by Rick Riordan
“Yes, Sapling,” said the Gaul. “Now put away your weapons before Gunther is obliged to chop off your head.”
THE SWORD-WIELDER LOOKED DELIGHTED. “Chop off head?”
His name, GUNTHER, was printed on an Amtrak name tag he wore over his armor—his only concession to being in disguise.
“Not yet.” Luguselwa kept her eyes on us. “As you can see, Gunther loves decapitating people, so let’s play nice. Come along—”
“Lu,” Meg said. “Why?”
When it came to expressing hurt, Meg’s voice was a fine-tuned instrument. I’d heard her mourn the deaths of our friends. I’d heard her describe her father’s murder. I’d heard her rage against her foster father, Nero, who had killed her dad and twisted her mind with years of emotional abuse.
But when addressing Luguselwa, Meg’s voice played in an entirely different key. She sounded as if her best friend had just dismembered her favorite doll for no reason and without warning. She sounded hurt, confused, incredulous—as if, in a life full of indignities, this was one indignity she never could have anticipated.
Lu’s jaw muscles tightened. Veins bulged on her temples. I couldn’t tell if she was angry, feeling guilty, or showing us her warm-and-fuzzy side.
“Do you remember what I taught you about duty, Sapling?”
Meg gulped back a sob.
“Do you?” Lu said, her voice sharper.
“Yes,” Meg whispered.
“Then get your things and come along.” Lu pushed Gunther’s sword away from Meg’s neck.
The big man grumbled “Hmph,” which I assumed was Germanic for I never get to have any fun.
Looking bewildered, Meg rose and opened the overhead compartment. I couldn’t understand why she was going along so passively with Luguselwa’s orders. We’d fought against worse odds. Who was this Gaul?
“That’s it?” I whispered as Meg passed me my backpack. “We’re giving up?”
“Lester,” Meg muttered, “just do what I say.”
I shouldered my pack, my bow and quiver. Meg fastened her gardening belt around her waist. Lu and Gunther did not look concerned that I was now armed with arrows and Meg with an ample supply of heirloom-vegetable seeds. As we got our gear in order, the mortal passengers gave us annoyed looks, but no one shushed us, probably because they did not want to anger the two large conductors escorting us out.
“This way.” Lu pointed with her crossbow to the exit behind her. “The others are waiting.”
The others?
I did not want to meet any more Gauls or Gunthers, but Meg followed Lu meekly through the Plexiglas double doors. I went next, Gunther breathing down my neck behind me, probably contemplating how easy it would be to separate my head from my body.
A gangway connected our car to the next: a loud, lurching hallway with automatic double doors on either end, a closet-size restroom in one corner, and exterior doors to port and starboard. I considered throwing myself out one of these exits and hoping for the best, but I feared “the best” would mean dying on impact with the ground. It was pitch-black outside. Judging from the rumble of the corrugated steel panels beneath my feet, I guessed the train was going well over a hundred miles an hour.
Through the far set of Plexiglas doors, I spied the café car: a grim concession counter, a row of booths, and a half dozen large men milling around—more Germani. Nothing good was going to happen in there. If Meg and I were going to make a break for it, this was our chance.
Before I could make any sort of desperate move, Luguselwa stopped abruptly just before the café-car doors. She turned to face us.
“Gunther,” she snapped, “check the bathroom for infiltrators.”
This seemed to confuse Gunther as much as it did me, either because he didn’t see the point, or he had no idea what an infiltrator was.
I wondered why Luguselwa was acting so paranoid. Did she worry we had a legion of demigods stashed in the restroom, waiting to spring out and rescue us? Or perhaps like me she’d once surprised a Cyclops on the porcelain throne and no longer trusted public toilets.
After a brief stare-down, Gunther muttered “Hmph” and did as he was told.
As soon as he poked his head in the loo, Lu (the other Lu, not loo) fixed us with an intent stare. “When we go through the tunnel to New York,” she said, “you will both ask to use the toilet.”
I’d taken a lot of silly commands before, mostly from Meg, but this was a new low.
“Actually, I need to go now,” I said.
“Hold it,” she said.
I glanced at Meg to see if this made any sense to her, but she was staring morosely at the floor.
Gunther emerged from potty patrol. “Nobody.”
Poor guy. If you had to check a train’s toilet for infiltrators, the least you could hope for was a few infiltrators to kill.
“Right, then,” said Lu. “Come on.”
She herded us into the café car. Six Germani turned and stared at us, their meaty fists full of Danishes and cups of coffee. Barbarians! Who else would eat breakfast pastries at night? The warriors were dressed like Gunther in hides and gold armor, cleverly disguised behind Amtrak name tags. One of the men, AEDELBEORT (the number one most popular Germanic baby boy’s name in 162 BCE), barked a question at Lu in a language I didn’t recognize. Lu responded in the same tongue. Her answer seemed to satisfy the warriors, who went back to their coffee and Danishes. Gunther joined them, grumbling about how hard it was to find good enemies to decapitate.
“Sit there,” Lu told us, pointing to a window booth.
Meg slid in glumly. I settled in across from her, propping my longbow, quiver, and backpack next to me. Lu stood within earshot, just in case we tried to discuss an escape plan. She needn’t have worried. Meg still wouldn’t meet my eyes.
I wondered again who Luguselwa was, and what she meant to Meg. Not once in our months of travel had Meg mentioned her. This fact disturbed me. Rather than indicating that Lu was unimportant, it made me suspect she was very important indeed.
And why a Gaul? Gauls had been unusual in Nero’s Rome. By the time he became emperor, most of them had been conquered and forcibly “civilized.” Those who still wore tattoos and torques and lived according to the old ways had been pushed to the fringes of Brittany or forced over to the British Isles. The name Luguselwa…My Gaulish had never been very good, but I thought it meant beloved of the god Lugus. I shuddered. Those Celtic deities were a strange, fierce bunch.
My thoughts were too unhinged to solve the puzzle of Lu. I kept thinking back to the poor amphisbaena she’d killed—a harmless monster commuter who would never make it home to his wife, all because a prophecy had made him its pawn.
His message had left me shaken—a verse in terza rima, like the one we’d received at Camp Jupiter:
O son of Zeus the final challenge face.
The tow’r of Nero two alone ascend.
Dislodge the beast that hast usurped thy place.
Yes, I had memorized the cursed thing.
Now we had our second set of instructions, clearly linked to the previous set, because the first and third lines rhymed with ascend. Stupid Dante and his stupid idea for a never-ending poem structure:
The son of Hades, cavern-runners’ friend,
Must show the secret way unto the throne.
On Nero’s own your lives do now depend.
I knew a son of Hades: Nico di Angelo. He was probably still at Camp Half-Blood on Long Island. If he had some secret way to Nero’s throne, he’d never get the chance to show us unless we escaped this train. How Nico might be a “cavern-runners’ friend,” I had no idea.
The last line of the new verse was just cruel. We were presently surrounded by “Nero’s own,” so of course our lives depended on them. I wanted to believe there was more to that line, something positive…maybe tied to the fact that Lu had ordered us to go to the bathroom when we entered the tunnel to New York. But given Lu’s hostile expression, and the presence of her
seven heavily caffeinated and sugar-fueled Germanus friends, I didn’t feel optimistic.
I squirmed in my seat. Oh, why had I thought about the bathroom? I really needed to go now.
Outside, the illuminated billboards of New Jersey zipped by: ads for auto dealerships where you could buy an impractical race car; injury lawyers you could employ to blame the other drivers once you crashed that race car; casinos where you could gamble away the money you won from the injury lawsuits. The great circle of life.
The station-stop for Newark Airport came and went. Gods help me, I was so desperate I considered making a break for it. In Newark.
Meg stayed put, so I did, too.
The tunnel to New York would be coming up soon. Perhaps, instead of asking to use the restroom, we could spring into action against our captors.…
Lu seemed to read my thoughts. “It’s a good thing you surrendered. Nero has three other teams like mine on this train alone. Every passage—every train, bus, and flight into Manhattan—has been covered. Nero’s got the Oracle of Delphi on his side, remember. He knew you were coming tonight. You were never going to get into the city without being caught.”
Way to crush my hopes, Luguselwa. Telling me that Nero had his ally Python peering into the future for him, using my sacred Oracle against me…Harsh.
Meg, however, suddenly perked up, as if something Lu said gave her hope. “So how is it you’re the one who found us, Lu? Just luck?”
Lu’s tattoos rippled as she flexed her arms, the swirling Celtic circles making me seasick.
“I know you, Sapling,” she said. “I know how to track you. There is no luck.”
I could think of several gods of luck who would disagree with that statement, but I didn’t argue. Being a captive had dampened my desire for small talk.
Lu turned to her companions. “As soon as we get to Penn Station, we deliver our captives to the escort team. I want no mistakes. No one kills the girl or the god unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“Is it necessary now?” Gunther asked.
“No,” Lu said. “The princeps has plans for them. He wants them alive.”
The princeps. My mouth tasted bitterer than the bitterest Amtrak coffee. Being marched through Nero’s front door was not how I’d planned to confront him.
One moment we were rumbling across a wasteland of New Jersey warehouses and dockyards. The next, we plunged into darkness, entering the tunnel that would take us under the Hudson River. On the intercom, a garbled announcement informed us that our next stop would be Penn Station.
“I need to pee,” Meg announced.
I stared at her, dumbfounded. Was she really going to follow Lu’s strange instructions? The Gaul had captured us and killed an innocent two-headed snake. Why would Meg trust her?
Meg pressed her heel hard on the top of my foot.
“Yes,” I squeaked. “I also need to pee.” For me, at least, this was painfully true.
“Hold it,” Gunther grumbled.
“I really need to pee.” Meg bounced up and down.
Lu heaved a sigh. Her exasperation did not sound faked. “Fine.” She turned to her squad. “I’ll take them. The rest of you stay here and prepare to disembark.”
None of the Germani objected. They’d probably heard enough of Gunther’s complaints about potty patrol. They began shoving last-minute Danishes into their mouths and gathering up their equipment as Meg and I extracted ourselves from our booth.
“Your gear,” Lu reminded me.
I blinked. Right. Who went to the bathroom without their bow and quiver? That would be stupid. I grabbed my things.
Lu herded us back into the gangway. As soon as the double doors closed behind her, she murmured, “Now.”
Meg bolted for the quiet car.
“Hey!” Lu shoved me out of the way, pausing long enough to mutter, “Block the door. Decouple the coaches,” then raced after Meg.
Do what now?
Two scimitars flashed into existence in Lu’s hands. Wait—she had Meg’s swords? No. Just before the end of the gangway, Meg turned to face her, summoning her own blades, and the two women fought like demons. They were both dimachaeri, the rarest form of gladiator? That must mean— I didn’t have time to think about what that meant.
Behind me, the Germani were shouting and scrambling. They would be through the doors any second.
I didn’t understand exactly what was happening, but it occurred to my stupid slow mortal brain that perhaps, just perhaps, Lu was trying to help us. If I didn’t block the doors like she’d asked, we would be overrun by seven angry sticky-fingered barbarians.
I slammed my foot against the base of the double doors. There were no handles. I had to press my palms against the panels and push them together to keep them shut.
Gunther tackled the doors at full speed, the impact nearly dislocating my jaw. The other Germani piled in behind him. My only advantages were the narrow space they were in, which made it difficult for them to combine their strength, and the Germani’s own lack of sense. Instead of working together to pry the doors apart, they simply pushed and shoved against one another, using Gunther’s face as a battering ram.
Behind me, Lu and Meg jabbed and slashed, their blades furiously clanging against one another.
“Good, Sapling,” Lu said under her breath. “You remember your training.” Then louder, for the sake of our audience: “I’ll kill you, foolish girl!”
I imagined how this must look to the Germani on the other side of the Plexiglas: their comrade Lu, trapped in combat with an escaped prisoner, while I attempted to hold them back. My hands were going numb. My arm and chest muscles ached. I glanced around desperately for an emergency door lock, but there was only an emergency OPEN button. What good was that?
The train roared on through the tunnel. I estimated we had only minutes before we pulled into Penn Station, where Nero’s “escort team” would be waiting. I did not wish to be escorted.
Decouple the coaches, Lu had told me.
How was I supposed to do that, especially while holding the gangway doors shut? I was no train engineer! Choo-choos were more Hephaestus’s thing.
I looked over my shoulder, scanning the gangway. Shockingly, there was no clearly labeled switch that would allow a passenger to decouple the train. What was wrong with Amtrak?
There! On the floor, a series of hinged metal flaps overlapped, creating a safe surface for passengers to walk across when the train twisted and turned. One of those flaps had been kicked open, perhaps by Lu, exposing the coupling underneath.
Even if I could reach it from where I stood, which I couldn’t, I doubted I would have the strength and dexterity to stick my arm down there, cut the cables, and pry open the clamp. The gap between the floor panels was too narrow, the coupling too far down. Just to hit it from here, I would have to be the world’s greatest archer!
Oh. Wait…
Against my chest, the doors were bowing under the weight of seven barbarians. An ax blade jutted through the rubber lining next to my ear. Turning around so I could shoot my bow would be madness.
Yes, I thought hysterically. Let’s do that.
I bought myself a moment by pulling out an arrow and jabbing it through the gap between the doors. Gunther howled. The pressure eased as the clump of Germani readjusted. I flipped around so my back was to the Plexiglas, one heel wedged against the base of the doors. I fumbled with my bow and managed to nock an arrow.
My new bow was a god-level weapon from the vaults of Camp Jupiter. My archery skills had improved dramatically over the last six months. Still, this was a terrible idea. It was impossible to shoot properly with one’s back against a hard surface. I simply couldn’t draw the bowstring far enough.
Nevertheless, I fired. The arrow disappeared into the gap in the floor, completely missing the coupling.
“Penn Station in just a minute,” said a voice on the PA system. “Doors will open on the left.”
“Running out of time!” Lu sh
outed. She slashed at Meg’s head. Meg jabbed low, nearly impaling the Gaul’s thigh.
I shot another arrow. This time the point sparked against the clasp, but the train cars remained stubbornly connected.
The Germani pounded against the doors. A Plexiglas panel popped out of its frame. A fist reached through and grabbed my shirt.
With a desperate shriek, I lurched away from the doors and shot one last time at a full draw. The arrow sliced through the cables and slammed into the clasp. With a shudder and a groan, the coupling broke.
Germani poured into the gangway as I leaped across the widening gap between the coaches. I almost skewered myself on Meg’s and Lu’s scimitars, but I somehow managed to regain my footing.
I turned as the rest of the train shot into the darkness at seventy miles an hour, seven Germani staring at us in disbelief and yelling insults I will not repeat.
For another fifty feet, our decoupled section of the train rolled forward of its own momentum, then slowed to a stop. Meg and Lu lowered their weapons. A brave passenger from the quiet car dared to stick her head out and ask what was going on.
I shushed her.
Lu glared at me. “Took you long enough, Lester. Now let’s move before my men come back. You two just went from capture alive to proof of death is acceptable.”
“I’M CONFUSED,” I SAID AS WE STUMBLED along in the dark tunnels. “Are we still prisoners?”
Lu glanced at me, then at Meg. “Dense for a god, isn’t he?”
“You have no idea,” Meg grumbled.
“Do you work for Nero or not?” I demanded. “And how exactly…?”
I wagged my finger from Lu to Meg, silently asking, How do you know each other? Or perhaps, Are you related since you’re equally annoying?
Then I caught the glint of their matching gold rings, one on each of their middle fingers. I remembered the way Lu and Meg had fought, their four blades slicing and stabbing in perfect synchronization. The obvious truth smacked me in the face.
