"Stone Cold"
Lounging back on large cushions in the throne room, Cleopatra and her king‑to‑be, Prince Lawrence of Arabia, drank wine out of large golden goblets. The new prince had been bathed by the hand maidens; his odd clothes burned and a fresh white tunic now draped over his body.
Dozens of hand maidens were waiting on them, hand and foot. Large male servants waved even larger palm fronds above their heads to provide a cool breeze. Grapes were generously dropped into the waiting mouths of the Queen of Egypt and her new Prince.
“So, my love,” began Cleopatra, “how does it feel to be royalty?” She craned her neck up for another grape.
“I do not remember a time when I was not royalty,” I responded in a very regal tone.
“You do not recall my finding you; wandering around in the Sahara?” she asked.
“Wandering? Me? The Prince of Arabia and Egypt? Do not be absurd my dear.”
“No, of course not,” smiled Cleopatra. Her hypnotism was working like a charm.
Just then, a large burly guard burst into the throne room, “your highness, there is a problem in the inner courtyard. A stranger has come....”
“Cleopatra!” boomed Poseidon, barging into the room, “you know not who I am, but believe me. I am all powerful.”
“Guards, seize him,” ordered Cleopatra, calmly.
As a group of guards approached the god Poseidon, he let loose a lightning bolt from the tip of his trident. A ball of flame roared toward the oncoming guards, sending them hurling out of his way as he continued to approach the throne. Behind him, sticking close, was Melissa.
“As I was saying,” he started, casting evil glances toward the guards as they began to regroup, “I have brought someone who wishes to speak to your new prince.”
“Larry,” urged Melissa, stepping out from behind Poseidon, “Larry, it’s me, Melissa.”
“I know no one named Melissa,” I stated, “why is she dressed like that?”
“Larry, you are not the Prince of Arabia or Egypt or anywhere else.”
“Stop calling me by that vulgar term—‘Larry’. I am his royal highness, Prince Lawrence of Arabia. Be gone, peasant girl. Guards! Make her be gone.”
“Peasant girl!” stewed Melissa.
“Now, now,” comforted the god of the sea, “he does not know what he is saying. She has got him hypnotized. See that scarab amulet around her neck?”
“I do not know who either of you are,” started Cleopatra, “nor do I care. Leave here at once.”
“Not without him,” pointed Poseidon with is long arm.
“Larry, remember? The 20th century, television, VCRs, compact discs...you must remember!” urged Melissa.
“Go away!” I ordered.
“Movies! You remember movies! Laserdiscs, James Bond, Steven Spielberg! Music! You love music: Billy Joel, the Beatles, Paul McCartney!”
“McCartney,” I said slowly. That struck a familiar cord. My head began to spin again.
“Poseidon, can’t you do anything?” pleaded Melissa.
“Guards, these strangers have grown most tiresome. Get rid of them,” groaned Cleopatra.
“Maybe this will help you remember,” said Poseidon. He let loose a much smaller lightning bolt from his fingertip, striking me right in the head.
Reeling back on my cushion, I fell to the floor. Shaking what felt like cobwebs out of my skull, I got back up and looked around.
“Where am I?” I asked.
“Never mind that now,” shouted Melissa, grabbing my hand and pulling me alongside her and Poseidon, “cute knees,” she added with a chuckle, looking down at my tunic.
“Guards!” boomed Cleopatra, “Get them!”
Just then, there was a large puff of orange smoke and the three of us were gone. Poseidon had accessed the Time Tornado with the help of his trident.
Cleopatra stormed out of the throne room to a small adjacent chamber. Reaching into her silk robe for the small orb, she called for Anubis.
“What is it now!” boomed the voice from the orb.
“One of your Greek gods has just taken the stranger back with him,” she stated, “this whole operation has failed.”
“I have taken care of everything. By sunset you will either have the stranger or Alexander back—permanently.”
* * * *
As the orange smoke dissipated in the courtyard of Athena, Poseidon, Melissa and I found ourselves face to face with stone statues of the others. Walking around the statues was a small, crimson, winged horse.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Little Neptune,” started Poseidon, “come here.” The little crimson horse trotted over to the god of the sea. Poseidon appeared to be communicating with him telepathically, even though the little horse only answered in nays and whinnies.
“This is Little Neptune,” introduced the god of the sea, “the youngest of Pegasus’ three sons. He says that he came here to find out if there was any news on his father. He found everyone in this state.” Poseidon knocked on Apollo’s stone head with his fist.
“I have always wanted to do that,” he chuckled.
“It must be the work of Medusa,” stated Melissa.
“No, my child, that is impossible,” replied Poseidon, “that Gorgon was slain by Perseus.” He walked around to Athena’s statue.
“Maybe she has a relative?” I suggested, leaning on a stone Woba Womba. “A sister maybe?”
“There have been rumors of two such sisters, but they have never been confirmed,” noted Poseidon.
“Affirmative,” came a voice from the other side of the courtyard.
“Rob,” said Melissa. Running over to him, we found he stood next to a Lisa and a Cindy statue.
“The others were indeed turned to stone by a sister of Medusa. She arrived here shortly after your departure.”
“Why didn’t you stop her?” I asked.
“My circuits were affected by the sight of her through my visual input sensors. I was unable to function for a period of 18.9 minutes. Initiated repairs were successful.”
“Where’s the book!” asked Melissa, as she discovered that the Spell Book was no longer strapped to Rob’s back.
“Here it is,” stated Poseidon, “it is on the table.”
“Good,” I said, flipping through the pages, “maybe there’s something in here that will free the others?”
“I don’t see anything in the index,” replied Melissa, looking over my shoulder.
“No, I don’t either,” I said, closing the book and strapping it onto Rob’s back, “now what?”
“She must be destroyed,” stated Poseidon, “as long as she lives, they will forever remain statues of stone.”
“How can that be accomplished,” I asked.
“An arrow must be driven through her neck.”
“Easier said than done,” I mused, “if anyone aims an arrow at her, they’ll be turned to stone also.”
“Then someone must be found who can accomplish that task with their eyes closed,” chuckled Poseidon.
“Do you have anyone in mind?” asked Melissa.
“I am afraid not. Perseus is no longer with us.”
“I know of one person,” I smiled, determinedly.
“Who?” asked the undersea god.
“Sir Robin of Locksley.”
“What?” laughed Melissa.
“Robin Hood,” I repeated.
“You’re crazy.”
“No, I’m serious,” I replied, “if we can go forward through time to Merry Olde England, we can bring him back here and he can surely do the job.”
“It sounds like this Robin Hood is the only way,” began Poseidon, “I know by approving of this, both Athena and Apollo shall give me what for. So much continuum disruption is not good.”
“What a second,” interrupted Melissa, “not to burst your bubble Larry, but Robin Hood is a myth.”
“So are Greek gods,” I noted.
“You’ve got a point there,” she laughed.
“Then it is settled,” nodded Poseidon, “you may use Apollo’s sun chariot. I can arrange for it to carry you through the Time Tornado to your destination and then return you to this location.” Poseidon motioned toward Little Neptune, who trotted out of the courtyard to retrieve the chariot.
“Excellent,” I said, “Rob, what year?”
“1193 A.D.”
A few minutes later, Melissa, Rob and I were positioned in the golden sun chariot of Apollo. Four milky white steeds were hitched to the large chariot. Little Neptune and Poseidon stood by as we prepared to depart.
“Do not stay too long in the future,” cautioned Poseidon, “remember what Athena has already said about your current presence in your own past.”
“We’ll be back as soon as possible,” I said, “besides, dressed like this, I’m liable to be shot with an arrow.”
“Good,” replied the Lord of the Seas, “er, not that you might be shot, but that you will be back soon,” he smiled. “All you have to do is tell the chariot were you wish to go. When you are prepared to return, simply state ‘Olympus.’ It will do the rest. Good luck.”
“Chariot, take us to Sherwood Forest, Nottinghamshire, England, 1193 A.D.”
The chariot lurched forward as the steeds headed down a cobblestone road. Melissa and I looked back and waved at Poseidon. I sure hoped this would work. Stone statues of Lisa and Cindy on my front lawn were not exactly the decor I had hoped for.
The weather was warm and the birds were singing, but the streets were kept empty (as we found out later) by a decree from the gods. The less contact we had—even up here on Mount Olympus—the better.
We soon arrived at a tiled area near the edge of a cliff. Upon reaching it, the steeds instinctively lifted off towards the sky—their legs kicking rhythmically through the air. I wasn’t sure if the horses where pulling the chariot or if the chariot was pushing them. Either way, we were airborne and in no time we were high above Mount Olympus, and still climbing deep into the clouds.
After a few minutes, we came to a break in the clouds. What we saw in front of us, took our collective breaths away and put a touch of fear into our hearts. In front of us lay an enormous, swirling, orange tornado.
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