The Burning Maze (The Trials of Apollo #3)(62)

‘I’ll fly you guys up,’ Jason decided. ‘One at a time.’

‘Me first,’ Piper said. ‘In case someone needs charming.’

Jason turned and let Piper lock her arms around his neck, as if they’d done this countless times before. The winds kicked up around the dinghy, ruffling my hair, and Jason and Piper floated up the side of the yacht.

Oh, how I envied Jason Grace! Such a simple thing it was to ride the winds. As a god, I could have done it with half my manifestations tied behind my back. Now, stuck in my pathetic body complete with love handles, I could only dream of such freedom.

‘Hey.’ Meg nudged me. ‘Focus.’

I gave her an indignant harrumph. ‘I am pure focus. I might, however, ask where your head is.’

She scowled. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Your rage,’ I said. ‘The number of times you’ve talked about killing Caligula. Your willingness to … beat his mercenaries unconscious.’

‘They’re the enemy.’

Her tone was as sharp as scimitars, giving me fair warning that if I continued with this topic, she might add my name to her Beat Unconscious list.

I decided to take a lesson from Jason – to navigate towards my target at a slower, less direct angle.

‘Meg, have I ever told you about the first time I became mortal?’

She peered from under the rim of her ridiculously large helmet. ‘You messed up or something?’

‘I … Yes. I messed up. My father, Zeus, killed one of my favourite sons, Asclepius, for bringing people back from the dead without permission. Long story. The point is … I was furious with Zeus, but he was too powerful and scary for me to fight. He would’ve vaporized me. So I took my revenge out in another way.’

I peered at the top of the hull. I saw no sign of Jason or Piper. Hopefully that meant they had found Caligula’s shoes and were just waiting for a clerk to bring them a pair in the right size.

‘Anyway,’ I continued, ‘I couldn’t kill Zeus. So I found the guys who had made his lightning bolts, the Cyclopes. I killed them in revenge for Asclepius. As punishment, Zeus made me mortal.’

Meg kicked me in the shin.

‘Ow!’ I yelped. ‘What was that for?’

‘For being dumb,’ she said. ‘Killing the Cyclopes was dumb.’

I wanted to protest that this had happened thousands of years ago, but I feared it might just earn me another kick.

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘It was dumb. But my point is … I was projecting my anger onto someone else, someone safer. I think you might be doing the same thing now, Meg. You’re raging at Caligula because it’s safer than raging at your stepfather.’

I braced my shins for more pain.

Meg stared down at her Kevlar-coated chest. ‘That’s not what I’m doing.’

‘I don’t blame you,’ I hastened to add. ‘Anger is good. It means you’re making progress. But be aware that you might be angry right now at the wrong person. I don’t want you charging blindly into battle against this particular emperor. As hard as it is to believe, he is even more devious and deadly than Ne– the Beast.’

She clenched her fists. ‘I told you, I’m not doing that. You don’t know. You don’t get it.’

‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘What you had to endure in Nero’s house … I can’t imagine. No one should suffer like that, but –’

‘Shut up,’ she snapped.

So, of course, I did. The words I’d been planning to say avalanched back down my throat.

‘You don’t know,’ she said again. ‘This Caligula guy did plenty to my dad and me. I can be mad at him if I want. I’ll kill him if I can. I’ll …’ She faltered, as if struck by a sudden thought. ‘Where’s Jason? He should be back by now.’

I glanced up. I would have screamed if my voice were working. Two large dark figures dropped towards us in a controlled, silent descent on what appeared to be parasails. Then I realized those were not parasails – they were giant ears. In an instant, the creatures were upon us. They landed gracefully on either end of our dinghy, their ears folding around them, their swords at our throats.

The creatures looked very much like the Big Ear guard Piper had hit with her dart at the entrance to the Burning Maze, except these were older and had black fur. Their blades were blunt-tipped with serrated double edges, equally suited for bashing or hacking. With a jolt, I recognized the weapons as khandas, from the Indian subcontinent. I would have been pleased with myself for remembering such an obscure fact, had I not at that moment had a khanda’s serrated edge across my jugular vein.

Then I had another flash of recollection. I remembered one of Dionysus’s many drunken stories about his military campaigns in India – how he had come across a vicious tribe of demi-humans with eight fingers, huge ears and furry faces. Why couldn’t I have thought of that sooner? What had Dionysus told me about them …? Ah, yes. His exact words were: Never, ever try to fight them.

‘You’re pandai,’ I managed to croak. ‘That’s what your race is called.’

The one next to me bared his beautiful white teeth. ‘Indeed! Now be nice little prisoners and come along. Otherwise your friends are dead.’