Yes!” said all four in unison.

“All right. It would be against Zeus’s wishes I’m certain, but . . . let . . . me . . . think.”

Pandy’s head was filled with visions of soft cushions and pillows stuffed with swan’s down, and thick silk blankets. Suddenly, all the sacks went mushy . . . and a bit damp.

“There,” said Hermes.

“I was expecting something in a light cotton,” whispered Alcie to Pandy.

“Excuse me, oh Swift-footed Hermes,” said Iole, trying to be polite. “What’s in them now?”

“Couscous,” said Hermes, and everyone caught the tiny laugh in his voice.

“Thank you,” said Pandy first, after a pause. Then she kicked Alcie.

“Right . . . uh, thank you!”

“Thank you,” Homer and Iole called together.

It was well after midnight when Iole, Alcie, and Homer drifted off, slightly damp and cold. Pandy remained awake a little longer, knowing that the following day was crucial and she needed some sort of plan for approaching Paris and getting the apple away from the goddesses. Finally, coming up with nothing solid or brilliant, she felt her eyelids grow heavy and a darkness envelop her mind, which, thankfully, blocked out Hermes’ endless humming of “Gimme Goat!”

CHAPTER TWELVE
It’s a Dog’s Life

Pandy woke the next morning to the sounds of muffled conversation from the front of the cart. Then her nostrils were filled with a wonderful, salty, buttery scent. Opening her eyes, she saw nothing but clear blue sky and the very tips of tall trees. Raising her head and peering beyond her feet, she saw Homer, still fast asleep at the end of the cart. Alcie, snoring softly, was curled up like a kitten with her head on his stomach.

“It’s not that I value one over the other,” she heard Iole say behind her. “I would simply like to get Plato and Aristotle in the same room and ask them both a few questions.”

Pandy chuckled to herself: Iole. With a brain the size of the Aegean.

“I can arrange that,” Hermes said. “But why?”

“Because I would be interested in hearing them argue certain points of their respective philosophies with and to each other.”

How she and Alcie had even become friends with Iole in the first place was a mystery, Pandy mused, watching the treetops waving overhead. What in the known world could Iole possibly have in common with two dummies like her and Alce? It was at moments like this that Pandy understood that Iole was destined for something great. She might even become the first woman phi loso -pher in Greece. Or she might become a politician and change the law to allow a woman to become a phi losopher. Of course, she would first have to argue that women should be granted full citizenship, with voting rights. But if anyone could accomplish that, it was Iole. Then Pandy’s heart skipped a beat.

One of the chief things that the gods despised in mortals was any sign of arrogance. Athena had turned Arachne into a spider because of her arrogance over her skill in weaving. Narcissus had been turned into a flower in large part because he couldn’t stop looking at his beautiful face. And now Iole was going on and on with her ginormous thinker about stuff no normal maiden would know about. All of the hints, clues, and help Hermes had been offering could just as easily stop if he were to become angry. Pandy was about to say something just to alter the conversation, when she heard Hermes laugh softly.

At once, Pandy realized that she had nothing to worry about. If Iole were talking to Zeus or Hera, or even Apollo, they might take offense. But Hermes, the cleverest and the smartest, would be the one immortal who would appreciate and cherish Iole’s intelligence. Iole would never outthink Hermes, but she’s the only one Pandy knew of who could make him
think
.

“But can you not accept that each was speaking for his own time and his words should be weighed accordingly?” Hermes was asking. “That values and perspectives, perhaps even morals, might have changed, depending upon culture and history and progress?”

“And that one perspective is no wiser than another, factoring in certain—”

“Iole, you’re letting that one burn,” Hermes interrupted. “Keep flipping.”

“Sorry.”

Pandy was hit with a whiff of the salty, buttery smell again.

“Mmmm!” she said involuntarily.

“And good morning to you, sleeper,” Hermes said, turning around.

“Something on this cart smells tuh-riffic,” Alcie said, stretching and sitting up. “And it’s not me.”

Crawling forward, Pandy and Alcie saw a thin bronze disc, about the size of a large serving plate, floating in the air between Hermes and Iole as the cart moved up a long hill. Eight huge, double-yolked eggs were frying on top as Iole kept flipping them over with two flat sticks.

“Hungry?” Hermes asked.

“So hungry!” Homer cried from the back of the cart.

Seconds later, they were all devouring the eggs and quickly asking for more. Iole was flipping eggs (as Hermes dropped them out of thin air) as fast as she could, but Homer was eating so fast that finally Hermes just loaded the bronze disc with three dozen, perfectly fried, and sent it floating to the middle of the cart.

Feeling the warmth in her stomach, Pandy looked around for the first time. The Phrygian landscape was not so different from Greece. Olive trees, firs . . . in fact, it looked almost exactly the same. The only difference she could see was that they were going up instead of down. She panicked for a moment.

“You have no faith,” Hermes said quietly.

She wished he would stop reading her thoughts.

“Give
that
up, missy. I enjoy it too much,” he said as Iole turned to look at him, wondering whom he was talking to. The cart hit a large bump in the road, jostling everyone. The fried egg Pandy was just biting into went flopping into her chin.

“This is Mount Ida?” Pandy asked, wiping away yellow yolk with the back of her hand.

“Of course.”

“And we’ve lost . . .”

“Fourteen days,” Hermes replied.

Pandy quickly tried to remember how many days the map had read the last time she looked. “106,” she thought, but she wanted to be sure. She pulled the blue bowl out of her pouch and stared at the three concentric rings on the outside. When the map wasn’t at work with the outside rings spinning into place, telling her where to go, what to capture, and how many days she had left, the symbols were slightly darker and she had to peer at the number. 91.

“91,” Hermes said, interrupting her thoughts. “You’re down fourteen
full
days.”

“Thank you.”

“So, pup,” Hermes asked brightly, “what’s your plan?” Many years later, when Iole was recounting this part of the adventure to her grandchildren, she would still be unable to say why she tensed up at that very moment. It was not exactly the unusual word the god had used— “pup”—but something in his voice.

“Yeah,” Alcie said. “What are we doing whenever we get where we’re going? What are you going to say to sheep-boy?”

“A little respect, Alcestis, if you please,” Hermes cautioned. “His name is Paris. Yes, he has a bowl of lentil stew where his brain should be. Yes, he is the worst shepherd on the mountain. Yes, he curses and kicks his dogs until they run. And yes, he dresses some of his sheep and certain tall trees as villagers and sings to them in the moonlight, because his people skills are tragic. But, he is still a prince of the Royal House of Troy.”

“But,” Pandy said, “
he
doesn’t know that, does he?”

“Not yet,” Iole answered.

“Right,” Pandy went on. “The legend says that Paris doesn’t find out about the prophecy— that he’s going to bring about the Trojan War and the fall of Troy— until Athena tells him today. He thinks he was born to be a shepherd. He doesn’t know he’s a prince in . . . in . . . oh!”

“Exile,” Iole said.

“Sheesh! Thank you. And in fact his father in Troy, King Priam, thinks he’s dead! Thinks that the old shepherd who took Paris as a baby actually left him on the mountain to perish as he was instructed, right?”

“Right,” said Iole.

“Is his name still Paris?” Alcie asked.

“It is,” Hermes answered. “The shepherd that raised the prince never felt any need to change it, seeing as how the child would never be going back to Troy.”

“A lot he knows,” Alcie retorted.

“So we can’t let on to Paris that we know anything that’s going to happen,” Pandy said. “We have to be casual about it. We just start, like, chatting. And we happen to be hanging around when three goddesses appear.”

“Still doesn’t answer the question of how you get possession of the golden apple, in front of the most powerful goddesses in the universe, when Aphrodite gives it to Paris for the judging,” Iole said.

No one had noticed that Hermes had brought the oxen to a halt.

“We have to get to him first,” Pandy said.

“Won’t work,” Homer said.

“What won’t, Homie?” Alcie asked.

“Your plan, Pandy. He’s on a mountainside. With sheep. He’s probably been up there for days, or weeks. Three maidens and a youth just don’t go walking around mountaintops. And he knows everybody from his village. He would be on guard. I know I would be.”

“Very good, Homer,” Hermes said. “Paris has the general intelligence of a tomato, but he would be suspicious. Now, if you were to try a different approach . . .”

Again, Iole tensed, looking at Hermes out of the corner of her eye.

“He dresses sheep and trees like people,” Alcie said. “He might be grateful to have someone human to talk to.” “We don’t even know where he is,” Pandy said.

“See those peaks?” Hermes pointed to a high crag. “There’s a little pasture on the western slope.”

“Apricots! I mean, hey, great! You’re taking us all the way up there in this?” Alcie said.

“Regretfully, our time together has come to an end. It is going to be my duty, my unbridled joy, to escort three selfish creatures to that pasture in just about the time it will take all of you to get up there,” Hermes said.

“Huh? Us?” Alcie said.

“We couldn’t climb that high in a week. We’ll never make it in time,” Pandy said quietly, looking up.

“I could,” Homer said.

“Fleet-footed Hermes,” Iole asked. “What did you mean by ‘a different approach’?”

“Homer
will
make it in time. You all will,” he replied. “Tangerines, how?” Alcie cried.

“Four legs are swifter than two.”

“Wha—?” Pandy said.

“What would a shepherd appreciate most if he saw it coming at him? Especially one with goat cheese for brains who has lost his own pack?” Hermes asked, smiling.

“Pack?” Alcie asked.

“No!” Iole cried.

“You’ve got it, my fluffy mutt-let!” Hermes said, beaming at Iole. “Paris just might love a visit from a large youth and his pack of herding . . . !”

Pandy didn’t see any part of Hermes’ body move: not a twitch nor a flick nor a blink. She only knew that, on instinct, she had turned to look at Alcie. One moment she’d glimpsed Alcie’s full head of auburn hair, and the next . . .

. . . Alcie was a dog.

Reddish brown and curly haired, with green eyes and a huge, lolling pink tongue. Iole, still sitting in the front and wagging her tail, was now an extremely small brown-eyed dog with a shiny black coat. Both Alcie and Iole were just staring at her. Stunned, Pandy looked down at her own paws, covered in rich brown hair. Suddenly, the delicious scent of fried egg yolk hit her new, long, black-tipped nose, which was far more effective than her original, and without thinking, she inhaled deeply, licking a tiny, errant drop off her furry jaw.

“This is your figgy fault!” Alcie barked to Pandy.

“You were going to do this all along!” Iole yelped at Hermes.

“Watch the tone, scruffy,” Hermes said. “And yes, I have been planning this for a bit. You should thank me. And you will . . . later.”

“Dogs?” Pandy cried. “This is helping?”

“Much later.”

“I’m a dog!” Alcie barked.

She turned to Homer, still very human, and very surprised.

“Homie, I’m a dog! He can’t even understand me. Can you understand me, Homer?”

“It’s a little rough, but yeah,” Homer said, catching the vowel sounds amid the growls.

“Good,” Hermes said. “All right, all of you, off and running!”

“Wait!” Pandy said. “Our things! Where’s our stuff?”

“Check the neck,” Hermes replied.

Sure enough, around their necks hung small pouches securely tied with strong leather bands.

“It’s all in there. It will be restored to its original shape and size when you are.”

“But our hands!” Pandy howled. “We can’t use our hands!”

“As you like to say,” Hermes replied, “you’ll think of something.”

Without warning, all four were standing on the side of the road, watching Hermes flick the oxen with his crop. The cart moved down the road, and they could see it dematerializing into thin air as the wind carried Hermes’ voice back to them.

“Run!”