Pandora Gets Lazy by Carolyn Hennesy Page B

me?”
    â€œWhat news?”
    â€œEveryone’s keeping rather quiet, you know.”
    â€œAre you telling me you’ve found out nothing in the last few days?” Hera spat.
    â€œWell, as I told you, when Pandy fell from the chariot, Dionysus actually sobered up and sequestered himself away for a bit, no bacchanals, no revelry, and he canceled his wine delivery. The only thing I can tell you is that I saw him talking to a large squirrel the other day.”
    â€œSquirrel . . . hmm, I see.”
    â€œAnd,” Demeter continued, “I know Hephaestus has been talking with the spirit of Cassandra—”
    â€œCassandra?”
    â€œShe was the maiden that Apollo gave the gift of prophecy to, but when she refused his love, he cursed her so that no one would believe her predictions. Sort of messed up the Trojan War . . .”
    Hera glared at Demeter.
    â€œ I know who she is! I’m just wondering why he would be talking to her spirit.”
    â€œApparently, she contacted him. Something’s happening with the other three on the Syracusa and she told him to be prepared. He just can’t decide whether to believe her or not. Look, darling . . . light of all our lives . . . there’s nothing you can do about it anyway. Not without all of them knowing that you know something and then they’ll rat you out to your husband and he’ll make a rare visit to your rooms, see the dog, and fly into a teeny-tiny rage. Let it go for now. You know what Pandora has coming up. Five days of it. If that doesn’t kill her, well, then nothing will. Now, I must get a moment’s rest before I give Dido his bath. I shall see you presently.”
    With a kiss blown to Hera, she was gone.
    â€œLet it go . . . ,” mused Hera. “Hmmm . . . I suppose she’s right. Huh?”
    Hera whipped around, suddenly possessed with the sensation that she was not alone.
    No one was there. Nothing was amiss. Everything was in its place: the reclining couch, the dressing table, the silver candelabra, the hairbrushes, the knickknacks, Dido on the floor in the corner.
    All was as it should be.
    She did not notice as the eyes on the small bust of her husband, Zeus, on the table next to her magnificent sleeping pallet, stopped following her movements and returned to their original black marble.
    She pondered for a moment and then shook her magnificent red hair.
    â€œOh . . . silly.”
    Feeling a little better, slightly more certain of her position and, therefore, a touch more benevolent, she turned her attention again to the rebuilt perfume bottle and then to the cowering dog.
    â€œLet’s try it again, shall we? Here, doggy!”

CHAPTER EIGHT
Minor Operation
    Two days of walking had taken Pandy and the boys just slightly less than twenty kilometers westward. “Not far at all,” Pandy thought.
    Aware that the filmy black wall was slowly nearing with each step, they skirted to the side of the main road through the pass to Jbel Toubkal and the home of her uncle Atlas, hiding from kidnappers with a heavy complement of prisoners heading back into the mountains one moment; the next, fleeing from a raiding party on its way out to pillage. They traveled at night, dusk, or dawn, never nearing the campfires or only getting close enough to eavesdrop on the kidnappers’ conversation.
    The first night on the road, Pandy decided to tell the boys all about the shells.
    â€œOkay,” she said, running her finger down the lip of her shell, “now listen.”
    On the other end, she heard her father’s voice clearly, and Pandy held the conch up to Ismailil.
    â€œSay ‘Hello, Prometheus,’ ” she whispered.
    When Prometheus answered, Ismailil’s eyes grew huge.
    â€œMagic! Magic!” he said, smiling broadly.
    â€œYeah, kinda, but good magic,” she said, taking the shell back.
    Pandy told her father about the black wall, the prisoners, and Jbel