Anne Ursu - The Shadow Thieves

It was Thanatos – Hades's Chief of Staff, the demonic personification of Death, dark twin brother of Sleep, wretched son of Darkness and Night, with a heart made of iron and a soul that knew no pity, on whom the Sun never dared cast its blessed beams. And he was in a twit.

"My Lord," he said, breathing heavily, "there's a problem."

"Excuse me?" Hades said as if he really did not want to be excused at all.

"I-I-I'm sorry, Sir. But… there's a… problem."

"Well, fix it!" Hades roared. "Can't you see it's my wedding anniversary?" Across the long table Persephone rolled her eyes.

Thanatos cleared his throat. "I know, Sir… I thought you'd want to be aware, Sir!"

"What is it?" Hades sighed.

"It's Philonecron, he… he-"

"Who's Philonecron?" snapped Hades.

"Assistant Manager of the Department of Sanitation, Sir. A grandson of Poseidon. He… he-"

"He what? Get out with it!"

Thanatos exhaled. "He has blood."

Perhaps we should pause here and explain a few things. You are, no doubt, not very familiar with life in the Underworld, nor with what it is to be one of the Shades who live there, unless you are already Dead. In which case you may skip this part.

A Shade is, simply, a dead person. Well, not a person, exactly. A Shade is the essence of a person, what the body leaves behind after Death. History has portrayed the Shades as dull remnants of Life, aimless and joyless shadows lacking in thought or will. This isn't entirely true – or at least they don't begin that way. The problem is, life for a Shade in Hades's Underworld is not exactly a red-hot, thrill-a-minute, madcap adventure sort of thing. One could call it rather dull, which one, if one is a Shade, often does. As much as Hades may say he likes to make his subjects comfortable, he really doesn't care a whit for them, and all of the Dead know it. As a result, over time, the Shades tend to lose their will, their emotions, their personality, everything that connects them with Life.

But there is one thing that can change all that: Blood.

Yes, this sounds completely disgusting. Any warm-blooded human being finds the idea of drinking blood completely icky, oogy, squitchy, and well, just plain gross. But the Dead are not warm-blooded human beings. They are, well, Dead. And the only thing that can make them feel Alive again, if only for a brief time, is blood.

Blood is Life, and to the Shades in the Underworld the taste of blood, the feel of blood, gives them the thrill of Life again. As the blood courses through their bodies, the Shades thicken, gain substance, form, emotion.

There was a time, back before the Decree for Underworld Preservation and Sanctity was passed, when people would waltz through the Underworld all the time, carrying fresh blood with them. The smell would lure the Shades, who would crowd, clamor, and claw as if they had already drunk the stuff, as if merely the promise of blood gave them enough Life to fight for a taste.

But if you were the ruler of subjects who were half comatose by nature, any substance that transforms them into crowders, clamorers, and clawers would make you distinctly nervous. And the prospect of any old Tom, Dick, or Herodotus waltzing through your realm and being able to lure and excite your people would not be an attractive one.

Blood did not belong in the Underworld. It changed the Shades. Made them unruly. They couldn't control their actions. They began to have delusions of Life-and nothing is more disruptive to a realm of the Dead than delusions of Life. In his Decree for the Promotion of Underworld Hygiene, Hades proclaimed that blood would be strictly forbidden in the Underworld (excepting, of course, inside the Palace. Hades liked his boar extremely rare).

What Hades did not know was that not all of his employees obeyed his decrees scrupulously. And the most unscrupulous disobeyer of all was an Immortal named Philonecron.

Philonecron was actually born in the Underworld, the son of a daughter of Poseidon and one of the demons who staffed the employee mud spa. He grew up playing along the banks of the Styx, skipping through the Vale of Mourning, frolicking in the Plain of Judgment.

It wasn't bad, growing up in the Underworld. There were quite a lot of Immortal kids, actually; what with such a large number of Immortals working there, most of them only tangentially related to one another, romances sprung up right and left, and sometimes those romances resulted in families. Or at least children. Whether birthed, hatched, or regurgitated, new babies were a common occurrence in the Underworld.

And of course with children came institutional needs. And the Underworld adapted. Day care. A good school system. Interspecies medicine. Children are a nether realm's most valuable resource, and Hades made sure they were treated accordingly. And he was rewarded; most of the kids grew up to work in the Administration, serving Hades loyally (and eternally).

As a student, Philonecron took a long time to pick a career path. His teachers pronounced him highly intelligent but lacking discipline, the sort that would rather spend his time writing sonnets about gastronomical distress than doing his geometry homework. His first internship in high school was with the Erinyes in Tartarus, but his guidance counselors thought he seemed to enjoy the job a bit too much. After graduation from high school he worked in a few low-level agencies before settling in at the Department of Sanitation.

But Philonecron had other goals. He wasn't going to be a garbage man forever. He had a plan.

For, despite what his teachers thought, he had been paying attention at school. He'd learned all of his history well. And he knew that there was only one thing that mattered in the world, and that was power.

Philonecron wanted power. Not pretend power, like the bloated Managers, lording over Recreation or Meal Services as if they were kingdoms unto themselves. He wanted real power. He wanted everything. He wanted to rule.

Oh, not the Universe. He had no desire for the earth, for the stars and the heavens, for Mount Olympus and all it surveyed. That was too much. All he wanted was his own world, his home, the Underworld. Anyway, he'd learned well that people who tried to overthrow Zeus did not come to good ends. But as far as he could see, no one had ever tried to overthrow Hades. And Hades was ripe to be overthrown.

Over the millennia King Hades had become complacent, lazy. Everyone knew it; they were just too scared to say anything. He sat in the Palace counting his gold, mooning over the Ice Queen, and letting the Administrators make up work for themselves.

The Underworld wasn't supposed to be like this. It's the Underworld, for the love of Zeus – the Dark Domain, the Realm of the Dead-it shouldn't be run like some two-bit provincial government. Bureaucracy isn't even a Greek word. The Underworld needed a strong ruler, a man with a vision, a man handy with a whip, a man who could live up to the promise of the domain, bring back the days when it meant something to be a Greek god. The Underworld needed Philonecron.

But getting the Underworld to realize this was another matter. Taking control would not be easy. Hades was firmly entrenched. And all his Administrators enjoyed their petty positions of power. Hades had them all in his shadowy hands. Philonecron knew the whole Administration was designed only to perpetuate itself-all the Departments and Sections and Agencies only assured the complacency of the people who worked there, and kept Hades wedged in his throne.

The Underworld was now designed to serve the Administrators – the Immortals who served in the burgeoning bureaucracy. None of it was for the Shades. The Shades were the true subjects of the Kingdom of the Dead, and yet no one paid them any attention at all. No one cared about the Shades.