//------------------------------// // Drag Me To Hell // Story: There Goes The Neighborhood // by Georg //------------------------------// There Goes The Neighborhood Drag Me To Hell The path to the Underworld was wreathed in darkness and shadows, where even the air hung heavy with the dank rot of slimy black fungus and the damp pebbles beneath his sandals shifted with every step. The gloom of the path swept most of the romance out of the trip, and Luna’s enthusiastic embrace of the surroundings finished the job. “Look, Great Zeus. A peeping crocus. They’re very rare this time of year.” She nipped the flower off of the plant and chewed with an expression of divine joy, although all Zeus could see was the trickle of reddish saliva that leaked out around the edge of her happy smile. “They’re won’erful. You’ve got to try one.” He grimaced as Luna’s dark magic encircled a flower and floated it up in the direction of his face. The crimson blossom inside the dark blue bud looked like some sort of reddish eye staring back at him with the same baleful stare that Argus had always bestowed upon him, and which the screeching peacocks around Olympus did in his absence. He took a bite, of course, and chewed while expecting to have to spit the foul thing out, but it had a delicate flavor to it that surprised him. “Saffron?” he asked, savoring the elusive flavor before swallowing. “Oh!” exclaimed Luna, bounding forward along the path in a spray of fungal spores kicked up from the moss hanging down from all of the surrounding trees. “The white-rot mushrooms are sporing. Look at the way they’re climbing that tree.” “Aren’t those poisonous?” asked Zeus, hurrying to catch up and sincerely thinking about turning into a bull just to keep his balance on the slippery, fungus-streaked pebbles of the path. “Of course! But they show where the non-poisonous honey mushrooms grow. See?” Luna pushed back some slimy undergrowth to reveal a huge clump of golden-brown mushrooms, which the lunar goddess promptly plucked and stuffed into a bag on her back. “Sliced and fried in butter, they’re just heavenly. Of course Celly always burns them and I never can get them to cook all the way through.” She stopped and sighed. “I wish Pierre could cook for us. You’d love the way he can toast a spinach souffle, Great Zeus.” “No more mortal ponies,” growled Zeus. At least in the Underworld, he didn’t have to worry about hearing that blasted lyre ploinking away at all hours of the day and night. Hades had been very good about keeping any mortals who visited his realm locked away for good. Even his brother’s immortal wife had not escaped totally unscathed, being stuck in the dismal place for a quarter of every year while the world above was covered in snow. And ice, and sleet, and slush. Maybe Persephone had the right idea after all. Still, although the trip here had been its usual dismal trudge, the scenery had been given new life by the equine goddess, particularly when she would bend down to nibble on some rare delicacy or lean across some obstacle to reach for something. The stars above might never shine in the Underworld, but there certainly was a very attractive moon to be seen. Of course his good mood evaporated the moment Luna fairly danced over to greet Charon with a kiss to each boney cheek and a warm embrace. The ferryman was standing as he always did in his punt, which somehow managed to bob in a dismal manner on the surface of the river Styx while the two of them chattered, or at least Luna was talking while Charon simply nodded. After tucking the bag full of forest munchies to one side of the docks for the return trip, Luna stepped carefully onto the little boat, followed by Zeus. Or at least he tried. A bony hand extended before him, empty of the coin needed for the fee. Grumbling, Zeus extended his own hand above the ferryman’s bony appendage and manifested his will, although the coins that he brought forth from his vault spilled through the open fingers of the ferryman and splashed into the river Styx like common pebbles, which upon a little thought, was quite nearly what they were. “Oh!” said Luna. “Pardon me, Great Zeus. I’ve got this. I always carry a little spare change with me to pay the bill for anypony I’m escorting this far, just in case they did not save for their afterlife.” She floated a hefty silver purse out of her mane and opened it up with a snap, floating four golden coins out of the coin-stuffed depths of the bag. “There you go, Cherry. I’m sorry, Great Zeus, but I’ve never been this far before. Normally, I just bide the escorts goodbye at the docks and see them on their way to Elysium Fields. I’ve never actually been inside the Underworld before, but I know the rules: don’t eat or drink anything, don’t gamble with your brother, and don’t bring anypony or anybeing back out with me.” “You brought mortal ponies here?” grumbled Zeus as Charon set the boat out onto the river with long, strong strokes of his pole. (Not that kind of a pole, you dirty-minded mortal.) “As they pass beyond the Great Sleep, it is my duty to guide them to Elysium Fields, where they may be reunited with their loved ones and spend all of eternity in joy and levity.” She nodded as the boat skimmed past a sun-drenched and cheerful portal out into an open area. “I’ve always thought that particular section of the Underworld as somewhat one-sided, but perhaps I can raise the topic of bringing a few beautiful star-strewn nights up to your brother after we’ve settled your fiscal issues.” She eyed the gloomy shore of the river Styx as the ferryman poled their craft further into the Underworld. “It seems a peculiar place to locate a bank. How doth the loans get made, or the exchange of fiscal instruments carried out?” “Loans?” scoffed Zeus. “What is mine is mine, and none else shall have claim upon it. We shall find my missing treasury and you shall marvel at its depth and volume.” And the sooner we get out of my brother’s creepy realm, the better. * Ω * By the time Charon docked their vessel in front of the towering dark castle that Hades called home, Zeus had resumed a small portion of his good mood. True, Hades was a tall gloomy god who could suck the life out of a room with a single morose sigh, but he was family, that is friendly family, as opposed to the various titans, monsters, and demigods who claimed a familial relationship merely in order to sharpen their blades. His slim brother met him at the gates, his usual frown giving way to a delighted smile when he spotted Luna at Zeus’ side. It was a bit of a start for Zeus, as he had seldom seen his brother in such a good mood, but even more when he swept into a bow and kissed Luna’s upraised forehoof. “Brother of mine,” started Hades in his booming tenor, “you should have told me you were bringing such a beautiful visitor into my lands. You must be Luna. I’ve heard so much about you, but now I find the tales of your beauty to have been severely understated.” He ran his fingers through his jet-black hair and made as if to dust an invisible speck off his grey tunic before gesturing the two of them inside. “Come in, come in. I was just entertaining a few companions, but I can put them aside for Olympus’ newest goddess and my dear brother.” “We don’t mean to impose—” managed Luna before being interrupted. “Nonsense,” scoffed Hades, still seeming unusually chipper for Zeus’ tastes. “When I got Celestia’s letter, I knew how important this was to you. After all, if you can’t trust family, who can you trust?” After due consideration of his father Cronus, Zeus had to ask while they walked, “Father is still imprisoned in the Caves of Nyx, correct?” “Yes, yes, in the abysmal depths with the rest of the Titans,” muttered Hades, his unusual good mood seeming to flit away for a moment. “I have no desire to be devoured again, dear brother. The chains binding him are twice as strong as those which secure your vault, which is why I was so concerned. Pardon me.” Zeus turned the corner to see a small group of past souls gathered around two individuals playing lyres. The first was Orpheus, of course, looking much as he had when Zeus had last seen him, only a little less crispy around the edges from the thunderbolt. The second was a pony. A particular pony, with the same grass-green coat and short horn who he had last seen in his garden, playing a mournful dirge for her missing lover. Err, friend. She did not even look up to acknowledge his arrival, but continued to gently stroke the strings of her infernal instrument as Zeus recovered. The weight of sky seemed to lift off Zeus’ back, much as the time he had forced Atlas to shoulder it in his place. He tried not to smile at the thought of the pesky unicorn finally passing away and winding up in Hades’ domain, but a few tiny bits of his pleasure must have leaked out around the edges. “Ah, I see you know of my musicians,” said Hades with a gesture at the two. “I must thank you, dear brother, for permitting your servant to visit my residence. She has a gift with giving life to the forlorn and forsaken.” “Yes, yes,” said Zeus. He waved at the two musicians before pushing his companions past the doorway. “Hera will be upset that her pony passed away, but I suppose we will just have to live with it. Now, if we can go to my vault.” “Of course. Right this way.” Hades gestured broadly down the corridor toward a dark and forbidding door while calling back over his shoulder to the musicians. “If you will pardon us for a moment, my brother and I have some business to take care of before returning for our entertainment.” “Business should come before pleasure,” agreed Luna, trotting down the hallway in front of Zeus and his brother with what seemed to be an accidental tail-flick at Hades’ side as she began to move, although that did not explain the rhythmic sway to her hips and the coy glance she gave over her shoulder as the brothers delayed to speak privately between them for a moment. “By Hera, brother of mine,” whispered Hades. “Where did you find such beauty? First your musician, and then your… companion.” “They just trotted in one day like they owned the place,” muttered Zeus quietly as they walked. “Well, Luna did. The musician came with my wife’s garden. I thought she’d never play herself to death.” “Death?” Hades looked down his long, thin nose at his heftier but shorter brother. “Nay, she is here under the Lovelorn Wayfarer clause which established the Underworld. She has not passed through my gates bereft of her mortal body, because she plays in mourning for—” “Her ‘friend.’” Zeus ground his teeth. “Are you sure you can’t push her off a cliff or something, brother? I would owe you one.” Hades shook his head with his long, dark locks swaying around his neck. “Nay. It is not wise to interfere with powers greater than ourselves. As powerful as we are, we must respect those distraught with grief over the loss of one they love, as well as the immortal aspects of death, taxation, and mail delivery.” “Probably explains why nobody has killed Hermes for failing to deliver a letter,” grumbled Zeus. He thought for a moment as they walked. “You said that Celestia sent word to you of our visit. How can my idiot son fail to deliver anything which I have entrusted unto him for the last untold number of seasons, but a horse can send word before we can even complete our journey?” As if in response to his spoken question, the sound of wings came fluttering down the hallway after them, followed shortly by a… short horse of sorts. A pegasus to be precise, of the same smaller size as the rest of the ponies who had been plaguing Olympus as of late. It was wearing some sort of uniform including a hefty saddlebag filled to the top with letters sticking out in all directions, and it drew up into a sloppy salute in mid-air in front of Hades with a goofy grin. “I checked all around the Underworld for any of the letters that Hermes dropped, as you requested, sir. I think we have them all now. Oh! Great Zeus!” The hovering pony began digging around in her saddleback with her nose while turning in slow, lazy circles. “I’ve got something for you here.” Zeus turned on his brother. “You let more ponies down here?” He shrugged. “Everybody comes here eventually. Besides,” he added with just the slightest bit of snark, “she delivers letters within a few centuries of their being mailed.” With a huff and a subdued growl, Zeus leafed through the collection of letters the awkward postal pony passed over one-at-a-time as she found them in her overstuffed saddlebags. It was not nearly as bad as Hades had inferred. Only one of the letters was more than a century out of date, and most of the rest were just overdue bills. He burned them to ashes and dusted his hands off before watching the little pegasus fly down the corridor and away. * Ω * Each god and goddess in Olympus had their own vaults in the depths of the Underworld where donations from worshipers were mystically directed, but Zeus had the grandest and sturdiest of them all. He made a point of first stopping by the new vaults where Celestia and Luna had their shiny little doors of polished bronze, each with a nameplate etched into the soft metal. There were only a few drachma in each of them, which Zeus viewed with a growing sense of superiority, even after having checked to ensure the coins were made of gold instead of clay. “You cannot expect to have accumulated much, Luna,” he purred. “After all, you’ve only been divine for a few weeks, and expenses for your mortal temples are deducted before the drachma appear.” “It still seems to be somewhat underwhelming,” said Luna with the most adorable pout tugging down the corners of her lips. “Is there any method by which I could get my funds deposited with my regular banker instead?” Zeus’ smile slowly lost some of its warmth. “A mortal?” She nodded and produced an abacus, along with a large and well-kept ledger. Inside, there were a great number of sums in neat columns, all aligned and organized by category and time. “Aye, but not a single mortal. Instead, I have retained a reliable banking institution which has instituted a stable and diversified investment platform for several centuries. Yearly audits of my accounts keeps them upon the tips of their hooves, and a net rate of return which has averaged greater than eight percentum annually for the vast majority of my investment. Here, the money would just…” She looked forlornly at the small pile of golden coins which they had tested to ensure the gold was more than just a thin film on top of clay and managed a wry smile when the faint tinkle of an additional coin dropping to the tiny vault floor sounded. The smile was Zeus’ weakness. Hera had a smile almost exactly like that, used whenever her husband had done something particularly clever or witty. “There are some gods and goddesses with such an arrangement,” he admitted. “Dionysus, for one,” said Hades. “His vault has never needed more space than for a handful of drachma or two before an inevitable bender wipes him out. If my brother agrees, I shall set up the arrangement as you desire, beautiful Luna.” That wry smile grew into a much warmer expression, and Zeus was shocked to see his calm and impassive brother seem to melt under the warmth of that gaze. He cleared his throat and jerked his head in the direction of the huge bronze vault embossed with a thunderbolt. “Dearest brother, could we please attend to the primary issue. Where’s my money?” It took nearly an hour of divine effort by Hades to get the vault open, which normally would have given Zeus some alone time with the lunar goddess in some dark shadow, of which there were plenty to choose from. Instead, Luna stood very close to Zeus’ brother, looking over his shoulder or around his side at times as he worked with the security enchantments on the vault while Zeus stood back and fumed. It turned out to be the emotional high point of the evening for him. Once the giant vault door was unlocked and swung open, the contents became obvious. If it had merely been empty as Zeus expected, his thunder would have rolled and wrath would have shaken the earth to its foundations. Instead, the floor of the vault was nearly filled with immaterial wraiths in the expensive togas of the moneychangers, all weeping and wailing as they circled a vast mountain of parchment. Off to one side, several of the ghostly moneychangers were casting clay into coin shapes, baking them in an oven that seemed to be fueled by the same parchment that was piled up in heaps, and then one ghostly form with a brush was applying a thin gloss of golden paint to the clay coins once they had dried. The back of the vault was open, and a veritable storm of ghostly spirits flew in and out with stacks of parchment in their grasp and the wails of the tortured filling the air. The spirits did not even pay the slightest attention to the three gods as they walked down into the vault and began to hesitantly poke about. “There are errors in these sums,” said Luna, examining several sheets of parchment which bore a large quantity of red ink arranged in rows. “These numbers cannot be correct.” Zeus reached out one burly arm and grabbed the nearest spirit by the neck, which turned out to be less of a good idea than he thought as the immaterial ghost merely drifted along at the same speed as before, only seemingly louder. “Allow me, brother.” Hades reached out one long, thin arm and grasped the same spirit, only this time the damned soul stopped his infernal wailing and looked as if he were about to expire from fright a second time. The ruler of the Underworld swept his other hand across the interior of the vault and said two words. “Explain. Now.” * Ω * It turned out that the contents of Zeus’ vault could be best described by an intense absence of drachma, such that it could have been not-filled several times over and still remained a great void in the cosmic balance sheet. Phrases such as ‘collateralized debt obligation’ and ‘credit default swaps’ dominated the ghostly soul’s description of the state of the vault, as well as ‘derivatives’ and something called a ‘default.’ To be honest, Zeus had always depended on Apollo to deal with the tricky numbers involved in engineering and money. It was delegation, or so he had insisted after several times when he had been forced to deal with the acrophonic numbers involved in the fifty or so greek island states and the herculean difficulty involved in multiplication of even simple numbers such as σμζ͵ times ιβ͵. Hades had thrown the miserable wretches into a lake of boiling pitch afterwards, but there was still the wretched refuse of their money management to deal with. Drachma from his temples could not even approach the vault without being whisked away to some nether realm where hordes of demonic creatures still held the other end of the infernal documents encumbering his treasury. In all probability, he would be stuck down here for ages while trying to make sense of— “Found it,” declared Luna, still holding the abacus floating in front of her and flipping beads so fast they were a blur. “The problem is ultimately quite simple, Great Zeus. Your income is less than your expenditures, and has been so for quite some time.” “Then I shall raise my income,” said Zeus. “Send word to all of my temples that the offerings are insufficient, and should be raised to—” “Nay, Great Zeus.” Luna floated several sheets of parchment in front of him and began to point to large red numbers. “As you can see, the economy of the mortal world hath taken a great blow from the failure of your treasury. To raise the taxes upon your peasants… I mean your worshipers at this time shall cause a second collapse greater than the first.” After a brief pause, Zeus asked, “So?” “Allow me to explain things to my brother,” said Hades, picking up one of the gilded coins from Zeus’ vault. “Currently, the only money you have is dirt covered in a film of gold. If you crash your worshipers’ economy again, you won’t even have dirt.” “So that leaves…” prompted Zeus, hoping to hear a third alternative. “Cuts,” said Luna, still looking through the leaves of parchment. “If done carefully and adhered to, a narrow path possibly exists between economic failure and more economic failure. It shall be tricky, but with the correct financial advisors and a bridge loan to take the pressure off your creditors, it might be possible.” “A ‘bridge’ loan.” Zeus set his features into the most stoic expression he could muster. “And just who did you have in mind for me to borrow a bridge from?” * Ω * “Great Zeus! What a pleasant surprise!” Celestia looked up from her tea and waved the chubby earth pony servant to bring an additional chair. “Did you get that little issue with your treasury all cleared up, then?” “No.” He settled his divine bulk down on the hefty chair and glowered at the steaming cup of tea which the mortal servant made appear in front of him as if by some sort of magic. “My brother and your sister are presently attempting to ascertain just exactly how much money I shall need to ‘borrow’ in order that I do not lose my domain to a pack of rapacious demons.” “I’ve never quite heard bankers being referred to in that fashion before,” said Celestia while stirring her tea. “Not bankers,” said Zeus with a growl. “Oh.” Celestia finished stirring her tea and took a sip, which Zeus followed. The expected burst of divine flavors against his tongue had an unexpected bite to it, somewhat resembling the finest golden ambrosia which could be hidden from Dionysus and his eternal search, and which a covert glance at Celestia’s mortal servant explained as she tucked a small golden flask back into the tea cart with a small smile. It raised his moral spirits as well as the amount of physical spirits he feared it would take to get over his monetary issues, but a second sip helped, as did a third. “I have sent for Apollo to see what he can make out of the unholy mess,” said Zeus. “Provided Hermes can find him sometime in the next century or so.” He took another drink out of his teacup and passed it over to the mortal servant for refilling. Celestia had a pensive look about her as she brought out a letter and looked down it. “Ah, Great Zeus. I don’t know if your son will be able to deal with your complicated fiscal issues at this time. He’s in the middle of his residency at the hospital, but if you like, I can pass word to my financial advisors and have them—” “Mortals again?” Zeus took the offered teacup and drained it in one gulp. The servant had left out the tea this time, and the resulting pure golden ambrosia-like substance burned like welcome fire down his throat. “Ah… Yes.” Celestia tucked away the letter and looked profoundly uncomfortable. “You could always… no, I don’t think that would be a good—” “What?” growled Zeus. “A second job, like ours,” said Celestia reluctantly. “Being a demigoddess was not paying very well for us when a position came open fairly nearby. Well, we decided if we could split the responsibility and the pay, we could handle both jobs.” She fidgeted, unable to meet Zeus’ gaze and looking everywhere in the unfinished tea room instead. “I’m sorry, Great Zeus, but they just needed somepony to raise the sun and moon, and we both had extra time in our schedule. We had no idea they would make us Princesses or have us rule their entire country. The extra money was nice, of course, but you can only buy so many tiaras or cakes before you have to do something with the leftover bits, so we started a little fund with a few of the more reputable investment bankers and left our savings grow.” “Grow?” Zeus waved the mortal servant’s most recent cup of tea away. “How can the gold in your vault grow?” For the longest time, Celestia spoke of the magic of ‘compound interest’ and ‘diversification’ while Zeus sat and listened. It appeared to be a fairly simple thing on the surface. After all, moneylending had been a business since the Phoenicians had invented money, but extending the concept up to the level of a government who had to restrain itself from simply grabbing all of that money at the tips of their fingers was fairly new to him. After all, Zeus had not met a mortal yet with that kind of restraint, but according to Celestia, if they could be gathered into larger groups where each one of them could watch the others, and a rather smart alicorn with a stout club could watch them all, the idea could be implemented without too much loss from greed. “That rules out using my dragon to keep ‘bankers’ under control,” mused Zeus. “He does naught but sleep and lets the golden apples he is supposed to be guarding vanish into the night.” “If you would like, Great Zeus—” Celestia stopped at Zeus’ thunderous expression, but after due consideration, he settled back into his chair and picked up his cup of tea again. “I shall grant you leave to bring a number of mortals to Olympus in order to straighten up my finances, but only the sons of Pegasus, and in return you may bring several of the same to my mountain in order to provide guidance inside your temple and assist in guarding my golden apple tree.” “Thank you, Great Zeus.” Celestia bowed her head, but she had a look of regret in her violet eyes when she looked back at him. “There is but one problem. The wisest and most clever of those who deal with the treasury and the complicated calculations which come with it, are not the sons of Pegasus.” “Well, what type of fel creatures are they?” snorted Zeus. * Ω * If Zeus had not seen the pony for brief glimpses before he had sat down, he might not have believed there was actually anybody behind the desk, just a floating mass of parchment glowing a light grey as the various sections of calculations and ledgers shifted and the rapid rattle of an abacus sounded in counterpoint. “Beg pardon, Great Zeus, but one of the junior partners in the firm just brought a new document to my attention, and I wanted to ensure it did not cause any problems with the solution we have worked out for your fiscal… ah… difficulties.” Several more abacus beads clattered to what sounded like a victorious end and the papers began to settle down around the shaggy pony at the desk. He was at least more like the horses Zeus was accustomed to seeing, with a long black mane and flowing fetlocks in somewhat of a muddy grey, but with sharp hazel eyes beneath the hair and a short fluted horn which glowed a pale shade of grey, close to the same color as the black dotted line on his flanks. “Thank you for your patience, Great Zeus.” The pony managed a deep bow from behind his desk, although with a clump of his black mane falling down over his eyes again. After parting it with his magic so he could see again, the legal scribe floated several sheets of parchment over to land gracefully on the desk in front of Zeus’ skeptical gaze. “I took the liberty of providing a summary sheet in both arabic and greek numbers, for whichever you feel more comfortable with. As you can see, the underworld spirits who were entrusted with your fortune failed to set up either a fallback investment strategy or a reliable method of informing you about fiscal difficulties.” A thick sheaf of parchment glowed grey and floated forward to land to one side of the documents. “These are annual and quarterly notifications sent from the Underworld by way of Hermes, which we found in the cushions of his couch. There were several in the lavatory, and some being used to keep a table straight, but we disposed of them, as these should be sufficient to show negligence in the event you wish to press charges against him.” “He’s my son,” said Zeus in as level a tone as he could muster while looking at the columns of red numbers on the report. “He’s probably also broke, as he gets paid by the delivery.” “Pity.” The shaggy unicorn returned to his papers. “The rest of the paperwork was a shambles. No audit trail, misnamed accounts, multiple failures of good business ethics. As agents of yours, the individuals previously responsible for your accounts should be thrown into a lake of boiling pitch.” “That part, at least, is done,” admitted Zeus. “Good.” Three different sheets of thick parchment slid over to his side of the table. “As is the custom in cases such as these, our firm has prepared three options, arranged from the least desirable to the most. First, we have the option of secondary employment.” “Pass,” declared Zeus with a fierce frown, leaving thunder to rumble in the background and all the paper on the desk crackling with subdued electricity. “I understand your reluctance, Great Zeus, but there’s nothing to be ashamed of,” said the unicorn, apparently nonplussed by the divine show of restraint quite possibly due to his built-in lightning rod. “Many divinities have branched off into profitable mundane endeavors as of late. I understand Aphrodite has a thriving business in matchmaking, and Nike has expanded her business providing sandals into multiple niche markets.” The unicorn lifted a forehoof up onto the table and displayed a silver horseshoe with the goddess’ characteristic swoosh across the bottom. “Pass,” repeated Zeus as the thunder crashed outside and the unicorn jumped. “Very well.” He pushed a second sheet of parchment closer to Zeus. “Second, we have what several of the more witty members of the firm have been calling the ‘Relative Option.’ In addition to several revenue-boosting items such as tourism and merchandising, this plan cuts off all remunerations to your children, grandchildren, and various divine emanations of non-traditional fashion. No more allowances,” he specified. “They are all big gods and goddesses now, and should be able to survive on their own worshipers. Once your account has been freed from this regular expense, we should be able to consolidate the rest of the debts into one large pool and free the various debt instruments from the demonic entities who purchased them, using one of our standard agents to negotiate the best price.” Shaken, Zeus looked down the list of his multiple progeny. It went on for several pages, and included names which seemed only vaguely familiar, including some in foreign languages. “Are you certain about these names?” “Sir.” The woolly unicorn seemed to bristle, and even his short mustache (which Zeus had missed earlier due to the amount of other hair) stuck out straight. “Our firm does not pass along incorrect information. Every name on that list has been exhaustively researched, and their identity verified.” Taking a deep breath to calm himself, the unicorn continued, “As some of the mortal offspring are still quite young, you should consider setting up a confidential trust fund in order to provide for their raising and education, one which only you would have access to, of course.” After a brief thought about what Hera would say about his dalliances with the mortal race, all carefully documented and laid out in exhaustive detail, Zeus swallowed and asked, “And what is this third option?” The unicorn brightened and slid the third piece of parchment over for his consideration. “The most rational solution, of course, is a reduction in your entertainment expenses. The elimination of the satyr, nymphs and dryads from various frolicking and dallying areas, along with stopping the unlimited allowances for nectar, ambrosia and wine, should cut your expenses down to something reasonable. Then, of course, we have the rest of the drunken debauchery to deal with—” The unicorn cut off abruptly as Zeus slowly tore the parchment in half, then quarters, then smaller and smaller pieces until only dust remained. The mustache on the banker’s upper lip quivered in suppressed indignation, but after a few breaths and a good look at the thunderous expression on Zeus’ face, as well as the deep roll and rumble of thunder in the distance, he cleared his throat. “Let us look at the ‘Relative Option’ again, shall we?”