After ten years at war and another nine years trying unsuccessfully to get home, Odysseus had reached a conclusion. It wasn’t that the gods were angry with him, it was more that the universe itself was a bit miffed at his continued existence.
The rain pelted his bronzed face as he stood gazing at the empty docks of the port town of Mezapos. “Any sign of life?” He cried out to his travelling companion who was busy scouring the flotilla of abandoned boats rocking in the tidal swell.
Eurylochus shook his head. “Negative captain, empty as a president’s brain.”
Odysseus turned to the sign which read ‘Ferry to Ithaca delayed due to adverse sea serpent conditions’. He stared at it with a hollow expression, here he was a man who had once blinded a cyclops, a man who had survived the song of the siren and yet, he continued to be thwarted by inclement weather.
Eurylochus handed him a crumpled timetable. “It says here the next crossing should arrive by noon.”
Odysseus looked at the empty harbour. “It is nearly sunset.”
“Perhaps noon tomorrow?”
“That is not how timetables work.”
They sought shelter from a nearby vendor. The tent was not large and was already full of weary travellers. Among them were heroes, merchants, pilgrims and one extremely angry oracle. She was busy telling anyone that would listen that she had tried to warn them about the large number of sea serpents in the bay.
The vendor offered them cockles, whelks and something black and slimey that looked unsure as to its particular state of existence.
A ferryman emerged from a nearby tent carrying the defeated posture of a man who had explained the same thing a thousand times already. “Right,” he announced. “Quick update regarding the Ithaca crossing.”
The crowd stirred hopefully.
“The ferry Sea Nymph remains delayed following an incident with Scylla.”
A woman raised her hand. “What sort of incident?”
The ferryman consulted a clipboard. “She ate the rudder.”
The crowd groaned collectively. The Oracle proclaimed that she had foreseen such an event.
Odysseus pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have fought monsters,” he muttered darkly. “I have crossed the underworld. I once spent six months trapped on an island listening to a bard who only knew two songs,” he grimaced, “and one of them was about stuffing olives.”
The ferryman continued. “We are currently awaiting replacement parts from Corinth.”
“When will they arrive?” shouted someone.
The ferryman shrugged with terrifying calm.
The oracle suggested, “Between dawn and the inevitable collapse of civilisation.”
A fisherman laughed bitterly. Odysseus stepped forward.
“I am Odysseus of Ithaca.”
“Yes,” sighed the ferryman, “and, what’s that got to do with the price of fish?”
“I am a king.”
“Oh congratulations...”
“I am favoured by the goddess Athena herself.”
“That’s nice...”
“I have been attempting to return home for nearly a decade.”
The ferryman nodded sympathetically. “Did you get lost then?”
Odysseus looked moments away from committing fresh mythology.
Eurylochus gently pulled him away and whispered. “Remember what Pythia said.”
Odysseus inhaled sharply. “I don’t care what the stupid Oracle of Delphi said.”
“Really,” Eurylochus said with disdain.
Odysseus took a breath, “Okay, okay,” he glanced up at the heavens, “she told me to think before I speak, to use my words first and not my sword.”
“Exactly.”
Odysseus turned back toward the ferryman with the rigid restraint of a volcano attending etiquette lessons.
“I need to advise you of my sense of frustration,” he said carefully.
“Entirely valid.”
“Because every time I attempt to reach Ithaca, some new obstacle appears.”
“Yes.”
“And now I am being delayed by…ferry administration.”
The ferryman nodded. “To be fair, King Odysseus, ferry administration delays all men equally.”
Nearby, the oracle suddenly screamed. Everyone turned.
“What now?” groaned the ferryman.
The oracle pointed dramatically toward the sea.
“The tide carries doom! Scylla the great serpent of the sea has come to claim our souls.”
“Our souls?” said a merchant from Venice. He looked around expectantly.
The tent was silent. A dock worker squinted into the distance.
“Oh. No. That’s just a string of floating lobster pot markers that have come loose in the bad weather.”
The red faced oracle turned away.
A young man approached the ferryman handing him a small scroll. Their conversation was brief.
The ferryman addressed the waiting crowd, “I need to advise you all of an additional, complication.” The crowd booed pre-emptively, “due to unforeseen circumstances tomorrow’s sailing has been cancelled. In fact the service has been suspended indefinitely.”
He made to leave but was accosted by the oracle, “They’ve gone on strike haven’t they?”
The ferryman nodded reluctantly, the oracle turned away suddenly reaffirmed of her abilities. “You see, I’ve not lost it.” She sneered to anyone who would listen.
Odysseus stopped the ferryman from leaving, “May one enquire as to what exactly is going on?”
The ferryman hung his head, ““The Ferryman Guild has announced strike action.”
“What for?” shouted one of two gentlemen of Verona.
The ferryman checked his parchment. “Long hours, inadequate sea monster protections, and dissatisfaction with the new uniform.”
The vendor nodded solemnly. “The uniforms are dreadful.”
Odysseus shook his head. Troy had been easier than this. At least in war you could stab the problem.
“Sire,” Eurylochus pulled his king to one side and out of earshot, “Good news.”
Odysseus brightened slightly.
“There’s another route to Ithaca.”
“Excellent.”
“It involves something called a temporary replacement cattle cart service, it leaves at midnight.”
Odysseus closed his eyes. In the distance thunder rumbled ominously.