The Four Housemaids of the Acropolis

The Four Housemaids of the Acropolis.

Death was fed up.

It had to happen, though. War, had been attending anger management classes, and Pestilence was Pest-off with the fire of London that cleaned up the city, big time.

He twiddled his thumbs. Sitting on a rock watching the flames lick higher, he could see that most sensible folk were standing in the Thames. Bad for business, that. Not good for Death's blood pressure either. Not that he had any, to speak of.

But, two thousand miles away in Ancient Greece, things were taking a different turn.

“They'll be back, you can bet your feather duster on it.” Connie fiddled with her 'Mr Muscle Cleans Woopy-Doo-s'. This was clearly designed to encourage Small Change's interest, which it dismally failed to do. Mainly because Small was half a mile away in the next field.

“Small!” yelled Pin Stripe, echoing from somewhere near the back of the Acropolis' tea room. “Connie is talking to you!”

“No she is not” shouted back Small Change. “She is shouting at me.”

“Well, they will be back” said Pee Stop, quietly. “ Connie is quite right you know.” Pee had no need to waste a lot of breath that she might soon need, as she was standing next to Small in the same field.

Away in the distance, a mile or two at the other side of the Acropolis, a rather grand looking bloke on a white horse surveyed the landscape. Or what there was left of it. Conquest was inordinately pleased with his conquests so far. The wreckage of his conquered domain smouldered sulkily under a pall of black smoke. All was well, so far as he could see, until he realised he could murder a sandwich.

“Come, horse, we shall repair to the Acropolis tea rooms, and there, I shall have, I think, an egg sandwich. And thou, noble steed, shall feast on a bucket of oats. The horse seemed not altogether pleased with this arrangement, having quite fancied an egg sandwich himself. But he went along with it just in case a better offer came up.

They cantered on through the smoking wreckage that had once been a little group of market garden allotments, while the horse kept a weather eye out for anything that might be edible. In this quest the horse was monumentally disappointed, not finding anything that wasn't burned to Hell.

“Looks like the chef of this barbecue was far too enthusiastic” said Conquest through a hacking cough and streaming eyes. “Never mind! To the Tea Rooms, o steed”.

The steed felt like throwing the daft bloke on his back to the ground, so desperate was he becoming for his egg sandwich. But as the Acropolis (and its tea rooms) were but a mile or so over the next rise he decided to live with the daft git a bit longer.

“Here they come, Small.” Connie hesitated. “Here comes one of them, anyway.”

Conquest towered to his full height of four feet two, and the horse did what it could to make it look like six feet seven.

“I hope you're not after an egg sandwich, Mr Conquest,” said Small Change.

Connie bridled her bosom and frowned, but said nothing.

“What! You question the right of Conquest to an egg sandwich? Straight after my egg sandwich you shall be subject to Rape and Pillage!” At this last ejaculation, the horse looked round and slowly shook its head. Conquest gave Small Change a deliberate dose of looking up and down and said,

“Maybe just the pillage on this occasion.” It was just then that Connie felt moved to intervene.

“You cannot have an egg sandwich from these Tea Rooms, Sire!”

Conquest was beside himself with rage.

“How can you say that, o miserable surf?”

Connie pointed over to a black and smoking shed next to the Tea Rooms.

“That was the hen house before you raped and pillaged it.” A twitch of a smile crossed her face. “I fancy you will not get an egg out of that.”

In the distance, approaching, but not very fast, came Death on his dark and skeletal horse.

Conquest shouted up.

“Greetings, Death. What is wrong? You look worse than usual.” Death reeled in the saddle.

“I am poorly. I think Pestilence left nasty germs at the fire of London.” He fell off the horrific horse and hit the blackened earth with a thump. “Now I've got a headache as well.”

“Why did you not see an apothecary in London if you are not well?” said Conquest, though not with much interest. Death looked up from the ashes.

“Because you had conquered and killed them all, Conquest. You dick.”

“You cannot make an omelette with out breaking eggs, Death.”

“From what I hear of the Tea Rooms situation, you would have a hard time finding an egg to break.”

“I am hungry.” said Conquest,

“I have a headache.”said Death.

“Where is the nearest smithy?” said War, who had just limped over the horizon. “My horse has thrown a shoe and I need a blacksmith.” War looked round at the smoking ruin. “Preferably one I haven't killed.”

“I'm guessing,” said Small Change “that the live blacksmiths will be as thin on the ground as egg sandwiches in the Acropolis Tea Rooms.”

“I could murder an egg sandwich” said War, to himself.

“You're not even going to get an egg-shell, according to this menu.” Famine had just sat down at a table near the window, and was surveying the blasted and burning vista outside whilst brushing languidly at the soot-laden tablecloth. “Very disappointing.”

But Pee Stop was not having any of the blame for the state of the tablecloths.

“He” she pointed at the dishevelled form of Conquest leaning against a lurching pillar “has conquered anybody who might have some skill in washing a tablecloth. Those folks are all in some dungeon somewhere.....and 'he' can't do anything useful because he's dead (she pointed an accusing finger at Death). And don't blame me for the state of the egg sandwiches, when Pestilence and Conquest have made them an endangered species.”

“As for a nice cream tea at the Tea Rooms” Small Change had wandered in from the disaster area outside “you've got to be joking, with Famine serving at table!”

Conquest,War, Pestilence and Famine sat in dirt outside the Acropolis Tea Rooms. Their mounts hunted round for an odd blade of grass to eat. All except Conquest's horse, which had ambled off in the search for an egg sandwich.

“I don't remember Revelations mentioning that the Apocalypse involves the Acropolis Tea Rooms being closed for redecorating, nor us four dying a slow death of starvation.” So saying, Famine munched on a piece of burnt stick to while away the endless process of slow death.

“This is your fault, War. What's wrong with folks enjoying a nice afternoon cream tea? Asshole!” Conquest stood up, just in time to get War's burning spear through his helmet.

“I never could stand that bloke” said Death, rising to his feet; but War was just getting into the swing of things and took Death's head off with a well-aimed club.

“That was a waste of energy” said Pestilence.

“How so?” said War.

“Because,” said Pestilence “I have arranged a very nasty virus especially for you; just before I starve to death.”

The Four Housemaids of the Acropolis Tea Rooms looked out at the four figures stretched out in the dirt.

“Shame, that” said Connie.

“Do you really think so?” said Small Change. Connie nodded.

“Yes. If they'd got here earlier they could have had an egg sandwich.”

The End.