The Tyrant's Tomb

of battle, then our afternoon had been a success. If the goal had been to train
the legion to successfully repel our enemies…then I was less than hopeful.
Also, all day long, everyone had carefully avoided addressing the worst
thing about tomorrow’s attack. The Romans would have to face their former
comrades, returned as zombies under Tarquin’s control. I remembered how
hard it had been for Lavinia to shoot down Bobby with her crossbow in the
tomb. I wondered how the legion’s morale would hold up once they faced
the same ethical dilemma times fifty or sixty.
I was turning onto the Via Principalis, on my way to the mess hall, when
a voice said, “Pssst.”
Lurking in the alley between Bombilo’s café and the chariot repair shop
were Lavinia and Don. The faun was wearing an honest-to-gods trench coat
over his tie-dyed T-shirt, as if that made him look inconspicuous. Lavinia
wore a black cap over her pink hair.
“C’mere!” she hissed.
“But dinner—”
“We need you.”
“Is this a mugging?”
She marched over, grabbed my arm, and pulled me into the shadows.
“Don’t worry, dude,” Don told me. “It’s not a mugging! But, like, if you
do have any spare change—”
“Shut up, Don,” said Lavinia.
“I’ll shut up,” Don agreed.
“Lester,” Lavinia said, “you need to come with us.”
“Lavinia, I’m tired. I’m hungry. And I have no spare change. Can’t it
please wait—?”
“No. Because tomorrow we might all die, and this is important. We’re
sneaking out.”
“Sneaking out?”
“Yeah,” Don said. “It’s when you’re sneaking. And you go out.”
“Why?” I demanded.
“You’ll see.” Lavinia’s tone was ominous, as if she couldn’t explain what
my coffin looked like. I had to admire it with my own eyes.
“What if we get caught?”
“Oh!” Don perked up. “I know this one! For a first offense, it’s latrine
duty for a month. But, see, if we all die tomorrow, it won’t matter!”