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| Chronicles of the Cake Stop |
| Vol VII No. 5 |
Soundtrack:
Puffy Ami Yumi - Nice |
The High Priestess of the Triple Goddess of Cycling leads her now three
companions into the cave at the base of the great volcano on Sicily that leads down into the realm of
Hephaestus, via a tunnel to his secret underground lair on Lemnos. The walls of the tunnel are covered
in sketches and design plans, and some photographs of finished works, much as might be found in a
tattoo parlours. There is a picture of the chariot that draws the Sun across the heavens in A-Time there;
a picture of Achilles looking heroic, a golden boy in his impenetrable armour; an image of Athena
looking grim and stern with her Aegis; and Eros, boyish and playful with a fistful of glittering arrows.
There is a series of sketches of the throne of Hera — a rather ironic touch, all things considered — and
an intimate and revealing portrait of the crippled god with Prometheus and Pandora, arms around each
other and smiling.
From ahead the waves of heat rumble out of the vast series of workshops like the shockwave produced
by a speeding freight train, carried on the hellish clanging of hammered metal and stinking of sulphur
and hot coals. Black, glossy walls of volcanic glass peppered with fumaroles begin to reflect orange
and red flickering light from the great furnaces within.
"Gods, toots, it stinks down here!" Wolverine complains, sniffing and snorting, eyes
watering.
"Well we won't be here long," Ravenbait tells him, not enjoying the experience much herself.
"S'like bein' sprayed wi' mace. I hate that stuff."
"Dante himself could have described this place," Van Helsing breathes in disturbed wonder.
"Well he didn't, and the big H won't take too kindly to it if you go comparing his workshop with the
Seven Levels of Hell," the Priestess tells him. "And neither will I: I quite like it where I live."
They emerge into a huge cave.
"Helloooooo!" calls Ravenbait. "Heph? Steropes? Mrs H? Anyone home?"
One of the various sets of banging sounds stops. There is the sound of mumbling.
"Aye, lad. Milk and two sugars while you're at it. And see if there be any o' them garibaldis left,
eh?"
From around a rocky outcrop comes a giant. He stands almost three times the height of a normal man,
which puts him at almost four times the height of Logan. In the centre of his forehead is a single, huge
eye, and above the eye the vast expanse of perspiration-beaded forehead is creased into a
frown.
"Ey up," he says, his voice low and rumbling like an earth tremor.
"Hiya Arges," says Ravenbait. The giant Cyclopes leans down towards her, to get a better
look.
"Oh! 'Ello little lady." His face brightens. "We were just bangin' away at some o' them thunderbolts for
his nibs upstairs, like. You come to see the Guvnor?"
"Aye, Arges, I have," Ravenbait replies. "I'd like him to meet George. Say hello to Arges,
George."
"Bloomin' heck!" Arges exclaims as George steps forwards past Van Helsing, who has been shocked
into statuesque, open-mouthed immobility by the appearance of the Cyclopes. "'E's a right little corker,
in't 'e? Where'd you get 'im from? Look at th' workmanship on that. Ey. 'Ere, lads! Come an' tak a look
at this!"
Wolverine pulls Ravenbait to one side when the other two blacksmiths appear and start discussing
George with evident admiration.
"Are we okay with these chumps?" he asks her. "I hear they can get antsy."
"Don't worry, Logan. They have a beef with Apollo as well."
"Well any of 'em gets tricksy, you step aside and let a fella who's the best at what he does thrash some
adamantium upside his head."
"Sure Logan, if it'll make you feel better." She pats him on the shoulder. "Hey Brontes. Is the big yin
in?"
"'E's upstairs 'avin' tea w' th' missus," says the one-eyed giant. "Can ye see yersel' up, like?"
"Aye, we can manage," the Priestess tells him.
"Grand. Ah do like your friend. 'E's proper clever, that 'un. Lovely workmanship. Those pistons are
proper gorgeous. Oh, and 'afore ah forget, Aeroflash's new bike is waitin' t' go. Is 'e comin' to collect it,
like, or should we just ship it out to 'im?"
"Box it and ship it, Brontes. Probably easiest. Maybe Hermes could deliver it, if he's not too
busy."
"Ah kin ask him, like, but he's been proper rushed of late. Any roads. You pop up t' see the Guvnor an'
we'll get it sorted."
"Thanks Brontes." Van Helsing is still standing and staring. "Gods," Ravenbait mutters. "He really is
useless. Logan, can you get our floppy-haired vampire killer there moving? Come on, George, I'd like
you to meet someone."
Hephaestus and Aglaea, otherwise known as Mrs H, are in the upper chamber. Aglaea is a beautiful
woman, the youngest of the three Charites, or Graces, and her name means splendor. For reasons
peculiar to this particular narrative and owing nothing at all to Homer, she happens to look like Keira
Knightley, Arthurian woad and all. Her beauty is made all the more startling by the less-than handsome
features of Hephaestus himself.
"Raven!" she cries delightedly, clapping her hands together in a girlish manner. "I didn't expect so see
you so soon."
"Aglaea, it is good to see you," the Priestess says, bowing. "I think you've heard of my two similar-looking friends here."
"Ah yes. Nice to meet Hugh," Mrs H says.
"What did you just say?" Logan growls.
"I said 'Nice to meet you', Wolverine, Mr Van Helsing." Aglae says innocently while the Priestess
stifles a laugh behind one Body Geometry gloved hand.
"This is George," Ravenbait continues. "We're not too sure who he was originally, but the ABD got
hold of him after a car crash and have turned him into an engineering project."
"What's that you say?" Hephaestus is a little deaf from having spent thousands of years beating upon
the anvil with his hammer in his grip, although he has always maintained that it's better than going
blind. "Let's have a look at him."
His big hands are surprisingly gentle, and George seems to be quite happy to let the big blackmith look
him over.
"This is a nice piece of work," Hephaestus says. "Can be improved, of course. We could replace that
assembly there with a titanium version, and that power coupling looks like it might be vulnerable to
damp. Don't like the look of that transformer, and they really don't know much about hybridising power
supplies. He's still going to be vulnerable to any oil shortages."
He limps over to his workbench and picks up a jeweller's lens to have a closer look at some of the
details of George's construction. "I can definitely do something with that. Oh yes. When do you need
him back?"
"I don't, particularly," Ravenbait says. "We're off to put a stop to them developing this technology to
get the Humungous going again. I'd rather have the fat, flabby monster remain as an MOT failure. I've
got Logan along for the ride and Van Helsing here is going to keep an eye out for werewolves and
vampires. Only brought George to you because I felt sorry for him and because the Ferryman told me
you were expecting him."
"Hmmm. Well, you be careful," Hephaestus says. "Arges was talking to his nephew Polyphemus the
other day, and he said that Poseidon heard a rumour that they've been fitting sharks with laser beams on
their heads. They've got werewolves and vampires as well?"
"So says the Vatican," Van Helsing says, finally finding his tongue. Hephaestus grunts. He's not
exactly enamoured of the Vatican. "And they would know," Van Helsing adds. "We have been chasing
down demons for centuries."
"Interesting company you are keeping these days, Priestess," Hephaestus says. "Well, I can certainly
make some improvements for your friend, get him moving a bit easier, improve his power supply and
get rid of that badly-designed vulnerability to water. Are you going to be taking Aeroflash's bike with
you?"
Aglaea hurriedly interrupts. "Oh, well, husband, if you are going to be all wrapped up in another one of
your little projects, perhaps I could take Aeroflash's new bicycle to him? I am sure I would be perfectly
safe with the Priestess and her friends. It has been such a long time since I last saw Aeroflash, and now
that he has ascended...." She pouts winsomely. "Please, dear?"
Hephaestus contrives to look unsure. Ravenbait is more than aware of the nasty business with
Aphrodite and Ares, which had been terribly unfair on the blacksmith and is just one more reason why
she doesn't fraternise much with the Greek gods. For a few moments she wonders if Hephaestus is still
too bitter about that whole episode to let Aglaea go, but he smiles and nods.
"Of course, dear. You might have to adjust your inside leg a little, though. I think you might be a little
tall for the frame. Get Brontes to make sure the transmission is working properly before you take it
out."
"Oooh, thank you!" Aglaea squeals, running over to her husband and throwing her arms around him.
He picks her up, her dainty feet kicking in the air, and they kiss.
"We need a ride for the Pope's lapdog here, as well," Logan reminds Ravenbait, earning himself an
angry glare from Van Helsing.
"Can we borrow a bike for Van Helsing, Heph? Please?" the Priestess asks.
"I think I should have something. I'll get Steropes to have a look round back for you. Not a big lad, is
he?"
"Not really, no," Ravenbait smirks.
Fifteen minutes later they are on their way back out through the tunnel, with Van Helsing on a loan
bike: and some loan bike it is too. It seemed to have caused Hephaestus great amusement to supply him
with a Pinarello Dogma. George stands at the mouth of the tunnel with his sad eyes and stares after
them, fingers waving slowly. Aglaea is quite at home on Aeroflash's new steed, long, limber body clad
in an Assos skinsuit that shows off a good deal of her woad.
As they exit from the base of the volcano and back into the fresh air Wolverine breathes a sigh of relief
to get out of the sulphurous atmosphere of Hephaestus' workshop. Just then Thought and Memory soar
down out of the sky and landed in their usual places.
"Braak!" Thought declares. "Honk! Braaaaaak!"
"Hoot. Clonk." adds Memory.
"Change of plan, boys. Sorry about this, Mrs H. Aeroflash isn't where I left him," the Priestess says.
"You've met Jack Sparrow, haven't you, Logan?"
"You could say we're acquainted."
"Well, you're about to meet him again. They started without us. We'd better get a wiggle on too, or
they'll have finished it before we get there."
Logan grins. "It ain't over 'til Roseanne sings the anthem, darlin'," he says.
The Priestess returns the expression, reaches forwards and opens a hole into A-Time. The four cyclists
shoot through the rent in the fabric of reality and vanish, leaving only tyre tracks and a few open-mouthed, fat American tourists.
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