The Burning Maze (The Trials of Apollo #3)(78)

Medea examined the wound. She cursed in ancient Colchian, calling into question my mother’s past romantic relationships.

‘This idiot can’t even kill himself right,’ grumbled the sorceress. ‘It appears that, somehow, he missed his heart.’

’TWAS ME, WITCH! the arrow intoned from within my ribcage. DOST THOU THINK I WOULD FAIN ALLOW MYSELF TO BE EMBEDDED IN THE DISGUSTING HEART OF LESTER? I DODGED AND WEAVED!

I made a mental note to either thank or break the Arrow of Dodona later, whichever made the most sense at the time.

Medea snapped her fingers at the emperor. ‘Hand me the red vial.’

Caligula scowled, clearly not used to playing surgical nurse. ‘I never rummage through a woman’s purse. Especially a sorceress’s.’

I thought this was the surest sign yet that he was perfectly sane.

‘If you want to be the sun god,’ Medea snarled, ‘do it!’

Caligula found the red vial.

Medea coated her right hand with the gooey contents. With her left, she grabbed the Arrow of Dodona and yanked it from my chest.

I screamed. My vision went dark. My left pectorals felt like they were being excavated with a drill bit. When I regained my sight, I found the arrow wound plugged with a thick red substance like the wax of a letter seal. The pain was horrible, unbearable, but I could breathe again.

If I hadn’t been so miserable, I might have smiled in triumph. I had been counting on Medea’s healing powers. She was almost as skilled as my son Asclepius, though her bedside manner was not as good, and her cures tended to involve dark magic, vile ingredients and the tears of small children.

I had not, of course, expected Caligula to let my friends go. But I had hoped, with Medea distracted, she might lose control of her venti. And so she did.

That moment is fixed in my mind: Incitatus peering down at me, his muzzle flecked with oats; the sorceress Medea examining my wound, her hands sticky with blood and magic paste; Caligula standing over me, his splendid white trousers and shoes freckled with my blood; and Piper and Crest on the floor nearby, their presence momentarily forgotten by our captors. Even Meg seemed frozen within her churning prison, horrified by what I had done.

That was the last moment before everything went wrong, before our great tragedy unspooled – when Jason Grace thrust out his arms, and the cages of wind exploded.





33


No good news awaits

I warned you right at the start

Turn away, reader





One tornado can ruin your whole day.

I’d seen the sort of devastation Zeus could wreak when he got angry at Kansas. So I was not surprised when the two shrapnel-filled wind spirits ripped through the Julia Drusilla XII like chain saws.

We all should have died in the blast. Of that I’m certain. But Jason channelled the explosion up, down and sideways in a two-dimensional wave – blasting through the port and starboard walls; bursting through the black ceiling that showered us with golden candelabras and swords; jackhammering through the mosaic floor into the bowels of the ship. The yacht groaned and shook – metal, wood and fibreglass snapping like bones in the mouth of a monster.

Incitatus and Caligula stumbled in one direction, Medea in the other. None of them suffered so much as a scratch. Meg McCaffrey, unfortunately, was on Jason’s left. When the venti exploded, she flew sideways through a newly made rent in the wall and disappeared into the dark.

I tried to scream. I think it came out as more of a death rattle, though. With the explosion ringing in my ears, I couldn’t be sure.

I could barely move. There was no chance I could go after my young friend. I cast around desperately and fixed my gaze on Crest.

The young pandos’s eyes were so wide they almost matched his ears. A golden sword had fallen from the ceiling and impaled itself in the tile floor between his legs.

‘Rescue Meg,’ I croaked, ‘and I will teach you how to play any instrument you wish.’

I didn’t know how even a pandos could hear me, but Crest seemed to. His expression changed from shock to reckless determination. He scrambled across the tilting floor, spread his ears and leaped into the rift.

The break in the floor began to widen, cutting us off from Jason. Ten-foot-tall waterfalls poured in from the damaged hull to port and starboard – washing the mosaic floors in dark water and flotsam, spilling into the widening chasm in the centre of the room. Below, broken machinery steamed. Flames guttered as seawater filled the hold. Above, lining the edges of the shattered ceiling, pandai appeared, screaming and drawing weapons – until the sky lit up and tendrils of lightning blasted the guards into dust.

Jason stepped out of the smoke on the opposite side of the throne room, his gladius in his hand.

Caligula snarled. ‘You’re one of those Camp Jupiter brats, aren’t you?’

‘I’m Jason Grace,’ he said. ‘Former praetor of the Twelfth Legion. Son of Jupiter. Child of Rome. But I belong to both camps.’

‘Good enough,’ Caligula said. ‘I’ll hold you responsible for Camp Jupiter’s treason tonight. Incitatus!’

The emperor snatched up a golden spear that was rolling across the floor. He vaulted onto his stallion’s back, charged the chasm and leaped it in a single bound. Jason threw himself aside to avoid getting trampled.

From somewhere to my left came a howl of anger. Piper McLean had risen. Her lower face was a nightmare – her swollen upper lip split across her teeth, her jaw askew, a trickle of blood coming from the edge of her mouth.