Quicksilver (2 page)

FOUR

Tartarus is near the fields, but so different it could be in another realm altogether. It’s dank and stony, a soul-shredder of a place where the wicked suffer and the Furies come to watch. Whenever I visit, I feel as if I’m losing buoyancy; the wings on my sandals seem like weights, and moving swiftly takes effort.

I passed through the great obsidian portals of Hades’ palace, whose gleaming black surfaces turn every visitor’s reflection into a wraith, and got ready to see Tityus.

I am never quite prepared.

One step inside and there he was, poor giant, splayed on a stone platform, writhing against his chains as two enormous, blank-eyed vultures tore hungrily at his liver. It was his punishment—his eternal punishment— for offending Zeus. Did I mention that my father could be harsh at times?

The three Furies watched from below, as gleeful as undetected felons at a public execution. This was how the bright-eyed, sharp-faced crones took a break from hounding and tormenting guilty mortals: they watched evisceration. I’ve seen them place bets on which vulture would make Tityus scream the loudest.

The grisly spectacle was Hades’ way of saying hello.

I hurried along the stone passageway, trying as always to ignore Tityus’ cries, and soon came upon a man flailing in the air above a food-laden banquet table. This was Tantalus, whose mad hubris had led him to kill his young son, cook him up, and feed him to Zeus and Demeter. He’d wanted to test them, to see if they knew what they were eating. Their horror quickly became implacable wrath, and they hung Tantalus here like a fly in a web, to starve for all time.

You were wrong about the gods,
I thought, passing him by.
They do know everything. They just don’t always pay
attention.

The last unfortunate in this dreary exhibit was Sisyphus. To me he was the saddest of all, though the others might disagree. If offered the choice, Tityus or Tantalus might actually prefer his punishment to their own, for Sisyphus was not suffering daily liver extraction or acute, aching starvation. He was merely pushing a huge boulder up a steep stone ramp only to see it roll down again, over and over and over until the end of time.

I paused for a moment at the base of the ramp. Sisyphus had once been a king famed for his cleverness. He had founded the great city of Corinth and then dared to capture Thanatos the Death Spirit so that no one on earth could die. This bold act had angered both Hades and Zeus to the frothing point, and in a rare moment of fraternal accord they had cast him down here. Now he knew only sweat and frustration.

It was a splendid trick,
I thought, watching his slow ascent.
Inspired. If it were up to me, I’d free you right now.

The moral support was unspoken and probably didn’t help him one bit. But I couldn’t do more, unless I was willing to face a thunderbolt or two, which I was not. So I pushed away my futile thoughts and summoned up a burst of speed.

It was time to face Hades.

FIVE

There are many long, immensely tall stone corridors on the way to the throne room, but my winged sandals made short work of them, even at old-man-chases-young-thief speed, which was the best I could do at the moment. When I arrived at the entry, the four blank-faced guards remained impassive, probably because they couldn’t see me. An unseen arrival provides many opportunities for eavesdropping and borrowing, two of my favorite pastimes, so I was already wearing my Cap of Invisibility.

I glided in past the guards. Hades was on his black diamond throne, deep in conversation with Kore, who sat beside him on a gleaming new diamond throne of her own. She looked as beautiful as ever, slim and barefoot and slightly unkempt. But now she wore garlands of gold and gems rather than flowers, and a morose pout.

Except for the guards, she and Hades were alone.

“But why?” Hades was asking, almost pleadingly, as I drew near and settled down.

“Because it’s ugly!” she replied, twining a long wheat-colored ringlet around her index finger. “Because a garden should be beautiful, and fragrant, and uplifting! It should have a . . . a soul, not a . . . what did you call it? A
projected
something?”

“Projected yield.”

“Incredible,” she murmured, shaking her head so that her curls rearranged themselves fetchingly on her bosom. She picked up another ringlet and teased it, unaware of the effect she was having on Hades, who watched her slack-mouthed.

He’s practically drooling,
I thought.
I’ve never seen him
like this.
And then it came to me: Hades was in love.

My sour, nitpicky, rules-and-regulations uncle in love? What a wonderful joke! I stopped my laughter just in time by squeezing my nose and bending double. My eyes teared up with the effort.

“Give Ascalaphus a different job,” said Kore.

“But he’s an excellent gardener,” objected Hades. “He works wonders down here, without any sunshine or rainfall! And he’s not suited for much else. Not the sharpest sword in the armory, poor man.”

She played with her hair in silence.

“His radishes are very tasty. His leeks, too. And those peaches of his are delicious. Just the sight of them drives Tantalus wild. You really should try one,” he added, with a quick glance at her.

She exhaled derisively. “If you insist on keeping me here,” she said, “I’d like
something
to do. Something I actually
enjoy
—like gardening.”

“But—” Hades began.

“It’s not as if I don’t know how,” she interrupted. “I’ve worked with my mother, Demeter—Goddess of the Corn-field, Barley Mistress,
Torch-Bearing Fury
”—she pronounced this with angry emphasis—“all my life. Before you kidnapped me, I was nurturing the crops of entire countries. If that means anything,” she concluded bitterly.

Hades was visibly stricken. “I—I want you to be happy,” he stammered.

“If you won’t let me go, let me have the garden.” She looked him in the eye without a trace of fear; at that moment she could have been her mother’s twin.

Hades sighed. The lines in his face seemed to deepen. Then he bowed his head slowly, giving assent. “I’ll speak to Ascalaphus,” he said, rising. “Best if you stay here.”

“As you wish,” replied Kore, watching impassively as he strode away. The instant he was gone, her face softened, her eyes filled with tears, and she let out a high whimper, like a kitten’s. Then, eyes clenched, she began to cry in earnest, wailing and sobbing much as Demeter had. It was a sorry sight.

I leaped to my feet, pulling off my cap. “Kore!” I said. “Don’t cry.”

Seeing me, she yelped in surprise. “Hermes! What are
you
doing here?”

“I’ve come to take you home,” I said. “If you’d like to go.” I smiled. “Would you?”

“Ha!” She laughed, choked, coughed, and finally recovered herself. “What do
you
think?” Before I could reply, she wiped her face on her skirt and leaped up to embrace me. She was slender but muscular, smelling of hay and chamomile. “It is
very
good to see you,” she said. Her bare feet had landed on my toes, and now she drew away.

“Thanks,” I replied, wishing I could put on my cap again. I was blushing furiously.

Kore took no notice. “How is my mother?” she asked.

“Very unhappy without you.”

She blinked, eyes brimming. “I miss her so,” she said. “Does she know where I am?”

I nodded. “She persuaded Zeus to send me here. I have his chariot,” I told her, trying not to sound boastful. Still, I was pleased to see her eyes widen. Zeus’ chariot was legendary. “I can fly you to Olympus as soon as you are ready,” I said, “but first—”

“I’m ready now!” she cried, grasping my hand and hauling me toward the door so forcefully that I nearly tripped over my ankle wings. I enjoyed her strong grip almost as much as her embrace; even so, I managed to halt her in the corridor.

“You have to ask Hades’ permission.”

That stopped her. “He won’t let me go.”

“He must,” I said, “by his own decree.” And I quoted: “‘Any being admitted to Hades must remain for 46 million lunar cycles or in perpetuity, whichever is longer, if he, she, or it has consumed the Food of the Dead. If, while in Hades, said being has not chewed, swallowed, inhaled, absorbed, or in any other manner ingested the aforementioned Food of the Dead, he, she, or it may leave upon verbal or written request.’ ”

“Ah,” said Kore.

Perhaps she doesn’t understand,
I thought, so I added, “As long as you haven’t eaten anything, all you have to do is ask him to release you, and he’ll have to do it. By the way, I hear the food down here is terrible.”

“Mmm . . . the radishes look decent,” she responded vaguely. I knew that tone of voice all too well; I used it often, when I couldn’t tell the truth but didn’t want to lie. Evasion is one of my standbys.

Then she asked, “Could I try on your cap? Maybe wear it until we get to the garden?”

“Why not?” I handed it to her and she put it on, then twirled before me in her bare feet. “Am I invisible?” she asked eagerly.

Her hopeful smile betrayed her.

“Sorry, Kore. It only works for me.” This wasn’t strictly true. I could command it to work for anyone, but I wasn’t about to tell her so. I had to abide by Hades’ Regulations; Zeus had been firm about that. Eyes downcast, she handed it back, and we walked on in silence.

Nice try,
I thought, wondering what she’d eaten and knowing I’d find out all too soon.

SIX

Hades’ garden is just an ordinary little kitchen patch—a few rows of vegetables and herbs, some fruit trees, and a grape arbor—sitting at the back of the palace. It was certainly nothing to get exercised about, at least in my opinion, but as Kore and I walked in, we could see that Ascalaphus, a tall, stooped man wearing a filthy apron and a knotted head rag, was very troubled indeed. The shovel in his hands looked as if it were just barely propping him up, and he was staring at Hades like a stunned sacrificial bull.

“Kore wants it?” he said. “But it’s mine! I’ve tended it for centuries. I want to keep tending it.”

“I’ve already told you, Ascalaphus,” said Hades. “You deserve an easier job—something less demanding than the garden. And it doesn’t have to be Sisyphus,” he continued. “If you don’t want to push his boulder down from the top of the ramp, you don’t have to—though I thought you’d enjoy it.”

Ascalaphus shook his head morosely.

“Maybe you could throw a grape at Tantalus every now and then,” suggested Hades. “Add to his torment. What do you say?” Then, seeing us, he exclaimed, “Hermes! What brings you here?”

“Greetings, Uncle,” I replied. “I’ve come at my father’s behest.”

“You usually do,” he replied sourly. “And what does he want?”

“He wants you to let me go,” Kore announced. “Hermes has come to take me home. I’m leaving, Hades.”

“Leaving!” echoed Hades, looking even more dumbfounded than his gardener. “But I’ve just finished telling Ascalaphus about the garden, that you wish to tend it.”

Ascalaphus was glaring at Kore as if she were a weed he’d like to pull, but she failed to notice; she was intent on prompting me. “Tell him,” she said. “Remind him about the rule.”

“Rule? What rule?” asked Hades.

“It’s in your Codes and Regulations,” I said. “In section 46, subsection 2. And I quote: ‘Any being admitted to Hades must remain for 46 million lunar cycles or in perpetuity, whichever is longer, and must thereinafter abide by all existing Codes and Regulations as well as those not yet formulated, particularly in regard to egress, which is strictly prohibited.’ ”

“Exactly,” said Hades, with an I-rest-my-case glance at Kore, who prodded me nervously.

“There’s a footnote to the section,” I said. “It reads as follows: ‘If, while in Hades, said being has not chewed, swallowed, inhaled, absorbed, or in any other manner ingested the Food of the Dead, he, she, or it may leave upon verbal or written request.’ ”

Hades took this reminder of his own handiwork stolidly, and when Kore quickly made her formal request, he granted it with a nod. But when she turned and began to hurry away without a goodbye, he watched with such profound sadness that I felt sorry for him.

Heartbroken,
I thought, finding it not funny at all.

“She’s going?” Ascalaphus was confused.

“I can’t keep her. It’s in the Regulations,” said Hades.

He was still trying to explain his wife’s departure— by now she was skipping into the palace—when I took my leave. With effort I pushed into dog-running-to-long-lost-master and caught up with her at Sisyphus’ ramp. She was running hard, panting.

“You ate something, didn’t you?” I said. We passed Sisyphus, who watched us from the corner of his eye but kept on climbing.

She slowed down. “I couldn’t help it,” she admitted. “I was bored, and the fruit looked so good. I ate five pomegranate seeds, that’s all. But Hades didn’t see me.”

Let’s hope not,
I thought. We neared Tantalus, who was straining to reach a gleaming pitcher inches below him and failing. Grunts of desperation gave way to screams of frustration. The Furies, perhaps bored with Tityus, had settled near Tantalus like a trio of crows. They watched happily, gobbling fruit, cheese, and olives.

“Hermes, take me with you!” Tantalus shouted. “I’ll reward you handsomely, I swear! Just cut me down!”

I have no sympathy for Tantalus. His crime was heinous, far worse than anything Sisyphus or Tityus ever did, yet he cries for mercy, while they suffer in silence. On the other hand, the Furies mock him with special savagery. I’ve seen them offer him bits of meat, calling it child’s flesh, and then, when he reached for it anyway, drop it to the floor so he couldn’t have it.

“Maybe next time,” I called.

Zeus’ team watched us with their ears pricked as we crossed back over the Styx on the raft. “There they are,” I said proudly. “The fastest horses in creation. You’d better hang on to me when we take off.”

“I will,” breathed Kore.

I felt positively heroic.

SEVEN

The horses were eager to go. They danced in place, nodding their massive heads and swishing their tails. Kore stood behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist, her breath warm on my back as I took up the reins. It was a most pleasant sensation.

“Ready?” I asked.

“Stop!” The shout cut off her reply. It was Hades, who stood with Ascalaphus on Charon’s ferry. “Stop,” he repeated, “before I bring on the Furies!” They were mid-river. Charon was rowing harder than a galley slave in a sea battle.

Kore clutched me. “Let’s go!” she whispered. “We can still get away!”

I turned to stare at her. No one gets away from the Furies. If Hades sent them, they would follow us twice around the world, screeching lustily all the way, and Kore knew it. But if she knew, she didn’t care, because she snatched the reins from me and cracked them, hard, before I could stop her.

Hades jumped onto the shore. “Kore!” he cried. It was the sound of raw torment, as pained as anything I had ever heard from Tityus, or Tantalus, or Sisyphus. Ascalaphus trailed him, bellowing.

And then two things happened: Ascalaphus charged at us, and the horses leaped into the air.

We were about six feet off the ground when Ascalaphus caught hold of a wheel. And then, like a bear clambering over a log, he hoisted himself into the chariot.

“I am coming with you,” he grunted.

“Hermes!” gasped Kore, clutching my chest, but there was nothing I could do; the startled horses were bucking and rearing in the air, and it took all my strength to subdue them.

As I did, I wondered what had prompted Ascalaphus to join us. Surely he wasn’t trying to escape—he was too attached to his garden. But if he was chasing Kore out of loyalty to Hades, he was making a serious mistake.
If you
succeed in bringing her back,
I thought,
you’ll lose your precious garden
.
You’re no match for Kore.
I felt a twinge of sympathy for him. He wasn’t a bad fellow, though he could have used better manners. As we flew over the Asphodel Fields, he ranted at Kore.

“You lied. You betrayed your husband. You broke his heart. I’ve told him you ate those seeds. I saw you. I will tell Zeus. He will send you back. And then you will be Hades’ wife forever.”

Kore trembled as his accusations hit her. “Shut up, you stinking dung beetle!” she retorted, but it had no effect. He kept berating her through the tunnel, in the dark, all the way to the mouth of Taenarus Cave.

Meanwhile, the inevitable lists were taking shape in my mind.

Good
Kore reunited with Demeter; grateful to me for rescue
Zeus’ horses unharmed; possibly available again

Bad
Ascalaphus swearing that Kore broke the rules
Zeus honor-bound to return her to Hades
Demeter miserably unhappy
No paternal approval, no horses, no Kore

There was no getting around it: the bad far outweighed the good. Zeus would be disappointed, and I’d never drive his team again, much less enjoy Kore’s favor.

Unless I came up with a solution.