Hermes pushed open the crooked wooden door. The singing stopped.
‘Who is it?’
‘Just me,’ he called as he stepped inside.
The hut was a shambles. A three-legged table propped up on a barrel was heaped with spools of thread and an array of pottery; most of which had been broken then glued back together incorrectly, the artwork a cracked, nonsensical jumble. Several chairs and stools were littered throughout the single room, twine wound around them to create pathways leading to a table, hearth and a single pallet pushed against the far wall.
‘Don’t move anything. I’ve got it all just where I want it.’ An elderly woman sat in a corner of the room on a stool working an old loom, thread coiled in little coloured heaps beside her.
Hermes smiled. ‘The next time I visit, I’ll find you with a broken leg from tripping over all this mess.’
The old woman lifted her hands from her weaving. ‘The next time you visit I’ll be dead if you leave it so long again.’
Hermes’ grin faltered. ‘How long has it been?’
She sighed. ‘Two years give or take.’
Hermes’ frown returned. He set down his bag of armour by the door and picked his way through the obstacle course of furniture to draw up a chair next to the old woman, placing the basket of food down beside him. She looked smaller than the last time he’d seen her. He burrowed his head between her hands and lay it on her lap.
‘Did you miss me, Arachne?’
She smoothed his hair, her twisted fingers raking across his scalp with just the right amount of pressure. She always knew how to relax him.
‘No, you’re a damned nuisance.’
Hermes smiled, then sniffed. He closed his eyes as she groomed him.
‘You always sound the same,’ she murmured. ‘Such a youthful voice.’
Hermes sat up and leant across her to inspect the tapestry. He cocked his head.
‘What’s this one meant to be?’ He could make out no discernible shapes in the design.
‘A horse making love to a donkey.’
Hermes laughed. He had once asked Arachne why she continued to weave after her sight was taken. She had replied that it was the making, the texture of the thread beneath her fingers, rather than the finishing that gave her pleasure. Hermes didn’t understand. Arachne had been brilliant once, a weaver possessed of a skill so beautiful it was almost divine. But her talents with thread were matched only by her wicked sense of humour. She had created a series of works depicting the gods’ debauchery and philandering that became very popular in her town, then swiftly the rest of the kingdom.
When it came to Athena’s attention that there existed a tapestry of her amorously chasing a bull, she had put out Arachne’s eyes and destroyed all her work. Well, most of it. Hermes had managed to save a couple of tapestries. He kept them hidden far from Olympus, and it amused him to look at them from time to time. In his opinion they were finer works of art than anything in the marble sky palace.
‘What did you bring me then?’ A glint appeared in Arachne’s milky eyes.
‘Goat droppings and tree sap.’ Hermes lifted the basket onto his lap, took the lid off the honey pot and dipped one of the indigo figs into its gooey interior. ‘All disgusting, I’m afraid.’ He lifted the honeyed fig to Arachne’s lips and watched the golden syrup drip languidly down her chin as she bit into the fruit.
‘Absolutely disgusting.’ She chewed for a while. ‘Go on then, what is it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You only ever come to me when you want something.’
‘That’s not …’ Hermes twisted another ripe bulb between his fingers, the word ‘fair’ dying on his lips. He could never hide his feelings from Arachne. ‘You remember I told you that my father is a very powerful man … well, he’s ordered me to do something for him.’
Arachne nodded. ‘Go on.’
Hermes wondered how much he dared reveal. ‘It’s a secret task he’s entrusted only to me … I have to find something for him that doesn’t want to be found, and I’m afraid if I fail he might … No, failure isn’t an option.’ He sighed, squashing the fig between his fingers. ‘I’ve not had any luck so far, and then to complicate things, there’s this woman –’
‘Ah!’ Arachne reached for his hands and when she found them, plucked the fig from his fingers. ‘Youlikeher …’ She popped the fruit into her mouth.
‘Yes,’ Hermes said quickly. ‘Andshe’sasked me to do something too. She’s so sad, because someone precious was taken from her, and if I find him and give him her message, I could make her happy. I would like that very much. But if my father finds out he’d be furious to know I’m not fully focusing on his quest.’
