lest your heart’s blood should run cold.
“Cheerful,” Boone mutters. But his humor has dropped away, and he’s in full get-shit-done mode.
I pause with my hand on the old-fashioned door lever and look up, inspecting the stone tower. I don’t see windows or slits or anything from this side to indicate how many levels there are. “What do you think?” I ask. “Seven or eight stories?”
“Sounds about right to me.”
Seven or eight levels to survive. But even if we don’t make it to the top in time, we don’t die. That’s something, at least.
The lever creaks in protest when I press down, and together, Boone and I step inside.
75
Win, Lose, Or Die
I don’t know what I expected Hephaestus’ first automaton to be like, but for damn sure it wasn’t a tiny child made entirely of gold standing at the center of the circular room.
The door shuts behind us, leaving the space lit by lanterns and a single window on the opposite side. The automaton kid, who looks like he’s about three years old, slowly lifts a wicked-looking butcher knife, and his sweet bow of a mouth stretches into a smile that’s pure evil. His tinkling, delighted laugh fills the room as he runs right at me, slashing wildly with the blade.
“Holy shit!” I yelp.
I grab for my axe, but I’m so rattled by the murder-child that I miss the pocket for it. Fumbling around, I dodge and run. Boone gets between us and punts the metal kid across the room. The automaton hits the wall but gets back to his feet and giggles before charging us again. By this time, I’ve given up on my axe. There’s something about chopping a child, even one that’s an automaton, that I just can’t stomach.
Dodging the homicidal, laughing demon-toddler, I pull the wire twine from my vest that Zai returned to me after Dionysus’ Labor.
Boone sees what I’m doing and, without a word, works with me.
It takes another punt from Boone and both of us working in tandem, dodging the automaton three more times before I finally manage to tackle the thing from behind as he chases Boone. I wrap the twine around him until his metal arms are pinned to his sides. The second he stops squirming and drops the knife with a clatter, a hidden door to our right swings open.
I see now why running this course alone would be a disadvantage.
“Not bad, Keres,” Boone says.
He’s not even winded. I am.
Inside, we find a winding staircase of stone weathered by the tread of centuries of feet leading upward. When we reach the next level, the door is already open.
Inside, we find a brass owl perched in front of a chess board.
I laugh.
Chess is the only game the Order keeps in its dens. In fact, they insist all the pledges learn how to play and play well, claiming that learning to think strategically is a key tool for all thieves. Good thieves, at least.
I’m actually good at this. So is Boone.
Ha!
Boone and I study the board, which is already mid-game. Then we sit in the chairs provided and start working. Four moves in, he gently covers my mouth with his hand. “Sorry, but you’ve really got to get a handle on that habit. It could get you killed one day.”
I wrinkle my nose at him, then pull away. “I know.”
It takes longer than I would have liked for us to finish the game—mostly because Boone and I have to stop to argue strategy—but we finally manage to put the owl in checkmate in seven moves. Another door swings open.
Boone grins. “Damn, you’re good. When we get back to the den, I’m asking Felix to partner us.”
He says it so casually, so matter-of-factly, I know it’s not calculated or said out of pity. He really wants to work with me. He just checked that dream off my list without even knowing he was doing it.
Only…
Why is it suddenly hard to picture myself back in the Overworld? Away from Hades.
“Good game,” I say to the owl.
Gears inside it whir as it spins its head, then gives a tooting little hoot that makes me smile. Two levels in, and I’m feeling more confident now that survival at the very least seems assured.
I head for the door, but just as I get to the bottom of the next set of spiraling stairs, a familiar whistle sounds behind me.
I spin to find Boone sitting—yes, sitting, like he doesn’t have a care in the world—on the wooden window ledge, his legs dangling to the outside and a grin on his face.
“What are you doing?” I ask as I run over.
I look past him to the drop below. We’re on the third level, so it’s only about thirty feet to the ground, but the moat doesn’t come all the way to the tower walls. There is a spit of land between the wall and the water, and it’s covered with spears planted in the dirt. Hundreds of scary-looking spikes shooting straight up into the air, like the quills of an angry porcupine.
Boone swings one leg over, unconcerned. “Hephaestus said it didn’t matter how we got to the top. Just that we get there.” He looks up the wall. “I think we’ve been going the hard way.”
I lean out the window to look up with him.
