Rampage! (26 page)

‘Aries is right,’ he said. ‘I suppose we can all be taken in by what we want to believe. And I meant what I said about your dad. I’m glad you’ve found him. Truly.’

Rose blinked back a fresh threat of tears.

‘Child,’ said Wat. He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘Perhaps you should tell us what the witch asked you to do.’

Taking a deep breath, Rose looked up at Wat.

‘She needs me to help her raise the gold from the
lagoon you led us to. She said that it was special, special enough to make her magic work.’

Aries groaned.

Glancing uneasily at him, Rose went on.

‘Because it has an amazing history.’

Whereupon Wat groaned, too.

Feeling a tingle of dread, Rose looked at each of their faces in turn, at their matching expressions of dismay.

‘What is it?’ she said. ‘Medea said the gold in the lake would help me cure my father because it was just as cherished as the Fleece.’

‘Oh, Rose,’ sighed Alex, shaking his head slowly. ‘She was lying. The Fleece wasn’t cherished. Every strand, every single curl of it was cursed.’

‘Cursed?’ Rose heard her voice trail away to nothing.

‘By Medea,’ said Alex. ‘The Fleece ruined her life from the start. From the moment her father hung it in the forest at Kolkis, things started to go badly wrong for her because he became so dazzled by it that he simply forgot all about his little girl.’

‘And then,’ said Aries, ‘when Jason arrived she thought she’d finally be happy. She was so sure he loved her –’ Aries sighed. ‘As far as she was concerned, my Fleece ruined her life and so, in return, she poured her bitterness into it. Then, when it was brimful of her hatred, she used it in her magic. Every time she stitched its curls into her special clothes, the Fleece released her misery. That’s what brought about the deaths of the people wearing them. I know it’s true, because she told me herself, back in London, down
in that terrible cellar, when she tried to extinguish me.’

Rose stared at him. ‘
Misery
was the real secret of its power?’

‘That’s right,’ said Aries, looking at her with his treacly eyes dimmed by sadness. ‘My beautiful gold coat used for something so terrible. Her misery poisoned the gold in the Fleece. And poisoned gold can only ever do poisonous magic.’

‘But what can be so bad about the gold in the lake?’ said Rose.

Wat turned away and looked into the trees.

‘After what you’ve just told me,’ he said grimly, ‘I think I can guess.’

The others waited for him to go on.

‘El Dorado,’ sighed Wat, turning back. ‘In my time, people believed it was the name of a city built from shimmering gold, hidden deep in the heart of the jungle. Even my own father, in his boyhood, would race down to Plymouth harbour each morning, eager to hear the returning sailors’ stories of their quest to find it. Truly intoxicated, he yearned to discover it and years later his tales dazzled me too.’

‘So, Medea
was
telling the truth,’ said Rose. ‘The gold did inspire men?’

‘Inspire, child?’ Wat shrugged. ‘Perhaps some might call it that. Men were certainly provoked into trekking deep into the jungle to find it.’ He looked around the clearing at the graves. ‘Thousands of men, men such as these conquistadors, men who never returned.’

‘Thousands?’ Rose flinched. ‘What happened to them?’

‘Some drowned in the Amazon, some were attacked by deadly snakes, crawling pests or mauled by big cats. Some were sent mad by the strange berries and mushrooms they ate in their desperation and turned on each other like wolves. Yet more were bitten by the fever flies.’

Alex looked up at Wat.

‘But if so many people were looking so hard for the place, then why could no one ever find it?’

‘Because it never existed,’ said Wat simply. ‘There
was
no city of gold. Yet, in their greed, the Europeans tortured tribe upon tribe of native Indians to death, demanding that they tell them where this marvellous city was to be found.’

Dizzy with horror, Rose pictured the soldiers storming into a village like Tatu and rounding up the villagers, snatching the giggling women, the children playing happily on rugs, demanding answers that nobody could ever give, and felt her anguish turning into anger.

‘During our months in the jungle,’ Wat continued, ‘we heard strange rumours. That El Dorado was not a city but the leader of a fantastically wealthy tribe – the Muisca, whose gold was so plentiful they even fashioned pans and cups from it. Gladdened, we made haste further north than anyone had searched before, towards the great lagoon by which they lived. Fain,’ Wat laughed coldly, ‘in happening on this true El Dorado, I wished verily to be dressed for my triumph.’ He pulled back his doublet to show a ragged black-edged hole in the linen, and Rose
caught a glimmer of gold thread. ‘Some triumph,’ he muttered. ‘Thanks to the sorceress’s needlework, I stumbled blindly into an ambush and was felled by a Spaniard’s gun. Worse,’ said Wat, almost whispering, ‘when my heartbroken father returned to England with tidings of my death, the King was so furious that I’d fought with the Spanish that he marched my father to the Tower of London and beheaded him.’

Rose groaned, utterly sickened at just how many terrible deaths stained the El Dorado gold, and felt freshly foolish in her own misguided willingness to help Medea reach it. She saw how easily Medea had twisted the truth around her little finger, and Rose with it, duping her from the start.

Poisoned gold can only do poisonous magic.

Like a spiteful chant, a cold little voice piped up in her mind, mocking her, taunting her with the phrase. Her skin prickled. The gold in the lake was so saturated in misery and suffering that it could never, ever have helped her father. It could only make him even worse. Imagining it, glinting beneath the dark water, she realised something else and felt a judder of shock: that whilst the gold of Aries’ fleece had only been powered by the unhappiness of a single woman, the gold of El Dorado buzzed with the misery of thousands. Meaning that if Medea succeeded in getting her hands on it, she’d be absolutely unstoppable.

Rose turned to Alex, a blistering fury scorching away the last of her earlier, drizzling despair.

‘Show me that statue again,’ she said.

XXVII

L
OVE
I
SN'T IN
T
HE
A
IR

There have been many passionate moments in the Greek myths: Paris whisking Helen away to Troy, Ariadne unravelling her knitting to give Theseus the wool to lead him from the Minotaur's maze, and Narcissus going all googly gaga over his handsome reflection in a woodland pool. However, thought Jason, now practising a seductive raised eyebrow at a rather elderly yellow-footed tortoise he'd found waddling in the long grass, his meeting Medea again wasn't likely to be remembered as one of them.

‘Sweet rose of Kolkis,' he said, practising his newest chat-up line and offering the ancient reptile his best smile. ‘How I've longed to see you.'

The creature regarded him blankly with big, black eyes and continued to gum at a clump of grass, churning it round and round in her lipless mouth.

‘My dear and long-lost love,' Jason continued, as the creature lurched away towards the undergrowth, ‘your smile is like the sun rising over the sea. It makes the water sparkle and the seagulls swoop, it, it ––'

He paused, sniffed and, noticing a rather sour smell
wafting up from the ground, glanced down at the rear end of the tortoise, dismayed to spot a trickle of yellow liquid, seeping into the soil behind her crinkly back feet. Clearly he was losing his debonair touch. And small wonder. He'd been so stressed about meeting his ex-wife again that he'd given himself a crick in his neck from rehearsing his best hair flick, whilst his voice, usually low and syrupy, sounded as squealing and high-pitched as a piglet at teatime.

He'd have to do better than this if he wanted to smooch Medea into handing the key to the Underworld back to him. After all, as he reminded himself now, he really didn't need to be so worried.

You see, ever since he'd stopped running away from that ghastly big cat the day before and recovered from the raging stitch that running for nearly an hour will bring on, he'd started thinking. And, it hadn't been long before he'd realised something rather important: that just as the swarm of army ants hadn't killed him, the weird three-headed cat hadn't even seemed interested in him. After all, he must surely have passed the creature only moments before it attacked Aries and yet it hadn't so much as batted one of its six eyelids in his direction. Instead, it had been utterly single-minded, launching itself at Aries like a bleat-seeking missile. All of which had confirmed his earlier suspicion: that Medea clearly still reckoned he was the best thing since stuffed olives.

The thought brought a welcome surge of his old confidence and, setting his hand on his hip, he tilted his
head boyishly and turned on his full-beam smile, staring at the tortoise's receding bottom.

‘Light of the Greek isles,' he cooed, his voice low and smoochy again. ‘How I've dreamed of this moment.'

‘Why thank you, darling,' replied a woman's voice behind him.

Jason froze, open-mouthed.

For a second his blood seemed to drop in temperature until it clinked through his veins like an ice-slushy. The voice was instantly familiar, and even though he hadn't heard it – save in nightmares – since he'd been in the Underworld, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

Forcing his mouth into an unwilling smile, he turned round.

‘Medea!' he gushed.

The sorceress looked radiant, her hair gleaming in ringlets, her face tinged pink from walking, as pretty as a Venus flytrap in the sunshine. In fact, considering his own stained and torn T-shirt and jeans and the way he smelled like a Spartan's sandal after a hundred-mile march, she looked amazing. Rather, he thought, now complimenting himself on his own hunky charms, as if she'd been powdering and primping all morning especially for him.

‘I've been expecting you,' she said.

She smiled, drawing red lips back over shiny white teeth and held out her hand. Taking it firmly, he curbed a small, telltale shiver as she laced her fingers through
his, reminding himself that at this rate he'd soon have the Underworld key back in his pocket.

‘Walk with me,' she sighed, looking up at him under her sooty lashes. ‘It's a lovely afternoon and we have so much to talk about.'

Jason followed as she led him off the path that led into the village, and turned towards the jungle instead. Now, stepping in her footsteps, Jason recalled the way she'd guided him through the Kolkis forest on the night they'd stolen the Fleece. She'd glanced back over her shoulder and beamed at him, just the way she did now, and he felt himself start to properly relax, wondering why he'd been so worried about coming back to Earth at all. Women always forgave him. And who could blame them? He was irresistible.

Squeezing his hand, she picked her way under a low-hanging bough, thick with blood-red blooms. He squeezed back, knowing that if he played his cards right, she'd probably magic him back to Manaus, to the opera house, for good measure. Meaning that he'd be back in the Underworld for Aphrodite's party. And once he'd told them his story – his pained regret that Aries had run away with the statue, but what could you expect from a clonking great farm animal? And the sadness he felt for Alex, just a boy unready for a real quest (after all, the goddesses loved a troubled hero) – he'd be posing in his battle armour and leopard-skin for a new range of pots and urns in his honour. Better still, he'd have that old sop Apollonius fawning
round him, ready to take down everything he told him again.

But, he reminded himself, first things first.

‘I've missed you,' said Jason softly. Which was sort of true since he had missed her, even if it was rather in the way that people miss a terrible headache, say, or a giant spider lurking in the bath.

‘And I've missed you, too,' replied Medea.

‘My princess,' sighed Jason.

‘My hero,' cooed Medea.

My foot.

To be honest, as Medea led him further and further into the jungle, their conversation became far too gushy, mushy and slushy for me to waste time and good ink on. So I shan't. Only to say that Jason was so busy flirting, flaunting and flattering that he was quite flummoxed when they suddenly stepped out of the jungle's thick shadows to see a wide, dark lagoon.

Yes, you know the one.

‘Isn't it beautiful?' said Medea, gazing up at the craggy bluff of rock at the far side of the water. ‘We used to take walks like this on Iolkos, when we were first married, do you remember?'

Jason did. As his eyes swept over the dark water, he found himself recalling the swamp of singing stink-toads that she'd loved to visit and realised that her taste in ‘beauty spots' hadn't changed much.

Shuddering, he turned his face up to the sky and watched the wisps of white trail over the blue.

‘Do you remember how we'd watch the clouds,' he said, ‘seeing pictures in them? I'd always see stags and warships.'

‘And nymphs,' muttered Medea quietly.

‘Whilst you saw scorpions and dragons,' said Jason

‘Sweetheart,' said Medea, tilting her face up to his and laying her hands on his shoulders. ‘I'm so glad you came back.'

‘So am I,' said Jason, shrinking beneath her embrace. ‘But how could I not? As soon as I heard what Athena was planning, I volunteered myself for the quest. I knew that I had to protect you.'

‘Protect me?' said Medea, wide-eyed.

Turning, she led him to a low tumble of rocks, close to the shore, sat down and patted the warm stone beside her.

‘Yes,' said Jason, sitting down next to her, warming to his tale. ‘Of course Athena took a lot of persuading. I think she was suspicious of why I was so desperate to return to Earth. Deep down, I'm sure she knows that my heart still belongs to you, my sweet.'

‘My darling,' sighed Medea.

‘But, I was determined. I demanded she let me return to find you.'

‘Oh, captain of my heart!' sighed Medea.

‘Of course it was a nightmare when she saddled me with Alex and Aries.'

‘But they're gone now, aren't they? Tell me,' she said, bristling with curiosity. ‘Was there a lot of blood?'

‘Barrels of it!' said Jason, surprised to see the glitter of genuine interest in her eyes. After all, she must surely know that her magic would have dispatched them horribly? Or perhaps she simply couldn't resist hearing about the details first-hand from him? Between you and me, Jason might have been surprised to know that she wasn't actually sure of any such thing, since she'd been so busy preparing for meeting him. And not only in the lipstick and hairbrush department, I'm afraid. But, we'll come to that later.

‘It was hideous!' Jason went on. ‘Truly, I've never seen a monster more terrifying. The power of him, Medea, the span of those feet and claws. The ram didn't stand a chance.'

Medea clapped her hands together. ‘And Alex?'

Jason shook his head, pushing the uncomfortable thought of the boy racing hopelessly back with those flimsy little arrows out of his mind.

‘You really excelled yourself there.'

‘So,' said Medea, resting her head on Jason's shoulder. ‘Tell me about Athena's plan.'

‘She means to send you to Tartarus.'

Medea regarded him evenly. ‘How?'

‘Using a statue,' said Jason. ‘Filled with the Erinyes. Can you imagine, she actually wanted me to hand it to you?'

Medea waited for him to go on.

‘As if I ever could!' he added, wishing that he had it in his hand now, wrapped in a big soppy ribbon.

‘And you came back to sabotage her plan?'

‘It's been my only thought!'

Medea looked up at him, saucer-eyed. ‘My honey-baklava!'

‘My rose-lipped princess!'

‘My sweet prince of Iolkos!'

‘My cherry-lipped queen!'
59

Medea laughed girlishly and stood up, clapping her hands together.

‘And now you're back with me!'

‘But only for a little while,' said Jason, rather too quickly. ‘I mean, it's awful, I know, but I'll have to return soon. We don't want Athena sending anyone else up here, do we?'

Medea shook her head sadly.

‘That's why I think that you and I need a plan.'

‘We do?'

Jason nodded, and took the sorceress's hand in his.

‘I think I should go back and tell her that we've talked as ex-husband and wife ––' said Jason

‘As lovebirds,' interrupted Medea.

‘As lovebirds, yes,' said Jason. ‘And that you've told me how terribly sorry you are about the past and that you've turned over a new leaf.'

‘Except that I won't.'

‘Well, I know that,' said Jason. ‘But she doesn't need to, does she? And, if you were a little less, well, flamboyant about things in the future, then she'd never find out.'

‘And it would be our little secret,' cooed Medea. ‘A love secret?'

‘That's right,' said Jason. Sitting back on the rock, he allowed himself a moment to imagine the word ‘
DIPLOMAT
' being chiselled next to ‘
HERO
' in the plinth of his pavilion statue.

‘Sealed with a kiss?' added Medea.

‘Maybe later,' said Jason, leaping to his feet.

For a split second, Medea's mouth drew tight before she gave him a wide, generous smile.

‘And you'd really do this, just for me?'

‘Of course,' said Jason, tossing back his head. ‘We were so close once.'

Medea sighed happily and glanced towards the bluff of rock edging the far side of the water.

‘But before you go, there's something I'd really like to show you.'

Masking his impatience, Jason put on his considering face and looked up at the sky to where a cloud, unpleasantly shaped like a spider, was chasing after a fluff of white that looked rather like a fly.

‘Well …' he stretched the word out as he thought.

‘Then I'll magic you straight back to Manaus, to speed you on your way?'

‘All right, then,' said Jason, crumpling his brow into an earnest frown. ‘You know how much I'd love to spend more time with you, but for your sake, I have to leave soon.'

‘I know,' said Medea, a faint sliver of ice in her voice. ‘But don't worry, darling. You'll be gone soon.'