The Dark Prophecy by Rick Riordan
I wax poetic
On the beauty of sewers
Real short poem. Done
WADING SHOULDER-DEEPthrough freezing sewer water, I felt nostalgic for the Indianapolis Zoo. Oh, for the simple pleasures of hiding from murderous Germani, crashing miniature trains, and serenading angry griffins!
Gradually, the sound of the serpent banging on the grate faded behind us. We walked for so long, I feared we’d die of hypothermia before reaching our goal. Then I spotted a raised alcove built into the side of the tunnel—an old service platform, maybe. We climbed out of the frigid green muck for a break. Meg and I huddled together while Leo attempted to light himself on fire.
On his third try, his skin sputtered and hissed, finally bursting into flames.
“Gather round, children.” His grin looked diabolical with orange fire washing across his face. “Nothing like a blazing-hot Leo to warm you up!”
I tried to call him an idiot, but my jaw was shivering so badly, all that came out was, “Id—id—id—id—id—”
Soon our little alcove was infused with the smell of reheated Meg and Apollo—baked apples, mildew, body odor, and just a hint of awesomeness. (I’ll let you guess which scent was my contribution.) My fingers turned from blue back to pink. I could feel my legs well enough again to be bothered by the chafing from the iron shackle. I was even able to speak without stuttering like Josephine’s tommy gun.
When Leo judged us sufficiently dry, he shut off his personal bonfire. “Hey, Apollo, that was nice work back there.”
“Which part?” I said. “The drowning? The screaming?”
“Nah, man—how you collapsed that brick wall. You should do that more often.”
I plucked a teal plastic shard from my coat. “As an annoying demigod once told me, Gee, why didn’t I think of that? I’ve explained before—I can’t control those bursts of power. Somehow, in that moment, I found my godly voice. Brick mortar resonates at a certain frequency. It’s best manipulated by a baritone at one hundred twenty-five decibels—”
“You saved me,” Meg interrupted. “I was going to die. Maybe that’s why you got your voice back.”
I was reluctant to admit it, but she might have been right. The last time I’d experienced a burst of godly power, in the woods of Camp Half-Blood, my children Kayla and Austin had been in imminent danger of burning alive. Concern for others was a logical trigger for my powers. I was, after all, selfless, caring, and an all-around nice guy. Nevertheless, I found it irritating that my own well-being wasn’t sufficient to give me godly strength. My life was important too!
“Well,” I said, “I’m glad you weren’t crushed to death, Meg. Anything broken?”
She touched her rib cage. “Nah. I’m good.”
Her stiff movement, her pale complexion, and the tightness around her eyes told me otherwise. She was in more pain than she would admit. However, until we got back to the Waystation infirmary, I couldn’t do much for her. Even if I’d had proper medical supplies, wrapping the ribs of a girl who’d almost been crushed to death might do more harm than good.
Leo stared at the dark green water. He looked more pensive than usual, or perhaps it was just the fact that he wasn’t on fire anymore.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked.
He glanced over—no snappy comeback, no playful grin. “Just…Leo and Calypso’s Garage: Auto Repair and Mechanical Monsters.”
“What?”
“Something Cal and I used to joke about.”
It didn’t sound like a very funny joke. Then again, mortal humor wasn’t always up to my godly standards. I recalled Calypso and Leo deep in conversation with Emmie yesterday as they walked through the great hall.
“Something to do with what Emmie was telling you?” I ventured.
He shrugged. “Stuff for the future. Nothing to worry about.”
As a former god of prophecy, I’d always found the future a wonderful source of worry. But I decided not to press the issue. Right now, the only future goal that mattered was getting me back to Mount Olympus so the world could once again bask in my divine glory. I had to think of the greater good.
“Well,” I said, “now that we’re warm and dry, I suppose it’s time to get in the water again.”
“Fun,” Meg said. She jumped in first.
Leo led the way, keeping one burning hand above the water for light. Every so often, small objects floated up from the pockets of his tool belt and drifted past me—Velcro tabs, Styrofoam peanuts, multicolored twist ties.
Meg guarded our backs, her twin swords gleaming in the darkness. I appreciated her fighting skills, but I did wish we had some additional help. A demigod child of the sewer goddess Cloacina would have been welcome…which is the first time I’d ever had that depressing thought.
I trudged along in the middle, trying to avoid flashbacks of my long-ago, unintended trip through a sewage-treatment facility in Biloxi, Mississippi. (That day would’ve been a total disaster, except that it ended with an impromptu jam session with Lead Belly.)
The current became stronger, pushing against us. Up ahead, I detected the glow of electric lights, the sound of voices. Leo extinguished his hand fire. He turned to us and put his finger to his lips.
After another twenty feet, we arrived at a second set of golden bars. Beyond that, the sewer opened into a much larger space where the water ran at a crosscurrent, some of it diverting into our tunnel. The force of the outflow made it difficult to stand.
Leo pointed at the golden grate. “This runs on a clepsydra lock,” he said just loud enough to be heard. “I think I can open it quietly, but keep watch for me just in case…I don’t know…giant serpents.”
“We have faith in you, Valdez.” I had no idea what a clepsydra lock was, but I’d learned from dealing with Hephaestus that it was best to show optimism and polite interest. Otherwise the tinkerer took offense and stopped making shiny toys for me to play with.
Within moments, Leo had the grate open. No alarms sounded. No contact mines exploded in our faces.
We emerged in the throne room I’d seen in my vision.
Fortunately, we were neck-deep in one of the open channels of water that lined the sides of the chamber, so I doubted anyone could easily spot us. Along the wall behind us, videos of Commodus looped over and over on the giant television screens.
We trudged toward the opposite side of the channel.
If you have ever tried to walk while immersed in a swift stream, you know how difficult it is. Also, if you have tried it, then may I ask why? It was absolutely exhausting. With every step, I feared the current would sweep me off my feet and flush me into the bowels of Indianapolis. Somehow, though, we made it to the far side.
I peeked over the edge of the channel and was immediately sorry I did.
Commodus was right there. Thank the gods, we had crossed slightly behind his throne, so neither he nor his Germani guards saw me. My least favorite Cornhusker, Lityerses, knelt before the emperor, facing my direction, but his head was lowered. I ducked back below the edge before he could spot me. I gestured to my friends: Quiet. Yikes. We’re going to die. Or something to that effect. They seemed to get the message. Shivering miserably, I pressed against the wall and listened to the conversation going on just above us.
“—part of the plan, sire,” Lityerses was saying. “We know where the Waystation is now.”
Commodus grunted. “Yes, yes. Old Union Station. But Cleander searched that place several times before and found nothing.”
“The Waystation is there,” Lityerses insisted. “The tracking devices I planted on the griffins worked perfectly. The place must be protected by some sort of magic, but it won’t stand up to a fleet of blemmyae bulldozers.”
My heart climbed above water level, which put it somewhere between my ears. I dared not look at my friends. I had failed once again. I had unwittingly betrayed the location of our safe haven.
Commodus sighed. “Fine. Yes. But I want Apollo captured and brought to me in chains! The naming ceremony is tomorrow. Our dress rehearsal is, like, right now. When can you have the Waystation destroyed?”
Lityerses hesitated. “We need to scout the defenses. And gather our forces. Two days?”
“TWO DAYS? I’m not asking you to cross the Alps! I want it to happen now!”
“Tomorrow, then, at the latest, sire,” said Lityerses. “Definitely by tomorrow.”
“Hmph. I’m beginning to wonder about you, son of Midas. If you don’t deliver—”
An electronic alarm blared through the chamber. For a moment, I thought we’d been discovered. I may or may not have emptied my bladder in the channel. (Don’t tell Leo. He was downstream.)
Then, from the other side of the room, a voice shouted in Latin, “Incursion at the front gates!”
Lityerses growled. “I will deal with this, sire. Never fear. Guards, with me!”
Heavy footsteps faded into the distance.
I glanced at Meg and Leo, who were both giving me the same silent question: What the Hades?
I had not ordered an incursion at the front gates. I hadn’t even activated the iron manacle on my ankle. I didn’t know who would be so foolish as to launch a frontal assault on this underground palace, but Britomartis had promised to look for the Hunters of Artemis. It occurred to me that this was the sort of diversionary tactic they might arrange if they were trying to distract Commodus’s security forces from our presence. Could we be so lucky? Probably not. More likely, some magazine-subscription salesman had rung the emperor’s doorbell and was about to get a very hostile reception.
I risked another peek over the edge of the canal. Commodus was alone now with just one guard.
Perhaps we could take him—three on two?
Except that we were all about to pass out from hypothermia, Meg probably had some broken ribs, and my own powers were unpredictable at best. On the opposing team, we had a trained barbarian killer and a semi-divine emperor with a well-deserved reputation for superhuman strength. I decided to stay put.
Commodus glanced at his bodyguard. “Alaric.”
“Lord?”
“I think your time is approaching. I grow impatient with my prefect. How long has Lityerses had this job?”
“About a day, my lord.”
“Seems like forever!” Commodus pounded his fist on his armrest. “As soon as he’s dealt with this incursion, I want you to kill him.”
“Yes, lord.”
“I want you to wipe out the Waystation tomorrowmorning at the latest. Can you do that?”
“Of course, lord.”
“Good! We’ll have the naming ceremony immediately afterward in the colosseum.”
“Stadium, my lord.”
“Same difference! And the Cave of Prophecy? Is it secure?”
My spine took a jolt of electricity so strong I wondered if Commodus kept electric eels in the channel.
“I have followed your orders, sire,” Alaric said. “The beasts are in place. The entrance is well guarded. None shall gain access.”
“Lovely!” Commodus jumped to his feet. “Now let’s go try on our racing outfits for the dress rehearsal, shall we? I can’t wait to remake this city in my own image!”
I waited until the sound of their footsteps receded. I peeked over and saw no one in the room.
“Now,” I said.
We dragged ourselves out of the canal and stood dripping and shivering in front of the golden throne. I could still smell the scent of Commodus’s favorite body oil—a mix of cardamom and cinnamon.
Meg paced for warmth, her swords glowing in her hands. “Tomorrow morning? We gotta warn Jo and Emmie.”
“Yeah,” Leo agreed. “But we stick to the plan. First we find the captives. And that Throne of Whatever-It-Is—”
“Memory,” I said.
“Yeah, that. Then we get out of here and warn Jo and Emmie.”
“It may not help,” I fretted. “I’ve seen how Commodus remakes a city. There will be chaos and spectacle, fire and wholesale slaughter, and lots and lots of pictures of Commodus everywhere. Add to that an army of blemmyae bulldozers—”
“Apollo.” Leo made a fiery time-out sign. “We’re gonna use the Valdez method on this.”
Meg frowned. “What’s the Valdez method?”
“Don’t overthink it,” Leo said. “It’ll just make you depressed. In fact, try not to think at all.”
Meg considered this, then seemed to realize she was thinking, then looked sheepish. “’Kay.”
Leo grinned. “See? Easy! Now let’s go blow some stuff up.”
