The Tower of Nero (The Trials of Apollo #5)(48)

I forged ahead. “The trogs are civilized! But what makes a people civilized?”

“Hats!” yelled one.

“Language!” yelled another.

“Soup?” inquired a third.

“You can see,” I said. “That is how you greeted us. You saw the son of Hades. And I don’t mean just seeing with your eyes. You see value, and honor, and worthiness. You see things as they are. Is this not true?”

The trogs nodded reluctantly, confirming that, yes, in terms of importance, seeing was probably up there with reptiles and hats.

“You’re right about the crust-dwellers being blind,” I admitted. “In many ways, they are. So was I, for centuries.”

“Centuries?” Click-Wrong leaned away as if realizing I was well past my expiration date. “Who are you?”

“I was Apollo,” I said. “God of the sun. Now I am a mortal named Lester.”

No one seemed awed or incredulous—just confused. Someone whispered to a friend, “What’s a sun?” Another asked, “What’s a Lester?”

“I thought I knew all the races of the world,” I continued, “but I didn’t believe troglodytes existed until Nico brought me here. I see your importance now! Like you, I once thought crust-dwellers’ lives were common and unimportant. I have learned otherwise. I would like to help you see them as I have. Their value has nothing to do with hats.”

Screech-Bling narrowed his large brown eyes. “Nothing to do with hats?”

“If I may?” As nonthreateningly as I could, I brought out my ukulele.

Nico’s expression changed from urgency to despair, like I had signed our death warrants. I was used to such silent criticism from his father. Hades has zero appreciation for the fine arts.

I strummed a C major chord. The sound reverberated through the cavern like tonal thunder. Trogs covered their ears. Their jaws dropped. They stared in wonder as I began to sing.

As I had at Camp Jupiter, I made up the words as I went along. I sang of my trials, my travels with Meg, and all the heroes who had helped us along the way. I sang of sacrifices and triumphs. I sang of Jason, our fallen shareholder, with honesty and heartache, though I may have embellished the number of fine hats he wore. I sang of the challenges we now faced—Nero’s ultimatum for my surrender, the fiery death he had in mind for New York, and the even greater menace of Python, waiting in the caverns of Delphi, hoping to strangle the future itself.

The trogs listened with rapt attention. No one so much as crunched a breadstick. If our hosts had any inkling that I was recycling the melody from Hall and Oates’s “Kiss on My List,” they gave no indication. (What can I tell you? Under pressure, I sometimes default to Hall and Oates.)

When the last chord ceased echoing through the cavern, no one moved.

Finally, Screech-Bling wiped tears from his eyes. “That sound…was the most—GRR—horrible thing I have ever heard. Were the words true?”

“They were.” I decided perhaps the CEO had confused horrible with wonderful, the same way he’d confused eat with disable. “I know this because my friend here, Rachel Elizabeth Dare, sees it. She is a prophetess and has the gift of clear sight.”

Rachel waved, her expression hidden under the shadow of her pith helmet. “If Nero isn’t stopped,” she said, “he won’t just take over the wor—the Crusty Crust. Eventually he will come for the trogs, too, and every other hat-wearing people. Python will do worse. He will take away the future from all of us. Nothing will happen unless he decrees it. Imagine your destiny controlled by a giant reptile.”

This last comment hit the crowd like blast of arctic air. Mothers hugged their children. Children hugged their breadstick baskets. Stacks of hats trembled on every troglodyte head. I supposed the trogs, being eaters of reptiles, could well imagine what a giant reptile might do to them.

“But that is not why you should help us,” I added. “Not just because it is good for trogs, but because we must all help one another. That is the only way to be civilized. We…We must see the right way, and we must take it.”

Nico closed his eyes, as if saying his final prayers. Will glowed quietly under his lampshade. Meg gave me a stealthy thumbs-up, which I did not find encouraging.

The trogs waited for Screech-Bling to make his decision as to whether or not we would be added to the dinner menu.

I felt strangely calm. I was convinced we’d made our best case. I had appealed to their altruism. Rachel had appealed to their fear of a giant reptile eating the future. Who could say which argument was stronger?

Screech-Bling studied me and my New York Mets hat. “What would you have me do, Lester-Apollo?”

He used Lester the same way he used screeches or clicks before other names, almost like a title—as if showing me respect.

“Could you dig under the emperor’s tower undetected?” I asked. “Allowing my friends to disable the vats of Greek fire?”

He nodded curtly. “It could be done.”

“Then I would ask you to take Will and Nico—”

Rachel coughed.

“And Rachel,” I added, hoping I was not sentencing my favorite priestess to die in a pith helmet. “Meanwhile, Meg and I must go to the emperor’s front door so we can surrender.”

The trogs shifted uneasily. Either they did not like what I said, or the skink soup had started to reach their intestines.