Fleeced (6 page)

“Having problems?” said Aries.

Theseus slid off the branch onto the ground.

“Actually,” he said, shaking the leaves from his hair, “I’m just getting the hang of it.”

“Really?” sniffed Aries. “Won’t you have to learn how to fly first?” He held out a hoof in the moonlight and admired its gleam. “Of course, whilst I don’t like to brag, I was a master of aeronautics myself, you know, when I had my fleece. Those were the days, looping the loop over the Aegean Sea.”

“So, it can’t be that hard, can it?” said Theseus.

“Not if a sheep can manage it,” agreed the Scroll, just before Aries flattened it with his hoof.

“It’s not,” said Aries. “Not when you know the secret, that is.”

“What secret?” demanded Theseus. He folded his arms over his chest. “You might as well tell me. I mean, it’s not like you’re going to win, but at least if you tell me, you’ll get a mention in my victor’s speech.”

“Ooh, that’d be nice,” said Aries, careful to keep the sarcasm from his voice. “All right, then. The secret is to point your toes in opposite directions.”

“Opposite directions?” said Theseus suspiciously.

Aries nodded. “Works like a charm.”

There was a muffled mutter from the Scroll, but scrolls pinned beneath hooves don’t make a lot of
noise.

Or indeed sense.

“All right, then,” said Theseus and, clicking his heels, rose into the air again, wobbling like a trainee tightrope walker.

Taking a deep breath, he splayed his feet into a letter V, whereupon each foot shot out in opposite directions and forced him into the splits before flipping him over backwards.

“Aries!” he squealed as rolled back and back towards the start, turning like a baby’s push-along toy. “You’ll pay for…” but the rest of his words were lost on the night air as he whirled away through the trees.

There was a distant and painful-sounding crash. Probably lots of rude words too, but luckily Aries couldn’t hear them.

“That was a dirty trick,” said the Scroll snootily.

“Hardly,” replied Aries. “That was tactics!”

As the Scroll scrumpled in disagreement, Aries turned to look down the course towards the next obstacle. It appeared to consist of a series of banners tied between trees, stretched one in front of the other across the grass.

Close by them, Athena was leaning out of her parked chariot explaining what they were to the
crowd, but she was too far away for Aries to hear.

“What are they?” he asked, starting to gallop again.

“Pictures,” replied the Scroll bumpily, as Aries thumped into his stride. “Apparently Earth people like taking them. You’re supposed to take one and swim across the lake with it. Though I’d be obliged if you didn’t take me in to the waaaaa—”

The Scroll flew into the air as Aries shrieked and skidded to a stop. His haunches froze and he was only vaguely aware of the Scroll muttering furiously from the grass nearby.

But he couldn’t listen.

Or answer.

Because Medea, the sorceress, was stdnin rit ni fornt fo him.

Oh, I’m sorry…

The very idea of her looming out of the twilight like that has made my typing go to pot.

Just give me a moment to compose myself, would you?

VI

C
ROWN
OF
R
AM

Ah, that’s better.

Thank you.

What had actually startled Aries was in fact simply a painting of Medea. Life-sized and horribly accurate, it’s true, but still only a likeness of her copied onto Athena’s banners by the Underworld artists. Now, as his breathing finally slowed down, Aries took a closer look.

The scene was of the night his fleece had been stolen and showed the
Argo
sailing out of Kolkis Harbour. Surf lapped at her bow as Jason manned the helm whilst Medea stared out of the picture, her smile more like a snarl, her hand wrapped around the fleece. She looked so real that Aries half-expected to hear her glassy laugh or see her push back that tangle of long black hair, smoothing its single lock of violet, twisting it round and round her pale fingers the way she used to when she thought hard.

He recognised it as a copy of one of Jason and Medea’s wedding presents, when they’d tied the knot – bless! – although, as with many celebrity couples, the wedding presents had lasted much longer than the marriage.

Dragging his eyes from the sorceress’s silvery gaze, Aries looked at the fleece and felt his heart lift like a harpy in a high wind. Even though it was just so much gold paint on canvas, it still dazzled the rest of the picture into shadow.

Now, if this were a film rather than a most excellent book, the music would swell in a cacophony of violins and romantic pianos. There’d be a glorious sunset on the screen to silhouette Aries, whilst the audience, goggle-eyed and slack-jawed, tossed popcorn frantically into their mouths and down their jumpers because that’s what always happens with popcorn in the dark.

Why?

Because then, right then, at that very moment, Aries knew that no matter what anyone else had to say – not Alex, Athena, the Skeleton Soldiers, the Argonauts – he
had
to win.

Snorting, he lowered his head and thundered at the banner, jabbing it with his horns until the ropes either side snapped and the picture wrapped
itself around his head like a badly wrapped mummy. Then he snatched up the Scroll and for a moment stood and looked out over the black giggling water of the lake.

That’s right,
giggling
, not gurgling.

Because when the oracles had overheard the tourists complaining about sirens waking them in the night, they hadn’t realised that Earth people meant the
whoo-whoo
sort of sirens that you find on fire engines. No, they had filled the lake with Greek Sirens, the supernatural water-women of old Greece, who’d once enchanted sailors with their songs, luring them to smash their boats on the rocks and drown
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. Tonight those mermaids rose up through the glittering lake to sabotage competitors instead.

“Brilliant!” murmured Aries, picking his way through the spectators, who stood, frozen as statues, glaze-eyed and silent, hypnotised by the singing.

“You reckon?” said the Scroll.

Aries nodded.

Not because he could swim as well or as fast as the others. He couldn’t. But because of the
little-known fact that Siren songs don’t have the teeniest effect on rams.

But Aries could tell that Herakles was already transfixed. Standing on the lakeside with his hands on his enormous hips he swayed in time to the Sirens’ song, chuckling as they brushed their long hair and flicked their fish tails in the air. But Jason didn’t look transfixed at all. Looking across the water, his picture of Medea rolled up tightly and tucked into his belt, he grinned and pushed something into his ears, something soft that rolled like dough and glowed buttery-yellow in the lantern light.

“What’s he doing, Scroll?” said Aries, craning his neck to try and see more.

“Bees’ wax,” replied the Scroll knowingly (which is, after all, what you’d expect from an All-Knowing Scroll). “One of his fans passed it to him at the start of the race. He’s going to use the same trick as Odysseus.”

Panicked, Aries remembered how Odysseus had blocked his ears with bees’ wax on the return voyage from the Battle of Troy, making himself deaf in order to captain his ship safely past the Sirens. He watched wordlessly as Jason dived in, swam past the bobbing sirens, rendered harmless as water lilies, and hauled himself out.

“That’s it then!” cooed the Scroll. “He’s won!”

Aries felt the Scroll flutter in delight as the Argonaut smoothed his wet hair, adjusted his chiton and began strolling towards the artists who were already gathering around the Finishing Knoll armed with clay tablets and paintbrushes, set to capture his face as he collected the flag and won.

“Not yet he hasn’t!” muttered Aries.

He began backing away from the lake, watching Herakles, who lay on its bank, wallowing like a besotted walrus, his hand tucked inside the head of his lion-skin pelt, making its jaw open and close, to make the Sirens laugh.

Then, ignoring the Scroll’s papery shrieks, Aries charged. Leaping off the bank he sailed high into the air before bellyflopping into the water.

Now, as any teacher will tell you, when you drop something big into water, the same bigness (or ‘volume’ as they like to say in science) of water splashes out. Consequently when a gigantic ram leaps into water, a gigantic ram-sized volume of water
whooshes
out. Or in this case
up
– up and along in a moving wall of water that bowled over the lake and smashed down on the Sirens’ heads, snuffing out their singing.

Herakles immediately started to come round. Sitting up, he prodded his ears with his fingers, blinking in confusion as the Sirens vanished in a
flip-flap
of fish tails and curses, beneath the surface of the lake.

“Ladies?” murmured Herakles, looking at the flat, unmoving water.

“Over here!” called Aries, from the middle of the lake.

Herakles frowned. “You’re not a lady.”

“No,” said Aries. “Well spotted. I am in fact a ram. But I do have a message for you.”

Herakles brightened. “Is it from the ladies?”

“No,” said Aries. “It’s from Jason. Remember him? And that little race you were in?”

“Jason?” growled Herakles, rising to his feet.

“Yes,” said Aries, starting to swim gently towards

the far bank. “He’s too busy winning to talk to you in person, but he asked me to say, ‘Better luck next time!’”

“Better luck?” Herakles roared and launched himself into the water.

A couple of seconds later he plunged past Aries in a fury of foam and froth, and clambered out on the other side.

Aries swam on, watching as the big man sprinted over the grass and pounded up the knoll behind Jason, leaving an open-mouthed Athena in his wake, before hurling himself at Jason’s legs and slamming
the young man to the ground. Aries scrambled out of the water and ran past the furious blur of leopard and lion skin as the two Argonauts punched and pounded each other.

Galloping on, he craned his head towards the flagpole at the top of the knoll. A fabulous trick had he been a giraffe, but being a ram, with only a short, thick neck, it didn’t make the slightest bit of difference and just as he reached the flagpole Jason finally leaped free of Herakles, shot past him and began climbing for the flag. A second later Herakles threw himself onto the pole, reaching up and clawing at Jason’s ankles.

Jason kicked as Herakles punched, swinging his fists like demolition balls. Jason leaned out. Herakles leaned in. Swinging around the pole, they looked like a thin man and his fat reflection in a fun-house mirror as the flagpole lurched and creaked, bending left and right, as the crowd roared, cheering and shouting for their favourites.

Not that anyone cheered for Aries, of course. Nor did they notice when he snatched one of the flagpole’s straining guy ropes and began furiously chewing through it.

Except Alex.

That’s right.

Because, wondering why he’d not been summoned to untangle Aries from the Web or prise him out of the Tube, he’d come to see what was happening for himself. And now, despite his annoyance at Aries’ stubbornness, he couldn’t help feeling a spark of delight at seeing his friend at the finish, one rope now broken and the second clamped in the ram’s mouth. Only Alex watched as Aries stalked backwards with sweat dribbling off his muzzle and tendons rising in his neck, pulling the pole downwards. It arched down, lower and lower, until its tip touched the grass, but it was only when Jason felt the prickle of thistles against his neck that he glanced sideways and found himself eyeball to eyeball with Aries.

“Greetings!” said Aries, out of one side of his mouth, before snatching the flag with his front hoof and releasing the rope.

The flagpole whipped upright, firing Herakles and Jason into the sky, up, up and well, even
more
up, sailing across the starry sky like two squealing starfish and disappearing into the darkness.

The crowd stared after them, stunned. Until they noticed the drumming of horns against the flagpole. Only then did they look back down to see Aries beaming from horn to horn, the winner’s
flag hanging out of his mouth.

“You did it!” shouted Alex, running up the grass of the Finishing Knoll. He knelt down and threw his arms around Aries’ neck, burying his face in his side. “You idiot!”

Athena’s chariot creaked to a halt beside them. Stepping down, she picked the Scroll up from where it lay at Aries’ hooves, her face a muddle of surprise and bright amusement.

“Come with me, ram!”

On either side of them, the dumbstruck crowd parted, staring wide-eyed at Aries as he followed the goddess to a stage lit by flaming torches and set with a golden pedestal on which a circlet of fresh laurels rested.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Athena, looking out over the bemused faces of the spectators as Aries scrambled up beside her. “I present the champion of our competition!”

The crowd began to clap uncertainly as she set the laurels on Aries’ head.

“So then, ram,” she said, straightening up, “tell us the nature of your quest!”

Aries looked out over the waiting crowd and cleared his throat. “I’m going to find and bring back my fleece!”

“Your fleece?” said Athena a few moments later, her voice breaking the astonished silence that now engulfed the crowd. “That’s quite a mission, particularly for a ruminant. However, since you’ve shown such cunning and guile in our competition, perhaps the Fates might smile on you.”

“I doubt it,” muttered the Scroll, drawing its papery curls in so tightly that it looked more like a reed.

Ignoring its remark, Athena lifted the Scroll with her left hand. “Aries, as our champion, you may take this scroll with you.” She raised her right hand and fluttered her fingers. “I, Athena, daughter of Zeus, command you, Scroll, obey your new master.”

There was a brilliant flash, a puff of
ruby-coloured
smoke and a shower of silver stars as Athena unfurled the Scroll to reveal an ancient hand-drawn map. Blinking against the smoke, she gave a little cough before carrying on.

“Firstly, the Scroll’s map will guide you through the Underworld to the portal to Earth, which lies hidden behind a statue in my great temple in Athens
13
.
Then, once up on Earth, just as a compass reveals four directions, so the Scroll will reveal answers to four questions. But only four.” She paused and looked down at Aries. “You can count to four, can’t you?”

Aries glared at her from beneath his leafy crown.

“What about the gift of tongues?” he said. “Greeks on a quest are always given it to overcome language problems.”

“I’m just coming to that,” said Athena. She rolled the Scroll up and wound a yellow ribbon around it. “Although, given the circumstances, there’s a bit of a problem.”

“Problem?” Aries waited, watching as the goddess pursed her lips into a dark heart-shaped frown.

“The thing is,” Athena went on, “that although you’ll be able to understand every language on Earth when you hear it or see it written down, you won’t be able to speak.”

Aries stared blankly at her.

“Because in case you’ve forgotten,” Athena explained, “everyday Earth rams don’t talk. So, you simply can’t draw attention to yourself – or us down here – by chatting.”

She bent forwards and tied the Scroll around Aries’ neck so that it hung down like a cowbell.

“So how am I going to find out about anything?” said Aries miserably.

A low murmur spread through the crowd as the spectators considered this. Which was when Alex stepped up onto the stage.

“I’ll do the talking for him,” he said.

Aries’ eyes grew wide in surprise.

Perhaps yours have, too?

Or maybe you’re thinking,
Oh, how ridiculous! Alex is supposed to be the sensible one!
And indeed on a normal day Alex would have been the first to agree with you. Except that today had been anything but normal and right now Alex’s emotions felt more tangled than
Medusa
’s snaky tresses on a bad hair day. Guilt at not helping Aries to prepare writhed with a grudging sense of triumph at his friend’s victory and wrestled with a python-sized fear at what might lie ahead. Of course he knew that going back to Earth to try and find Aries’ fleece was an outrageously stupid thing to do. Not only were their chances of success smaller than an ant’s kneecaps but it was possible they might never come back. Momentarily he wondered if it hurt when a Greek ghost was extinguished. And yet, as he stood beside Aries on the stage, he understood that it would be even more stupid to let Aries go back on
his own. Besides, he reflected, if a ram could beat five Greek heroes through sheer determination, wasn’t there a tiny chance they might succeed?