Pandora Gets Angry (6 page)

“Not cool,” Homer said quietly.

“Do not despair,” Douban said, smiling. “Now that you all are here, I know I have made the right decision. You see, Pandora, I believe that my death will help you.”

“Okaaay. Kind of a big leap. Not really seeing it,” Pandy said.

“While I am going back to fulfill a promise, have no fear, the prince will also be punished. I know that you are not only searching for the great Evils, but for lesser ones as well. I believe that the prince is consumed with several, four to be exact: weakness of character, gullibility, deep ingratitude, and a lack of mercy. If you will join me at the palace at the moment of my execution, you may be able to capture a few of these. Now, you must pay attention to my head when it—”

“Uh, y-y-your head?” Pandy stuttered.

“Yes, my dear. That is how it will be done. The prince is demanding my head.”

CHAPTER EIGHT
Paperwork

The old official led Hera through a series of back rooms and corridors, each sumptuously designed and detailed, and each staffed with workers who whispered and gawked as the Queen of Heaven walked by. There were, Hera noticed, a curiously large number of small monkeys clothed in colorful, bejeweled vests and caps, racing to and fro—carrying papers, fetching cups of hot liquids to the workers, pushing large carts full of papers or small, white rounded stones. And, she observed, each monkey had a collar around his neck with the same fat, milky white stone at the center.

From under her hood, Hera nodded graciously to everyone as if she were bestowing a great gift simply by being in the room. Then she caught two women giggling by an urn of cooled water as she strode by. Glaring at them, she heard another man snicker as he sat hunched over sheets of papyrus, copying information from one page to another.

“Guess I'll be checking over a lot of forms with this one,” he called out to the official who was now leading Hera down a darkened hallway.

“Sorry about it,” the official yelled over his shoulder. “Hope you didn't have any wine-and-hummus plans after work.”

He led Hera into what was, comparatively, a plain room, large and windowless except for a row of tiny, ruby-bordered windows along the very top of one wall, letting in only a small amount of light. In the center of the room was a long table on which were placed several stacks of paper, each a few centimeters high.

“And here we are,” said the official.

Hera looked down at the piles with disdain.

“Declaration of All Powers Outside Persian Borders,” she read aloud from the heading on one page. “Purpose of Visit to Persia, Agreement of Non-Malicious Intent.”

She picked up a pile, thumbed through it, and roughly tossed it down again.

“I have to sign all of these?” she asked.

“There's that attitude again,” said the official. “And no, of course you don't have to sign all of these.”

“I should hope not.”

“You have to sign all of these
and
all of these,” said the official, pointing across the room to two monkeys moving toward them, pushing a cart twice their size, full to the brim with piles and piles of papyrus sheets, most in small bundles.

Hera opened her mouth, but the official cut her off.

“It's so simple. You either sign all of these forms, in triplicate, which means three—count 'em, three—times, or you will be denied access into the country and all rights and privileges granted therein. You won't get an egg, and for you there's no way out of this building without one except a one-way express back to your country of origin. Where, I can only imagine, they miss you terribly. Moudi and Houdi …”

He pointed at the monkeys, who jumped up and down and clapped their hands.

“… will be watching just to make certain you don't miss anything. And if you leave, that's it. At a later time, if you decide you do want to behave, you'd have to go back and wait in that long line again. No cuts.”

The man's tone was almost more than Hera could bear. She desperately wanted to be furious, and for a moment she was until she was distracted by something the man had only glossed over.

“Egg?” Hera said, glancing at the collar around one monkey's neck.

The official looked at her as if she were crazy.

“Of course,” he said, then he paused. “Didn't you see all of the others walking away with shiny white objects when they left? Didn't you pay any attention when you were standing in line? Oh, that's right. You were so excited to be here that you fell
asleep
.”

“Yes,” Hera said slowly, her teeth clenched. If only she had this man in her clutches back in Greece. “Yes, I am sorry about that, I feel as if I have been waiting in line such a very long time.”

“Time is irrelevant here,” the official cut in. “Very much, I believe, like your underworld. You may have been here only several ticks of a sundial. Or you might have been here for weeks. You were sleeping, you know.”

“Yes, and again, I do so apologize, but what does an egg have to do with—?”

“
An
egg?” he said loudly. “Not just
an
egg. My word, you really didn't do your homework, did you? Every immortal visitor must, at all times, be in possession of a roc's egg.”

“What's a roc?”

“What … whaaaa …
what's a roc?
Do you know
anything
?”

“How to turn you into an oil lamp,” Hera thought.

“A roc is the most sacred of all our birds, and an unborn roc, still in its egg, is the most powerful creature in Persia, able to bestow abilities great and small on whoever possesses one. The unborn roc has two functions. One, it is the source of a visiting immortal's powers while in Persia; or, in other words, it will allow you to use your powers while you are here. And two, it is the master of all genies. You have heard of genies, yes? Well, I can't imagine
you
actually have, since you seem to know so little about Persia, but our main group of immortal beings is made up of genies and peris, or female genies. An unborn roc has one or several of these in his service. Yes, a genie or peri may be enslaved to a human, if a human is lucky enough to capture one that is being punished and is condemned to a ring or a lamp or a slipper or a chair or some such. But the unborn roc is the ultimate source of their powers, it is their ‘god' if you will, and the death of a roc means disaster. This is why the egg must be guarded so closely by visiting immortals, and why it must be surrendered upon leaving.”

Hera noticed the monkeys, now sitting on top of the table, picking things off each other.

“You give an egg to a monkey?”

“You mind dropping the snide tone?” said the official. “You know I have half a mind to kick you out right now. We're a tolerant and hospitable land, but you're just a pill.”

“I am … sorry,” Hera squeezed out. “I was only wondering.”

“The monkeys you see all around are disobedient genies or peris. They either defied their human masters or, worse, defied their roc. One of the alternative punishments to being pent up in a lamp or a ring is that the roc sends them here to the Bureau, changed into animal form, very mortal I might add, which is rather debasing for them, and they are forced to do odd jobs and busy work until they finish off their punishment. The eggs around their necks are a constant reminder. And the unborn roc can communicate without words, so they are continually providing guidance. When the genies or peris have been properly rehabilitated, we take the collar off, they are restored to immortal form, and everything is back to normal.”

“So that's what I would—will—get if—when—I fill out all this paperwork? A roc egg?” Hera asked sweetly, her mind racing. “That's what's going to help me truly experience the wonders of your beautiful country?”

“I see you're a quick study,” the official said with a smirk. “Fortunately, we are blessed with a surplus of roc eggs, and those with no genies to command elect to come to the Bureau and help with Persia's immortal visitors. You can't get around without one and with it, you have the potential to do almost anything. That's why you have to put your big ‘H' on all of these. And now I'll leave you to your signing. I'll see you in about a week—mortal time.”

“And I'm going to be monitored by monkeys?”

“I'll bet you were the sharpest one in your class,” the official snapped, his back now turned on Hera. “I'll have a snack brought to you in a few days. Don't eat the monkey food.”

Hera watched the man go until one of the monkeys threw a quill pen at her with such force that it stuck in her forearm. She looked down at the feather, its point stuck in her immortal flesh. She looked at her robes, still singed from Pandora setting her ablaze. Pulling the quill out, she reached up and felt her skull; red hairs were beginning to grow back, but it was still short enough so that, without her hood, she looked like a man. She had no idea when her glorious locks would once again cascade down her back. At that moment, her hatred of Pandora swelled to such a point that Hera instantly brought her hands up to her mouth to stifle a scream.

She paused for only a second, her hands clenched until her nails dug into her palms, then she composed herself and turned toward the table and the growing piles of papers. She spread her arms wide, surprising the monkeys, one of which was unloading the cart.

“Are you going to help me? Is that what you're going to do? Come here, my little friends,” she cooed in a soothing voice. Houdi and Moudi were instantly enchanted and came forward to the back edge of the table.

“What should I start with, huh? What do you think?” she said, as if coddling an infant. “Should I start with ‘Emergency Contacts in Case of Detention or Dismemberment'? Or ‘References'? How about ‘How Did You First Hear About Persia?' Yes?”

The monkeys shook their heads in disagreement and Houdi grabbed a handful of papers from one stack.

“Those?” she cooed, not seeing what was written on top.

The monkeys nodded with delight.

“That's what we'll do then, all right,” she purred. “Will you bring them to me? That's right, that's right.”

Houdi raced across the table to her and Hera only glanced at the bottom line. Signing three times, she looked at the other monkey from under lowered eyelids.

“Why don't you both come here and make certain I'm doing it correctly.”

As Moudi approached gleefully, in one swift motion Hera grabbed Houdi, snapped his neck, and tossed him on the table. Moudi instantly leapt to the black marble floor, racing toward a door in a far corner of the room. Hera shoved the table out of her way, scattering papers everywhere. Large and bulky as she was, she tore after him and soon had his tail in her hands. Even though her powers were severely diminished, he was no match for her strength.

She carried his body back to the table and placed it by the other one, ripping the collars off each monkey's neck. She thought for a moment how she could carry two eggs; she had no pouch, no headdress, and putting them in the folds of her robe might cause them to smash together and crack. She tried wrapping one collar around her wrist but it was too small. And then an idea struck her.

She removed her ornate gold and emerald earrings, the ones that set off her red hair brilliantly—when she had hair. She carefully detached the bodies of the earrings from their hangers. Then, slowly and meticulously, she took one of her intricate hairpins, now adorning her cloak, and began to pry away the tiny gold egg cage from the first collar.

CHAPTER NINE
You Mean, You
Eat
That?

Alcie couldn't tell exactly how long she'd been following Persephone through the darkened hallways of Hades' palace. It could have been only five ticks on a sundial, or five hundred, or five thousand. And “following” wasn't really the right term anymore; it was more like racing to keep up, slowing down when something caught Alcie's eye, then speeding up again in the direction Persephone
might
have gone and occasionally, luckily, catching a glimpse of Persephone's robes as she rounded a curve or a corner, or hearing Persephone's voice as she kept up an almost ceaseless running monologue.

Three things were against her, Alcie knew: Persephone was much larger than she was, than any mortal girl really, and her strides were mammoth. Second, Alcie was now definitely feeling both hungry and tired and had to stop often to rest. But third and most interesting, the rooms of Hades' palace were—there was no other word for it—bizarre. There was no color anywhere and yet Alcie was certain that if she were to take the tapestries, floor cushions, or frescoes into the upper world, they would be alive with wild tints. It seemed that everything in every room was perfectly physically whole, but quite, quite dead, and Alcie simply had to stop and stare. Or, in the case of the several arboretums, reach out and touch. These were enormous rooms, glassed in on three sides, filled with blooming black flowers and black vines that were, quite literally, crawling all over the floors and walls. Yet, when Alcie stepped in and gently reached up her fingers to a gorgeous, enormous black rose, the petals crumbled into dust at the slightest touch.

There were many fantastically decorated rooms with one or two sleeping cots. One room held an array of various bottles, jars, and devices used in the healing arts. Another room was filled with scrolls. Still another seemed dedicated to music and musical instruments. Every so often, Alcie thought she'd seen a human form sitting or standing or walking in one of the rooms, and then, as soon as she blinked, the apparition was gone.

But the most astonishing thing about all of these rooms was that out of every window, sealed with glass, Alcie would catch flashes of the most radiant, breathtaking green she'd ever seen. Three times she raced to a window to get a better look, only to have the blackened trees and bushes outside close up and block her view.

It was while standing at one of these windows that Persephone, having backtracked a good distance, found her.

“Okay,” she chirped, feigning impatience, “someone said they were hungry and that same someone is daw-dling!”

Alcie turned from the window with a feeling like she'd been caught with her hand in the oatie-cake jar.

“This place is … is … ,” she began. With so many adjectives she could use, she couldn't pick just one.

“I
know
! And we haven't even covered half of it yet! Come on.”

Alcie rejoined Persephone in the hallway, but she hadn't gotten two steps before Persephone whirled on her.

“Mother's little toe! Did you see out the window?” she cried with alarm.

“Well, I looked out the window,” Alcie began.

“No, but did you
see
out the window?”

There was a new urgency in Persephone's voice.

“Not really,” Alcie answered, now a little scared. “I mean, I saw something green.”

“What was it?”

“Figs! I mean, golly, uh, I couldn't tell,” Alcie replied. “Just a flash and then the bushes got in the way.”

“Okay,” Persephone sighed. “Okay! Good. See, I knew you weren't really dead! And now it's time for foooooood!”

As she strode away, Alcie stood stock-still for a moment in utter bewilderment.

“All right,” Alcie called out, forgetting entirely that she was, after all, yelling at an immortal. “Just hold up there a tangerine moment!”

She tore after Persephone.

“What is
that
supposed to mean?”

But she'd only run several meters when a glint of gold, silver, and bronze caught her eye and she turned her head. Three shadowy figures in full battle dress sat at a small table in a room chock-full of weapons of every size and shape. Without knowing exactly how she recognized them, she knew instantly who these men were.

“Whoa,” she whispered.

“Are they still there?” Persephone asked as she walked back toward Alcie. “Are they letting you see them?”

Alcie just nodded her head, staring at the three rugged faces that now stared back.

“Well, they're warriors, after all,” Persephone said. “What do they have to fear from you, right?”

“Achilles?” Alcie whispered.

“And Ajax and Hector. Hi, boys!” Persephone assented, now standing next to Alcie and waving. Achilles and Ajax just ignored her, but Hector gave her a sly little nod of his head.

“Three of the greatest heroes of the Trojan War,” Persephone said, slightly fawning. “And cutest. They've been here for centuries, yapping about how it
should
have gone, how it
could
have gone if only someone had drawn their sword earlier or fired their bow later. Blah, blah. Boring, I
know
!”

“Okay,” Alcie said firmly, out of patience and very confused. “Time for a chat.”

“That's cool,” Persephone said. “Fire away.”

“Why are they here?”

“They're dead.”

“I know they're
dead
, but why aren't they in the Elysian Fields?” Alcie asked. “Isn't that where the heroic and … and …?”

“Glorious dead.”

“Yeah, thank you,” Alcie said, feeling like she was talking to Iole. “Isn't that where they go?”

“Well, not
all
the time.”

“What?”

“Alce, sweetie, think about it,” Persephone said, startling Alcie by using the nickname only her still-living friends knew. “It's a field. They go out, they run around and scamper like bunnies; they toss a discus or a javelin. That's fine for a bit, but then they need someplace to lie down and recover from all the eternal fun. Buster … Hades … has rooms in the palace for all the really heroic and glorious dead. Warriors, physicians, poets, scholars.”

“Politicians,” Alcie added.

“Oh, gimme a break!” Persephone laughed. “Well, all right, a few, but not many. The really good get to stay here. And the really bad, but they don't take up much space.”

“The really bad?” Alcie asked. “They're
here
? Not Tartarus?”

“Hah! Are you kidding? Tartarus is for rookies!” Persephone snickered. “Tartarus is for amateurs! This place makes Tartarus look like a three-day ‘Hey, It's Spring!' festival. C'mere, I'll show you.”

Persephone walked a few paces, then abruptly turned a corner Alcie knew was not part of the original route.

“By the by,” Persephone said, “the EF is the green you're seeing outside the windows.”

“EF? The Elysian Fields?”

“I
know
! Cool, huh? But only the heroic and glorious
dead
get to actually view the splendor. Now, you and your friends might be heading toward heroic and glorious, but you're not there yet, and if you can't see the fields, you're definitely not really dead! It's all good.”

A hundred meters farther, Alcie could hear men's voices shouting, moaning, and wailing. And, more softly, underneath, she heard women's voices; some sharp, some monotone, but while the men's cries rose and fell, the women's voices were a constant drone.

“We're walking, we're walking, we're walking,” Persephone said, mock-officiously leading the way down a corridor of, Alcie guessed by the short spaces between each barred door, very small rooms. “And we're stopping. Here we have not necessarily the most brutal of criminals, but the most despicable. Not your average murderers or fiends, but the truly wicked. Those who went against their conscience. Those who betrayed family or country, especially those who did it for money. We have a couple of kings who wiped out entire civilizations, either theirs or someone else's, because they were power-hungry. And we have a man who sold his wife and daughters into slavery.”

“Orange rinds,” Alcie said softly.

“I know.”

“But it just sounds like they're having a fight with someone,” Alcie said.

“Yeah, isn't it grand?” Persephone smiled. “Who do you think is also in each of these rooms with each of these monsters?”

Alcie was baffled.

“I give,” she said.

Persephone grinned.

“Their mothers.”

“No!”

“I
know
!”

“For eternity?” Alcie whispered.

“Sometimes Buster gets impish and sticks their mother-in-law in there as well.
And,
they're not allowed to sleep.”

“Get out!” Alcie cried.

“I
know
! Let's eat,” Persephone sang out, striding back the way they came.

“Cym? Cyn? Com? It's a ‘C,' I know
that.
What
is
it?”

“Are you talking to me?” Alcie asked as they approached a wide set of open double doors. Delicious scents floating on puffs of smoke were emanating into the corridor.

“Huh?” Persephone responded, startled. “Oh, no, I'm just trying to remember something.”

Through the open doors ahead, Alcie could see figures rushing back and forth, carrying urns, platters, and bowls. Someone saw Persephone coming and sent out a great shout.

“Cookie! What've you got?” Persephone called cheerily as she entered the vast food preparation rooms. Shades, wearing splatter-smocks, were frantically forming a reception line.

A heavy, wrinkled, gray-haired shade turned quickly from a hot oven, a tray of freshly roasted black things in her hand. With a kind smile, she set the tray on a long table and bowed deeply, as did the entire line.

“My queen.”

“Cookie?” Alcie asked quietly.

“She's the chief cook. She cooks. She's a cookie,” Persephone answered. “She doesn't mind, right … Cookie?”

Before the woman could open her mouth, Persephone had turned slightly to Alcie.

“
I've forgotten her name
,” she mouthed.

Alcie caught a slight movement in the polished silver of a large serving bowl and saw the cook's reflection. She had seen exactly what Persephone had whispered and was now smiling softly.

“My mistress may call me whatever she desires,” she said.

“There, you see?” Persephone said. Then she gestured grandly toward Alcie.

“We have a guest!”

“So I have been told,” said the cook.

“This is Alcie!” said Persephone. “She's mortal and not really dead. She's not going to be here long, and I'm showing off the place.”

Alcie suddenly felt as if she were on display, as if she were a piece of fruit or a bolt of silk in a marketplace.

“Hello,” Alcie said.

“Welcome,” said the cook. “I am Cyrene.”

“I
knew
it started with ‘C,' ” Persephone muttered softly.

“But you may call me ‘Cookie.' ”

“Cookie, what's good today?” asked Persephone.

Cyrene gestured to the long tables in the center of the room.

“In honor of your off-season visit and in honor of our very unique guest, I have prepared some of your favorites!”

“Oh, goody!” Persephone squealed.

“Wilted field greens with oil and vinegar.”

“Plucked right out of the Elysian Fields!” Persephone crowed to Alcie.

“Roasted garlic and snail custard in phyllo dough. Liver pudding on day-old flatbread rounds.”

“Yum! Which liver?”

“I forget whose.”

“Whaaa?” Alcie gagged.

“She means
which
animal,” Persephone said.

“Cream of tripe soup,” said Cyrene.

“Can't wait!”

“Lamb's entrails stuffed with minced kidney and sweetbreads.”

“Have mercy!” Persephone moaned with delight.

“And your favorite …”

“Here it comes!” cried Persephone.

“Blackened dove hearts with walnuts,” said Cyrene, pointing to the tray of tiny dark nuggets she had just removed from the oven.

“Now it's a festivaaaaal!” yelled Persephone, clapping her hands and turning to Alcie. “What shall we start with?”

“Oh, wow,” Alcie said, having no idea what to say. She followed Persephone to a small table set for two off to the side of the room. “Um, oh, grapes.”

“Dried or pickled?” asked Cyrene.

“Oh, no, I meant …” Alcie looked over the platters of food heaped on the table. She
was
famished and she felt, somehow, that Persephone's mood would alter toward her a bit if she turned up her nose at all of it. The least disgusting item on the menu was the pile of soggy green leaves.