Free Pandora Gets Heart by Carolyn Hennesy Page A

same time.
    “Well, it was all in the contract you signed with the Midas company,” Echidna said, pushing them out into the main hall. “So, if you want to be paid and don’t want to be flogged . . .”
    “I am adding her to the list of things I hate,” Alcie whispered as she and Pandy moved into the crowd. “And what’s with all the flogging?”
    “Look, it’s . . . it’s not gonna happen,” Pandy reassured her, a few notes from Orpheus’s lyre catching her ear. “Zeus is here. No centaurs are going to break in. I’ll see you in a few.”
    Alcie headed toward the staircase while Pandy wove her way across the hall to get an up-close glimpse of Orpheus at work. Pandy recognized the melody he was playing as one her father hummed all the time around the house: “Gimme Goat!” (Also known as “Two Lentils and a String Bean Don’t Make a Meal.”) Involuntarily, she felt her head bobbing up and down and she put a little dance step into her walk. She caught sight of Alcie, now at the top of the stairs, swaying back and forth with the music. Suddenly, the crowd parted in front of her and Pandy found herself face-to-face with Orpheus (or, as she would call him from then on, the dreamiest man alive in any century). He smiled down at her as he snatched a grape leaf off her tray without missing a beat, and she gurgled. She didn’t even care what he was playing. Pandy, although she was very sorry that he’d been turned into a girl, couldn’t for the life of her remember what she’d ever seen in Tiresias the Younger.
    Without warning, a voice called out from a distance.
    “You there! Maiden with the meatballs!”
    Pandy had heard Athena speak, and Hephaestus, Apollo, Hermes, and, of course, Zeus. Each had a voice like no other human, or immortal for that matter. Each was its own astonishing combination of characteristics: low, high, soft, harsh, and each was imbued with something Pandy couldn’t put her finger on . . . the quality of simply . . . being a god.
    But nothing compared with the voice of Aphrodite. She remembered the few notes she’d heard Apollo pluck on his lyre when she’d stood at the great teardrop table on Mount Olympus. She’d thought then that it was the most beautiful music she’d ever heard. Now, with every call of Aphrodite for more meatballs, all that was changed. Not even the music of Orpheus could compare. This was wind, sun, laughter, pure love, and a sweet cream apricot cake all rolled into one. For no reason at all, Pandy was instantly happy. Pandy felt a subtle ripple in the crowd around her and knew that Aphrodite was headed her way. But the initial tingle of her voice was wearing off and Pandy, now slightly disoriented, retreated a few steps in confusion.
    “Meatball maiden!”
    There was the tingle again, and Pandy tried to turn toward Aphrodite’s voice, but her foot, again, caught on something hard. This time, she went down like a toppled tree; her last glimpse as she hit the floor was of an ornately carved gold throne.
    Fortunately, she managed to catch herself before her head smacked the blue tiles, but only because she let the silver tray fly out of her hands. Immediately, the crowd around her parted. Pandy could see meatballs rolling off in every direction. Then she lifted her eyes and, without thinking, looked directly into the scowling face of the Supreme Ruler himself . . . Zeus.
    Who was covered with meatballs and boar sauce.
    Even the musicians went silent.
    With a flick of his finger, Zeus had Pandy on her feet immediately, her tray back in her hand. She was too terrified to say anything. Echidna raced up. Looking at the mess, she heaved for a moment, then turned to Zeus and bowed low.
    “I cannot begin to express—,” Echidna began, but she was silenced by another flick of Zeus’s finger.
    “I require music,” Zeus said, and Echidna bowed low again and scurried over to Orpheus.
    Zeus stared straight at Pandy. Then he picked up a meatball from the arm of his