“Three weeks ago, I was floating around the forges when a young faun—Elon—ran up to me. Ran through me, actually, which I did not appreciate. ‘Praetor Frank needs you!’ he bleated urgently. ‘Said to meet him in the Temple of Mars Ultor right away! Come on!’
“Frank was nowhere in sight when we arrived at the temple. Puzzled, I turned to question the faun. Suddenly, I was overcome by noxious fumes. When I came to, I was trapped inside that bottle with those same fumes. They sapped me of my strength, rendering me powerless to escape.
“The faun promised to free me. But only after I identified the original ancile from among the twelve mounted on the temple ceiling.
“I refused. I knew what would happen if that shield fell into the wrong hands. Better I be trapped in a bottle of stink forever than let the last outpost of ancient Rome fall.” His vaporous shoulders slumped. “Alas, my refusal only delayed the eventual outcome.”
His story ended then, and with a nod of gratitude for my part in saving him, he vanished. I’ll check the forges later to make sure he’s safe and sound with his brother Blaise. I started down the road out of Temple Hill too. Then I backtracked and refilled Elon’s bottle with scummy green water scoured from the bowl on Neptune’s altar. (You’d think one of the Big Twelve would have something better than that pathetic blue toolshed!) I put the bottle back in the trash nest where I’d found it. I hope it looks enough like Mamurius’s toxic ghost to fool Elon.
Because if he figures out someone’s onto him, Camp Jupiter is going to self-destruct for sure.
According to Mamurius’s story, there should be twelve—XII—shields on the temple ceiling. But when I visited the god-crypt my second day of camp, there were only eleven. Add that fact to Mamurius’s statement about the outcome, and I come up with one conclusion: I was wrong about the original ancile being in the principia. It was in Mars’s temple with the others.
Emphasis on was.
So even without Mamurius’s help, Elon somehow discovered which ancile was the original. By trial and error, maybe, sneaking them out of camp one at a time, waiting to see if anything happened, then moving on to the next one when nothing did.
Until finally…oatmeal. Or, to quote the voice inside the bathroom: Mission accomplished.
Well, there’s a new mission now, called Ancile Recovery. Okay, that’s a terrible name, but it’s the best I’ve got until I think of a new one. And the name doesn’t matter anyway.
Accomplishing the mission does.
Welp, Blaise is in love with me. Ha! JK. But he has sworn to help me with my mission—my quest, he says it should be called—because Mamurius told him all about how I freed him from the gassy bottle.
Having a demigod ally with mad forging skills fits right in with my plan to retrieve the ancile, actually. So does having Janice for a bestie.
I finally confided in her late last night. No surprise, she was more than ready to help save the camp. And New Rome, too, she pointed out, because if Camp Jupiter and the Twelfth Legion fell, the city wouldn’t be far behind. I hadn’t thought of that, but then, my dad is safe in his suburb. Her mom isn’t.
Our only disagreement was over whether to tell the praetors what we’d discovered. After a hot debate (we were meeting in the forges because Mamurius wanted in on the plan and he refused to leave that workspace), I convinced them we should hold off going to Frank and Reyna until all the pieces of my plan were in place. That way, we could present the problem and the solution to them at the same time. When Blaise wondered aloud if my plan would even work, I pointed out that it includes stealth and booby traps, two of my specialties, so it was bound to succeed.
Agreement reached. Work commences after lunch.
After lunch…
Welp, I’m in love with Blaise. Ha! JK. But I am in awe of how fast he crafted the two-scutum garbage can I designed. It’s based on the Janus strategy Janice came up with during deathball. I just added the hinge to connect the two shields on one side and the interior latch to hold the two together. Much easier than trying to keep them in place while shuffling back to back.
In addition to the Janus can, I appropriated—okay, stole—two sacks of deathballs, a retiarius net, and a laquearius lasso from the armory. I retrieved the plumbata I’d launched into the Colosseum stands during my first weapons practice and added it to the other supplies in the compostable poop bag. And finally, Janice, Blaise, and I figured out how to bottle Bombilo’s bakery smell. (I suppose I should thank Elon for proving it’s possible to capture odors that way. And I will…riiiight after I pin him to the wall with my plumbata.)
I’m on sentry duty tonight, so after dinner I’ll stash the bag by the aviary on my way to the watchtower.
After dinner…
Welp, Elon is in love with Mefitis’s smelly daughter. Ha! JK. But he is terrified of Mimi—that’s the demigod’s name: Mimi. I learned all these facts by eavesdropping on their conversation inside the bathroom. I suspect she doesn’t actually show up in there but somehow speaks through the toilet—tapping into the noxious vapors that collect there, or some such. That’s a lovely thought.…
Anyway, after leaving the supply sack hidden at the aviary, I took off for sentry duty. I didn’t want to repeat my previous bladder blunder, so I veered to the bathroom for a quick pit stop.
The same voices were murmuring inside again. I ducked behind a tree to listen in on their cozy toilet-side chat. And was silently freaked out by what I heard.
The day after tomorrow, Mimi is scheduled to work alone at the landfill’s car crusher. She’s going to bring the ancile…and pulverize it in the machine.
I wasn’t the only one pushing the panic button at that news. I thought Elon was going to bleat himself hoarse. With good reason. He’s a mythical creature born of ancient Rome. If ancient Rome ceases to exist, well, my guess is so does he and all his kind. Not sure he thought that one through when he signed on with Mimi. Or the fact that other species will vanish, too, like the friendly dog-headed cynocephali, rowdy centaurs, naiads and dryads, and—OMG! Bombilo, the two-headed baker! Noooooo!
The eradication of ancient Roman beings might not stop with mythical creatures, either. Without the lingering aura of ancient Rome to bolster them, gods and goddesses could fade away too. The Olympians will probably be fine—that lot seems to survive everything thrown at them. It’s the minor deities I’m afraid for. Janice says some of them are already so lost to the modern world’s memory that they’re hanging on by a thread. As usual, when tragedy strikes, the powerless and disenfranchised are the ones who suffer most.
So that seals it. We will succeed in retrieving the ancile if it’s the last thing we do! We must, we can, we will!
Oh, gods. I’m in deep, deep trouble. Like, way far down in Tartarus town deep.
My mind was spinning when I left the bathroom last night. Every nerve in my body screamed, DO SOMETHING! So I found (aka bribed) someone to take my sentry duty and returned to the aviary. My idea? Fly Aquila on a reconnaissance mission over the dump. Specifically, to the car crusher, where I’d look for a way to shut it down or blow it up—okay, not blow it up, but at least clog its works for a few days to buy Janice, Blaise, and me some time to finesse our plan.