side of the tunnel, taking up the entire length of the raised pedestrian walkway. Along the other side of the tunnel, the shoulder of the road was torn up and lined with orange traffic barrels…. Not unusual in themselves, but it struck me that they were just about the right size to contain the urns I’d seen Frank’s workers carrying during our holographic scroll call.
In addition, every five feet or so, a thin groove had been cut across the width of the asphalt. Again, not unusual in itself—the highway department could’ve just been doing some repaving work. But each groove glistened with some kind of liquid…. Oil?
Taken together, these things made me deeply uncomfortable, and Frank kept retreating farther into the tunnel, luring Caligula to follow.
Apparently, Caligula’s lieutenant, Gregorix, was also getting worried. The Germanus shouted from the front lines, “My emperor! You’re getting too far—”
“Shut up, GREG!” Caligula yelled. “If you want to keep your tongue, don’t tell me how to fight!”
Commodus was still struggling to get up.
Caligula stabbed at Frank’s chest, but the praetor wasn’t there. Instead, a small bird—a common swift, judging from its boomerang-shaped tail—shot straight toward the emperor’s face.
Frank knew his birds. Swifts aren’t large or impressive. They aren’t obvious threats like falcons or eagles, but they are incredibly fast and maneuverable.
He drove his beak into Caligula’s left eye and zoomed away, leaving the emperor shrieking and swatting at the air.
Frank materialized in human form right next me. His eyes looked sunken and glazed. His bad arm hung limp at his side.
“If you really want to help,” he said in a low voice, “hobble Commodus. I don’t think I can hold them both.”
“What—?”
He transformed back into a swift and was gone—darting at Caligula, who cursed and slashed at the tiny bird.
Commodus charged me once more. This time he was smart enough not to announce himself by howling. By the time I noticed him bearing down on me—blood bubbling from his nostrils, a deep guardrail-shaped groove in his forehead—it was too late.
He slammed his fist into my gut, the exact spot I didn’t want to be hit. I collapsed in a moaning, boneless heap.
Outside, the enemy troops erupted in a fresh round of cheering. Commodus again turned to accept their adulation. I’m ashamed to admit that instead of feeling relieved to have a few extra seconds of life, I was annoyed that he wasn’t executing me faster.
Every cell in my miserable mortal body screamed, Just finish it! Getting killed could not hurt any worse than the way I already felt. If I died, maybe I’d at least come back as a zombie and get to bite off Commodus’s nose.
I was now certain Diana wasn’t coming to the rescue. Maybe I had messed up the ritual, as Ella feared. Maybe my sister hadn’t received the call. Or maybe Jupiter had forbidden her from helping on pain of sharing my mortal punishment.
Whatever the case, Frank, too, must have known our situation was hopeless. We were well past the “buying time” phase. We were now into the “dying as a futile gesture sure is painful” phase.
My line of vision was reduced to a blurry red cone, but I focused on Commodus’s calves as he paced in front of me, thanking his adoring fans.
Strapped to the inside of his calf was a sheathed dagger.
He had always carried one of those back in the old days. When you’re an emperor, the paranoia never stops. You could be assassinated by your housekeeper, your waiter, your launderer, your best friend. And then, despite all your precautions, your godly ex-lover disguised as your wrestling trainer ends up drowning you in your bathtub. Surprise!
Hobble Commodus, Frank had told me.
I had no energy left, but I owed Frank a last request.
My body screamed in protest as I stretched out my hand and grabbed the dagger. It slipped easily from its sheath—kept well-oiled for a quick draw. Commodus didn’t even notice. I stabbed him in the back of the left knee, then the right before he had even registered the pain. He screamed and toppled forward, spewing Latin obscenities I hadn’t heard since the reign of Vespasian.
Hobbling accomplished. I dropped the knife, all my willpower gone. I waited to see what would kill me. The emperors? The zombie poison? The suspense?
I craned my neck to see how my friend the common swift was doing. Not well, it turned out. Caligula scored a lucky hit with the flat of his blade, smacking Frank into the wall. The little