The Tower of Nero

by Rick Riordan

  Even without the insults, that particular song, when played by a child of Apollo, will cause a stampede 100 percent of the time. I pressed myself against the wall by the elevator as Austin dashed toward the library, pursued by fifty or sixty angry screaming party guests and Germani. I could only hope Austin found a second exit from the library, or else this would be a very short chase.

  I forced myself to move. Find our girl, Austin had said.

  Yes. That was the plan.

  I sprinted to the right and into the party room.

  Austin had cleared out the place completely. Even Areca seemed to have followed the rampaging “Pop Goes the Weasel” mob.

  Left behind were dozens of high cocktail tables covered in linen, sprinkled with glitter and rose petals, and topped with balsa-wood centerpiece sculptures of Manhattan going up in painted flames. Even for Nero, I found this over-the-top. The sideboard was loaded with every conceivable party appetizer, plus a multilayered red-and-yellow flame-motif cake. A banner across the back wall read HAPPY INFERNO!

  Along the other wall, plate-glass windows (no doubt heavily insulated) looked over the city, allowing for a beautiful view of the promised firestorm, which now—bless the trogs and their magnificent hats—would not be happening.

  In one corner, a small stage had been set up with a single microphone and a stand of instruments: a guitar, a lyre, and a violin. Oh, Nero. As a sick joke, he had intended to fiddle while New York burned. No doubt his guests would have laughed and clapped politely as the city exploded and millions perished to the tune of “This Land Is Your Land.” And who were these guests? The emperor’s billionaire golf buddies? Adult demigods who had been recruited for his postapocalyptic empire? Whoever they were, I hoped Austin stampeded them straight into a mob of angry troglodyte shareholders.

  It was fortunate no one was left in the room. They would have faced my wrath. As it was, I shot an arrow into the cake, which wasn’t a very satisfying experience.

  I marched through the room, and then, impatient with the sheer size of the place, began to jog. At the far end, I kicked through a doorway, my bow drawn and ready, but found only another empty hallway.

  I recognized this area from my dreams, though. Finally, I had reached the imperial family’s living area. Where were the guards? The servants? I decided I didn’t care. Just up ahead would be Meg’s door. I ran.

  “Meg!” I barreled into her bedroom.

  No one was there.

  The bed had been perfectly made up with a new comforter. The broken chairs had been replaced. The room smelled of Pine Sol, so even Meg’s scent had been erased along with any sign of her rebellion. I’d never felt so depressed and alone.

  “Hello!” said a small, tinny voice to my left.

  I shot an arrow at the nightstand, cracking the screen of a laptop computer showing Nero’s face on a live video call.

  “Oh, no,” he said dryly, his image now fractured and pixelated. “You got me.”

  His image jiggled, too large and off-center, as if he were holding the camera phone himself and not used to using it. I wondered if the emperor had to worry about cell phones malfunctioning, the way demigods did, or if the phone would broadcast his location to monsters. Then I realized there was no monster within five hundred miles worse than Nero.

  I lowered my bow. I had to unclench my jaw in order to speak. “Where is Meg?”

  “Oh, she’s quite well. She’s here with me in the throne room. I imagined you’d stumble in front of that monitor sooner or later, so we could chat about your situation.”

  “My situation? You’re under siege. We’ve ruined your inferno party. Your forces are being routed. I’m coming for you now, and if you so much as touch a rhinestone on Meg’s glasses, I’ll kill you.”

  Nero laughed gently, as if he had no concerns in the world. I didn’t catch the first part of his response, because my attention was drawn to a flash of movement in the hallway. Screech-Bling, CEO of the troglodytes, materialized in Meg’s bedroom doorway, grinning with delight, his colonial outfit covered with monster dust and tufts of red bull fur, his tricorn hat topped with several new headwear acquisitions.

  Before Screech-Bling could say anything that would announce his presence, I gave him a subtle shake of the head, warning him to stay put, out of range of the laptop camera. I didn’t want to give Nero any more information about our allies than necessary.

  It was impossible to read Screech-Bling’s eyes behind his dark goggles, but being a smart trog, he seemed to understand.

  Nero was saying “—quite a different situation. Have you heard of Sassanid gas, Apollo?”

  I had no idea what that was, but Screech-Bling almost leaped out of his buckle shoes. His lips curled in a distasteful sneer.

  “Ingenious, really,” Nero continued. “The Persians used it against our troops in Syria. Sulfur, bitumen, a few other secret ingredients. Horribly poisonous, causes excruciating death, especially effective in enclosed spaces like tunnels…or buildings.”

  My neck hairs stood on end. “Nero. No.”

  “Oh, I think yes,” he countered, his voice still pleasant. “You’ve robbed me of my chance to burn down the city, but surely you didn’t think that was my only plan. The backup system is quite intact. You’ve done me the favor of gathering the entire Greek camp in one place! Now, with just a push of a button, everything below the throne room level—”

  “Your own people are down here!” I yelled, shaking with fury.

  Nero’s distorted face looked pained. “It’s unfortunate, yes. But you’ve forced my hand. At least my darling Meg is here, and some of my other favorites. We will survive. What you don’t seem to realize, Apollo, is that you can’t destroy bank accounts with a bow and arrows. All my assets, all the power I’ve built up for centuries—it’s all safe. And Python is still waiting for your corpse to be delivered to him. So let’s make a deal. I will delay releasing my Sassanid surprise for…say, fifteen minutes. That should be enough time for you to reach the throne room. I’ll let in you, and only you.”

  “And Meg?”

  Nero looked baffled. “As I said, Meg is fine. I would never hurt her.”

  “You—” I choked on my rage. “You do nothing but hurt her.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Come on up and we’ll have a chat. I’ll even…” He paused, then laughed as if he’d had a sudden inspiration. “I’ll even let Meg decide what to do with you! Surely that’s more than fair. Your other option is that I release the gas now, then come down and collect your corpse at my leisure, along with those of your friends—”

  “No!” I tried to curb the desperation in my voice. “No, I’m coming up.”

  “Excellent.” Nero gave me a smug smile. “Ta-ta.”

  The screen went dark.

  I faced Screech-Bling. He stared back, his expression grim.

  “Sassanid gas is very—GRR—bad,” he said. “I see why Red Priestess sent me here.”

  “Red—you mean Rachel? She told you to find me?”

  Screech-Bling nodded. “She sees things, as you said. The future. The worst enemies. The best hats. She told me to come to this place.”

  His voice conveyed a level of reverence that suggested Rachel Elizabeth Dare would be getting free skink soup for the rest of her life. I missed my Pythia. I wished she had sought me out herself, rather than sending Screech-Bling, but since the trog could run at supersonic speed and tear through solid rock, I guessed it made sense.

  The CEO scowled at the laptop’s dark cracked monitor. “Is it possible Ne-ACK-ro is bluffing about the gas?”

  “No,” I said bitterly. “Nero doesn’t bluff. He likes to boast, then follow through. He’ll release that gas as soon as he has me in the throne room.”

  “Fifteen minutes,” Screech-Bling mused. “Not much time. Try to stall him. I will gather the trogs. We will disable this gas, or I will see you in Underheaven!”

  “But—”

  Screech-Bling vanished in a cloud of dust and bull
hair.

  I tried to steady my breathing. The troglodytes had come through for us once before when I didn’t believe they would. Still, we weren’t underground now. Nero would not have told me about his poison-gas delivery system if it was easy to find or disarm. If he could fumigate an entire skyscraper at the touch of a button, I didn’t see how the trogs would have time to stop him, or even get our forces safely out of the building. And when I faced the emperor, I had no chance of beating him…unless Lu had succeeded in getting his fasces from the leontocephaline, and that mission also seemed impossible.

  On the other hand, I didn’t have much choice but to hope. I had a part to play. Stall Nero. Find Meg.

  I marched out of the bedroom.

  Fifteen minutes. Then I would end Nero, or he would end me.

  THE BLAST DOORS WERE A NICE TOUCH.

  I’d found my way back to the throne room level with no problem. The elevators cooperated. The halls were eerily quiet. This time, no one greeted me in the antechamber.

  Where the ornamental golden doors had stood before, the entrance to Nero’s inner sanctum was now sealed by massive panels of titanium and Imperial gold. Hephaestus would have salivated at the sight—so much beautiful metalwork, inscribed with sorcerous charms of protection worthy of Hecate. All to keep one slimy emperor safe in his panic room.

  Finding no doorbell, I rapped my knuckles on the titanium: Shave and a haircut…

  No one gave the proper response, because barbarians. Instead, at the upper left-hand corner of the wall, a security camera light blinked from red to green.

  “Good.” Nero’s voice crackled from a speaker in the ceiling. “You’re alone. Smart boy.”

  I could have gotten offended by his boy comment, but there was so much else to feel offended by, I figured I’d better pace myself. The doors rumbled, parting just enough for me to squeeze through. They closed behind me.

  I scanned the room for Meg. She was nowhere in sight, which made me want to smack a Nero.

  The room was mostly unchanged. At the foot of Nero’s dais, the Persian rugs had been replaced to get rid of those annoying bloodstains from Luguselwa’s double amputation. The servants had been cleared out. Forming a semicircle behind Nero’s throne were a dozen Germani, some looking like they’d served as target practice for Camp Half-Blood’s “field trip.” Where Lu and Gunther had stood before, at the emperor’s right hand, a new Germanus had taken their place. He had a stark white beard, a deep vertical scar on the side of his face, and armor stitched from shaggy pelts that would have won him no friends in the animal-rights community.

  Rows of Imperial-gold bars had been lowered over all the windows, making the entire throne room feel appropriately like a cage. Enslaved dryads hovered nervously near their potted plants. The children of the Imperial Household—only seven of them, now—stood next to each plant with burning torches in their hands. Since Nero had raised them to be despicable, I supposed they would burn the dryads if I didn’t cooperate.

  My hand rested against my pants pocket, where I’d tucked Meg’s golden rings. I was relieved that at least she wasn’t standing with her siblings. I was glad young Cassius had run away from this place. I wondered where the other three missing adoptees had gone—if they’d been captured or had fallen in battle to Camp Half-Blood. I tried not to feel any satisfaction at the thought, but it was difficult.

  “Hello!” Nero sounded genuinely happy to see me. He reclined on his couch, popping grapes in his mouth from a silver platter at his side. “Weapons on the floor, please.”

  “Where is Meg?” I demanded.

  “Meg…?” Nero feigned confusion. He scanned the line of his torch-bearing children. “Meg. Let’s see…where did I leave her? Which one is Meg?”

  The other demigods gave him forced smiles, perhaps not sure if Dear Old Dad was joking.

  “She’s close,” Nero assured me, his expression hardening. “But first, weapons on the floor. I am taking no chances that you will harm my daughter.”

  “You—” I was so angry I couldn’t finish the sentence.

  How could someone twist the truth with such brazenness, telling you the exact opposite of what was clear and obvious, and still sound like they believed what they were saying? How could you defend against lies that were so blatant and brash they should have required no challenge?

  I put down my bow and quivers. I doubted they would matter. Nero wouldn’t have let me into his presence if he thought they were a threat.

  “And the ukulele,” he said. “And the backpack.”

  Oh, he was good.

  I set these next to my quivers.

  I realized that even if I tried something—even if I could throw flames at Nero or shoot him in the face or Apollo-smash his horrible purple love seat—it wouldn’t matter if his fasces was still intact. He looked completely at ease, as if he knew he was invulnerable.

  All my bad behavior would do is hurt others. The dryads would burn. If the demigods refused to burn them, then Nero would have the Germani punish the demigods. And if the Germani hesitated to carry out his orders…Well, after what had happened to Luguselwa, I doubted any of the guards would dare challenge Nero. The emperor held everyone in this room in a web of fear and threats. But what about Meg? She was the only wild card I could hope to play.

  As if reading my thoughts, Nero gave me a thin smile.

  “Meg, my dear,” he called, “it’s safe to come forward.”

  She appeared from behind one of the columns in the back of the room. Two cynocephali flanked her. The wolf-headed men did not touch her, but they walked beside her in such a tight orbit they reminded me of sheepdogs herding a wayward lamb.

  Meg looked physically unhurt, though she’d been bathed to within an inch of her life. All the hard-earned grime, ash, and dirt she’d accumulated on her way to the tower had been scrubbed away. Her pageboy haircut had been reshaped in a layered pixie style, parted in the middle, making Meg resemble the dryads a little too closely. And her clothes: gone was Sally Jackson’s valentine dress. In its place, Meg wore a sleeveless purple gown, gathered at the waist by a golden cord. Her red high-tops had been exchanged for gold-corded sandals. The only thing that remained of her old look was her glasses, without which she couldn’t see, but I was surprised Nero had let her keep even those.

  My heart broke. Meg looked elegant, older, and quite beautiful. She also looked utterly, completely no longer herself. Nero had tried to strip away everything she had been, every choice she’d made, and replace her with someone else—a proper young lady of the Imperial Household.

  Her foster siblings watched her approach with undisguised loathing and jealousy.

  “There you are!” Nero said with delight. “Come join me, dear.”

  Meg met my eyes. I tried to transmit how concerned and anguished I felt for her, but her expression remained carefully neutral. She made her way toward Nero, each step cautious, as if the slightest false step or betrayal of emotion might cause invisible mines to explode around her.

  Nero patted the cushions next to him, but Meg stopped at the base of the dais. I chose to take this as a hopeful sign. Nero’s face tightened with displeasure, but he masked it quickly, no doubt deciding, like the professional abusive villain he was, not to exert more pressure than was necessary, to keep the line taut without breaking it.

  “And so here we are!” He spread his arms to take in this special occasion. “Lester, it’s a shame you ruined our fireworks display. We could have been down in the parlor right now with our guests, watching a lovely sunset as the city burned. We could’ve had canapés and cake. But no matter. We still have so much to celebrate! Meg is home!”

  He turned to the white-bearded Germanus. “Vercorix, bring me the remote control, would you?” He gestured vaguely to the coffee table, where a black lacquered tray was piled with tech gadgets.

  Vercorix lumbered over and picked one.

  “No, that’s for the television,” said Nero. “No, that’s the DVR. Yes, that
’s the one, I think.”

  Panic swelled in my throat as I realized what Nero wanted: the control for releasing his Sassanid gas. Naturally, he would keep it with his TV remotes.

  “Stop!” I yelled. “You said Meg would decide.”

  Meg’s eyes widened. Apparently, she hadn’t heard Nero’s plan. She looked back and forth between us, as if worried which of us might attack her first. Watching her inner turmoil made me want to weep.

  Nero smirked. “Well, of course she will! Meg, my dear, you know the situation. Apollo has failed you yet again. His plans are in ruins. He has sacrificed his allies’ lives to make it this far—”

  “That’s not true!” I said.

  Nero raised an eyebrow. “No? When I warned you that this tower was a death trap for your demigod friends, did you rush down to save them? Did you hurry them out of the building? I gave you ample time. No. You used them. You let them keep fighting to distract my guards, so you could sneak up here and try to reclaim your precious immortality.”

  “I— What? I didn’t—”

  Nero swept his fruit platter off the sofa. It clattered across the floor. Grapes rolled everywhere. Everyone in the throne room flinched, including me…and this was obviously Nero’s intention. He was a master at theatrics. He knew how to work a crowd, keep us on our toes.

  He invested his voice with so much righteous indignation, even I wondered if I should believe him. “You are a user, Apollo! You always have been. You leave a wake of ruined lives wherever you go. Hyacinthus. Daphne. Marsyas. Koronis. And your own Oracles: Trophonius, Herophile, the Cumaean Sibyl.” He turned to Meg. “You’ve seen this with your own eyes, my dear. You know what I mean. Oh, Lester, I’ve been living among mortals for thousands of years. You know how many lives I’ve destroyed? None! I’ve raised a family of orphans.” He gestured at his adopted children, some of whom winced as if he might throw a platter of grapes at them. “I’ve given them luxury, security, love! I’ve employed thousands. I’ve improved the world! But you, Apollo, you’ve been on Earth barely six months. How many lives have you wrecked in that time? How many have died trying to defend you? That poor griffin, Heloise. The dryad, Money Maker. Crest the pandos. And, of course, Jason Grace.”