The Tyrant's Tomb

how do I do that?”
I told the arrow all that had happened in the last few days: my encounter
with the eurynomoi, my dreams about the emperors and Tarquin, my
conversation with Lupa, our quest from the Roman senate. To my surprise, it
felt good to pour out my troubles. Considering the arrow didn’t have ears, it
was a good listener. It never looked bored, shocked, or disgusted, because it
had no face.
“I crossed the Tiber alive,” I summed up, “just like the prophecy said.
Now, how do I ‘start to jive’? Does this mortal body have a reset switch?”
The arrow buzzed: I SHALL THINK UPON THIS.
“That’s it? No advice? No snarky comments?”
GIVE ME TIME TO CONSIDER, O IMPATIENT LESTER.
“But I don’t have time! We’re leaving for Tarquin’s tomb, like”—I
glanced to the west, where the sun was beginning to sink behind the hills
—“basically now!”
THE JOURNEY INTO THE TOMB WILL NOT BE THY FINAL
CHALLENGE. UNLESS THOU SUCKEST MOST WOEFULLY.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
FIGHT NOT THE KING, said the arrow. HEAREST THOU WHAT
THOU NEEDEST, AND SKEDADDLETH.
“Did you just use the term skedaddleth?”
I TRY TO SPEAK PLAINLY TO THEE, TO GRANT THEE A BOON,
AND STILL THOU COMPLAINEST.
“I appreciate a good boon as much as the next person. But if I’m going to
contribute to this quest and not just cower in the corner, I need to know
how”—my voice cracked—“how to be me again.”
The vibration of the arrow felt almost like a cat purring, trying to soothe
an ill human. ART THOU SURE THAT IS THY WISH?
“What do you mean?” I demanded. “That’s the whole point! Everything
I’m doing is so—”
“Are you talking to that arrow?” said a voice below me.
At the base of the siege tower stood Frank Zhang. Next to him was
Hannibal the Elephant, impatiently pawing the mud.
I’d been so distracted, I’d let an elephant get the drop on me.
“Hi,” I squeaked, my voice still ragged with emotion. “I was just…This
arrow gives prophetic advice. It talks. In my head.”