The Tower of Nero

by Rick Riordan

  I started to protest, but the Arrow of Dodona buzzed in warning. I needed to trust Lu. I needed to cede the battle to the better warrior.

  “Fine,” I relented. “Can I at least tape a sword to your arm?”

  “No time,” she said. “Too unwieldy. Wait, actually. That dagger over there. Unsheathe it and put the blade between my teeth.”

  “How will that help?”

  “Probably won’t,” she admitted. “But it’ll look cool.”

  I did as she asked.

  Now she stood before me as LuBeard the Pirate, cutlery-wielding terror of the Seven Seas.

  “Ood ruhk,” she mumbled around the blade. Then she turned and raced away.

  “What just happened?” I asked.

  THOU HAST MADE A FRIEND, the arrow said. NOW REFILLEST THY QUIVERS SO THOU SHALT NOT SHOOT WITH ME.

  “Right.” With shaky hands, I scavenged as many intact arrows as I could find in the prisoners’ storeroom and added them to my arsenal. Alarms kept blaring. The bloodred light was not helping my anxiety level.

  I started down the hall. I’d barely made it halfway when the Arrow of Dodona buzzed, LOOK OUT!

  A mortal security guard in tactical riot gear rounded the corner, barreling toward me with his handgun raised. Not being well prepared, I screamed and threw Gunther’s sword at him. By some miracle, the hilt hit him in the face and knocked him down.

  THAT IS NOT NORMALLY HOW ONE USETH A SWORD, the arrow said.

  “Always a critic,” I grumbled.

  MEG IS IN PERIL, he said.

  “Meg is in peril,” I agreed. I stepped over the mortal guard, now curled on the floor and groaning. “Terribly sorry.” I kicked him in the face. He stopped moving and began to snore. I ran on.

  I burst into the stairwell and took the concrete steps two at a time. The Arrow of Dodona remained clutched in my hand. I probably should have put it away and readied my bow with normal missiles, but to my surprise, I found that its running Shakespearean commentary boosted my shaky morale.

  From the floor above me, two Germani rushed into the stairwell and charged me with spears leveled.

  Now lacking even Gunther’s sword, I thrust out my free hand, shut my eyes, and screamed as if this would make them go away, or at least make my death less painful.

  My fingers burned. Flames roared. The two Germani yelled in terror, then were silent.

  When I opened my eyes, my hand was smoking but unharmed. Flames licked at the peeling paint on the walls. On the steps above me were two piles of ash where the Germani had been.

  THOU SHOULDST DO THAT MORE OFTEN, the arrow advised.

  The idea made me sick to my stomach. Once, I would have been delighted to summon the power to blowtorch my enemies. But now, after knowing Lu, I wondered how many of these Germani really wanted to serve Nero, and how many had been conscripted into his service with no choice. Enough people had died. My grudge was with only one person, Nero, and one reptile, Python.

  HURRY, the arrow said with new urgency. I SENSE…YES. NERO HAS SENT GUARDS TO FETCH MEG.

  I wasn’t sure how it had gleaned this information—if it was monitoring the building’s security system or eavesdropping on Nero’s personal psychic hotline—but the news made me clench my teeth.

  “There will be no Meg-fetching on my watch,” I growled.

  I slid the Arrow of Dodona into one of my quivers and drew a missile of the non-Shakespearean variety.

  I bounded up the stairs.

  I worried about Luguselwa, who must have been facing the leontocephaline by now. I worried about Nico, Will, and Rachel, whom I hadn’t seen any sign of in my dreams. I worried about the forces of Camp Half-Blood, who might be charging into a suicidal rescue mission at this very moment. Most of all, I worried about Meg.

  To find her, I would fight the entire tower by myself if I had to.

  I reached the next landing. Had Lu said five floors up? Six? How many had I already climbed? Argh, I hated numbers!

  I shouldered my way into another bland white corridor and ran in the direction I thought might be southeast.

  I kicked open a door and discovered (try not to be too shocked) that I was in the entirely wrong place. A large control room glowed with dozens of monitors. Many showed live feeds of huge metal reservoirs—the emperor’s Greek-fire vats. Mortal technicians turned and gawked at me. Germani looked up and frowned. A Germanus who must have been the commander, judging from the quality of his armor and the number of shiny beads in his beard, scowled at me with disdain.

  “You heard the emperor’s order,” he snarled at the technicians. “Light those fires NOW. And, guards, kill this fool.”

  HOW MANY TIMES HAD I SAID THOSE words? Kill this fool.

  We gods bandied about statements like that all the time, but we never gave thought to the cost. Like, actual fools may die. And in this situation, that fool was me.

  A millisecond’s scan of the room showed me ten enemies in various states of readiness. In the far corner, four Germani were scrunched together on a broken-down sofa, eating Chinese food from takeout boxes. Three technicians sat in swivel chairs, manning control consoles. They were human security, each with a sidearm, but they were too focused on their work to be an immediate threat. A mortal guard stood right next to me, looking surprised that I’d just pushed through the door he was monitoring. Oh, hello! A second guard stood across the room, blocking the other exit. That left just the Germanus leader, who was now rising from his chair, drawing his sword.

  So many questions flashed through my mind.

  What did the mortal technicians see through the Mist?

  How would I get out of here alive?

  How did Leader Guy sit comfortably in that swivel chair while wearing a sword?

  Was that lemon chicken I smelled, and was there enough for me?

  I was tempted to say, Wrong room, close the door, and beat it down the hall. But since the technicians had just been ordered to burn down the city, that wasn’t an option.

  “STOP!” I sang out of instinct. “IN THE NAME OF LOVE!”

  Everyone froze—maybe because my voice had magic powers, or maybe because I was horribly off-key. I bow-punched the guy next to me in the face. If you have never been punched by a fist holding a bow, I do not recommend it. The experience is like being hit with brass knuckles, except it hurts the archer’s fingers much more. Door Guy #1 went down.

  Across the room, Door Guy #2 raised his gun and fired. The bullet sparked off the door next to my head.

  Fun fact from a former god who knows acoustics: If you fire a gun in an enclosed space, you have just deafened everyone in that room. The technicians flinched and covered their ears. The Germani’s Chinese-takeout boxes went flying. Even Leader Guy stumbled half out of his chair.

  My ears ringing, I drew my bow and shot two arrows at once—the first knocking the gun out of Door Guy #2’s hand, the second pinning his sleeve to the wall. Yes, this ex–archery god still had some moves!

  The technicians returned their attention to their controls. The Chinese-food contingent tried to extract themselves from their sofa. Leader Guy charged me, his sword in both hands, pointed directly at my soft underbelly.

  “Ha-ha!” I initiated a home-plate slide. In my mind, the maneuver had seemed so simple: I would glide effortlessly across the floor, avoiding Leader Guy’s thrust, veering between his legs as I fired at multiple targets from a supine position. If Orlando Bloom could do it in Lord of the Rings, why couldn’t I?

  I neglected to consider that this floor was carpeted. I fell flat on my back and Leader Guy tripped over me, barreling headfirst into the wall.

  I did get off one shot—an arrow that skimmed across the nearest technician’s control panel and knocked him out of his chair in surprise. I rolled aside as Leader Guy turned and hacked at me. Having no time to nock another arrow, I pulled one out and jabbed it into his shin.

  Leader Guy howled. I scrambled to my feet and jumped onto the bank of control consoles.
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  “Back off!” I yelled at the technicians, doing my best to aim one arrow at all three of them.

  Meanwhile, the Chinese Food Four were fumbling with their swords. Door Guy #2 had tugged his sleeve free of the wall and was hunting around for his pistol.

  One of the technicians reached for his gun.

  “NOPE!” I fired a warning arrow, impaling the seat of his chair a millimeter from his crotch. I was loath to harm hapless mortals (wow, I really wrote that sentence), but I had to keep these guys away from the naughty buttons that would destroy New York.

  I nocked three more arrows at once and did my best to look threatening. “Get out of here! Go!”

  The technicians looked tempted—it was, after all, a very fair offer—but their fear of me was apparently not as great as their fear of the Germani.

  Still growling in pain from the arrow in his leg, Leader Guy yelled, “Do your job!”

  The technicians lunged toward their naughty buttons. The four Germani charged me.

  “Sorry, guys.” I split my arrows, shooting each technician in the foot, which I hoped would keep them distracted long enough for me to deal with the Germani.

  I blasted the closest barbarian into dust with an arrow to the chest, but the other three kept coming. I leaped into their midst: bow-punching, elbow-jabbing, arrow-poking like a maniac. With another lucky shot, I took down a second Chinese-food eater, then wrestled free long enough to throw a chair at Door Guy #2, who had just located his gun. One of the metal legs knocked him out cold.

  Two lemon-chicken-splattered Germani remained. As they charged, I ran between them with my bow horizontal, at face level, smacking them each in the nose. They staggered back as I fired two more shots, point-blank. It wasn’t very sporting, but it was effective. The Germani collapsed into piles of dust and sticky rice.

  I was feeling pretty smug…until someone hit me in the back of the head. The room went red and purple. I crumpled to my hands and knees, rolled over to defend myself, and found Leader Guy standing over me, the tip of his sword in my face.

  “Enough,” he snarled. His leg was soaked in blood, my arrow still stuck through his shin like a Halloween gag. He barked at the technicians, “START THOSE PUMPS!”

  In a last desperate attempt to intervene, I sang, “DON’T DO ME LIKE THAT!” in a voice that would have made Tom Petty cringe.

  Leader Guy dug his sword point into my Adam’s apple. “Sing one more word and I will cut out your vocal cords.”

  I frantically tried to think of more tricks I could pull. I’d been doing so well. I couldn’t give up now. But lying on the floor, exhausted and battered and buzzing from adrenaline burnout, my head started to spin. My vision doubled. Two Leader Guys floated above me. Six blurry technicians with arrows in their shoes limped back to their control panels.

  “What’s the holdup?” yelled Leader Guy.

  “W-we’re trying, sir,” said one of the techs. “The controls aren’t…I can’t get any readings.”

  Both of Leader Guy’s blurry faces glared down at me. “I’m glad you’re not dead yet. Because I’m going to kill you slowly.”

  Strangely, I felt elated. I may even have grinned. Had I somehow short-circuited the control panels when I stomped across them? Cool! I might die, but I had saved New York!

  “Try unplugging it,” said the second tech. “Then plug it back in.”

  Clearly, he was the senior troubleshooter for 1-555-ASK-EVIL.

  Tech #3 crawled under the table and rummaged with cords.

  “It won’t work!” I croaked. “Your diabolical plan has been foiled!”

  “No, we’re good now,” announced Tech #1. “Readings are nominal.” He turned to Leader Guy. “Shall I—?”

  “WHY ARE YOU EVEN ASKING?” Leader Guy bellowed. “DO IT!”

  “No!” I wailed.

  Leader Guy dug his sword point a little deeper into my throat, but not enough to kill. Apparently, he was serious about wanting a slow death for me.

  The technicians punched their naughty buttons. They stared at the video monitors expectantly. I said a silent prayer, hoping the New York metropolitan area would forgive me my latest, most horrible failure.

  The techs fiddled with buttons some more.

  “Everything looks normal,” said Tech #1, in a puzzled tone that indicated everything did not look normal.

  “I don’t see anything happening,” said Leader Guy, scanning the monitors. “Why aren’t there flames? Explosions?”

  “I—I don’t understand.” Tech #2 banged his monitor. “The fuel isn’t…It’s not going anywhere.”

  I couldn’t help it. I began to giggle.

  Leader Guy kicked me in the face. It hurt so much I had to giggle even harder.

  “What did you do to my fire vats?” he demanded. “What did you do?”

  “Me?” I cackled. My nose felt broken. I was bubbling mucus and blood in a way that must have been extremely attractive. “Nothing!”

  I laughed at him. It was just so perfect. The thought of dying here, surrounded by Chinese food and barbarians, seemed absolutely perfect. Either Nero’s doomsday machines had malfunctioned all by themselves, I had done more damage to the controls than I’d realized, or somewhere deep beneath the building, something had gone right for a change, and I owed every troglodyte a new hat.

  The idea made me laugh hysterically, which hurt a great deal.

  Leader Guy spat. “Now, I kill you.”

  He raised his sword…and froze. His face turned pale. His skin began to shrivel. His beard fell out whisker by whisker like dead pine needles. Finally, his skin crumbled away, along with his clothes and flesh, until Leader Guy was nothing but a bleached-white skeleton, holding a sword in his bony hands.

  Standing behind him, his hand on the skeleton’s shoulder, was Nico di Angelo.

  “That’s better,” Nico said. “Now stand down.”

  The skeleton obeyed, lowering its sword and stepping away from me.

  The technicians whimpered in terror. They were mortals, so I wasn’t sure what they thought they’d just seen, but it was nothing good.

  Nico looked at them. “Run away.”

  They fell all over each other to comply. They couldn’t run very well with arrows in their feet, but they were out the door faster than you could say, Holy Hades, that dude just turned Leader Guy into a skeleton.

  Nico frowned down at me. “You look awful.”

  I laughed weakly, bubbling snot. “I know, right?”

  My sense of humor didn’t seem to reassure him.

  “Let’s get you out of here,” Nico said. “This whole building is a combat zone, and our job isn’t done.”

  AS NICO HELPED ME TO MY FEET, LEADER Guy collapsed into a pile of bones.

  I guess controlling an animated skeleton while hauling my sorry butt off the floor was too much effort even for Nico.

  He was surprisingly strong. I had to lean against him with most of my weight since the room was still spinning, my face was throbbing, and I was still suffering from a bout of near-death giggles.

  “Where—where’s Will?” I asked.

  “Not sure.” Nico pulled my arm tighter around his shoulders. “He suddenly said, ‘I am needed,’ and darted off in another direction. We’ll find him.” Nico sounded worried nonetheless. “What about you? How exactly did you…uh, do all this?”

  I suppose he was talking about the piles of ash and rice, the broken chairs and control panels, and the blood of my enemies decorating the walls and the carpet. I tried not to laugh like a lunatic. “Just lucky?”

  “Nobody’s that lucky. I think your godly powers are starting to come back more. Like, a lot more.”

  “Yay!” My knees buckled. “Where’s Rachel?”

  Nico grunted, trying to keep me on my feet. “She was fine last I saw her. She’s the one who sent me here to get you—she’s been having visions like crazy for the last day now. She’s with the trogs.”

  “We have trogs! Whee!” I leaned
my head against Nico’s and sighed contentedly. His hair smelled like rain against stone…a pleasant scent.

  “Are you smelling my head?” he asked.

  “Um—”

  “Could you not? You’re getting nose blood all over me.”

  “Sorry.” Then I laughed again.

  Wow, I thought distantly. That kick to the face must have rattled my brain loose.

  Nico half dragged me down the corridor as he briefed me on their adventures since the trog encampment. I couldn’t concentrate, and I kept giggling at inappropriate moments, but I gleaned that, yes, the trogs had helped them disable the Greek-fire vats; Rachel had managed to summon help from Camp Half-Blood; and Nero’s tower was now the world’s largest urban-warfare play structure.

  In return, I told him that Lu now had silverware for hands.…

  “Huh?”

  She had gone to get Nero’s fasces from a leontocephaline.…

  “A what-now?”

  And I had to get to the southeast corner of the residence wing to find Meg.

  That, at least, Nico understood. “You’re three floors too low.”

  “I knew something was wrong!”

  “It’ll be tough getting you through all the fighting. Every level is, well…”

  We’d reached the end of the hallway. He kicked open a door and we stepped into the Conference Room of Calamity.

  A half dozen troglodytes bounced around the room fighting an equal number of mortal security guards. Along with their fine clothing and hats, the trogs all wore thick dark goggles to protect their eyes from the light, so they looked like miniature aviators at a costume party. Some guards were trying to shoot them, but the trogs were small and fast. Even when a bullet hit one of them, it simply glanced off their rock-like skin, making them hiss with annoyance. Other guards had resorted to riot batons, which weren’t any more effective. The trogs leaped around the mortals, whacking them with clubs, stealing their helmets, and basically having a grand old time.

  My old friend Grr-Fred, Mighty of Hats, Corporate Security Chief, leaped from a light fixture, brained a guard, then landed on the conference table and grinned at me. He’d topped his police hat with a new baseball cap that read TRIUMVIRATE HOLDINGS.