“I’ll be forever grateful if you do me this favor, ‘Toly,” the muse had murmured.
“But I don’t understand why. This has nothing to do with dancing.”
“You ask too many questions. Just do this and I promise that Calliope will write an epic poem about you. People from near and far will hear of your exploits, and you’ll live on forever,” Terpsichore promised.
Autolycus sighed. Here he was the King of Thieves, and he had been reduced to this, skulking in alleys, an errand boy for the muses. He had been lurking in the shadows for a couple of hours now. The aroma of cooking food from the eateries reminded the thief that he hadn’t eaten for hours. He rubbed his stomach in an attempt to keep it from growling, especially since his target had just stepped outside.
Autolycus took note of the man’s unkempt clothing and disheveled appearance. The thing that cemented his victim’s identity was his rotting teeth. Without a doubt, the King of Thieves knew this was his man. He took note of which building the chef had stepped out of and formulated his plan.
The man fiddled with the monocle that was in his right eye. While he was quite sure that he’d never met his quarry, there was always a chance that he might be recognized from his Wanted posters. Besides he took great pride in his ability to disguise himself; it came in handy during many of his escapes from palace guards and soldiers. He was wearing an outfit that on first glance looked like an official uniform of sorts. A fine cloak finished the ensemble, courtesy of one of the local merchants.
He walked into the inn and headed for the door that led into the kitchen.
“Sorry buddy, that’s for staff only,” a burly dark haired man said as he grasped the interloper by his should.
“I am here on official business for the Kingdom of Campylobacter.”
“What sorta business?” Asked the man who had not yet loosened his grip.
Autolycus pulled out his piece de resistance. He unrolled the scroll that he had written himself. It even had an official looking seal that he had devised. “I am here from the Departmentus of Healthicus to do an inspection of your facility, specifically the food preparation area.”
The dark haired man grabbed the scroll and stared at it. It looked official to him, but he was still unsure if he should let this person enter.
“You will be fined if you hinder this inspection in any way,” the thief added.
“The kitchen is right through there,” the man stated. He removed his meaty paw from Autolycus’ shoulder.
Brown eyes swept the kitchen, searching for his objective. He found it on the countertop. The bag was opened, and an orange yellow powder was evident. He walked over and reached for the bag of saffron that the muses had asked him to recover.
“What are you doing with that?” Queried the scruffy cook. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
“I am Ecoli from the Departmentus of Healthicus here to do an inspection,” Autolycus lied smoothly.
Falafel pulled the bag of saffron out of Ecoli’s reach. “Feel free to inspect my kitchen, I have nothing to hide.”
“Nothing to hide? Did you know it is against regulation 0157 to obtain and use saffron for human consumption?”
“Uh…. I was unaware of that regulation,” stuttered Falafel.
“Seeing as how you didn’t know, I’ll let you off with a warning this time, but I will have to confiscate that bag of saffron.”
“But how will I make my famous pears flambé without saffron?”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something. Other than that it looks like everything is in order here. I guess I’ll be on my way,” Autolycus stated as he headed for the door. Unfortunately his stomach decided to growl at that moment.
”Would you like a bite to eat before you leave?” Falafel offered.
The King of Thieves pushed down his urge to gag at the thought of eating anything that the unkempt cook had prepared. He had heard stories from Iolaus about Falafel’s food. If the human garbage can that traveled around with Hercules and ate almost anything and everything in sight couldn’t stomach the food, he knew that it had to be bad. “No thank you. I never eat when I’m working, it could be construed as a conflict of interest.”
“If you are sure?”
“Oh yes, I am quite sure.”
Autolycus sat in the gazebo waiting for Terpsichore to arrive. He stared at the bag of spice he had retrieved for the muses. He was curious why they had recruited the King of Thieves for such a simple task.
“Is that it?” Asked the muse, pointing at the bag Autolycus was holding.
“Why yes it is.”
“Thank you for retrieving it. As we speak Calliope is composing an epic poem about you.” Terpsichore reached for the saffron.
“Not so fast, Terpsie. I want to know why you requested my services. You could have popped in and out of there and grabbed the spice with no one the wiser.” The thief tightened his grip on the bag.
“It’s complicated.”
“I have all day.”
“We couldn’t let anyone know that the saffron had fallen into the wrong hands. If we used our powers someone on Olympus would have been sure to notice, so we had to use a mortal,” Terpsichore explained.
“What’s so special about saffron. It’s just a spice, right?”
“Usually, but this was special saffron blessed by the Gods. Apollo gave us muses the duty of making sure the saffron was delivered to Hippocrates. Somehow it was misplaced and ended up in the hands of Falafel.”
“Misplaced, eh?
Terpsichore snatched the bag out of the grinning thief’s hand. “Thank you again for your help.”
“Anytime, my dear,” Autolycus said as he preened.
