Cornellia was flying low over Hellas, enjoying skimming through various Greek valleys and ravines, when an arrow suddenly flew up and lodged in her side. She lost control of her broom. "AAAaaaah!" she screamed, diving straight down. Clunk. "Ow!" Cornellia found herself lodged in an olive tree. "Good thing I have my chainsaw!" she told herself. Pulling it from its holster, she was disheartened to find an arrow sticking right through the gear shaft. "I was wondering why I didn't feel any pain." She pulled the cord, but the chainsaw only made an alarming groan and leaked oil. "Drat. Now how do I get down?" Somewhere below her someone pushed through the low Greek brush. "Geia saV!" a masculine voice called. "Is anybody there?" "Get me down!" she called. "Just a minute…" A ladder thunked against the tree. A muscular Greek man with hair like frosted night appeared, a bow slung over his shoulder. "I am sorry, pretty lady. I thought you were a turkey." "I didn't think those were native to this region," she said with surprise. "Hm. Maybe that is why I've not found any." He offered her a broad smile, exposing white teeth, and helped her climb down. "My name is Zorba." "Do you hunt non-native fauna as a profession?" she asked as she looked around. She was in an olive grove. Beyond that she could not tell. "Where am I, anyhow?" "This is Crete. I, Zorba, am a chef, a miner, and player of the santuri. Also I work as a tour guide." "A tour guide!" She smiled. "Thank Jot! Just the man I need. I am on a quest." "Ah, a quest! An endeavor worthy of a hero. Of course I will help the pretty lady with her quest. But first let me offer you hospitality, as an apology for shooting at you." He offered her his arm. "I don't know, this quest is sort of important." "So is hospitality. Come, come!" She was led by her newly acquired guide to a small cottage, where he insisted on preparing for her an elaborate meal. "First, ouzo." He poured her a glass. It tasted exactly like liquid licorice. When her host was busy over the stove she poured it into a planter. "You finished the ouzo, eh?" he said, turning back. "Well it doesn't go so well with this fried calamari anyway." He poured her a glass of wine. "Try retsina. It has a unique flavor." She tried some. "Ack. Yes, that's… unique," she sputtered. It tasted rather like turpentine. But it was better than ouzo. "Its unique flavor is said to have originated from the practice of sealing wine vessels, particularly amphorae, with Aleppo Pine resin," Zorba told her. "There's nothing more Greek!" He stuffed her with food. Many kinds of food. Fish, chicken, lamb, assorted olive products, stuffed grape leaves, feta cheese… she ate until she could barely move. "I'm afraid your broomstick is a total loss," he apologized. Cornellia had missed him stepping out. "And I disposed of what was left of that chainsaw. The motor was busted, and it was never going to cut again." He washed his hands. "Now, for dessert, baklava and some Greek coffee." Cornellia couldn't help herself. "Aren't both of those actually borrowed from Central Asian Turkic culture?" Zorba gave her a nasty look. "Of course not." They were good, so she didn't argue. "Could we discuss my quest?" she asked between sips of coffee, vaguely afraid her host would insist on serenading her with his musical skills. "Of course." He pulled up a chair. "What do you seek?" "I'm looking for eternal life, and unlimited wealth." Zorba stroked his chin in thought. "Well," he said after a moment. "The most usual way Greeks of myth and legend obtain immortality, it is said, is to be taken up to Olympus to live among the Gods themselves." "But I live on Olympus already!" she told him. "If that worked, wouldn't we know?" "A point, this is true. There is an alternative. But I am not sure it is what you would really want." "What is the alternative?" "You could ask Zeus for immortality. It is said Eos, goddess of the dawn, asked Zeus to grant immortality to a Trojan prince named Tithonus. And he granted her request." "That sounds promising." "Except she forgot to ask for eternal youth. He just grew older, and older, until he had no strength left to move his limbs. Some say he became a cicada, eternally living, but begging for death to overcome him." "Um. Yes, let's not do that. How about unlimited wealth?" "Oh, that is much simpler. The man you want is Midas." "And where is he?" "He's dead." "That sounds less than helpful." "Oh, he's not beyond reach…"

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