The Tyrant's Tomb

The carousel was topped by a tan dome like a giant pith helmet. Behind a
barricade of teal and yellow metal railings, the ride blazed with hundreds of
lights. The painted animals threw long distorted shadows across the grass.
The horses looked frozen in panic, their eyes wild, their forelegs kicking. A
zebra’s head was raised as if in agony. A giant rooster flared its red comb
and stretched its talons. There was even a hippocampus like Tyson’s friend
Rainbow, but this fish pony had a snarling face. What sort of parents would
let their children ride such nightmarish creatures? Maybe Zeus, I thought.
We approached cautiously, but nothing challenged us, neither living nor
dead. The place seemed empty, just inexplicably lit up.
Meg’s glowing swords made the grass shimmer at her feet. Lavinia held
her manubalista, primed and ready. With her pink hair and gangly limbs, she
stood the best chance of sneaking up on the carousel animals and blending in
with them, but I decided not to share that observation, as it would no doubt
get me shot. Hazel left her sword in its sheath. Even empty-handed, she
radiated a more intimidating demeanor than any of us.
I wondered if I should pull out my bow. Then I looked down and realized
I had instinctively readied my combat ukulele. Okay. I could provide a jolly
tune if we found ourselves in battle. Did that count as heroism?
“Something’s not right,” Lavinia murmured.
“You think?” Meg crouched. She put down one of her swords and
touched the grass with her fingertips. Her hand sent a ripple across the lawn
like a stone thrown in water.
“Something’s wrong with the soil here,” she announced. “The roots don’t
want to grow too deep.”
Hazel arched her eyebrows. “You can talk to plants.”
“It’s not really talking,” Meg said. “But yeah. Even the trees don’t like
this place. They’re trying to grow away from that carousel as fast as they
can.”
“Which, since they’re trees,” I said, “is not very fast.”
Hazel studied our surroundings. “Let’s see what I can find out.”
She knelt at the edge of the carousel’s base and pressed her palm against
the concrete. There were no visible ripples, no rumbling or shaking, but after
a count of three, Hazel snatched her hand away. She staggered backward,
almost falling over Lavinia.
“Gods.” Hazel’s whole body trembled. “There’s…there’s a massive
complex of tunnels under here.”