“Uh-oh?” said Hercules.

Cee nodded and read from the parchment: “Labor IV: Bring me the Boar of Erymanthus, who kills anyone unlucky enough to get near him.” He shuddered. “I’ve heard of this boar. He’s a heartless beast with gnarled tusks out to here.” He extended a foreleg. “He eats muscle-bound heroes for breakfast.”

“And I eat wild-boar sausage for lunch!” said Hercules. “Let’s go get him!”

I offered to take Precious back to Artemis. I hopped onto her back, and off she galloped. It was an exciting ride but all too short. When we reached the hunting lodge, Precious stopped. I jumped down.

“Nice work, deer,” I told her.

Precious gave me a whuffle and ran off into the woods. I was about to chant the astrotraveling spell and join up with Hercules when a terrible, ichor-chilling roar sounded. I’d only heard one roar like that before—it had come from the flaming mouth of the Calydonian Boar as he executed his famous Flying-Hoof Thrust that knocked my wrestling champ, Eagle-Eye Cyclops, flat on the mat.

A second savage roar sounded.

I didn’t think it could be a Calydonian Boar. He ran Championship Wrestling School in Calydonia, teaching little piggy wrestling hopefuls all the right moves. But . . . could it be the Boar of Erymanthus? I headed into the woods to find out. I hadn’t gone far when I came upon a pair of hairy wild boars. They were stomping the ground and roaring as they circled each other. Between them sat a pile of acorns. It looked as if the two boars were about to have a terrible fight over them.

If one of these beasts was the Boar of Erymanthus, I didn’t want him all bruised and beaten from a fight. No, I wanted him in tip-top shape so he could roar and stampede and scare the royal pants off Eury.

Quickly, I shifted my brain into CCC—Creature Communication Channel. It’s a little power we gods have, and believe me it comes in handy when we want to talk to animals who don’t have the gift of speech.

Boars! I thought. Hold up a minute.

The boars stopped circling.

What’s he want? one boar thought to the other. Search me, the second boar thought back. Let’s gore him.

Hey, no, I come in peace, I thought to the boars.

I’m looking for the Wild Boar of Erymanthus.

We’re boars from Erymanthus, thought the first boar.

And we’re pretty darned wild, thought the second.

This brought on a fit of snorting laughter.

Do you know the Boar of Erymanthus? I thought back. I’d like to find him.

Sure, we know him, thought the first boar. But we’re not telling you nothing!

Never! thought the second boar. Our lips are sealed!

I’ll gore him first, the first boar thought to the second. Then you finish him off.

Listen, I thought back. I’m an immortal god. You can’t kill me. I’ll make you a deal. Tell me where I can find the Boar of Erymanthus, and I’ll tell you where you can find the world’s crunchiest acorns.

He lives in Arcadia, the first boar thought quickly. At the foot of Mount Erymanthus.

He’s big and pink, and he doesn’t look dangerous, thought the second boar. But he is. He’s deadly.

Now, where are the crunchy acorns? thought the first boar, drool dripping from his hairy lips.

In Dodona, I thought back. It’s that way. I pointed.

The boars trotted off in the direction of Dodona, home to the sacred oaks of Zeus.

I chanted the astro-traveling spell for Mount Erymanthus. ZIP! I landed at the foot of the mountain. I blinked. And my godly heart nearly stopped. Hercules, Cee, and Hydra lay sprawled on the ground. What awful thing had happened? I ran over to them. Hydra was immortal. At least one of her heads had to be alive. But what about Hercules and Cee?

As I drew near, I heard a voice.

“And then I went over to this other tree,” it said. “It had rough bark, so I leaned against it and gave my back a really good scratch. You think it’s easy for a boar to scratch his own back? It is not.”

I looked up. There, sitting on a stump, was a very large, very pink, and nearly hairless boar. He was doing the talking.

“Oh, sometimes I can get my brother to scratch my back,” he was saying. “If he’s not too busy, you know, rooting for acorns, things like that. He’s got quite an appetite, my brother does, so he spends a lot of time rooting.”

“Hello!” I said loudly, hoping to stop the flood

of words.

The boar’s black eyes flicked toward me. But he never stopped talking. “I didn’t hear you coming,” he said. “I have very good hearing as a rule. But you must have tippy-toed. We boars can’t tippy-toe, because we don’t have toes. We have hooves. I guess we could tippy-hoof, if we wanted to. But boars, as a rule, love to make a racket.”

“Shhhh!” I said. “Quiet. You’re the Boar of Erymanthus, aren’t you?”

The big pink boar narrowed his beady eyes. “Good guess,” he said. “Hardly anyone can tell. I don’t look dangerous. I look like a nice pink piggy. And then—surprise! I can talk. Believe me, when a boar starts talking, everyone listens. And once they’re listening. I never stop talking until everyone within hearing distance is a goner.”

“So you . . . bore your victims to death?” I said.

The Wild Boar of Erymanthus nodded.

“I’ll wake the others now,” I told him. “And then, have we got a job for you.”

“I don’t generally take random jobs,” Boar said as I gently shook Hercules and Cee to wake them. “Don’t really need to work. Why should I? Acorns grow on trees.”

When I told Hercules he’d just had a neardeath experience, he laughed. “No way! I was just having a little nap.”

I explained to the boar how he needed to go with Hercules to see King Eury.

“No offense, Boar,” Cee said, “but Hercules is a big hero. He can’t march into Mycenae with what looks like a big pink pig. It would ruin his image.”

“How about if I roll in the dirt, scuff up my hooves, and point my tusks out?” The Boar made a terrible, frightening face.

“Works for me,” said Cee.

“Awesome!” said Hercules.

When Hercules led the result of Labor IV through the gates of Mycenae, Boar let rip with one mighty roar after another. He was a real crowd pleaser.

“Eury!” called Hercules when they reached the palace. “Stick your head out of the pot and look upon the Wild Boar of Erymanthus!”

But as usual, Eury just peeked through the little slit.

“Okay,” said the king. “I’ll check off Boar. Now take him away. Far away from Erymanthus!” He pushed something out through the slit. “Here’s your next labor, Hercules!”

Cee caught the thing before it fell to the ground. It was a small kamara Polarios (old Greek speak for “Polaroid camera”) with a little roll of parchment attached to it. He unrolled the parchment and read: “Labor V: The neighbors of King Augeias have been complaining about a horrible stink. You have one day to muck out the king’s stables. P.S. Bring me a picture showing them nice and clean.”

(See? I told you Hercules wasn’t finished mucking.)

“No problem!” said Hercules. “I spent years mucking out cow barns.”

A laugh wafted up from inside the big bronze pot. Eury called, “You haven’t seen these stables, Hercules!”

Hercules, Cee, and Hydra took off for Elis, where King Augeias ruled. But the boar sat down beside the big bronze pot. I stuck around for a minute to see what would happen.

“I had a bronze pot once, King Eury,” said Boar. “But the darned thing kept tarnishing. So I had to polish it. I don’t really like polishing things. The polish smells bad, for one thing. You may not think so, but we boars have very sensitive snouts. The polish made my snout itch, and when my snout itches, it makes me sneeze.”

“Guards!” called Eury from inside the pot. “Guards?”