The Burning Maze (The Trials of Apollo #3)

Florence frowned at his Cyclops partner. ‘What do you think, Grunk?’

Now, Grunk – that was a good Cyclops name. I didn’t know if Florence realized he was working with a Cyclops. The Mist could be unpredictable. But I immediately formulated the premise for an action-adventure buddy-comedy series, Florence and Grunk. If I survived captivity, I’d have to mention it to Piper’s father. Perhaps he could help me schedule some lunches and pitch the idea. Oh, gods … I had been in Southern California too long.

Grunk shrugged. ‘It’s Amax’s ears on the line if the boss gets mad.’

‘Okay.’ Florence waved us through. ‘You all have fun.’

I had little time to appreciate the opulent interior – the solid-gold fixtures, the luxurious Persian carpets, the million-dollar works of art, the plush purple furniture I was pretty sure had come from Prince’s estate sale.

We saw no other guards or crew, which seemed strange. Then again, I supposed that, even with Caligula’s resources, finding enough personnel to man fifty super-yachts at once might be difficult.

As we walked through a walnut-panelled library hung with masterpiece paintings, Piper caught her breath. She pointed her chin towards a Joan Miró abstraction.

‘That came from my dad’s house,’ she said.

‘When we get out of here,’ Jason muttered, ‘we’ll take it with us.’

‘I heard that.’ Peak jabbed his sword hilt into Jason’s ribs.

Jason stumbled against Piper, who stumbled into a Picasso. Seeing an opportunity, Meg surged forward, apparently meaning to tackle Amax with all one hundred pounds of her weight. Before she took two steps, an arrow sprouted from the carpet at her feet.

‘Don’t,’ said Timbre. His vibrating bowstring was the only evidence he’d made the shot. He had drawn and fired so fast even I couldn’t believe it.

Meg backed away. ‘Fine. Jeez.’

The pandai herded us into a forward lounge. Along the front wrapped a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree glass wall overlooking the prow. Off to starboard, the lights of Santa Barbara twinkled. In front of us, yachts twenty-five to one made a glittering necklace of amethyst, gold and platinum across the dark water.

The sheer extravagance of it all hurt my brain, and normally I was all about extravagance.

The pandai arranged four plush chairs in a row and shoved us into them. As interrogation rooms went, it wasn’t bad. Peak paced behind us, sword at the ready in case anyone required decapitation. Timbre and Crest lurked on either flank, their bows down, but arrows nocked. Amax pulled up a chair and sat facing us, spreading his ears around him like a king’s robe.

‘This place is private,’ he announced. ‘Talk.’

‘First,’ I said, ‘I must know why you’re not followers of Apollo. Such great archers? The finest hearing in the world? Eight fingers on each hand? You would be natural musicians! We seem made for each other!’

Amax studied me. ‘You are the former god, eh? They told us about you.’

‘I am Apollo,’ I confirmed. ‘It’s not too late to pledge me your loyalty.’

Amax’s mouth quivered. I hoped he was on the verge of crying, perhaps throwing himself at my feet and begging my forgiveness.

Instead, he howled with laughter. ‘What do we need with Olympian gods? Especially gods who are pimply boys with no power?’

‘But there’s so much I could teach you!’ I insisted. ‘Music! Poetry! I could teach you how to write haikus!’

Jason looked at me and shook his head vigorously, though I had no idea why.

‘Music and poetry hurt our ears,’ Amax complained. ‘We have no need of them!’

‘I like music,’ Crest murmured, flexing his fingers. ‘I can play a little –’

‘Silence!’ Amax yelled. ‘You can play silence for once, worthless nephew!’

Aha, I thought. Even among the pandai there were frustrated musicians. Amax suddenly reminded me of my father, Zeus, when he came storming down the hallway on Mount Olympus (literally storming, with thunder, lightning and torrential rain) and ordered me to stop playing my infernal zither music. A totally unfair demand. Everyone knows 2:00 a.m. is the optimal time to practise the zither.

I might have been able to sway Crest to our side … if only I’d had more time. And if he weren’t in the company of three older and larger pandai. And if we hadn’t started our acquaintance with Piper shooting him in the leg with a poisoned dart.

Amax reclined in his cushy purple throne. ‘We pandai are mercenaries. We choose our masters. Why would we pick a washed-up god like you? Once, we served the kings of India! Now we serve Caligula!’

‘Caligula! Caligula!’ Timbre and Peak cried. Again, Crest was conspicuously quiet, frowning at his bow.

‘The emperor trusts only us!’ Timbre bragged.

‘Yes,’ Peak agreed. ‘Unlike those Germani, we never stabbed him to death!’

I wanted to point out that this was a fairly low bar for loyalty, but Meg interrupted.

‘The night is young,’ she said. ‘We could all stab him together.’

Amax sneered. ‘I am still waiting, daughter of Nero, to hear your juicy story about why you wish to kill our master. You’d better have good information. And lots of twists and turns! Convince me you are worth bringing to Caesar alive, rather than as dead bodies, and perhaps I’ll get a promotion tonight! I will not be passed over again for some idiot like Overdrive on boat three, or Wah-Wah on boat forty-three.’

‘Wah-Wah?’ Piper made a sound between a hiccup and a giggle, which may have been the effect of her bashed head. ‘Are you guys all named after guitar pedals? My dad has a collection of those. Well … he had a collection.’

Amax scowled. ‘Guitar pedals? I don’t know what that means! If you are making fun of our culture –’

‘Hey,’ Meg said. ‘You wanna hear my story or not?’

We all turned to her.

‘Um, Meg …?’ I asked. ‘Are you sure?’

The pandai no doubt picked up on my nervous tone, but I couldn’t help it. First of all, I had no idea what Meg could possibly say that would increase our chances of survival. Second, knowing Meg, she would say it in ten words or less. Then we’d all be dead.

‘I got twists and turns.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘But are you sure we’re alone, Mr Amax? No one else is listening?’

‘Of course not!’ said Amax. ‘This ship is my base. That glass is fully soundproofed.’ He gestured dismissively at the ship in front of us. ‘Vector won’t hear a word!’

‘What about Wah-Wah?’ Meg asked. ‘I know he’s on boat forty-three with the emperor, but if his spies are nearby –’

‘Ridiculous!’ Amax said. ‘The emperor isn’t on boat forty-three!’

Timbre and Peak snickered.

‘Boat forty-three is the emperor’s footwear boat, silly girl,’ said Peak. ‘An important assignment, yes, but not the throne-room boat.’

‘Right,’ Timbre said. ‘That’s Reverb’s boat, number twelve –’

‘Silence!’ Amax snapped. ‘Enough delays, girl. Tell me what you know, or die.’

‘Okay,’ Meg leaned forward as if to impart a secret. ‘Twists and turns.’

Her hands shot forward, suddenly and inexplicably free of the zip tie. Her rings flashed as she threw them, turning into scimitars as they hurtled towards Amax and Peak.





27


I can kill you all

Or I can sing you Joe Walsh

Really, it’s your choice





The children of Demeter are all about flowers. Amber waves of grain. Feeding the world and nurturing life.

They also excel at planting scimitars in the chests of their enemies.

Meg’s Imperial gold blades found their targets. One hit Amax with such force he exploded in a cloud of yellow dust. The other cut through Peak’s bow, embedding itself in his sternum and causing him to disintegrate inward like sand through an hourglass.

Crest fired his bow. Fortunately for me, his aim was off. The arrow buzzed past my face, the fletching scraping my chin, and impaled itself in my chair.