Rampage! (4 page)

‘She's in Brazil,' explained Persephone, pulling herself back up on to the throne. ‘The Amazon rainforest.'

‘The Amazon?' said Alex, exchanging a nervous look with Aries.

There was a nervous snap of fangs as Hex squirmed through Aries' horns and stretched up into the air and looped about Alex's shoulders, in order to look at the magazine.

‘According to this,' said Alex, scanning past pictures of a waterfall and a tall mountain of rock, ‘Medea's heading into the jungle to make jewellery with a tribe in the Amazon rainforest. ‘In an exclusive interview with our magazine,' he read out loud, ‘she told our reporter that she wants to make amends for what she calls her terrible behaviour towards the police at the Leicester Square Luxe theatre earlier in the summer. “I can't imagine what came
over me,” she said. “I'm so ashamed. Now I just want to put it all behind me by doing something good.”'

‘Something good?' Aries groaned in disbelief.

‘The magazine says,' replied Athena, ‘that the Amazon Indians share their traditional skills with her and are properly paid for their wares in return. They call it Fair Trade.'

‘Ssscare trade, more like,' muttered Hex. ‘There'sss no way ssshe'sss there out of the kindnessss of her heart. Ssshe does-s-sn't have one.'

Aries turned and clattered over the floor to the pile of packing cases by Persephone's throne and pressed his muzzle against the Scroll.

‘Oy! Paper knickers! You're supposed to know everything. What's she really up to?'

‘As a matter of fact,' replied the Scroll primly, ‘the Underworld is too far from Earth for me to pick up on that particular vibration. However, the article tells us that she is staying a long way north-east in Kaxuyana territory at Tatu Village.'

‘Meaning?' said Aries, impatiently jabbing the Scroll with his horn.

‘Meaning,' replied the Scroll, twirling onto its end and telescoping out to a point to jab Aries back, ‘that she is heading to exactly the same place as Rose!'

‘What?' squealed Aries, clattering backwards, his tail spinning.

The Scroll sighed. ‘I'm afraid that Tatu Village lies on the coordinates that I gave to Rose to find her father.'

‘Noooo!' bellowed Aries, making the castle tapestries tremble on their poles. He thundered back to Alex and began clopping around him in circles.

‘Do you think Medea's going to take her revenge on Rose for what we did in the summer? Maybe she's out to punish her?' He flung up his head in horror, his eyes wide with panic. ‘Or worse? Alex, what are we going to do?'

Except that Alex wasn't listening.

This was because all he could hear was the roar of blood in his ears. Guilt, like a hot tide, surged through him, making his head ring and his heart drum wildly. He couldn't believe it. Whilst he'd been feeling a bit bored with zoo life, Rose had been travelling into danger; whilst he'd been consoling Aries about his statue, Medea was planning and scheming in the jungle. Now, standing in the twilit throne room, he shivered, imagining her, squat as a bulbous spider in the centre of a web, picking up quivers on silken threads, waiting as Rose approached.

‘Alex?' Aries tattooed his hooves frantically.

Snapping back from his thoughts, Alex looked down at the ram.

‘We don't know what Medea's up to,' he said. ‘But whatever it is, Rose is in danger. We have to go back to Earth and find her. We have to protect her from the sorceress.'

‘Nooooo!' Hex vanished down the back of Alex's chiton in a blur of silver.

‘It's all right,' soothed Alex, remembering the promise
he'd made to the snake in London: that he'd never have to see the sorceress again. ‘You couldn't come even if you wanted to,' he continued.

‘No?' said Hex, sticking his shivering snout out of Alex's collar.

‘Of course not,' replied Alex, eager to protect the snake's feelings. ‘You're far too important to the Zoo. I'll need you here to make sure the monsters are properly looked after whilst I'm away.'

‘Really?' said Hex, slithering back onto Alex's shoulders.

‘Really,' agreed Alex in his most serious voice.

‘To be honest,' snapped Athena, ‘this matter is rather more important than deciding who'll make the Minotaur's bean stew. That's why I brought you here.'

Prickling with worry about Rose, Alex watched Athena sit down and lift her shield on to her lap. He willed her to hurry up and explain herself. ‘You see,' she began, ‘ever since you and Aries came back, I've been worried about Medea and the havoc she's wreaked on that lot up there.' She nodded quickly towards the ceiling.

‘The
mortals
, goddess?' said Alex, puzzled.

Athena blushed. ‘Yes, I know! It must sound completely ridiculous! Me? Pallas Athena? Daughter of Zeus? Fretting about those silly little Earth people.'

‘Totally ungoddessy,' agreed Persephone, leaning on one oversized carved arm, her chin cupped in her hand.

‘Rather below you,' sniffed the Scroll.

‘But you see, I had no idea that she had the Golden Fleece.' Athena leaned forward on the throne, her face
serious. ‘Nor that she was using it for such dreadful things.'

‘But it's all used up now,' said Aries. ‘And we stopped her from making any more.'

‘Yes,' said Athena. ‘But do you honestly believe that someone as vicious as she's turned out to be is really going into the jungle to string beads on to a piece of wire? Or that it's just a coincidence that she happens to be precisely where your little friend is headed?' Athena stood up and took a deep breath. ‘As goddess of wisdom, I can't allow her to do any more harm. It's time she was brought to justice.' Athena fixed Alex with a cool silvery stare. ‘The way I see it, it's the gods' fault that she's still on Earth in the first place. I've been talking to my father, Zeus, and the other
Olympians
and we all agree that if we hadn't banned her from the Underworld …'

‘Then she wouldn't be such a nightmare up there now,' finished Persephone.

‘Quite,' said Athena.

‘Are you saying ––?' started Alex.

‘She's committed terrible crimes for centuries now. Whichever way you look at it, she belongs in Tartarus,' said the goddess.

In the silence that followed, Alex found his mind spinning with the stories he'd heard about Tartarus. The Underworld prison was a dark and terrible place, echoing with the moans and yells of Ancient Greece's wickedest criminals being punished in horribly inventive ways. Like Tantalus, starving and mad with thirst, but forever condemned to stand in a pool of water that seeped away
when he tried to scoop a handful to drink and a bower of grapes that sprang beyond his grasp whenever he reached up.

‘Now I understand!' said Aries. Tossing his horns in the air, he strutted over to the portrait of King Hades and swung his derriere round. Then, framed by two floor-standing candlesticks, he regarded Athena and Persephone nobly. ‘This is clearly why you summoned us here today,' he said. ‘Because such a mission will take endurance, talent and daring. Obviously, Alex and I have just such a proven track record of unflinching courage.'

‘Actually ––' said Persephone.

Aries slammed down his hoof, silencing her with a clang. ‘The task will take someone who doesn't run from a terrifying ordeal!'

‘Yes!' said Athena.

‘Who stands their ground no matter what?'

‘Of course,' agreed Athena.

Beaming at Alex, Aries threw back his head. ‘Which is ––'

‘Jason!' Athena clapped her hands in delight as the leader of the Argonauts swaggered into the room.

Alex stared as Jason approached the thrones, suddenly realising why the palace maids had been so jittery and prettily dressed. Gleaming in his battle armour, the leader of the Argonauts looked magnificent, his famous leopard-skin flung rakishly over one shoulder. Watching him, Alex became slowly aware that Aries was starting to make a very strange noise, rather like a hornet trapped in a jar, a
high furious keening, and sliding his eyes sideways, Alex saw the ram's face, sucked-in and rumpled, his muzzle so tightly concertinaed beneath his eyes that it resembled a Spartan's shield after a Persian battle elephant had trampled it.

‘Jason will quest through the Amazon to find Medea!' Athena announced proudly.

‘Not with me he won't!' boomed Aries.

‘Of course not,' said Athena. ‘Not
with
you. You're simply going along with the hero of this quest to carry the equipment he'll need!'

‘What?' squealed Aries, his eyes wide in furious disbelief.

Catching sight of the ram's face, lined with rage and hurt, Alex felt the injustice like a punch and hearing a snigger he looked up to see Jason rubbing a tiny smear from his breastplate and grinning coldly.

‘Is there a problem, Baldy?' he teased.

Persephone kicked out her feet and giggled.

Alex wrapped a reassuring arm around Aries' hot neck, feeling the ram's pulse like a spring stream throbbing through the veins of his neck. He understood his anger and wounded pride, but when a moment later Aries' chest ballooned against his shoulder as the ram raised his head, his lip curled back with a blistering reply, Alex grabbed hold of Aries' muzzle and clamped it shut. There were more important things at stake.

‘How mwh-mwh-mwh!' Aries twisted against the boy's grasp as Alex met Athena's gaze.

‘And why am I here?' asked Alex.

‘Because you're a bright boy,' said Athena. ‘And I think that your recent knowledge of Earth might be of some small use in helping Jason find Medea.'

‘And then what?' said Alex.

‘Then,' Athena stood up, smiling proudly, ‘he'll give Medea this.' She turned and rummaged in her bag to pull out a small statue. Carved from black marble, it was of a woman with a cold, cheerless face and wings arching high above her shoulders. In her left hand she clutched a set of scales; in her right, a sword.

‘Nemesis?' said Alex.

Athena nodded. ‘The goddess of retribution.'

Alex wondered at the point of delivering the figurine. He stared at its thin, judgemental mouth and beak of a nose, perfect for gleefully sticking in the air when someone got his or her just desserts. Then he noticed odd little flashes of red, orange and blue light, glinting beneath the statue's smooth veneer.

‘Although,' continued Athena, stroking the statue's bony shoulders, ‘this time, she's more of a Wooden Horse.
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You see,' she continued, clearly warming to her own cleverness, ‘I've filled this statue with the Erinyes.'

Alex felt his skin freeze. Beside him, Aries stopped struggling, his eyes wide with shock.

Which was hardly surprisingly.

The Erinyes, you see, were spirits of vengeance. Three bat-winged women with the heads of dogs and eyes that cried blood, they used whips of live scorpions to thrash the guilty, whispering endlessly in their ears and forcing the culprit to face justice.
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‘As soon as Nemesis is placed in Medea's hand, the Erinyes will burst out and drag Medea straight to Tartarus.'

‘Placed in her hand?' said Alex nervously.

Athena rolled her eyes. ‘Well, there's no need to look like that about it. Obviously Jason will do the tricky stuff. He's the one with all the experience and daring. And besides, he knows Medea the best. That means it'll be easy for him to get close enough to hand her the statue.'

Alex's mind reeled. Expecting Jason to hand-deliver a statue to Medea was like asking Herakles to leap into the Nemean Lion's compound at the zoo and present the creature he'd strangled with a gift-wrapped bone. He opened his mouth to protest. Then he saw the sugary-sweet way Athena was gazing at Jason and closed it again. Clearly, having picked Jason to go as her champion, Athena wasn't about to be moved. He felt his chest
tighten. Even if Jason was the most celebrated hero in the Underworld, brave enough to lead and fight and triumph over all the obstacles in his path, the goddess had sorely underestimated Medea and he felt his heart thump, certain that the ice-blooded witch they'd defeated in the summer wouldn't be happy to see anyone from the Underworld bearing gifts and particularly not her handsome ex-husband.

Not that they had time to argue about that now because up on Earth, Rose was every minute journeying into danger. Behind him, Aries nudged his knees and, releasing his grip on the ram's muzzle, Alex looked into his face. Beyond the resentment clouding his eyes, and the way his fury made his flanks tremble, the ram's brow was furrowed with the same impatience that Alex felt knotted tight behind his ribs.

He turned back to Athena. ‘When do we leave?'

IV

I S
CRY
W
ITH
M
Y
L
ITTLE
E
YE
…

Deep in the jungle, Medea was scrying.

That's
scrying
, not crying.

Crying is what you do after you've plunged head-first into a muddy puddle in your hockey lesson, come indoors to face fractions in maths and still have an essay on the life-cycle of a teabag to write for homework.

Scrying is what witches do when they want to find out precisely what somebody is up to. It's a bit like a spooky Facebook, but you don't need a computer, just a strong stomach because it always smells dreadful. To do it, the witch mixes up lots of gloopy liquids in a big pot and sets this over a fire. Then she stares into the swirling mix, watching it bubble and spit, peering through the roiling steam and thinking hard of the person she wants to snoop on (without breathing in too deeply) until at last the mixture burps, squelches and rolls completely flat. At this point, a picture appears, rising up from the blackness of the mixture like an old-fashioned television crackling into life to play a silent movie of the person of her choice.

Which in Medea's case was Rose, on whom she'd
been scrying ever since the girl left England. What a clever trick. Except that now, blinking through the stinky smoke that billowed out of the great brass bowl, Medea felt anything but clever.

Hot?

Yes, since despite being lightly dressed in a pair of khaki shorts, T-shirt and boots, the humid jungle air clung to her skin like a lovesick jellyfish.

And bothered?

Certainly.

But not clever.

Scrying, you see, made her feel like she was twelve years old again, a girl spending summers with her Aunt Circe on the island of Aeaea
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watching the real witch do all the exciting stuff. It was just so
babyish
– a piffling, tiddly little spell that fell so far short of the truly ghastly magic that she yearned to do that it made her teeth ache. Scrunching up her face at the stench of bad dragon eggs and Spartan stinkhorn mushrooms, she flung some more tendrils from the feather she'd long ago plucked from Hera's, the queen of the gods', pet peacock into the mixture and reminded herself that but for Aries and Alex she wouldn't be reduced to such bog-standard magic, swathed in smoke and stuck in the middle of a jungle. She wrinkled her nose, disgusted as a droplet of sweat dribbled down it and splashed into the mixture. Oh, but for their
interference she'd have had a hundred Golden Fleeces sparkling at her fingertips, giving her more glittering power than she'd ever known in all her long and vicious life. Of course, with
that
sort of witch-power she'd have been able to magic up an iceberg, right here in the middle of the rainforest, one that could drip, drip, drip freezing silvery-blue water into a bucket for her swollen feet. Or conjure a swimming pool rippling beneath a tent of cool, mosquito-proof silk. Or a fan the size of a windmill that would work without electricity. But then, she fumed, if those two dollops of taramasalata hadn't ruined her plans in the first place, she wouldn't need to, would she? Because she'd still be in London, giggling with the rich, famous and soon-to-be-dead instead of in the back of the back of beyond, sweating horribly and living on bananas.

Behind her, the wall was lined with shelves – crammed with spell books, vials of inky liquids, tubs of glistening green lizard scales, jars of herbs and switches of strange plants that continued to bloom in the relentless heat. Not that any of the villagers who stepped into her hut would have seen them, of course. Simple obscurity spells were still within Medea's limited power and this one had worked beautifully, hiding that wall from view, meaning that ordinary people would see only the hut's rugs, its tattered hammock, boxes marked with the ‘Fair Trade' logo and Medea's battered steamer trunk, on which the ludicrous black-and-white headdress the reporters had insisted she wear for the magazine shoot continued to slump like a reproachful ostrich.

Suddenly a gust of indigo smoke whooshed up from the pot and the mixture began to settle. Medea stared down, narrowing her icy gaze as ripples shot across the liquid and bounced against the sides. Around her, the air thickened and crackled like the static of a thunderstorm. Now the mixture spluttered, spat and stilled. A fug of silver crept across its surface, then slowly, beneath its misty top, strands of brown and white began twisting into shapes as a picture gradually emerged.

A luxurious white river boat.

A river the colour of black tea.

Leaning closer, closer, Medea began to smile.

The image sharpened to reveal a girl dressed in a grey T-shirt and cargo shorts sitting all alone on the top tier of the boat. Feeling a cold spike of joy, she watched as Rose tilted her face to the sky, noticing how the girl's skin was much more tanned now than when they'd met in London and that the Amazon sun had drawn out her freckles so that they lay dark over her nose and cheeks. But that chaotic snaggle of rust-coloured ringlets was still the same. And, even better, those trusting chocolate-brown eyes …

Rose sank back into the squishy leather bench set into the deck, dazzled by the shrieks and hoots and shrills and whoops ringing out from the rainforest that lay far away on either side of the gigantic Rio Negro. Above her, a canopy of silk fluttered in the wind, as flawless and blue as the sky beyond it. She gazed across the vast stretch
of dark water and the green wall of jungle beyond, finally understanding why her parents had been drawn to this remarkable place. A cluster of huts gleamed along the bank on the right. Each was built high on stilts and she remembered how her mother had told her that in the rainy season this river swelled and surged, rising up until the houses appeared to float on its surface, like water lilies. Now, in August, their stilts were exposed and sun-bleached, and a patch of sandy land ran down to the water's edge in front of them, where five boys were playing football. Seeing the boat, they stopped and stared back.

And no wonder.

Rose had never seen a boat as luxurious as this in her life either. The
Tucano
was three storeys of polished wooden decks, its cabins sumptuous with floor-to-ceiling blue-tinted glass, making it a gorgeous, floating hotel of air-conditioned rooms, enormous beds and five-star cooking. Usually it carried twenty passengers, but Hazel had chartered it for just the two of them together with a crew of sailors, cook, kitchen staff, stewards, laundry workers and cleaners, all under the command of Captain Eduardo da Silva. Rose liked him very much. A sturdy, cheerful man of sixty-three, with a laugh in his voice, he had spent his life in the Brazilian Navy. Now he spent his days taking glamorous boats through the Amazon rainforest for glamorous tourists. Although Rose was pretty sure he'd never had quite such a glamorous tourist as Hazel.

Rose stood up and waved at the children who giggled
and waved back. A tan dog splashed into the water and barked merrily.

A moment later, the boys turned back to their game.

Behind them, the jungle seemed to loom like a barricade and staring into the thick green light beneath the trees Rose felt a strange prickle of cold. Quickly rubbing her shoulders, she felt the knot of worry that had twisted in her stomach ever since they'd arrived tighten as she wondered again what had happened to her father to keep him here.

The sound of Hazel's cabin door crashing open made her jump.

‘Look!' cried Hazel, quickly climbing up the steps on to the top deck.

‘I know!' smiled Rose, spotting a flock of scarlet and turquoise parrots flapping over the water. ‘This place is amazing, isn't it?'

‘No,' replied Hazel.

Puzzled, Rose turned back to Hazel who was stomping towards her, hot and sour-faced, waving her right hand dismally in the air.

‘My nail!' whined Hazel, sticking her finger out for Rose to examine. ‘It's chipped!'

‘Oh!' said Rose, trying to sound sympathetic as she spotted a tiny chink in the glossy pink nail.

‘Can you believe, I damaged it swattin' an elephant-sized moth? Course, I'm all but out of “Blossom of Shanghai” polish and there's so totally nowhere around here to buy any more.'

‘Eduardo says we're stopping at a market this afternoon. At Acajatuba. We need supplies. Maybe we could try there?'

‘Me? In that jungle?' Hazel wrinkled her nose and glared at the riverbank. ‘Besides, it's nail polish I need, Rose. Not a bag of coffee beans and a new parrot!'

Hazel slumped down beside her, smoothed her pink T-shirt and scowled at the heaps of fresh fruit, cereal, juice and plates of meat set out for breakfast on the crisp tablecloth.

‘What's that?' she said eyeing up a brownish-pink fish lying on a blue plate.

‘Piranha,' said Rose simply. ‘Grilled and salted.'

Hazel curled her lip. ‘You have to be kiddin' me.'

‘It's an Amazon speciality,' said Rose, as Hazel began prodding at the gloomy-looking fish with a knife. ‘The chef made it as a treat.'

‘Treat?' Hazel picked up her plate and flipped the fish overboard. ‘RIP!' she muttered and poured herself a large glass of mango juice.

Rose sighed and looked away, wishing yet again that Hazel might lighten up.

You see, almost as soon as they had arrived, things had started to annoy her and just how, as she'd lamented over and again, was she supposed to refresh herself when everything about the Amazon was so
dang
uncomfortable?

First it had been the sun –
sizzlin' like a Texan branding iron
– making it impossible for her to sit outside on deck and sip coconut coolers with Rose after ten in the
morning. Then it had been the afternoon rains –
beatin' down like a crazy showerhead
– that kept her indoors until five because it ruined her hair. The bugs –
bigger 'n nickels
– had totally splatted her cabin window –
thank heav'n
they couldn't fly through glass
– though they'd surely spoiled the view from her Jacuzzi, whilst that
infernal whooping of monkeys
had so jangled her nerves she couldn't enjoy playing deck games of quoits. And as for the as for the captain's nightly talks, well, maybe Rose did find it
fascinatin
', but as far as she was concerned when Eduardo shone his torch along the riverbank, pointing out the ruby red lights that glinted back from the caimans' eyes – creatures just as horrible and snappy as the alligators back home – all she could think about was her rifle.

Rose groaned inwardly as Hazel began picking at a bowl of dry cereal with her fingers. Being a kind and thoughtful girl, of course Rose wanted her new friend to enjoy the trip and she felt a sharp sting of guilt that Hazel was so ill at ease. After all, it was down to Rose that the young star was out here in the first place, which was why, over and over again, Rose had tried to suggest things that Hazel might like to see or do or taste or try or visit. They'd got on so brilliantly in England. But now, after five days of Hazel's moaning and griping, it was truly starting to wear her down. Being in the Amazon rainforest with someone, Rose decided, was very different from sharing a hot chocolate in a swanky hotel with them and now, as she gazed out over the water, she found herself wishing yet again that it was Alex and Aries on board with her.

If only!

Certain she'd never see them again, her heart sank. She missed them. And, knowing how the Amazon would have fascinated Alex made her feel even more downcast. Like her, he'd have loved the armadillos waddling down to the water for a drink and the pink dolphins, the
botos
, which followed the
Tucano
each day. The howlers would have totally amazed him too – the giant russet-haired monkeys, hooting and bellowing from the trees, as raucous as dinosaurs. To be honest, they'd scared her at first, right up until Eduardo told her that according to the
ribereños
, or river people, their deafening chorus should be cherished, because when they fell silent, it meant evil was present among the trees. She sighed. Alex would have yearned to spot a jaguar lolling in the treetops, just like she did. She swallowed a giggle, thinking of how Aries would be much more worried about the jaguar spotting him.

‘Where exactl' are we?' said Hazel, breaking into her thoughts.

‘About two days from the Wedding of the Waters.'

‘Two days?' Hazel made it sound like a jail sentence. ‘Weddin' of the what?'

‘Waters,' said Rose. ‘It's where the Rio Negro meets the Amazon,' said Rose, trying hard not to sound like her mother. ‘According to Eduardo, the Negro is so full of dark silt that it doesn't mix with the Amazon when they meet. One's black, one's brown, they stay stripy for miles and miles.'

‘Miles and miles?' sighed Hazel.

Rose felt her own spirits sinking at how the star she'd been so in awe of could be so, well, disappointing in real life. In London she'd seemed lonely and tired of all the jetsetting and glitz, the interviews, the fame. Now she clearly missed her starry life and all her adoring fans horribly. She watched as Hazel fixed a poisonous stare on a huge moth that was sunbathing on the table before scooching along her seat away from it, and sighed, remembering how on her weekly show, Hazel rode wild horses and ran with the rodeo men. But in reality, far from being what her mother on the show called ‘a tough cookie', Rose was discovering that Hazel was far more like a Custard Cream gone soft.
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