It was the fifth vet who told me that in order to cure Cerberus’ toothache I’d have to revisit the Land of the Dead. Or words to that effect. [For the story of how Gonby first visited the Land of the Dead and obtained Cerberus, click here]
‘I can assure you, sir,’ he said, in a stuffy tone, ‘That I will not be examining that or any of your creature’s mouths.’
‘But he’s clearly in pain,’ I protested.
‘I suggest you take it to whatever depraved hell-hole you obtained it from. And quickly, before I call the authorities.’
‘But I thought you had a duty of care. The Hippocratic oath, was it?’
‘Hippocrates treated humans. I treat animals. Neither discipline qualifies us to treat… that!’
I crouched down and stroked Cerberus’ back. The tail wagged, but most likely from the other two heads, who had been in a chipper mood since breakfast. I served him banana and brains so as not to challenge his ailing mouth, which continued to snarl and slobber over the tiled floor of the surgery. I could understand the vet’s fear, though I still didn’t care for his attitude, or for that of the other four vets we’d visited. At least this one had a practical suggestion.
The start of the season was upon us, and with the Villa away game falling on the bank holiday, there was every chance that “Handsome” Joey Briggs could “borrow” the Merlin, and we could stop off at Hades on the way to the game.
□ □ □ □ □
We set off as soon as Natty and Jim Painter had returned from Leicester (they’d cycled with the Honorable and Worthy Pedallers, while Jack Dudley and I had taken the train; it was Jack’s wedding anniversary and we thought it best he show his face at home for a couple of hours before boarding the Merlin that evening). Brave Genevieve, who had once been stone, was tucking deeply into her nosebag when the brothers arrived, while Cerberus snatched a fitful slumber in a basket I’d made up for him; ‘Handsome’ Joey Briggs had his hand on the tiller.
‘All aboard, brave Merlinauts!’ shouted Fred Carp, ‘And let us make stories told to babbies until Helios takes his final rest.’
‘Zeus forbid,’ I muttered to Jack, ‘any Titanomachy needs to be over before eleven if we’re going to get a pre-match pint.’
It was a calm August evening, and dragonflies dipped and skimmed across the water before us. Though Fred had brought his lyre, he limited himself to occasional arpeggios, allowing us to enjoy the calm and the flagons of Butler’s Best we’d secured for the journey. We all knew the peace would not last, and we were in no mood to interrupt the quiet with tales of previous adventures, elegant though Fred’s parataxis could be. Girls blew kisses and waved at us (or more precisely, Joey) from fields, wharfs and upstairs windows. And then night began to draw in, and our fears whetted, and we no longer craved quiet but longed for the sound of each others’ voices
Courage, Brave Merlinauts, Courage, ‘Tis only the Land of the Dead, Hades might be pleased to see us Persephone might have made up some beds Yes, we stole the Rich One’s puppy, The three-headed pooch of Plouton, Some Titans kill for less than that, but Of those Hades, I’m sure, ain’t one Refrain: Now don’t eat or drink where we’re going If you do, you’ll never come back, And you can’t watch the Wolves When you’re living with skulls Where there’s no old gold, only black. There’ll be time enough for drinking When me land at the Beehive again And we tell our adventures To the beer-serving wenches And the hard-working factory men.
The trolls were at their usual bridge, and jumped with excitement at the site of Genevieve, led by Natty Painter. After fussing the horse they all boarded the Merlin with running jumps, save for Flame-haired Bumble, sightless slayer of Gladys the Gorgon, who traversed the tow-rope with strong hands. Once aboard, he immediately asked us for food. This time we had come prepared, with leftovers from the anniversary meal Margaret Dudley had made her Jack, and the trolls tucked in as we moored at the Beehive and entered, expecting a triumphant welcome and drinks on the house, in exchange for the retelling of our adventures.
Unfortunately, although landlord Bill and his large family and bevvy of comely serving wenches had no difficulty recognizing us, the welcome was a much more subdued one than we had been expecting. This could only partly be explained by Jim Painter having ‘accidentally’ got engaged to one of the barmaids on our last visit, and subsequently forgetting about the promise entirely.
‘How’s business been, Bill?’ I asked the landlord, as he pulled us our pints.
‘Much better since you slayed Gladys. Thanks again for that.’
‘No problem. How much do I owe you…?’
Bill considered the question more carefully than I had been hoping. ‘I’ll take care of this round,’ he said eventually, ‘But if the Rich One comes in you’ll have to get your own.’
‘The Rich One? You mean Hades?’ blurted Jack Dudley.
‘Shhh!’ said Bill nervously, ‘The very same. He’s started drinking in here lately. Hanging around with his nephew/stepson Dionysus.’
Jack grimaced at the family connection, but I shot him a stern look before he could comment. ‘Tipton,’ I reminded him under my breath.
‘He didn’t take well to losing his dog,’ continued the landlord, ‘and he gets a bit lonely when his wife’s away.’
‘But there’s a pub in the Underworld! He even tried to charge me a deposit on a flagon from the Outdoor of the Dead!’
‘That’s too close to home. Persephone hears about everything that goes on there.’
‘Right,’ I said, the beginning of a plan coming together in my mind, ‘What time does he normally get here?’
Bill shrugged his shoulders. ‘Anytime between twelve and ten. If he comes at all. Tell your lyricist to pack that in.’ (Fred was invoking the muse to begin the Epic of the Merlinauts).
Tiresias, the blind seer, was seated in his usual spot by the window of the public bar. I gave him a Capstan Full Strength, and described in detail the clouds of smoke which he blew across the table. Through his interpretations, he confidently predicted that Hades would be leaving his house at 6.04, arriving at 6.15.
Chimdy, Jack and I left the Beehive at 5.55 and tied Genevieve to the stern of the Merlin, dragging her back up the Old Main Line, so as to be out of sight of Tiresias when he and Dionysus arrived up Dudley No.1. We took Cerberus from his comfy bed and hid him in the hold with the trolls, who were very good with animals, and would keep the dog happy and silent — a vital task, for Cerberus’ minor triad barks would be instantly recognized by his former owner. I donned a dark cape and slipped off the boat to look out for the gods from a safe distance.
Tiresias was an infallible seer, and the two arrived on the dot at 6.15. I gave them a few minutes to get settled, and then led Genevieve over the bridge and down the towpath of the Dudley branch, towards the tunnel that would take us to the Land of the Dead.
Jack and Chimdy had never before seen the dark imagery of the Dudley Tunnel, and as we watched the skeletons of ferrets chase the skeletons of rabbits, and rain shoot upwards from dead trees and shrubs, and rows of lifeless skulls watch motion pictures of Mae West, they became fearful and longed for home. Their unease unsettled Cerberus, who paced about the coal on the deck of the Merlin, impatiently swishing his tail.
The Pub of the Dead was much busier than it had been on my last visit, and so it took a long time to get served at the Outdoor of the Dead. Through the hatch I could see the packed public bar, where the souls gave off a sulphury stench and moaned constantly. Finally, a spectral serving wench appeared. ‘The usual, bab?’ she asked, with a wide calavera smile,.
‘I suppose so, ar,’ I said, accepting the flagon of ale and the crisps which would be empty but whose air would return Cerberus to a healthier past state. That was, at any rate, how I imagined things would work — with no wizard to consult on this occasion, it was the only recipe at my disposal.
I paid and turned to leave, only to be confronted with the sight of a forlorn, drenched figure leaning on an oar. Panic ran through my body like mercury. If Charon chose to, he could soon row up to the Beehive and tell Hades of his dog’s return; with the Merlinauts split into two groups, he would have a greater chance of defeating us, and the Dionysus character he was hanging around with was an unknown quantity in battle. The ferryman and I stared at each other in silence, before he said, ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Mind your own business, transporter. I haven’t forgotten the shilling you swindled me out of last time.’
‘And I haven’t forgotten what it’s like to taste the waters of the Lethe. Two years have I spent drenched and disdained.’
‘How’s Hades?’
‘I wouldn’t know. I’m not exactly employee-of-the-month material since the mortal ducked me.’
‘How come you’re still wet?’
‘Hades’ idea of a joke.’
‘He’s certainly no god of wit,’ I replied sympathetically. The ferryman looked down at the ground miserably. ‘Listen: can I buy you a drink?’
‘Goo on, then,’ said Charon.
When we left the Pub of the Dead there was an orange glow in the gloom. At first I feared for the Merlin, but in fact it was Charon’s rowboat that was ablaze.
‘What have you done, lads?’ I asked.
Jack, idly fussing Genevieve on the towpath, looked up at us in surprise. ‘We didn’t want that one racing off to the Beehive to tell tales.‘
‘Is the Merlin going to be all right?’ I asked, for the vessels were quite close together.
‘Ar,’ said Chimdy, ‘There’s no wind. I don’t think there ever is in this place.’ What’s up with him?’
Something in Charon had changed at that point. The dour, down-at-heel, drenched-to-the-skin delivery boy with whom I’d been swapping tales of watery adventures only minutes before was in a superhuman rage, smashing his oar against the floor and screaming incoherently until words formed from the cries like primitive organisms emerging from the primeval soup.
‘Monsters!’ cried he, his oar partially snapped and flailing in the air, ‘You naughty bloody monsters!’
‘Monsters!’ cried he, his oar partially snapped and flailing in the air, ‘You naughty bloody monsters! My boat! My livelihood! Hades is going to bloody kill me!’
‘Take it easy, Charon,’ said I, still keeping an eye out on the Merlin, which ‘Handsome’ Jonny Briggs had to have back — in one piece — at Crown Works by Sunday night at the latest. ‘It’s only a rowboat. It shouldn’t be too hard to find you another.’
‘That’s been my boat since the beginning, long before the time of the mortals.’
‘In which case, it might not be a bad idea to bring yourself up to date, a bit. It’s a modern world, Charon.’
‘This is the Land of the Dead! There’s nothing modern about it!’
He had a point. I looked to the lads for ideas.
‘Thing is, mate,’ said Chimdy, eventually, ‘How long does it take you to bring a single soul down here on that? Get yourself something motorized, with a bigger capacity, maybe, and you could save yourself a ruck of time.’
‘What are you talking about? I’ve got nothing on my hands but time,’ answered the Ferryman.
‘But you could be enjoying yourself…’
‘I enjoy my work.’
‘Well of course,’ said Chimdy, ‘I mean: who wouldn’t? But there’s more to… life.’
There was an uncomfortable silence. Cerberus barked a suspenseful diminished triad.
‘See you, then,’ I said to Charon, and we headed to the Merlin
We fed the past to Cerberus and began sharing the flagon of ale. Charon’s rage had subsided, and he moped around on the towpath; this was a distraction to conversation and, feeling rather guilty at the destruction of his vessel, and sorry for his literal and metaphorical drippiness, we eventually invited him aboard.
And then, of course, he wouldn’t leave.
We offered him beer money to go back into the Pub of the Dead, threw coal at him, and even threatened to throw him in the water again, but he stood his ground, and we had not left enough time for battle, and so we reluctantly took him with us back up Dudley No.1 to the Beehive, half an hour before closing time.
As soon as we got to the junction, Charon jumped ship and into the public bar of the Beehive. We braced ourselves for battle. Seconds passed that felt like minutes. Minutes passed that felt like hours. And then an hour had passed. Clearly, there was a lock-in.
At 12.30, I left Jack and Chimdy and headed to the windows to see what I could find out. The notes of a lyre, and the unmistakeable voice of Fred Carp could be heard above boisterous chatter.
Well some call him Bacchus and some Liber Pater The infallible beer and whisky locator The subject of statues and poems and myths Now he lies on the floor in a pool of his piss Refrain: Because no-one outdrinks Natty Painter Be they gods or ordinary men And if it’s true Dionysus was born twice before Then he’ll need to be reborn again. Oh, no-one outdrinks Natty Painter, They always end up on the floor, And if drinking’s the mark of a man (and it is) Then we’ll call this poor god Pseudanor!
I was still standing at the window when the bolt was thrown and the revellers emerged, arms around shoulders or punching the air, laughing and shouting and emitting hiccoughs or discrete quantities of vomit. “Handsome” Jonny Briggs, of golden hair and full lips, was carrying one end of Dionysus, while two adoring serving wenches took the feet. Hades was merry but in control, and looked at me curiously. ‘Where’s my dog?’ he said neutrally.
‘Let’s settle this once and for all.’
‘He’s my dog now.’
‘So you keep saying,’ said Hades, ‘But how do you know what he wants?’
I considered the question. ‘Let’s settle this once and for all.’
We stood apart, Hades on the towpath and near the back gate of the Beehive, where Bill the landlord was stacking the innumerable barrels that Natty and Dionysus had emptied. Chimdy passed Cerberus (whose toothache was now completely cured) to Jack, who set him on the ground.
‘Come on, boy!’ I called, slapping my thighs invitingly.
‘Attend me!’ commanded Hades.
‘Come on, Cerberus! Good boy!’
‘Approach, hound!’
Unsure, Cerberus walked towards us, each head switching its gaze between the two of us. The crowd was silent but for some dry retching from Jim Painter, whose capacity did not match that of his kin.
‘Come on, boy!’ I called. ‘Scratchings! Scratchings!’
‘Come hither, accursèd beast or thou shalt know my wrath!`
Cerberus stopped at the fork in his invisible road, some six yards from each of us. Hades’ threats continued, but I just gave a quick whistle and slapped my thighs again.
Cerberus wagged his tale and bounded towards me, to cheers from the Merlinauts.
‘See you, then,’ I said, and headed off to the Merlin with the rest of the crew. As we passed by the pub up the old main line to Aston, we heard Hades demanding a ride from his psychopomp, and snivelling excuses and apologies from Charon.
All in all, a decent weekend away, though Wolves lost 2-1 to goals from Astley and Dix and the beer in the Aston Tavern wasn’t as good as usual. We headed back as dusk’s rosy fingers caressed the clouds, and got the Merlin and Genevieve back safe and sound.