The Tyrant’s Tomb

Meg shrugged. “Depends on the god.”

“That hurt,” I said.

“What about the last line?” Reyna asked. “The prayer must be uttered through the rainbow.”

“An Iris-message,” I said, happy I could answer one question at least. “It’s a Greek thing, a way of beseeching Iris, goddess of the rainbow, to carry a message—in this case, a prayer to Mount Olympus. The formula is quite simple.”

“But…” Frank frowned. “Percy told me about Iris-messages. They don’t work anymore, do they? Not since all our communications went silent.”

Communications, I thought. Silent. The soundless god.

I felt as if I’d fallen into the deep end of a very cold pool. “Oh. I am so stupid.”

Meg giggled, but she resisted the many sarcastic comments that no doubt were filling her mind.

I, in turn, resisted the urge to push her off her stool. “This soundless god, whoever he is…What if he’s the reason our communications don’t work? What if the Triumvirate has somehow been harnessing his power to prevent us all from talking to one another, and to keep us from beseeching the gods for help?”

Reyna crossed her arms, blocking out the word FUERTE on her T-shirt. “You’re saying what, this soundless god is in cahoots with the Triumvirate? We have to kill him to open our means of communication? Then we could send an Iris-message, do the ritual, and get divine help? I’m still stuck on the whole killing a god thing.”

I considered the Erythraean Sibyl, whom we’d rescued from her prison in the Burning Maze. “Perhaps this god isn’t a willing participant. He might have been trapped, or…I don’t know, coerced somehow.”

“So we free him by killing him?” Frank asked. “Gotta agree with Reyna. That sounds harsh.”

“One way to find out,” Meg said. “We go to this Sutro place. Can I feed your dogs?”

Without waiting for permission, she grabbed the jelly bean jar and popped it open.

Aurum and Argentum, having heard the magic words feed and dogs, did not growl or tear Meg apart. They got up, moved to her side, and sat watching her, their jeweled eyes sending the message Please, please, please.

Meg doled out a jelly bean for each dog, then ate two herself. Two for the dogs, two for herself. Meg had achieved a major diplomatic breakthrough.

“Meg’s right. Sutro is the place Tarquin’s minion mentioned,” I recalled. “Presumably we’ll find the soundless god there.”

“Mount Sutro?” Reyna asked. “Or Sutro Tower? Did he say which?”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it the same place? I always just call that area Sutro Hill.”

“Actually, the biggest hill is Mount Sutro,” said Reyna. “The giant antenna is on a different hill right next to it. That’s Sutro Tower. I only know this because Aurum and Argentum like to go hiking over there.”

The greyhounds turned their heads at the word hiking, then went back to studying Meg’s hand in the jelly bean jar. I tried to imagine Reyna hiking with her dogs just for fun. I wondered if Lavinia knew that was her pastime. Maybe Lavinia was such a dedicated hiker because she was trying to outdo the praetor, the same way she had her thinking spot high above Reyna’s.

Then I decided that trying to psychoanalyze my pink-haired, tap-dancing, manubalista-wielding friend was probably a losing proposition.

“Is this Sutro place close?” Meg was slowly depleting all the green jelly beans, which was giving her a different sort of green thumb than usual.

“It’s across the bay in San Francisco,” Reyna said. “The tower is massive. You can see it from all over the Bay Area.”

“Weird place to keep someone,” Frank said. “But I guess no weirder than under a carousel.”

I tried to remember if I’d ever been to Sutro Tower, or any of the other various Sutro-labeled places in that vicinity. Nothing came to mind, but the instructions from the Sibylline Books had left me deeply unsettled. The last breath of a god was not an ingredient most ancient Roman temples kept in their pantries. And cutting a god’s soul free really was not something Romans were supposed to try without adult supervision.

If the soundless god was part of the Triumvirate’s scheme for control, why would Tarquin have access to him? What had Tarquin meant by “doubling the flock” to guard the god’s location? And what he’d said about the Sibyl—I hope the Sibyl lasts long enough to see you humbled. That may be what finally breaks her. Had he just been messing with my mind? If the Sibyl of Cumae was truly still alive, a captive of Tarquin, I was obligated to help her.

Help her, the cynical part of my mind responded. Like you helped her before?

“Wherever the soundless god is,” I said, “he’ll be heavily protected, especially now. Tarquin must know we’ll try to locate the hiding place.”

“And we have to do so on April eighth,” said Reyna. “The day of greatest need.”

Frank grunted. “Good thing we don’t have anything else scheduled that day. Like getting invaded on two fronts, for instance.”

“My gods, Meg,” Reyna said, “you’re going to make yourself sick. I’ll never get all the sugar out of Aurum and Argentum’s gear works.”

“Fine.” Meg put the jelly bean jar back on the table, but not before grabbing one last fistful for herself and her canine accomplices. “So we have to wait until the day after tomorrow? What’ll we do until then?”

“Oh, we’ve got plenty to do,” Frank promised. “Planning. Constructing defenses. War games all day tomorrow. We have to run the legion through every possible scenario. Besides…”

His voice faltered, as if he’d realized he was about to say something aloud that was best left in his head. His hand drifted toward the pouch where he held his firewood.

I wondered if he’d taken any additional notes from Ella and Tyson—perhaps more harpy ramblings about bridges, fires, and something, something, something. If so, Frank apparently didn’t want to share.

“Besides,” he started over, “you guys should rest up for the quest. You’ll have to leave for Sutro early on Lester’s birthday.”

“Can we please not call it that?” I pleaded.

“Also, who is ‘you guys’?” Reyna asked. “We may need another senate vote to decide who goes on the quest.”

“Nah,” Frank said. “I mean, we can check with the senators, but this is clearly an extension of the original mission, right? Besides, when we’re at war, you and I have full executive power.”

Reyna regarded her colleague. “Why, Frank Zhang. You’ve been studying the praetors’ handbook.”

“Maybe a little.” Frank cleared his throat. “Anyway, we know who needs to go: Apollo, Meg, and you. The doorway to the soundless god has to be opened by Bellona’s daughter, right?”

“But…” Reyna looked back and forth between us. “I can’t just leave on the day of a major battle. Bellona’s power is all about strength in numbers. I need to lead the troops.”

“And you will,” Frank promised. “As soon as you get back from San Francisco. In the meantime, I’ll hold down the fort. I’ve got this.”