𝒊𝒗. 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝒗𝒊.

"But how can they be Roman?" Percy wasn't that great on ancient history, but he was pretty sure the Roman Empire never made it as far as Long Island. 

"The Labyrinth is a patchwork," Annabeth said. "I told you, it's always expanding, adding pieces. It's the only work of architecture that grows by itself."

"You make it sound like it's alive," Noelle said, eyes still wandering around the room. 

A groaning noise echoed from the tunnel in front of them. 

"Let's not talk about it being alive," Grover whimpered. "Please?"

"All right," Annabeth said. "Forward." 

"Down the hall with the bad sounds?" Tyson said. Even he looked nervous. 

"Yeah," Annabeth said. "The architecture is getting older. That's a good sign. Daedalus's workshop would be in the oldest part."

That made sense. But soon the maze was toying with them—they went fifty feet and the tunnel turned back to cement, with brass pipes running down the sides. The walls were spray-painted with graffiti. A neon tagger sign read MOZ RULZ. 

"I'm thinking this is not Roman," Percy said helpfully. 

Annabeth took a deep breath, then forged ahead.

Every few feet the tunnels twisted and turned and branched off. The floor beneath them changed from cement to mud to bricks and back again. There was no sense to any of it. They stumbled into a wine cellar—a bunch of dusty bottles in wooden racks—like they were walking through somebody's basement, only there was no exit above them, just more tunnels leading on. (Noelle joked that they should take some alcohol for the road. No one found it funny).

Later the ceiling turned to wooden planks, and they could hear voices above them and the creaking of footsteps, as if they were walking under some kind of bar. It was reassuring to hear people, but then again, they couldn't get to them. They were stuck down here with no way out. Then they found their first skeleton. 

He was dressed in white clothes, like some kind of uniform. A wooden crate of glass bottles sat next to him. 

"A milkman," Annabeth said. 

"What?" Percy asked. 

"They used to deliver milk," Noelle said.

"Yeah, I know what they are, but . . . that was when my mom was little, like a million years ago. What's he doing here?"

"Some people wander in by mistake," Annabeth said. "Some come exploring on purpose and never make it back. A long time ago, the Cretan seven sent people in here as human sacrifices." 

Grover gulped. "He's been down here a long time." He pointed to the skeleton's bottles, which were coated with white dust. The skeleton's fingers were clawing at the brick wall, like he had died trying to get out. 

"Only bones," Tyson said. "Don't worry, goat boy. The milkman is dead." 

"The milkman doesn't bother me," Grover said. "It's the smell. Monsters. Can't you smell it?" 

Tyson nodded. "Lots of monsters. But underground smells like that. Monsters and dead milk people." 

"Oh, good," Grover whimpered. "I thought maybe I was wrong." 

"We have to get deeper into the maze," Annabeth said. "There has to be a way to the center." 

She led them to the right, then the left, through a corridor of stainless steel like some kind of air shaft, and they arrived back in the Roman tile room with the fountain.