Hound of Hades #2 Read online

  GROSSET & DUNLAP

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  Text copyright © 2015 by Lucy Coats. Illustrations copyright © 2015 by Brett Bean. All rights reserved. Published by Grosset & Dunlap, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging–in–Publication Data is available.

  ISBN 978-0-698-40347-5

  Version_1

  Contents

  Copyright

  Title Page

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  GLOSSARY

  About The Author And Illustrator

  CHAPTER 1

  OFFICIAL STABLE BOY TO THE GODS

  Demon, son of the god Pan, and brand-new Official Stable Boy to the gods, had a bellyache.

  It was a bellyache of monumental proportions. Even Atlas, the giant Titan, had never had a bellyache as big as this one, Demon decided.

  He lay under his blanket in the loft above the Stables and wished he hadn’t eaten those final ten honey cakes that the goddess Hestia had offered him as “a going-home snack.” He was still so full after the gods’ celebration feast that he hadn’t slept a wink all night. The prospect of his usual early-morning task of shoveling barrowsful of poo down to the hundred-armed monsters in Tartarus was making him feel greener than moldy spinach. He groaned and turned over on his straw mattress, closing his eyes and wishing that Eos, the dawn goddess, would hold off on opening up the day.

  “Hey! Demon! I’m hungry! Where’s my breakfast?” came a loud shout from below. There was a scrape and clatter of claws on the ladder as the griffin popped its head through the trapdoor. It leaned over and poked its sharp beak into Demon’s stomach.

  “Go ’way, griffin,” Demon moaned. “I’m ill. Very ill. In fact, I may die any minute.”

  “Huh!” said the griffin. “Well, I wouldn’t lie around being ill and dying for too long. I hear from the nymphs that you’re going to have an important visitor this morning. One who won’t be too impressed with a lazy stable boy who HASN’T FED HIS CHARGES!” As the griffin yelled the last four words, he snatched the blanket away and nipped at Demon’s bare toes till they bled.

  “Ouch! All RIGHT! I’m coming.” Demon leaped out of bed and threw on his old tunic. The two healing snakes who lived in his magical necklace, Offy and Yukus, set to work mending his poor bloody toes. It was an easy job compared to the dreadful wounds Demon had suffered since he started in the Stables of the Gods. The magic snakes were soon done and slithered back up around his neck. “What important visitor?” he asked the griffin as he tied his silver rope belt around his waist.

  “Aha!” said the griffin mysteriously, tapping one grubby claw against its beak.

  “You are a very annoying creature sometimes,” said Demon. “Anyway, I don’t have time to worry about some stupid visitor. As you so kindly reminded me just now, I’ve got work to do.” But as he descended the ladder, a small nervous lump lodged itself in his chest somewhere just above his solar plexus. What if the important visitor was Hera? What if she had another impossible task for him to do? What if she threatened to turn him into a heap of charcoal? He could hear the griffin giggling to itself above him. That was never good news.

  Demon headed off to clear out the muck created by the Cattle of the Sun, make sure the nymphs had milked the unicorns, and feed leftover ambrosia cake to all the immortal creatures. By the time he finished, he had a pounding headache, and his stomach felt like a herd of man-eating horses was galloping around in it. Luckily his new friend, the nine-headed Hydra, had helped him out by carrying buckets, rakes, mops, and brooms for him in all its mouths. It also pushed the poo wheelbarrow with its tail.

  “Thanks, Doris,” he said as he tipped the last of the stinky mess down the poo chute. The monsters who lived below roared appreciatively. The Hydra grinned at him, its hundreds of sharp teeth glinting in the pale sunlight reflecting off Eos’s pink fluffy bedsheets, hanging out to dry in the dawn sky. It loved having a proper name, and it was so grateful to Demon for saving its life that it would do almost anything for him.

  “Doris likes helping,” it said. Then it fluttered its eighteen pairs of long green eyelashes at Demon. “Snackies for Doris now?” it asked hopefully.

  Demon tossed it a few bits of leftover ambrosia cake, and Doris retired to a corner of the Stables to chew on them. There was soon a spreading pool of drool beneath it—Hydras were messy eaters at the best of times. Demon headed over to the hospital shed to see if Hephaestus’s magical medicine box would have something that would make his stomach feel better. It was meant for the beasts, really, but at this point he didn’t care. He just wanted to feel normal again. As he opened the door to the shed, the comforting smell of aloe-and lavender-soaked bandages wafted out to greet him. The big square silver box lay on the table in front of him. As he lifted the lid, the familiar soft blue symbols sprang to life.

  “State the nature of your beast’s emergency medical problem,” the box said in its metallic voice.

  “It’s not a beast. It’s me,” said Demon, rubbing his poor stomach and feeling very sorry for himself all over again. “I’ve got a horrible bellyache and a thumping headache, and I think I might die if you don’t do something about it.” He didn’t say that the bellyache was from eating too many of Hestia’s honey cakes.

  A long silver tentacle with a flat disk on the end of it shot out of the box and snaked down the front of Demon’s tunic. It was cold and made him jump. After a few seconds it retreated back the way it had come. “Error code 435. Human ailment. Does not compute with data program. Unable to assist. Thank you for your inquiry.” The box closed abruptly, with a final, resounding click.

  “Stupid box,” said Demon, kicking the table so it rattled. The box opened a tiny bit, and a pointed silver tongue stuck out in Demon’s direction.

  It made a very rude farting noise, then the box snapped shut again.

  As Demon stormed out of the hospital shed, slamming the door behind him, he saw a swirling cloud of utter darkness burst out of a large crack in the ground. He was sure the crack hadn’t been there five minutes before. The cloud raced toward the Stables at an alarming speed with a sound like a thousand hammers pounding. Demon’s heart began to thump. This must be the griffin’s Important Visitor arriving.

  CHAPTER 2

  THE IMPORTANT VISITOR

  Demon reached the double doors of the Stables just before the thundering cloud of darkness did. He straightened his tunic hurriedly and ran his fingers through his hair, hoping there wasn’t straw in it. A large, pointy-booted foot emerged from the inky murk. Demon caught a whiff of something strange. It smelled sort of damp and musty, li
ke old, dead things mixed with the scent of burning hair. The foot was followed by a tall figure, cloaked all in black. In one gloved hand it carried a huge helmet, studded with bloodred rubies, and in the other a set of reins, which it tossed to Demon. The reins appeared to be attached to something (or somethings) within the blackness.

  “Hurry up and ssstable those for me, dear boy,” the figure said, its sibilant voice soft and dangerous. “And find them sssome meat, will you? That ussselesss sssatyr Sssilenusss tried to feed them leftover ambrosia cake lassst time I was here. They burned all the hair off his legs, as I recall.” With that, the figure strode off toward Zeus and Hera’s palace, leaving Demon staring openmouthed after it.

  “He arrived then, I see,” said the griffin into Demon’s left ear, nearly making him drop his set of reins.

  “Wh-who … wh-what … ?” he stammered. “Er, I mean … who IS he?” asked Demon, finally managing to get his words out properly.

  “That? Oh, that’s Hades. Lord of the Underworld. Terror of Tartarus. God of death. Bit overwhelming, isn’t he?” said the griffin. Then it sniffed. “I see he’s brought those wretched things with him again,” it remarked sourly. “His pride and joy, they are, but I wish he’d stick to horses. Better put them in the fireproof pens at the end. They nearly torched the place when they were here before. And as for what they did to poor old Silenus … it doesn’t bear thinking about. He had blisters for months.”

  Demon gave an experimental tug on the reins Hades had thrown him. They seemed to be made of some kind of pliable blue-black metal, light but very strong. Whatever was at the other end roared and tugged back, and two huge jets of blue-white flame lanced out of the darkness straight at him. He and the griffin ducked and rolled out of the way just in time as five bales of the Cattle of the Sun’s special hay frizzled into nothingness behind them.

  “Play them your dad’s pipes, quick!” yelled the griffin through the roaring. “Don’t know if they work on earth dragons, but it’s worth a try!” It scuttled around the corner of the Stables and disappeared. Demon hung on to the lashing, thrashing reins with one hand, while fumbling in the pocket of his tunic with the other. Dragons? he thought. Dragons? DRAGONS? His legs wanted to run one way and his frantically beating heart the other. He wrenched the Pan pipes out of his pocket, swung them to his lips with one swift movement, and started to blow. The cascade of tinkling notes dropped into the roaring flame, and immediately the reins fell limp in Demon’s other hand. A crooning noise came from the darkness, and two vast scaly bronze heads slowly emerged out of the gloom. Their huge eyes were as big as Hera’s golden dinner plates, and deep purple fires burned in their depths as the beasts walked forward. Their enormous taloned feet shook the ground at every step. Sharp spikes covered their bodies in unassailable armor, and drifts of ghostly pale smoke hung from their nostrils.

  Demon blew the pipes for all he was worth, not daring to stop as he tugged the vast beasts toward the rock-walled pens at the very back of the Stables. He’d always wondered what creatures they were for. Now he knew.

  If he’d thought getting dragons into their pen was hard work, unharnessing sleepy ones with one hand was almost impossible. He managed it eventually, using the spikes as a ladder, then throwing the undone metal straps outside the dragon pens for polishing. When he had finished, Demon walked out backward, slammed the fireproof gates behind him, and ran a safe distance before he plucked up the courage to stop playing.

  There was a sudden blissful silence. Not a beast in the Stables was moving or making a noise. When he peeked into the griffin’s cage, it was asleep on the floor, whiffling gently through its beak. All his other charges were the same. Even the giant scorpion was lying down on its back with its stinger curled up. Demon grinned, looking at his trusty Pan pipes.

  “Thanks, Dad,” he whispered. His bellyache had gone now, and his head felt clear. He’d survived. Again. But then he remembered the other thing Hades had asked him to do. “Meat. Where do I find meat?” he wondered. All there usually was to eat on Olympus was ambrosia cake. Except on feast days.

  Feast days! That was it! Maybe there was some meat left over from last night’s feast. He definitely remembered seeing some roasted ribs going past on Hephaestus’s magical serving carts. He shoved his pipes into his pocket again and set out for the forge under the mountain. The smith god always gave him good advice.

  Hephaestus was lying down on a rocky couch with a grimy blanket over him and a stained handkerchief spread over his head. One of his silvery-gold robot automatons was pumping the forge bellows gently, keeping the fire to a muted glow. It raised a metal finger to its lips.

  “Sh!” it said. Hephaestus’s robots never used two words where one short one would do.

  Demon looked at the god of the forge. Was it worth the risk of waking him? Heffy wasn’t the sort to turn a boy into charcoal, but you never knew with the gods. They could get nasty in a minute. Still, given the choice between Hades or Hephaestus being angry with him, he’d take his chances with Heffy any day. Demon drew in a deep breath and tiptoed over to the couch, ignoring the robot’s attempts to hush him.

  He coughed quietly; then, as there was no response from the sleeping god, a little louder. Still nothing. One grubby, charcoal-dusted finger poked out from under the blanket, so Demon bent down and tugged at it gently.

  “Ahem! Hephaestus! Sir! Your Godishness! I wouldn’t wake you, only it’s a bit of an emergency …”

  There was a snorting and a harrumphing from under the handkerchief, with a few indistinguishable words thrown in between. “Wassermatter … snortle … thoughtIsaidnovisitors … harrumph … owmyheadhurts … !”

  Demon bent down and looked at the groaning god sympathetically. He knew just how Heffy felt. Just then Hephaestus sat up unexpectedly, beard all wild and snarly, eyes red-rimmed and half shut. His head met Demon’s with a clash. Demon tumbled backward and into the robot, who fell over with a metallic crashing sound.

  “AARRRGGHH!” roared the god, leaping up and dancing around the forge, head in his enormous hands.

  “OOOF!” said Demon, a heavy metal foot clipping his shoulder as little bright stars of pain flared around his forehead.

  “I THOUGHT I GAVE ORDERS THAT I WAS NOT TO BE AWAKENED!” Hephaestus shouted, sparks flying from his eyes and the tips of his fingers. The robot said nothing. It was too busy collecting pieces of itself and reattaching them.

  “I’m veryveryvery sorry, it was all m-m-my fault,” said Demon in a very small, shaky voice. He’d rarely seen Hephaestus angry before, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to again. The god was batting at his beard, which was now on fire from the sparks that had landed in it.

  “Zeus-blasted stable boy,” said Hephaestus in slightly milder tones. “What’s so Hades-bebothered important that you have to wake a god from his richly deserved beauty sleep?”

  “Well,” said Demon, “since you mention Hades …” He explained about earth dragons needing meat, not ambrosia cake. “I don’t want to get my legs burned off like poor Silenus did,” he finished. “I don’t think even Offy and Yukus could mend that.”

  Hephaestus stood there for a moment, pulling out clumps of singed beard and scratching his head while he thought.

  “Hestia,” he said finally. “She usually supervises cleanup after a feast. If there’s any meat about, she’ll know where it’s kept. You can find her in the kitchens.” He looked around. “Where’s that wretched robot when you need it?” The robot stepped out from behind a pillar. “Here, you—take Demon to the kitchens. And put that arm on the right way ’round before you come back.” He limped over to his couch and lay down again, sighing loudly. “Now go away and leave me to my headache.”

  CHAPTER 3

  THE KITCHENS OF THE GODS

  The robot led Demon through the winding back ways of Olympus and past places he’d never seen before. He hadn’t realized that palaces had back doors with garbage outside them, nor that the gods and goddesses would need nor
mal things like clotheslines. He ducked under a row of fragrant yellow spider-silk robes hung out to dry in the morning breeze. They smelled like soft sunshine and sweet flower petals as he brushed against them. Demon wanted to stop and look around, but the robot was setting a good pace with its long metal legs. Besides, he knew he had to find the meat for the earth dragons before Hades came back.

  A little farther along, as they turned in to a white marble courtyard, a delicious aroma hit him square in the nose. It was both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. “Mmm,” he said, sniffing with his eyes half closed. What was that? It smelled good. Suddenly his stomach rumbled loudly. He didn’t see how he could be hungry again after last night, but it appeared his stomach had different ideas.

  “Kitchens,” said the robot, pointing to an open wooden door. Demon thanked it, and it turned without another word and took off. He went up to the door and put his head around it, peering in. Inside was a pantry, with hundreds of dirty gold and silver dishes on every surface. Almost as many jeweled goblets were piled up in heaps on the floor.

  There seemed to be nobody around, so Demon picked his way through the chaos and went in. This was where the delicious smell was coming from. He saw a huge kitchen, bustling with activity. There were small cooking fires burning everywhere. Their light reflected off the gleaming sides of a thousand copper pots, jugs, and whole racks full of shining silver knives. Around the sides of the kitchen stood a series of long tables where nymphs were chopping and pouring and mixing. The air was full of the sound of sizzling. In the middle of it all stood the goddess Hestia. She held a large wooden spoon in her hand and directed the whole frantic cooking operation. She was wearing the same apron embroidered with pots and pans he’d seen her wearing when he visited her palace to get some eternal flame to cure the Cretan Bull’s bovine pentagastric marine pyrosaturitis. Close by her, several fauns were wearing smaller aprons. They were working hard at frying large amounts of sizzling meat in enormous pans. Others were scurrying around, pulling trays of steaming bread out of huge ovens. One very small faun was standing on a stool beside Hestia, fanning her face with a large palm leaf. It was very, very hot.