The Tyrant's Tomb

“Better,” I said, though I was having more and more trouble convincing
myself.
Hazel redid her ponytail, but it was a losing battle. Her hair was so long,
curly, and luxurious it kept escaping its scrunchie. “Just no more cuts, all
right? Is there anything else you can tell me about Tarquin? Weaknesses?
Blind spots? Pet peeves?”
“Don’t they teach you Roman history as part of legion training?”
“Well, yes. But I may have tuned out during the lectures. I went to
Catholic school back in New Orleans in the 1930s. I have a lot of experience
in tuning out teachers.”
“Mmm. I can relate. Socrates. Very smart. But his discussion groups…
not exactly riveting entertainment.”
“So, Tarquin.”
“Right. He was power-mad. Arrogant. Violent. Would kill anyone who
got in his way.”
“Like the emperors.”
“But without any of their refinement. Tarquin was also obsessed with
building projects. He started the Temple of Jupiter. Also, Rome’s main
sewer.”
“Claim to fame.”
“His subjects finally got so weary of taxes and forced labor that they
rebelled.”
“They didn’t like digging a sewer? I can’t imagine why.”
It occurred to me that Hazel wasn’t so much interested in information as
she was in distracting me from my worries. I appreciated that, but I had
trouble returning her smile. I kept thinking about Tarquin’s voice speaking
through the ghoul in the tunnel. He had known Hazel’s name. He had
promised her a special place among his undead horde.
“Tarquin is sly,” I said. “Like any true psychopath, he has always been
good at manipulating people. As for weaknesses, I don’t know. His
relentlessness, maybe. Even after he got kicked out of Rome, he never
stopped trying to win back the crown. He kept gathering new allies,
attacking the city over and over again, even when it was clear he didn’t have
the strength to win.”
“Apparently he still hasn’t given up.” Hazel pushed a eucalyptus branch
out of our way. “Well, we’ll stick to the plan: get in quietly, investigate,
leave. At least Frank is safe back at camp.”