The Tyrant's Tomb - Rick Riordan Page 0,48

for attention. I shook my head and tapped my ear, reminding her that we were here to spy, not to fight.

She stuck out her tongue.

We were simpatico like that.

Below, Tarquin grumbled something about not being able to find good help. “Anyone seen Caelius? Where is he? CAELIUS!”

A moment later, a eurynomos shuffled in from a side tunnel. He knelt before the king and screamed, “EAT FLESH! SOOOON!”

Tarquin hissed. “Caelius, we’ve discussed this. Keep your wits!”

Caelius slapped himself in the face. “Yes, my king.” His voice now had a measured British accent. “Terribly sorry. The fleet is on schedule. It should arrive in three days, just in time for the blood moon’s rising.”

“Very well. And our own troops?”

“EAT FLESH!” Caelius slapped himself again. “Apologies, sire. Yes, everything is ready. The Romans suspect nothing. As they turn outward to face the emperors, we will strike!”

“Good. It is imperative we take the city first. When the emperors arrive, I want to be already in control! They can burn the rest of the Bay Area if they wish, but the city is mine.”

Meg clenched her fists until they turned the color of the bone latticework. After our experiences with the heat-distressed dryads of Southern California, she had gotten a little touchy whenever evil megalomaniacs threatened to torch the environment.

I gave her my most serious Stay cool glare, but she wouldn’t look at me.

Down below, Tarquin was saying, “And the silent one?”

“He is well-guarded, sire,” Caelius promised.

“Hmm,” Tarquin mused. “Double the flock, nevertheless. We must be sure.”

“But, my king, surely the Romans cannot know about Sutro—”

“Silence!” Tarquin ordered.

Caelius whimpered. “Yes, my king. FLESH! Sorry, my king. EAT FLESH!”

Tarquin raised his glowing purple skull toward our balcony. I prayed that he hadn’t noticed us. Lavinia stopped chewing her gum. Hazel looked deep in concentration, perhaps willing the undead king to look away.

After a count of ten, Tarquin chuckled. “Well, Caelius, it looks like you’ll get to eat flesh sooner than I thought.”

“Master?”

“We have interlopers.” Tarquin raised his voice: “Come down, you four! And meet your new king!”

Meg, don’t you dare—MEG!

Or you could just get us killed

Yeah, sure, that works, too

I HOPED THERE WERE four other interlopers hidden somewhere on this balcony. Surely, Tarquin was talking to them and not us.

Hazel jabbed her thumb toward the exit, the universal sign for LET’S VAMOOSE! Lavinia began crawling that way on her hands and knees. I was about to follow when Meg ruined everything.

She stood up tall (well, as tall as Meg can be), summoned her swords, and leaped over the railing.

“MEEEEEEEEEGAH!” I shouted, half war cry, half What in Hades are you doing?

Without any conscious decision, I was on my feet, my bow in hand, an arrow nocked and loosed, then another and another. Hazel muttered a curse no proper lady from the 1930s should’ve known, drew her cavalry sword, and jumped into the fray so Meg would not have to stand alone. Lavinia rose, struggling to uncover her manubalista, but the oil cloth seemed to be stuck on the crossbeam.

More undead swarmed Meg from under the balcony. Her twin swords whirled and flashed, cutting off limbs and heads, reducing zombies to dust. Hazel decapitated Caelius, then turned to face another two eurynomoi.

The deceased former legionnaire with the burned face would have stabbed Hazel in the back, but Lavinia loosed her crossbow just in time. The Imperial gold bolt hit the zombie between the shoulder blades, causing him to implode in a pile of armor and clothes.

“Sorry, Bobby!” Lavinia said with a sob.

I made a mental note never to tell Hannibal how his former trainer had met his end.

I kept firing until only the Arrow of Dodona remained in my quiver. In retrospect, I realized I’d fired a dozen arrows in about thirty seconds, each a kill shot. My fingers literally steamed. I hadn’t unleashed a volley like that since I was a god.

This should have delighted me, but any feeling of satisfaction was cut short by Tarquin’s laughter. As Hazel and Meg cut down the last of his minions, he rose from his sarcophagus couch and gave us a round of applause. Nothing sounds more sinister than the ironic slow-clap of two skeletal hands.

“Lovely!” he said. “Oh, that was very nice! You’ll all make valuable members of my team!”

Meg charged.

The king didn’t touch her, but with a flick of his hand, some invisible force sent Meg flying backward into the far wall. Her swords clattered to the floor.

A guttural sound escaped my throat. I leaped over the

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