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they?”
“Dude.” Leo walked up to one. “These would be awesome if they worked.”
Frank edged away from the manikins. “Those things are going to come alive and attack us, aren’t
Leo laughed. “Not a chance. They aren’t complete.” He tapped the nearest manikin’s neck, where
loose copper wires sprouted from underneath its breastplate. “Look, the head’s wiring has been
disconnected. And here, at the elbow, the pulley system for this joint is out of alignment. My guess?
The Romans were trying to duplicate a Greek design, but they didn’t have the skill.”
Hazel arched her eyebrows. “The Romans weren’t good enough at being complicated, I suppose.”
“Or delicate,” Frank added. “Or sophisticated.”
“Hey, I just call it like I see it.” Leo jiggled the manikin’s head, making it nod like it was agreeing
with him. “Still…a pretty impressive try. I’ve heard legends that the Romans confiscated the writings
of Archimedes, but—”
“Archimedes?” Hazel looked baffled. “Wasn’t he an ancient mathematician or something?”
Leo laughed. “He was a lot more than that. He was only the most famous son of Hephaestus who
ever lived.”
Frank scratched his ear. “I’ve heard his name before, but how can you be sure this manikin is his
design?”
“It has to be!” Leo said. “Look, I’ve read all about Archimedes. He’s a hero to Cabin Nine. The
dude was Greek, right? He lived in one of the Greek colonies in southern Italy, back before Rome got
all huge and took over. Finally the Romans moved in and destroyed his city. The Roman general
wanted to spare Archimedes, because he was so valuable—sort of like the Einstein of the ancient
world—but some stupid Roman soldier killed him.”
“There you go again,” Hazel muttered. “Stupid and Roman don’t always go together, Leo.”