“A message from her father?” she heard Mercury asking Hermes.

  “It was the only thing she could hear,” Hermes said. “She’s infected; I hoped her ‘greed’ to see her family again would override her greed for everything else.”

  “Good call,” said Mercury as the two gods disappeared.

  Pandy fought her way back toward the wine vat.

  “Stop saying that,” Balbina was saying to Gallus. “It’s not poisoned. You’re still standing. Fill the pitchers.”

  Just as the taster was about to knock down Balbina herself to prevent her from taking his precious wine, a sandy-haired youth came stomping into the room.

  “Hilarius,” Balbina said, turning from Gallus. “Why aren’t you preparing your jokes? Varinia was very clear on this: ‘The comic performs after Rufina to get the sourness out of everyone’s mouths.’ Rufina should be almost done!”

  “Well, the order has changed now, hasn’t it?” Hilarius spat. “Caesar became so insulted, so distressed at Rufina’s wallowing white-hot mess, he cut her performance short and made it known to Valerius that he’d like to see something killed just to make himself feel better. So they’ve moved up the Vestal punishment. And he’s gonna give out the gold.”

  Hilarius sighed. “Mother told me not to go into comedy. I’ll be lucky if I get a five-minute set at the end!”

  At the mention of Iole’s punishment, Pandy’s mind cleared for one instant and she stopped in the middle of the bustling room. Iole’s death was imminent and she was now faced with an entirely different choice: save Iole immediately by any means possible without knowing what that might be, or get Greed back in the box, which might lessen the effect the evil was having on Lucius Valerius, thereby softening him in regard to Iole’s punishment. But having Iole’s execution called off was highly unlikely; Greed or not, the severe fate of a wayward Vestal was tradition, not to be dismissed. She watched a solid-gold platter, piled high with smoked eel, as it was carried out into the main hall; for a moment, she ached to grasp it, hold it, possess the beautiful, luminous metal. Then she physically slapped herself, hard, on her cheek, fighting against the lingering effects of Greed. She needed to put the pitcher someplace safe until she could get to her leather carrying pouch in her room. But where? Then the perfect solution flashed into her mind: the safest place of all would be in the hands of Valerius himself, and that would also give her the best vantage point from which to figure out how best to save Iole.

  She began to move toward the entryway and suddenly realized her fingers were free to move. She wasn’t holding onto anything. She looked down at the pitcher …

  … but it was gone.

  Frantically, she scoured the scene with her eyes just in time to see the pitcher, now full of tainted wine, disappear out of another entryway in the hands of a slave girl who’d conscientiously taken it from Pandy as she’d stood motionless in the middle of the room. All Pandy saw was the flash of Valerius’s household crest on the pitcher and the bare back of the slave girl draped with strands of pink pearls.

  Which she really, reeeaaallly wanted.

  Chapter Twenty

  Chase

  A scream from the main room—Iole’s scream—jerked Pandy’s attention back to the other entryway. Pandy could almost feel her brain growing twice its size in her own head as she focused on three things at once. She had to get to Iole, she had to get the pitcher, and she had to get word to Alcie and Homer. And she had to have those pearls.

  No!

  No, she didn’t.

  “Stop it,” she reprimanded herself.

  As she moved to follow the pitcher, another slave brushed by her on his way to the wine vat. Knowing that no more infected wine could be served, Pandy, without missing a step, turned her head and focused her firepower into the red liquid. Instantly, the wine exploded, vaporizing into a steam, which cooled as it hit the ceiling and fell in pink droplets to the floor. In the commotion that followed, she slipped from the room.

  Attention was divided in the main hall. Those closest to the food-preparation room were trying to see what all the screaming was about and why the slaves coming out were stained pinkish red. Across the hall, Rufina was sobbing that she wanted to finish her dance as those about her assured her it wasn’t necessary and that it was best to “leave Caesar wanting more!”

  Guards were beginning to hand out sacks full of the aureus to the senators, one to each. In the middle of the floor, Homer, still shackled but able to use his hands, was standing with a crude shovel, being whipped to dig the burial pit even deeper. And in the far corner, two guards opened Iole’s cage and began prying her clinging hands off the bars. As Pandy picked her way toward Alcie, her eyes were constantly shifting between Iole, the guards opening Crispus’s cage farther back, the pink-pearled slave girl with the pitcher of Greed, and Homer digging in the middle of the room.

  “Did you see them drag him in here?” Alcie said low through clenched teeth as Pandy stepped beside her. “Did you see them kick and shove my Homie?”

  “Didn’t see any of it,” Pandy said. “I was too busy finding out where Greed was hiding.”

  “Well, I tried to kick and shove a few … what?”

  “I found it, Alce,” Pandy said. “It’s here: in this room. But we’ve got problems.”

  “No! You don’t say? I would never have guessed.”

  “Change in schedule,” Pandy said into Alcie’s ear. “They’ve moved up Iole’s execution to, like, now. You’ve got to go and get the box from my pouch. Then find me in here, wherever I am.”

  “Done,” said Alcie, dropping the fan, which landed at Zeus’s feet. Jupiter and Zeus both watched as Alcie sped away and Pandy began to follow the pitcher.

  “Where were you both just now?” asked Jupiter as Mercury and Hermes suddenly reappeared at the table.

  “Getting a drink of water, Father,” Mercury replied.

  “That’s right,” Hermes said. “Needed a little break. Too much wine.”

  “Bite your tongue,” said Bacchus, who then promptly fell asleep.

  Hera and Juno, now both on the alert, began to rise.

  “Oh, you’re not going anywhere, my overbaked turtle-pie of love,” Zeus said, forcing his wife to sit again.

  “Neither are you, my honey-coated but somewhat-gristly piece of pork shoulder,” said Jupiter, as Juno involuntarily plopped down at his side.

  Pandy made her way toward Iole, having no idea what she was going to do. As she skirted the perimeter of the hall, she kept her eyes on the pitcher. Every time the slave poured a cup of wine, Pandy evaporated the liquid before the drinker even had a chance to take a tiny taste. With her focus on so many areas, though, she became slightly careless once or twice and actually exploded the cup itself. The slave girl was oblivious because of all the noise and most guests were too stunned or too preoccupied to call her back. Several times, seeing Pandy as an empty-handed slave moving about the hall, guests gave her their empty plates or small bowls full of bones to take away, which she then absentmindedly handed off to guests at other tables.

  Pandy was approaching Iole’s cage when suddenly the guards were able to pry Iole’s hands off the wooden bars and drag her out. Iole immediately lost all her fight and succumbed to terror as she looked wildly around the room. Slowly and with great ceremony, she was led through the deriding onlookers, past Pandy, and out toward the middle of the floor.

  “P-Pandy,” Iole stuttered.

  But Pandy’s mind was trying to prioritize and she stared back at Iole without really seeing her.

  “… and not just the Vestal,” Pandy heard in the background as Caesar called to the bloodthirsty crowd. “But her companion as well! See the justice of Rome meted out to those who deserve its wrath!”

  Crispus, who had put up far less of a fight than Iole, was being ushered onto the floor. Pandy circled around the other side of the room as Iole was dragged to the pit. For a second, Iole was able to put her head against Homer’s waist as a great sob arose from deep within her. Roughly she was yanked away and dropped, like a sack of meal, into the pit as the crowd cheered. Out of the corner of her eye, Pandy saw Melania standing solemnly in a corner, surrounded by several Vestals from other households, her face buried in her hands. Moments later the crowd went wild as Crispus landed next to Iole.

  Pandy saw the pink-pearled slave girl making her way in front of the dais, close to the center of the action. Lucius also saw the slave as she crossed his line of vision and saw his special pitcher in her hands.

  “You!” he cawed at the startled slave. “Here! Now!”

  Just then, Alcie appeared in the entryway to the great hall, the box held tightly in her hands. Pandy motioned with her head and Alcie started making her way to Lucius.

  Homer was standing still, the shovel hanging loosely in his hands, taking lash after lash from a guard’s whip. Finally, seeing that he was hopelessly outnumbered and that the mob was beginning to throw things at him, he began to scoop the earth back into the pit, his lips trembling as he watched it land on Iole and Crispus. Iole stared up at Homer, his toga now stained red, and tried to fling the dirt off her as fast as it rained down. Crispus could only mutter “I’m sorry” as pieces of dirt got caught in his hair and small stones pelted his face.

  Pandy caught Homer’s eye just as she turned her back on the scene and headed toward Lucius. It was time enough for Homer’s face to register helplessness as Pandy hurried away.

  The slave girl carrying the pitcher of polluted wine reached Lucius just as Alcie came up behind the dais with the box. Also at that precise moment, another slave handed Lucius his allotted bag filled with the gold aureus. For a second, Lucius didn’t know which to grasp, his head whipping back and forth as if he were a young child given a choice between two favorite sweets. Pandy snatched an ordinary pitcher off the gods’ table just as Venus went to pour a cup of wine and, coming up behind the pink-pearled slave, grabbed the Greed pitcher. She hid it behind her back as she brushed the slave girl aside and stepped in, smiling, to attend Lucius.

  “Wine, Senator?”

  Lucius locked one hand on the bag of coins and turned his head again toward the pitcher, reaching out for it with his other hand. Seeing that it was not his, but instead a plain, ordinary earthenware vessel, and then seeing Pandy holding it, smiling at him, her other hand behind her back … his mind snapped.

  He leapt up in a blind rage and drew his knife from its sheath. It hissed through the air as he raised it up, but somehow his hand got caught in the many folds of his robes and the blade sliced clean though the bag of gold clutched in his other hand.

  With Lucius’s attention diverted as the gold coins began spilling out onto the floor, Pandy threw the infected pitcher to Alcie, who caught it in midair and shrunk back against the wall. Every fiber of her being told her to go to Pandy’s side, but Alcie knew what was at stake if she lost the one thing they had come to Rome to find.

  Lucius, knife in hand, was watching his portion of the gold bounce off the edge of the dais and skitter across the floor where it was instantly snatched up and pocketed by other guests. A few coins flew into the pit where Iole and Crispus were now nearly covered with dirt, causing Homer to pause as the supervising guard quickly stepped down, onto Crispus’s head, to retrieve the loose gold.

  “This is not Caesar!” came a shout over Pandy’s shoulder. Pandy turned to see Hera and Juno, each holding a coin high for all to see.

  “The official coin bears the likeness of Lucius!” cried Juno.

  “Lucius shall lead Rome!” Hera said, a smile on her face until Zeus spanked her bottom so hard that she did a single backflip, landing in her chair with such a thud that she broke its wooden legs.

  But the damage was done. A cry went up from the guests, who were becoming confused as to what was happening and who was actually going to be the imperator. Some were shouting for Lucius and some were still loyal to Caesar.

  Lucius, his sanity gone and months of Greed still worming its way through his body, turned upon Caesar, who had been startled into an uncommon stillness, and raised his knife again. Pandy, without so much as a single thought for her own life, pushed Caesar aside before his own guards could even make a move.

  And time slowed again.

  She saw the profound insanity on Lucius’s face, and then she saw the knife flying almost leisurely down toward her. She saw Alcie just starting to peer around the dais. Behind her somewhere, she thought she heard Homer scream above the roar of mob, and just as the knife point hit her upper chest, she saw Zeus’s mouth drop open.

  “Wow,” she thought. “He’s surprised. The king of the gods actually didn’t foresee this.”

  Then she felt the most excruciating pain and saw the knife, buried to its hilt, just below her right shoulder. For the second time in two days, she felt herself lapsing into unconsciousness. This time, it was her body’s way of protecting her mind from exploding with physical pain. But for reasons unknown, Pandy recalled the previous time she’d gone under; only hours before, in Cloacina’s caverns beneath the city streets when exhaustion overtook her and she’d floated on a river of bathwater into the Tiber. From a tiny crevice in her brain, she recalled the funny, slightly disgusting chant that Crispus had used to call for help to the Goddess of the Sewers.

  “Soft, yet cohesive let our offerings flow,

  Not rashly swift nor insolently slow.

  Accept our offerings as all we have to give,

  From earth, through us, and back again!

  And so, through you, we live!”

  “Gross,” she thought, as she felt herself being lifted into the air. She was being carried off somewhere, and she couldn’t open her eyes. Yet, in spite of everything, she tried to laugh at the icky singsong. “That’s so gross.”

  She heard an ear-splitting crack, as if a thunderbolt had struck right in the middle of the hall; and then the screaming began. Pandy fought to open her eyes to see what had happened, but every muscle—even her eyelids—was paralyzed from the pain in her shoulder.

  Then, as the world went black, she tried to remember all the pain she’d ever suffered on her quest; not the emotional distress or confusion, the self-chastising or frustration, but the real pain pain: being pierced by the tip of one the impaling poles in the Chamber of Despair, smacking hard into her uncle Atlas’s chest as she hung from his giant nose hair, Aphrodite breaking her front left leg after Hermes had turned Pandy into a dog, and, in Persia, the genie Giondar throwing her so hard into a wall that she dislocated her left shoulder. None of it compared to this.

  “Nope,” Pandy thought, as every last nerve in her body flared up with a different kind of fire, one she couldn’t control; her shock so extreme that she couldn’t make a sound as the commotion around her faded into silence.

  “Nope. This tops them all.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Down The …

  In three swift motions, Homer landed a crippling body blow to his guard (who was standing slack-jawed at Lucius’s attempt to stab Caesar), lifted Iole and Crispus out of the pit with both hands, then neatly deposited the guard into the pit in their place.

  “What happened?” Iole yelled, trying to be heard above the din.

  “The senator just tried to kill Caesar,” Homer answered. “C’mon! I have to get you out of here before everyone turns on each other!”

  “Wait!” Iole said. “Where’s Pandy? Where’s Alcie?”

  “I don’t know,” Homer cried, straining to see over the crowd. “Everything happened so fast. When Lucius went for Caesar, a whole group of people stepped in and I couldn’t see anything else. Iole, we have to get out of here now! I’ll come back for them, but we have to move!”

  “Not without Pandy and Alcie!”

  “You take her,” Crispus said to Homer, nearly toppling over as he was shoved aside by two guests searching for more of Lucius’s lost gold. “I know my way around this house. I’ll go find the others!”

  “Find them, please. We’ll meet just beyond the city wall on the easternmost road out of Rome,” Iole said, giving Crispus a quick peck on his cheek, then turning toward the exit and the large front doors. She didn’t see Crispus standing still and smiling for only a moment, his hand pressed against his face, before he disappeared into the fray.

  Homer and Iole hadn’t taken but two steps into the formal entry room, when suddenly there was an eardrum-bursting crack in the hall behind them that shook the entire house to its foundation.

  Turning back, they saw a blinding flash of light as an enormous figure appeared on the dais, towering above those guards protectively huddled over Caesar and those wrestling with Lucius.

  “Someone call me?” asked Cloacina, her high-pitched voice wailing like a siren.

  At the sight of the sewer goddess, everyone flew into a greater panic and raced for the doors, which Cloacina had instantly shut by enchantment. Out in the entry room, blocked from getting back in, Homer and Iole tried hopelessly to pry the heavy doors apart.

  “Cloacina,” Jupiter said, calmly brushing the screaming guests aside as if they were the leaves of a large fern. “What brings you?”

  “Well, certainly not any of you lot,” she replied. “We all know I never get invited anywhere by the family.”

  “Oh, for my sake,” Jupiter sighed as Zeus stepped beside him. “Yes, yes, we’re horribly unfair. So, my question remains: what brings you?”

  “The girl,” Cloacina said, looking at the riot in the hall. “Pandora. She called to me. She chanted. Well, her mind chanted at any rate. She needs help of some kind. What is going on here?”

  “Just your normal, average Roman feast,” said Jupiter. “But the entertainment was disappointing and the food’s gone, so we were just leaving, right, Brother?”