Our opponent appeared to be a pale young woman holding a baby. She didn’t have the telltale glow that we immortals have, so I guessed she had to be a mortal. The mother and baby looked out at us in stunned silence.

“Don’t be afraid,” I said.

With a god, a III-headed hound, and a couple of blowtorch-wielding Cyclopes staring at her, it was a wonder the poor mortal didn’t faint dead away.

“Who . . . who are you?” the mortal whispered.

“I am King Hades, Ruler of the Underworld,” I said. “These are my uncles, the Cyclopes. They got you out of there.” I nodded toward the cube.

“Oh, are we dead?” she asked.

“No, you’re not dead,” I assured her. “But who are you? And how did you get here?”

“My name is Danaë, Princess of Argos,” said the mortal. “And this is my son, Perseus.”

The baby looked about a year old. But mortals age so quickly, it was hard for me to tell.

“My father is King Acrisius of Argos,” Danaë continued. “I am his only child. My father desperately wished for a son, so he traveled to—”

Just then baby Pereus spotted Cerberus and gave an earsplitting shriek. He held out both of his pudgy hands and continued to screech in a most horrible manner.

“What’s wrong with him?” I shouted over the shrieking. That baby reminded me of someone.

“Perseus has been shut inside that brass cage his whole life and has never seen a dog before!” Danaë shouted back. “I believe he would like to pat your dog, Lord Hades.”

I glanced at Cerberus. Not one of his faces looked eager for this to happen. But it seemed rude to say no.

“It’s okay, Cerbie,” I said. “The baby is just going to give one of your heads a little pat.”

Danaë put the baby down beside Cerberus.

“Go on with your story,” I said to Danaë.

Danaë nodded. “Some years ago, my father went to the oracle of Delphi. There, he asked a sibyl priestess whether he would ever have a son to inherit his kingdom.”

Another shriek came from the floor of the cave. I looked down to see what was wrong with Perseus now, but the baby was entirely happy. He sat astride Cerberus, banging his heels into the poor dog’s sides, and shrieking with delight.

“You like the doggie, don’t you, Perseus?” exclaimed Danaë.

I bent down and whisked the rowdy baby off Cerbie’s back. Perseus looked at me in surprise. Then he opened his mouth and started screaming. I handed him back to his mother.

I gave my dog a pat. “Sorry about that, Cerbie.”

Cerberus raised the top of his lips in a triple sneer.

The baby’s cried echoed off the cave walls. I wanted to hear Danaë’s story, so I shouted an invitation to come back with me to my palace. Danaë nodded. I invited the Cyclopes, too, but they said they’d rather go back to bed. They looked as if they couldn’t wait to get away from the shrieking Perseus.

The Cyclopes quickly packed up their tools, and we all made our way out of the cave. I gave Uncle Shiner the emerald and asked him to make a necklace for Persephone. Then my uncles headed for the Cyclopes village while I helped Danaë and Perseus into my chariot. For once Cerberus hopped willingly into the backseat, keeping his distance from the wailing baby.

When we arrived at Villa Pluto, Cerbie ran into the palace and disappeared into some hiding spot. I led Danaë and Perseus into the kitchen. Danaë sat down at the table, holding her son on her lap. It was very late, and all my serving ghosts were asleep, so I started going through the cupboards, searching for something a mortal could eat. It wouldn’t do to give them any ambrosia or nectar, the food and drink of the gods. At last, way in the back, I found a box of plain old cheese crackers.

“The sibyl told my father that he would never have a son,” Danaë said, picking up where she’d left off. “But she said that he would someday have a grandson who would kill him.”

“Uh-oh,” I said. Trying to find out the future hardly ever works out. My own dad, Cronus, had gone to see a seer. He was the Ruler of the Universe, and the seer told him that his children would dethrone him. Dad was like, “NO WAY!” So as soon as we kids were born, he swallowed us whole. But then Dad got sick and urped us up, and we fought him and took over. So what the seer said came to pass. It always seemed to work that way.

Perseus fought his way out of his mother’s arms and slid onto the floor. He crawled into the pantry and began banging on cooking pots.

“He can’t hurt anything in there,” I said, putting a plate of cheese crackers down in front of her. “Please go on with your story.”

“Sad to say, my father has never been fond of me,” Danaë said. “He would have killed me to keep the sibyl’s prophecy from coming true. But he knows that the gods mete out horrible punishments to mortals who slay their own children, so he decided not to risk it.”

“Sounds like quite a guy,” I muttered, helping myself to a cracker. Blech! How could mortals stand such tasteless, ambrosia-less snacks?

“My father was determined to keep the prophecy from coming true,” Danaë went on. “So he had the brass cage built and sunk deep into the earth. He had me put inside. There is a grate at ground level that allows in sunlight. And servants can pass in food and drink. The only door is guarded by seven fierce dogs, so escape is impossible.” Danaë shrugged. “By keeping me prisoner, my father thought to keep me from marrying and bearing a son.”

“A cruel plan,” I said, feeling almost hungry enough to take another cracker. “And a failure.”

“My mother, Queen Aganippe, used to come to me at night, after my father had fallen asleep,” Danaë said. “But after a while, she stopped coming. A servant told me that my father had caught her sneaking out of the palace. That her life was in danger if she ever tried it again. So I was very much alone. Then one evening, a shower of golden raindrops fell through the grate of my prison. It was like liquid sunshine. And not so long after that, I gave birth to my son.”

“Golden raindrops . . .” I muttered. It sounded familiar.

“I keep Perseus quiet so he will not be discovered,” Danaë said. “It is not so easy.”

“I’ll bet,” I said. That baby was a champion wailer.

“If my father discovers Perseus, he will surely find a way to have him killed,” Danaë said. “So when he cries, I scream over his cries. The servants think me mad.” She shrugged. “It is a small price to pay to keep Perseus safe.”

I realized I hadn’t heard any banging for a while. “Where is Perseus, anyway?”

Danaë sprang up and rushed into the pantry. Perseus wasn’t there. I followed after her as she ran down the palace hallway, calling his name. We looked in the library, the billiard room, the trophy room, the guest ghost room. No Perseus. I stuck my head into the den. My remote lay on the floor with wires and springs sticking out of it. Clearly Perseus had been there. But he wasn’t there now. I kept running down the hall until I came to the throne room. The door was ajar. I entered the room, which was empty except for a pair of golden thrones.

“I found him, Danaë!” I called.

Somehow, Perseus had managed to climb up onto my throne. There he sat, kicking his legs and babbling happily. In his chubby little hands he held my crown.

“Perseus!” exclaimed Danaë. “Give me the crown. Come on, give it to Mommy.”

With a shriek, the baby hurled the crown to the floor. It rolled under Persephone’s throne.

“Don’t worry,” I told Danaë as I picked up the crown and tried to straighten out the bent part. “I hardly ever wear it.”

But now I put it on my head and stared at that unruly baby. At his curly black hair, his wide face, his stubborn little mouth. And then it hit me.

I lifted Perseus out of my throne. Over his wails, I yelled, “Danaë, that golden rain shower was Zeus in disguise. He is the father of your child!” I handed the baby to his mother.

Danaë looked at me blankly.

“I know it sounds crazy,” I told her. “But among us gods, Zeus is famous for taking different forms and fathering as many children as he can. Some of his kids turn out to be immortals, others are mortals. He wants to create a great big Zeus dynasty.”

Danaë shook her head. “It is hard to believe, Lord Hades,” she said at last. “But it makes as much sense as anything.” She looked thoughtfully at her howling son. “You know, I don’t think I’ll tell Perseus who his father is. It might go to his head.”

I nodded. If Perseus was like his father, just about anything would go to his head.

I offered to let Danaë and Perseus stay at Villa Pluto that night, but I was secretly relieved when Danaë shook her head. She was worried for her mother’s safety if her father should find her gone. She insisted on returning to the brass box.

“But now I have a doorway,” she said, as I helped her and her shrieking baby back into my chariot. “Now I can take Perseus for outings. And I know the way to Villa Pluto,” She smiled. “May we visit you again, Lord Hades?”

Perseus chose that instant to grab my lunx from my girdle. He hurled it to the ground.

“Oh, dear!” said Danaë.

“Don’t worry, it’s an old lunx,” I told Danaë as I bent down to pick up the scattered pieces. “And do come back and visit me any time.”

Little did I know then that what I was in for was a whole lot worse than a broken lunx.