Fleeced (8 page)

Just then a guard in a grey shirt and trousers raced into the room, shouting at the tourists. Tall and thin with a fierce black moustache and hair that stuck out beneath his cap like a scrubbing brush, Rose recognised Eric, because, as she would have pointed out, you didn’t spend your entire life in a museum without getting to know everyone who worked there. He sprinted across the floor, scrabbled
up onto the empty stand and threw his arms around the boy’s chest.

“Gotcha!” he shouted, pinning the struggling boy to the spot. “Damaging the property of this ’ere museum is a chargeable offence!”

The boy twisted and squirmed, his bare feet slipping over the smooth plinth as Eric pulled him onto the floor. Bleating wildly, the sheep leaped down, just as Ron, a second guard, chubby and breathless, lumbered into the room and rolled back his shirtsleeves. Fingers twitching, he pursued the sheep through a party of Japanese schoolgirls before chasing it into a cluster of old ladies. There was a
whumping
sound as copious handbags thumped the sheep, before it reappeared wearing a straw hat, trimmed with yellow roses, over its horns. Now blinded by the hat, it skidded into a pushchair, sending a teddy bear into the air. Two tiny pink fists waved furiously from under the canopy.

Looking desperate, the sheep tossed the hat away and galloped past Rose. For a second she caught the look in its eyes: wild, angry… and something else.

Intelligent?

Rose blinked the weird thought away. And yet, she felt certain there was something different about the animal, quite apart from its size and
baldness and that sparkle of gold across its brow.

Finally, the sheep gasped to a standstill and Ron, sensing his chance, seized a wooden chair that stood against the wall and walked towards it, brandishing the chair in front of him like a lion tamer. In response, the ram lifted its shoulders and lowered its head, snorting through flapping black nostrils.

“Aries! No!” The tourists’ heads swung round like spectators at a tennis match as the boy shouted, straining against Eric’s hold. “Don’t do it!”

Rose stared at the boy and then at the sheep.

Aries?

To her amazement, the sheep relaxed, lowered its shoulders and looked towards the boy.

It’s behaving more like a dog than a sheep,
thought Rose.
Stranger still, as if it understands what the boy says.
And that, she reminded herself, was completely crazy.

Ron set down the chair. “That’s better.”

He walked through the sea of startled tourists to the spoilt plinth, unhooked the velvet crowd-rope and fashioned it into a makeshift lead.

“Easy now,” he murmured, walking back towards the sheep with the rope held out boldly in front of him.

Rose blinked, certain that the sheep rolled its
eyes at the ceiling as Ron draped the rope around its neck. Holding the lead tight, Ron returned his attention to the boy.

“You one of them protestors?” he barked. “Them that wants the British Museum’s marbles back in Greece again?”

The boy looked confused.

“Protestors?” gasped a nearby American lady and lifted her gigantic sunglasses off her nose for a better look. “I get it! That’s why they’re dressed up in such a kooky way, isn’t it? Like the old Greeks?” She stepped closer and poked the boy’s shoulder. “He’s real convincing, but the sheep’s a bit moth-eaten, ain’t he?”

The sheep flared its nostrils. Quickly the boy stamped his foot and after a quick exchange of looks the sheep slumped back down on its haunches, frowning.

“Guys,” said Rose hesitantly, as Ron tightened his grip on the lead. “Shouldn’t we clear the room?”

Twenty-three pairs of American eyes, five pairs of Japanese eyes, two pairs of guards’ eyes, the sheep’s golden eyes and the boy’s brown ones all turned to stare at Rose. She felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment and, if you’d asked her later why she chose to speak up at that particular moment,
she couldn’t have told you. Perhaps it was because a boy and a sheep turning up to demolish relics in the British Museum was
the
single most awesome thing that had ever happened to her. After all, not even Hazel Praline had her glamorous days interrupted by livestock. Or perhaps it was just because they really looked like they needed some help.

“I mean,” she went on, “it’d be safer, wouldn’t it?”

Eric took one hand from the boy and mopped his brow with a handkerchief.

“She’s right, Ron!” He cleared his throat and turned to the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, if we might ’ave your cooperation, please?”

A moment later, Rose stood holding the sheep’s rope as Ron and Eric ushered the tourists out through the double doors. Aware that the sheep was staring at her and tilting his muzzle from side to side to get a proper look, she turned to face him whereupon he slapped his lips together and concentrated on the ceiling instead.

A couple of minutes later the guards had bolted the doors and walked back across the empty hall.

“Forty years,” muttered Eric. “Forty years I’ve looked after that statue lady. Never allowed so much as a lollipop to touch her and now look!”

“It’s not that bad,” said the boy. “After all,
she’d already lost both her arms.”

Eric and Ron stared open-mouthed.

“And,” the boy continued, “her stone’s grey. She used to be pure white.”

“Comedian as well as vandal, are we?” said Ron, his face darkening to a shade of plum. “We’ll see how funny you find it when the police arrive.”

“Police?” said Rose.

“Of course,” said Ron. “This here is criminal damage.”

Rose thought quickly. “But the police won’t arrest a sheep, will they?”

“No,” Ron muttered coldly. “They’ll bring along,” and here he made a cutting gesture across his neck with his finger, “special services.”

Aries, who wasn’t much into sign language at the best of times and particularly those from a modern Englishman, had no trouble deciphering this one. Rose heard a noisy gulp from the other end of the lead.

“That’d be awful!” said Rose.

“Hardly,” said Eric, reaching for his mobile phone and looking around him. “
This
is what’s awful. One of the museum’s most important finds ruined and me with only three weeks to go till retirement. Where will me invite to the queen’s garden party be now?”

“Hold on,” said Rose. “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t I have a word with my mum? Really, she’s bound to know someone who could fix the statue.” She looked at the shattered mess on the floor. “You know, someone who’s good with glue.”

The guards looked at her, their interest piqued. Everyone knew how dedicated Rose’s mother was and the hours she spent working on the museum’s artefacts, and slowly their faces brightened. She was as organised as a phone directory. Of course, she’d simply make a list of who to ask and text and phone until everything was perfect again.

“And,” Rose added, “I bet she could fix things before the museum director comes back from holiday at the end of the week.”

Ron’s face began to relax. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully he looked at the broken statue.

“Well, all right,” he said finally. “But what about these two?”

Rose felt the boy’s gaze. “I certainly don’t think we should involve the police,” she said. “The publicity would reflect badly on security.”

“Quite,” said Eric, looking down at his shoes.

“Anyway, Mum could sort them out, too, phone the right people, make sure the insurance was sorted without any fuss.”

“Well…” said Ron.

“
Really
quickly,” added Rose. She took a step towards the door marked
PRIVATE
at the back of the room. “Shall I take them to her now?”

“What do you think, Eric?”

Unsurprisingly Eric didn’t take any persuading. “Get the kettle on!”

A few moments later when the guards had left, locking the doors behind them and pausing to take one last glance through the glass before heading to their staffroom, Rose tightened her grip on the rope and looked at the boy.

“Right!” she said, sounding much braver than she felt. “My name’s Rose. Who on earth are you?”

VIII

R
OSE TO THE
R
ESCUE

More like
where
on Earth?
thought Alex.

He scanned the room, searching for a window to look through, desperate for a reassuring glimpse of the clustered terracotta rooftops of Athens. But there were no windows, just four blank walls hung with stone friezes of horsemen, friezes he’d now realised he’d last seen fixed beneath the roof of Athena’s temple.

His mind tumbled with questions: Why had the caryatid been indoors when she should have been out on the Acropolis? Where was the rest of the temple? The sunshine? He took a deep breath that was filled with the cloying smell of wax polish instead of the scent of cypress trees and stared down at the caryatid’s face. Seeing the stark sugar-white break in her neck against those familiar carved ringlets, he felt his stomach knot tighter than a Greek fisherman’s net. How would they ever return home?

“Well?” said Rose, her arms folded, waiting for an answer.

Alex turned and looked at Rose properly for the first time. Of course, it was no surprise that she was unlike any girl he’d seen before, but her appearance was still a shock. Whilst his sisters wore their hair glossed and coiled, pinned into intricate styles with pearl pins, hers was wild and loose and tangled over her shoulders. Unlike the women of old Greece, always so elegantly draped in dresses, Rose’s clothes were baggy and casual. But it was the way she looked at him, her eyes bright with impatience, demanding an answer, which was the most surprising thing of all.

“I’m Alex,” he said at last. He laid a hand on Aries’ head. “And this is Aries.” Aries harrumphed pointedly. “Aries Khryos Khrysamallos,” added Alex, glaring down at the ram.

“That’s some name,” said Rose.

“It’s Greek,” explained Alex.

“Of course.” Rose rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. “And I suppose he’s a Greek sheep?”

Aries stamped his hoof furiously.

“Ram,” corrected Alex.

Aries clopped forwards and snuffled against the cheek of the broken caryatid. Kneeling down, Alex put his arm around the ram’s neck and looked at the
statue’s face, remembering the countless times he’d walked past her when she’d gleamed in the Greek sunshine.

“Can your mother really fix this?” he asked.

Rose nodded. “Of course she can. Believe me, she loves anything old and made of stone.”

Alex looked across the room at the three statues of reclining goddesses and frowned, recognising them by only their poses, since each goddess was now headless.

“What happened to the Parthenon?” said Alex.

“Nothing’s happened to it,” said Rose flatly. “It’s still in Greece.”

Aries looked up at Alex with wide, worried eyes.

“And we’re not?” said Alex.

Rose shook her head. “Okay. It’s not funny any more.”

Alex stared at her.

“This is the British Museum,” she added. “In London.”

“Britannia?” gasped Alex.

At which Aries bleated furiously and was about to shout something extremely rude, had Alex not clamped his hand around the ram’s muzzle.

“It can’t be!” said Alex, struggling to keep Aries’ mouth closed. “That’s the caryatid Athena chose
for her portal! So, how did she move?”

“Right! That’s enough!” Rose held her hands up in front of her. “Either stop acting weird and come with me, or take your chances with them out there!” She nodded towards the doors at the back of the room and Alex followed her gaze to see several tourists still clamouring against the glass, pushing for a better view, staring and pointing. “Your choice.”

Five minutes later Rose had led them out of the Parthenon room and down into the basement of the British Museum. Now they followed her along underground corridors that criss-crossed like a maze and led to storerooms filled with exhibits for repair or storage. Alex looked up, fascinated by the dots of twinkling light set into the ceiling. He wanted to reach up and touch them, to see if they burned like fire or were full of lightning sparks, but knowing that it would make Rose even more annoyed he hurried on, Aries’ hoof-falls ringing in his ears.

“In here,” said Rose finally, opening a door at the end of the corridor and stepping inside.

Cramped and stuffy, the room was lit by dingy yellow light and filled with rows of wooden shelves that stretched almost from one wall to the other with only a narrow aisle to walk around them. Every shelf was crammed with boxes and packing cases spilling
straw. Vase-shaped bundles in bubble wrap and glass trays of pinned oily black beetles were wedged between rows of leather suitcases bearing handwritten brown labels. A mummified lizard stared balefully down at Alex from the far corner, its glass eyes dull. On the shelf below, stuffed tarantulas the size of rubber gloves arched beneath glass domes. Of course, on any other day, the sort of other day when he hadn’t been plunged into modern London, Alex would have loved this room. He’d have spent hours studying the beetles and lifting the spiders from their boxes to stroke the fur on their legs. Even the Underworld Zoo, with all its monsters, had nothing quite so hairy and marvellous
15
. But as Aries squeezed between the first two shelves and began to snuffle around in the hope of finding something to eat, Alex turned away from the spiders and looked at Rose who was pulling out a blanket from beneath a jar of desiccated bat wings.

Now he thought about it, she had been pretty brave in standing up to the guards. And she hadn’t batted an eyelid at the rows of gigantic spiders in here. Impressive. For a girl, he quickly reminded himself,
confident that she’d probably still just burst into tears and run away if he told her the real truth about who they were
16
.

“Perhaps,” said Alex, “your husband might be able to help us?”

“Husband?” snapped Rose and thumped the blanket onto the floor.

Thanks to Rose’s mother’s daily lectures on antiquity she knew that ancient Greek girls were married by the age of fourteen, usually to a man in his thirties, chosen by her father. She wasn’t amused. “For the last time, snap out of this freaky Greek routine or I’m going for the guards!”

She sat down on the blanket and drew her knees up under her chin, scowling. At which, Aries, who hadn’t eaten for at least three hours – which, as he’d have told you, in ram-terms is forever, but had now discovered a crate of tasty naval flags – looked up, the red flag of the Imperial Japanese Navy trailing from the corner of his mouth.

“Touchy, isn’t she?” he muttered between chews. “No wonder her family can’t find a man for her.”

Rose’s jaw fell open. She gasped, staring
wide-eyed
at Aries, and turned to Alex.

“Do that again!” she insisted.

“Do what?” said Alex, clamping Aries’ mouth shut.

“Throw your voice! Make him look like he can talk!” said Rose. “It’s awesome!”

Aries pulled his nose out of Alex’s fingers. “How nice of you to say so!”

“No way!” spluttered Rose, scrambling to her feet. “That time was seriously spooky!”

“Spooky, my cud!” spat Aries, flinging Alex’s hand away. “Do you know to whom you are speaking?” Rose stared bewildered as Aries went on, stamping his hoof in time with his words. “The ram of the Golden Fleece!”

By now Rose was at the door, her palm around its handle, but Aries was faster, in the way that furious rams always are, and he swung his weight against the door with a thump. “And there’s no need to look like that about it, either!” he went on, staring up crossly at her. “I know it must be rather disappointing to see me bald, but—”

“Aries! That’s enough!” insisted Alex. “Let her go if she wants to!”

Aries turned and regarded the boy loftily. “I hope all modern Earth people aren’t like her!”

“Like what?” demanded Rose, her annoyance overtaking her shock.

“Fickle,” said Aries simply. “Helping one minute and going as goggly as
Narcissus
the next.”

Rose looked astonished.

“I can explain,” said Alex, pushing his hair back off his face. “If you really want to know, that is?”

He waited, watching the flush disappear from her face as the panic seemed to fade, replaced by something else.

Curiosity.

Perhaps, Alex thought, he’d been wrong about her after all. Even though she was a girl, she hadn’t dived out of the door and fled back upstairs to find the guards. He frowned. His own sisters would have run squealing from a room at the most ordinary of things or thing – a beetle scuttling over the floor would have had them lifting their skirts and sprinting away. And this could hardly be an ordinary day for Rose.

“It is a long story,” he said tentatively. “And you’ll find it strange and perhaps frightening…”

Rose let go of the door handle and waited for Alex to go on.

“Are you going to stay and listen?” asked Aries, bustling past to sit next to Alex. “Good. Alex is excellent at stories. In fact, the Minotaur always asks for two at bedtime and as for Chimera—”

“Aries!” said Alex.

Aries snapped his mouth shut.

“Go on,” Rose encouraged him. “I’m listening.”

Alex took a deep breath. “Aries is telling the truth when he says he’s the ram of the Golden Fleece—”

“As in the myth?” Rose interrupted. “I thought that was just a made-up story—”

Aries tapped his horn against the shelf. “Do I sound made-up to you?”

“No, but,” Rose paused, thinking. “You’re in the book of Greek stories my mum gave me last Christmas. Except in your picture you’re covered in golden wool. Let me think… The Golden Fleece? That’s the one with Jason, isn’t it?”

Aries and Alex nodded.

“So, did he really exist, too?” Rose’s cheeks grew pink. Her eyes glittered. “Was he a total hunk like the story says?”

“No,” said Aries. “That bit
was
made-up.”

Rose turned to Alex. “So, who are you, then? You’re not in the myth, are you?”

Alex shook his head. “No. I was an ordinary
potter in Attica when the Argonauts sailed.”

Rose edged back against the wall, her face growing pale beneath her freckles. “But that was, like, ages ago, wasn’t it? How old are you?”

Alex shrugged. “Technically, I was thirteen when I died—”

“Died,” Rose repeated emptily.

“Of the plague,” explained Alex.

“He’s not infectious any more,” said Aries, seeing the look of fear on her face.

“But you
are
a ghost?” Rose’s eyebrows, which had been rising at each new thing she’d been told, now completely vanished under her fringe.

Alex nodded. “We prefer to call ourselves
shades
.” He stretched out his legs in front of him.

“But you look as solid as anyone else,” she said, frowning and touching him gingerly with a finger. “You know, normal,” she added before glancing down at his tunic and filthy bare feet. “Sort of.” She stretched out her legs too. “So, why’ve you come back?”

For the next twenty minutes Rose listened, her eyes growing wider and wider, as Alex explained what had really happened that night in Kolkis, of how Medea had used her spiteful magic to trick Drako and how Aries had finally won the chance
to come back to Earth to find his fleece. Luckily for Alex and Aries, Rose’s mother had always taught her daughter to be polite and to listen to what others had to say, even if they were Greek and dead and one of them happened to be a magical ram. And even though what they said was the most remarkable, fantastical and crazy story Rose had ever heard in her life, it was also, she knew, the only story that could explain how a boy and a talking ram had simply appeared through a brick wall of the museum.

“What I don’t get,” she said eventually, “is why Jason didn’t look after the fleece and take it with him to the Underworld when he died.”

Alex shrugged. “All we know is that he wore it on the day he married Medea. It was in all the news scrolls. But after that, well…” He shrugged.

“Lots of things vanished in the fall of Greece,” Aries said. He rolled his eyes. “Those Romans. Such a shocking lack of manners. For months after their invasion,
Queen Persephone
kept going back to collect the things that her people had left behind. In the end there were so many that she asked the palace servants to open a lost property office. I went there every day. They had
Perseus
’s flying sandals, the gold statue of
Midas
’s daughter, even three of the four legs of the Trojan Horse…”

“But no fleece?” finished Rose. “So, how will you track it down?”

Alex sighed. “I’m not sure. I mean, we were supposed to start at the Parthenon.” He scowled at the boxes of rolled up maps on the top of the nearest shelf. “I still don’t understand how we ended up in London.”

“Lots of pieces of the Parthenon were moved,” said Rose simply. She tucked her hair behind her ear, thinking. “Important things usually end up in museums, which is why this is so strange.”

“What is?” said Alex, relieved that she was taking them so seriously.

“Well, shouldn’t the fleece be in a museum, too? I mean, if it was left up on Earth like you say it was, then surely…” she looked up at them, her brow furrowed, “surely it’d be the star exhibit somewhere?”