The Burning Maze (The Trials of Apollo #3)(91)

I wanted to lecture them about how overrated Walt Whitman was. The man was always singing songs to himself instead of praising others, like me, for instance. But I decided the critique would have to wait.

‘Do you know the answer, then?’ I asked Grover. ‘Is this a fill-in-the-blanks question? Multiple choice? True-False?’

Grover studied the lines. ‘I think … yeah. There’s a word missing at the beginning. It’s supposed to read Tomb-leaves, body-leaves, et cetera.’

‘Tomb-leaves?’ Meg asked. ‘That doesn’t make sense. But neither does body-leaves. Unless he’s talking about a dryad.’

‘It’s imagery,’ I said. ‘Clearly, he is describing a place of death, overgrown by nature –’

‘Oh, now you’re an expert on Walt Whitman,’ Grover said.

‘Satyr, don’t test me. When I become a god again –’

‘Both of you, stop,’ Meg ordered. ‘Apollo, say the answer.’

‘Fine.’ I sighed. ‘Maze, the answer is tomb.’

We took another successful trip down the middle finger … I mean, central hall. The word TOMB blazed in the four squares behind us.

At the end, we arrived in a circular room, even larger and more ornate. Across the domed ceiling spread a silver-on-blue mosaic of zodiac signs. Six new tunnels radiated outward. In the middle of the floor stood an old fountain, unfortunately dry. (A drink would have been much appreciated. Interpreting poetry and solving puzzles is thirsty work.)

‘The rooms are getting bigger,’ Grover noted. ‘And more elaborate.’

‘Maybe that’s good,’ I said. ‘It might mean we’re getting closer.’

Meg eyed the zodiac images. ‘You sure we didn’t take a wrong turn? The prophecy doesn’t even make sense so far. Apollo faces death Tarquin tomb.’

‘You have to assume the small words,’ I said. ‘I believe the message is Apollo faces death in Tarquin’s tomb.’ I gulped. ‘Actually, I don’t like that message. Perhaps the little words we’re missing are Apollo faces NO death; Tarquin’s tomb … something, something. Maybe the next words are grants him fabulous prizes.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Meg pointed at the rim of the central fountain, where the next clue had appeared. Three lines in English read:

Named for Apollo’s fallen love, this flower should be planted in autumn.

Set the bulb in the soil with the pointy end up. Cover with soil

And water thoroughly … you are transplanting.



I stifled a sob.

First the maze forced me to read Walt Whitman. Now it taunted me with my own past. To mention my dead love, Hyacinthus, and his tragic death, to reduce him to a bit of Oracle trivia … No. This was too much.

I sat down on the rim of the fountain and cupped my face in my hands.

‘What’s wrong?’ Grover asked nervously.

Meg answered. ‘Those lines are talking about his old boyfriend. Hyacinth.’

‘Hyacinthus,’ I corrected.

I surged to my feet, my sadness converting to anger. My friends edged away. I supposed I must have looked like a crazy man, and that’s indeed how I felt.

‘Herophile!’ I yelled into the darkness. ‘I thought we were friends!’

‘Uh, Apollo?’ Meg said. ‘I don’t think she’s taunting you on purpose. Also, the answer is about the flower, hyacinth. I’m pretty sure those lines are from the Farmer’s Almanac.’

‘I don’t care if they’re from the telephone directory!’ I bellowed. ‘Enough is enough. HYACINTH!’ I yelled into the corridors. ‘The answer is HYACINTH! Are you happy?’

Meg yelled, ‘NO!’

In retrospect, she really should have yelled Apollo, stop! Then I would’ve had no choice but to obey her command. Therefore, what happened next is Meg’s fault.

I marched down the only corridor with eight squares.

Grover and Meg ran after me, but by the time they caught me it was too late.

I looked behind, expecting to see the word HYACINTH spelled out on the floor. Instead, only six of the squares were lit up in glaring correction-pen red:

U

N

L

E

S

S



Under our feet, the tunnel floor disappeared, and we dropped into a pit of fire.





39


Noble sacrifice

I’ll protect you from the flames

Wow, I’m a good guy





Under different circumstances, how delighted I would have been to see that UNLESS.

Apollo faces death in Tarquin’s tomb unless …

Oh, happy conjunction! It meant there was a way to avoid potential death, and I was all about avoiding potential death.

Unfortunately, falling into a pit of fire dampened my new-found hope.

In mid-air, before I could even process what was happening, I lurched to a halt, my quiver strap yanked tight across my chest, my left foot nearly popping free from my ankle.

I found myself dangling next to the wall of the pit. About twenty feet below, the shaft opened into a lake of fire. Meg was clinging desperately to my foot. Above me, Grover held me by the quiver with one hand, his other gripping a tiny ledge of rock. He kicked off his shoes and tried to find purchase with his hooves on the wall.