The Burning Maze (The Trials of Apollo #3)(87)

Not having flight-worthy ears, the rest of us had to pick and climb our way through the tangled terrain. At last we joined Crest at the bottom of a grimy cement bowl covered with dried leaves and litter.

‘A bear pit?’ Grover turned pale. ‘Ugh. Poor bears.’

Crest pressed his eight-fingered hands against the back wall of the enclosure. He scowled. ‘This is not right. It should be here.’

My spirits sank to a new low. ‘You mean your secret entrance is gone?’

Crest hissed in frustration. ‘I should not have mentioned this place to Screamer. Amax must have heard us talking. He sealed it somehow.’

I was tempted to point out that it was never a good idea to share your secrets with someone named Screamer, but Crest looked like he felt bad enough already.

‘What now?’ Meg asked. ‘Use the downtown exit?’

‘Too dangerous,’ Crest said. ‘There must be a way to open this!’

Grover was so twitchy I wondered if he had a squirrel in his pants. He looked like he wanted very much to give up and run from this zoo as fast as possible. Instead, he sighed. ‘What did the prophecy say about your cloven guide?’

‘That you alone knew the way,’ I recalled. ‘But you already served that purpose getting us to Palm Springs.’

Reluctantly, Grover pulled out his pipes. ‘I guess I’m not done yet.’

‘A song of opening?’ I asked. ‘Like Hedge used in Macro’s store?’

Grover nodded. ‘I haven’t tried this in a while. Last time, I opened a path from Central Park into the Underworld.’

‘Just get us into the maze, please,’ I advised. ‘Not the Underworld.’

He raised his pipes and trilled Rush’s ‘Tom Sawyer’. Crest looked entranced. Meg covered her ears.

The cement wall shook. It cracked down the middle, revealing a steep set of rough-hewn stairs leading down into the dark.

‘Perfect,’ Grover grumbled. ‘I hate the underground almost as much as I hate zoos.’

Meg summoned her blades. She marched inside. After a deep breath, Grover followed.

I turned to Crest. ‘Are you coming with us?’

He shook his head. ‘I told you. I’m no fighter. I will watch the exit and practise my chords.’

‘But I might need the uku–’

‘I will practise my chords,’ he insisted, and began strumming a suspended fourth.

I followed my friends into the dark, that chord still playing behind me – exactly the sort of tense background music one might expect just before a dramatic, bloodcurdling fight.

Sometimes I really hated suspended fourths.





37


Want to play a game?

It’s easy. You take a guess.

Then you burn to death.





This part of the maze had no elevators, wandering government employees, or signs reminding us to honk before turning corners.

We reached the bottom of the stairs and found a vertical shaft in the floor. Grover, being part goat, had no difficulty climbing down. After he called up that no monsters or fallen bears were waiting for us, Meg grew a thick swathe of wisteria down the side of the pit, which allowed us some handholds and also smelled lovely.

We dropped into a small square chamber with four tunnels radiating outward, one from each wall. The air was hot and dry as if the fires of Helios had recently swept through. Sweat beaded on my skin. In my quiver, arrow shafts creaked and fletching hissed.

Grover peered forlornly at the tiny bit of sunlight seeping down from above.

‘We’ll get back to the upper world,’ I promised him.

‘I was just wondering if Piper got my message.’

Meg looked at him over her blue-taped glasses. ‘What message?’

‘I ran into a cloud nymph when I was picking up the Mercedes,’ he said, as if running into cloud nymphs often happened when he was borrowing automobiles. ‘I asked her to take a message to Mellie, tell her what we were up to – assuming, you know, the nymph makes it there safely.’

I considered this, wondering why Grover hadn’t mentioned it earlier. ‘Were you hoping Piper might meet us here?’

‘Not really …’ His expression said, Yes, please, gods, we could use the help. ‘I just thought she should know what we were doing in case …’ His expression said, in case we combust into flames and are never heard from again.

I disliked Grover’s expressions.

‘Time for the shoes,’ Meg said.

I realized she was looking at me. ‘What?’

‘The shoes.’ She pointed at the sandals hanging from my belt.

‘Oh, right.’ I tugged them from my belt. ‘I don’t suppose, er, either of you want to try them on?’

‘Nuh-uh,’ said Meg.

Grover shuddered. ‘I’ve had bad experiences with enchanted footwear.’

I was not excited to wear an evil emperor’s sandals. I feared they might turn me into a power-hungry maniac. Also, they didn’t go with my arctic camouflage. Nevertheless, I sat on the floor and laced up the caligae. It made me appreciate just how much more of the world the Roman Empire might have conquered if they’d had access to Velcro straps.

I stood up and tried a few steps. The sandals dug into my ankles and pinched at the sides. In the plus column, I felt no more sociopathic than usual. Hopefully I had not been infected with Caligulitis.