“Labor VI,” read Cee as we headed out of the city gates again. “Get rid of the Stymphalian birds who are befouling everything around them.” He frowned. “Stymphalian birds? Never heard of them.”

“Me neither,” said Hercules.

Hydra shook her head.

“I guess that makes me the bearer of bad news,” I told them. “The Stymphalian birds live in a marsh in Arcadia. They’re huge and have iron beaks and iron wings. There are so many of them that when they fly in circles over the marsh, they blot out the sun, and the earth turns dark as night. But that’s not the worst thing about them.”

“I’m afraid to ask,” said Cee.

“They can fire their iron wing feathers like arrows,” I said. “They shoot mortals, pick them up in their iron claws, and rip them apart with their iron beaks. But that’s not the worst thing about them.”

“Don’t tell us!” said Cee.

“The worst thing about them,” I said, “is their deadly poisonous Stymphalian birdie doo.”

“More muck?” said Hercules.

Hydra signed what I took to be something close to “Yuck.”

Cee wrinkled his nose.

But Hercules, Cee, and Hydra marched bravely off to the Arcadian marsh. As usual, I met them there.

ZIP!

Brrrrr! It was freezing. I found Hercules running around the swamp, trying to catch the birds with his hands. He wasn’t having any luck. Cee and Hydra stood shivering miserably at the edge of the frigid marsh. Cee had a paw clapped over his nose. Hydra had managed to fashion nose clips out of twigs. She wore one on each of her nine noses.

The Stymphalian birds were shivering, too. The birds that didn’t have their heads tucked under their iron wings had icicles hanging off their beaks.

Hydra waded over to me. She held up two fingers.

“Two words,” I said, watching her closely. “First word is . . .”

Hydra made fluttering, flapping motions with her arms.

“Fly,” I said.

Hydra gave me a thumbs-up. I’d gotten it, first try! Again, she held up two fingers.

“Second word,” I said.

Hydra pulled on an earlobe, then pointed to her mouth.

“Sounds like . . . mouth?”

Hydra nodded.

“Fly mouth.” That was nonsense. But Hydra was nodding. I had to be close. “Fly south.”

Thumbs-up from Hydra.

“Fly south!” I said, getting as excited as Hydra. “Yes! If we can get them to fly south, we’ll be rid of them.”

“At least until next spring,” Cee pointed out.

“Whatever,” said Hercules, who had waded out of the marsh when he saw what Hydra was up to. “But how do we get them to fly south?”

If ever a situation called for CCC this was it. “Give me a minute,” I said as I switched my brain into Creature Communication Channel. Leader of the Stymphalian birds, come here please. It’s me, Hades, King of the Underworld. I want to talk to you.

I heard some pretty awful screeching and static inside my brain. Then one of the birds began wading toward me. It was an enormous creature. Its iron wings pressed up against its body of gray metal feathers. It had a short neck and, for a bird, a large head with a dull iron beak.

F-F-F-Ferrica here, she said through her chattering beak.

Cold, eh? I said.

F-f-f-freezing. Ferrica puffed up her gray feathers to warm herself.

Why don’t you and the flock fly south for the winter? I asked her.

Leave the m-m-m-marsh? she asked.

Sure, I replied. Fly south, where it’s nice and warm. That’s what most birds do when the weather turns cold.

No one ever t-t-t-told me, said Ferrica. Which way is s-s-south?

I pointed. You won’t regret it.

Th-th-thanks, Ferrica said.

Just don’t go too far south, I thought after her as she turned and waded back into the marsh. Iron can get pretty hot.

Ferrica began squawking. Soon the whole stinky flock began flapping in preparation for takeoff.

“Go, you Stinkphalian birdies!” yelled Hercules. He ran around the marsh yelling and whooping and making as much racket as possible to get those birds to fly.

Then, as if on a signal, each and every Stymphalian bird flapped its iron wings and rose up into the air. As the birds circled overhead, the sky turned dark as midnight.

“Careful!” Cee shouted over the whir of iron wings. “Don’t let them you-know-what on you!”

The birds flew off toward the south, and the sun reappeared.

CLICK! Buzzzz. Hydra snapped a picture of the birdless swamp.

“They’re gone!” cried Hercules. “Thanks, Hades!”

“Don’t mention it,” I said. “Listen, Hercules, it’s time for me to go down to the Underworld for the winter.”

“All right,” said Hercules. “Have a good one, Uncle Hades.”

“I won’t be around to help with your labors,” I pointed out.

“That’s okay,” said Hercules.

“You could wait until spring to go back to Eury,” I said. “Then I’ll be back to, you know, do what I can for you.”

“Nah, you go, Uncle Hades,” said Hercules.

“Well, here’s a phone,” I said. Demeter, who long ago, had invented the little phones so she could keep track of Persephone, had made all of us gods promise never to give a phone to a mortal. I couldn’t let Hercules have it, so I handed it to Hydra. “If there’s any problem—anything at all—call me, day or night. My number is on memory dial I.”

“We’ll be fine on our own, Uncle Hades,” said Hercules. “Bye!”

I have to say I felt sort of left out as I watched the three turn and start back to Mycenae.