The Dark Prophecy by Rick Riordan
My dear Commodus,
Commode is named after you
Hail, Toilet Caesar
WHY DID PEOPLEkeep ruining my meals?
First they served me food. Then they explained how I was likely to die in the near future. I longed to be back on Mount Olympus, where I could worry about more interesting things, like hot trends in techno-pop, bumper-car poetry slams, and laying waste to naughty communities with my arrows of vengeance. One thing I’d learned from being mortal: contemplating death is much more fun when you’re contemplating someone else’s.
Before Britomartis would give us our “reward,” she insisted on a briefing from Josephine and Emmie, who had spent all day, with Leo’s help, preparing the Waystation for a siege.
“This guy’s good.” Josephine punched Leo’s arm affectionately. “The things he knows about Archimedes spheres…really impressive.”
“Spheres?” Meg asked.
“Yeah,” Leo said. “They’re these round things.”
“Shut up.” Meg went back to inhaling carbohydrates.
“We reset all the crossbow turrets,” Jo continued. “Primed the catapults. Closed all exits and put Waystation on twenty-four-hour-surveillance mode. If anyone tries to get in, we’ll know.”
“They will try,” Britomartis promised. “It’s only a matter of time.”
I raised my hand. “And, uh, Festus?”
I hoped the wistfulness in my voice was not too obvious. I didn’t want the others to think I was ready to fly off on our bronze dragon and leave the Waystation to sort out its own problems. (Though I was ready to do exactly that.)
Emmie shook her head. “I scouted the statehouse grounds late last night, and again this morning. Nothing. The blemmyae must have taken your bronze suitcase to the palace.”
Leo clicked his tongue. “I bet Lityerses has it. When I get my hands on that crust-sucking Cornhusker—”
“Which brings us to the point,” I said. “How does Leo—I mean, how do we find the palace?”
Britomartis slid her feet off the table. She sat forward. “The main gates to the emperor’s palace are under the Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Monument.”
Josephine grunted. “Should’ve known.”
“Why?” I asked. “What is that?”
Josephine rolled her eyes. “A huge decorated column thing in the middle of a plaza, a few blocks north of here. Just the kind of ostentatious, over-the-top edifice you’d expect the emperor to have for his entrance.”
“It’s the biggest monument in the city,” Emmie added.
I tried to contain my bitterness. Soldiers and sailors were all very well, but if your city’s biggest monument is not to Apollo, I’m sorry, you’re doing something wrong. “I suppose the palace is heavily guarded?”
Britomartis laughed. “Even by my standards, the monument is a death trap. Machine gun turrets. Lasers. Monsters. Attempting the front door without an invitation would have dire consequences.”
Meg swallowed a chunk of bread, somehow managing not to choke. “The emperor would let us in.”
“Well, true,” Britomartis agreed. “He’d love for you and Apollo to knock on his front door and give yourselves up. But I only mention the main entrance because you should avoid it at all costs. If you want to get inside the palace without being apprehended and tortured to death, there’s another possibility.”
Leo bit a cheese slice into the shape of a smile. He held it up to his mouth. “Leo is happy when he’s not being tortured to death.”
Meg snorted. A gob of bread shot out of her right nostril, but she didn’t have the decency to look embarrassed. I could tell Leo and Meg were not going to be healthy influences on each other.
“Then, to get inside,” said the goddess, “you must use the waterworks.”
“The plumbing system,” I guessed. “In my vision of the emperor’s throne room, I saw open trenches of flowing water. You know how to access them?”
Britomartis winked at me. “You’re not still afraid of water, I hope?”
“I have never been afraid of water!” My voice came out shriller than I intended.
“Hmm,” Britomartis mused. “Then why did the Greeks always pray to you for a safe landing whenever they were in dangerous waters?”
“B-because my mother was stuck in a boat when she was trying to give birth to me and Artemis! I can appreciate wanting to be on solid ground!”
“And those rumors you can’t swim? I remember at Triton’s pool party—”
“I can totally swim! Just because I didn’t want to play Marco Polo with you in the deep end with contact mines—”
“Hey, goddy people,” Meg interrupted. “The waterworks?”
“Right!” For once I was relieved at Meg’s lack of patience. “Britomartis, how do we access the throne room?”
Britomartis narrowed her eyes at Meg. “Goddy people?” She seemed to be pondering how McCaffrey would look wrapped in a lead-weighted hook net and dropped into the Mariana Trench. “Well, Miss McCaffrey, to access the emperor’s water system, you’ll need to search the city’s Canal Walk.”
“What’s that?” Meg asked.
Emmie patted her hand. “I can show you. It’s an old canal that runs through downtown. They refurbished the area, built a bunch of new apartments and restaurants and whatnot.”
Leo popped his cheese smile into his mouth. “I love whatnot.”
Britomartis smiled. “That’s fortunate, Leo Valdez. Because your skills will be required to find the entrance, disarm the traps, and whatnot.”
“Hold up. Find the entrance? I thought you’d tell us where it was.”
“I just did,” said the goddess. “Somewhere along the canal. Look for a grate. You’ll know it when you see it.”
“Uh-huh. And it’ll be booby-trapped.”
“Of course! But not nearly as much as the fortress’s main entrance. And Apollo will have to overcome his fear of water.”
“I don’t have a fear—”
“Shut up,” Meg told me, causing my vocal cords to solidify like cold cement. She pointed a carrot at Leo. “If we find the grate, can you get us in?”
Leo’s expression made him look as serious and dangerous as it was possible for a small elfin demigod to look in a little girl’s coveralls (a clean pair, mind you, which he’d intentionally found and put on). “I’m a son of Hephaestus, chica. I can problem-solve. This guy Lityerses tried to kill me and my friends once before. Now he’s threatened Calypso? Yeah, I’ll get us inside that palace. Then I’m going to find Lit and…”
“Light him up?” I suggested, surprised but pleased to find I could speak again so soon after being told to shut up. “So he’s literally lit?”
Leo frowned. “I wasn’t going to say that. Seemed too corny.”
“When I say it,” I assured him, “it’s poetry.”
“Well.” Britomartis rose, fishhooks and weights clinking in her dress. “When Apollo starts talking poetry, that’s my cue to leave.”
“I wish I’d known that sooner,” I said.
She blew me an air-kiss. “Your friend Calypso should remain here. Josephine, see if you can help her regain control over her magic. She’ll need it for the coming battle.”
Josephine drummed her fingers on the table. “Been a long time since I’ve trained anyone in the ways of Hecate, but I’ll do my best.”
“Emmie,” the goddess continued, “you watch after my griffins. Heloise could lay her egg at any moment.”
Emmie’s scalp turned crimson along her silver hairline. “What about Georgina? You’ve given us a way into the emperor’s palace. Now you expect us to stay here rather than go free our girl?”
Britomartis raised a hand in caution, as if to say, You’re very close to the Burmese tiger pit, my dear. “Trust Meg, Leo, and Apollo. This is their task: to find and free the captives, to retrieve the Throne of Mnemosyne—”
“And get Festus,” Leo added.
“And especially Georgina,” Jo added.
“We can pick up some groceries, too,” Leo offered. “I noticed you’re low on hot sauce.”
Britomartis chose not to destroy him, though from her expression I could tell she came close. “Tomorrow at first light, search for the entrance.”
“Why not earlier?” Meg asked.
The goddess smirked. “You’re fearless. I respect that. But you must be rested and prepared to meet the emperor’s forces. You need that leg wound tended to. I also suspect it’s been many nights since you’ve had a proper sleep. Besides, the incident at the zoo has the emperor’s security on high alert. Best to let the dust settle. If he catches you, Meg McCaffrey—”
“I know.” She did not sound afraid. Her tone was that of a child who’d been reminded for the fifth time to clean her room. The only sign of Meg’s anxiety: in her hand, her last piece of bread had begun to sprout green tendrils of wheat.
“In the meantime,” Britomartis said, “I will try to locate the Hunters of Artemis. They were in the area on a quest not long ago. Perhaps they are still close enough to come help defend this place.”
A hysterical giggle escaped my mouth. The idea of twenty or thirty other competent archers at my side, even if they were sworn maidens with no sense of humor, made me feel much safer. “That would be good.”
“But if not,” said the goddess, “you must be prepared to fight on your own.”
“That would be typical.” I sighed.
“And remember, the emperor’s naming ceremony is the day after tomorrow.”
“Thank you so much,” I said. “I needed the reminder.”
“Oh, don’t look so glum, Apollo!” Britomartis gave me one last flirtatious, irritatingly cute smile. “If you come out alive, we’ll catch a movie together. I promise.”
Her gauzy black dress swirled around her in a tornado of netting. Then she was gone.
Meg turned to me. “Naming ceremony?”
“Yes.” I stared at her furry green piece of bread, wondering if it was still edible. “The emperor is quite the megalomaniac. As he did in ancient times, he plans to rename this capital city after himself. Probably he’ll rename the state, the inhabitants, and the months of the year too.”
Meg snorted. “Commode City?”
Leo gave her a tentative smile. “What now?”
“His name is—”
“Don’t, Meg,” Josephine warned.
“—Commodus,” Meg continued, then frowned. “Why am I not supposed to say his name?”
“He pays attention to such things,” I explained. “There’s no point in letting him know we are talking about—”
Meg took a deep breath and yelled, “COMMODUS, COMMODUS, COMMODUS! COMMODE CITY, COMMODIANA. COMMODE DAY, MONTH OF COMMODES! COMMODE MAN!”
The great hall shook as if the Waystation itself had taken offense. Emmie blanched. Up in their roost, the griffins clucked nervously.
Josephine grumbled, “You shouldn’t have done that, hon.”
Leo just shrugged. “Well, if Commode Man wasn’t watching this channel before, I think he is now.”
“That’s dumb,” Meg said. “Don’t treat him like he’s so powerful. My stepfather—” Her voice caught. “He—he said Commodus is the weakest of the three. We can take him.”
Her words struck me in the gut like one of Artemis’s blunted arrows. (And I can assure you, those hurt.)
We can take him.
The name of my old friend, shouted over and over.
I staggered to my feet, gagging, my tongue trying to dislodge itself from my throat.
“Whoa, Apollo.” Leo rushed to my side. “You okay?”
“I—” Another dry retch. I staggered toward the nearest bathroom as a vision engulfed me…bringing me back to the day I committed murder.
