the_blood_of_olympus_-_rick_riordan

A bargaining chip.
Artemis had told him to make a deal with Apollo.
Leo remembered a story the kids in Cabin Eleven used to brag about: how their father, Hermes, had
avoided punishment for stealing Apollo’s sacred cows. When Hermes got caught, he made a musical
instrument – the first lyre – and traded it to Apollo, who immediately forgave him.
A few days ago, Piper mentioned seeing the cave on Pylos where Hermes hid those cows. That
must’ve triggered Leo’s subconscious. Without even meaning to, he’d built a musical instrument,
which kind of surprised him, since he knew nothing about music.
‘Um, well,’ Leo said, ‘this is quite simply the most amazing instrument ever!’
‘How does it work?’ asked the god.
Good question, Leo thought.
He turned the crank handles, hoping the thing wouldn’t explode in his face. A few clear tones rang
out – metallic yet warm. Leo manipulated the levers and gears. He recognized the song that sprang
forth – the same wistful melody Calypso sang for him on Ogygia about homesickness and longing.
But, through the strings of the brass cone, the tune sounded even sadder, like a machine with a broken
heart – the way Festus might sound if he could sing.
Leo forgot Apollo was there. He played the song all the way through. When he was done, his eyes
stung. He could almost smell the fresh-baked bread from Calypso’s kitchen. He could taste the only
kiss she’d ever given him.
Apollo stared in awe at the instrument. ‘I must have it. What is it called? What do you want for it?’
Leo had a sudden instinct to hide the instrument and keep it for himself. But he swallowed his
melancholy. He had a task to complete.
Calypso … Calypso needed him to succeed.
‘This is the Valdezinator, of course!’ He puffed out his chest. ‘It works by, um, translating your
feelings into music as you manipulate the gears. It’s really meant for me, a child of Hephaestus, to
use, though. I don’t know if you could –’
‘I am the god of music!’ Apollo cried. ‘I can certainly master the Valdezinator. I must! It is my
duty!’
‘So let’s wheel and deal, Music Man,’ Leo said. ‘I give you this; you give me the physician’s
cure.’
‘Oh …’ Apollo bit his godly lip. ‘Well, I don’t actually have the physician’s cure.’
‘I thought you were the god of medicine.’
‘Yes, but I’m the god of many things! Poetry, music, the Delphic Oracle –’ He broke into a sob and
covered his mouth with his fist. ‘Sorry. I’m fine, I’m fine. As I was saying, I have many spheres of
influence. Then, of course, I have the whole “sun god” gig, which I inherited from Helios. The point
is, I’m rather like a general practitioner. For the physician’s cure, you would need to see a specialist
– the only one who has ever successfully cured death: my son Asclepius, the god of healers.’
Leo’s heart sank into his socks. The last thing they needed was another quest to find another god
who would probably demand his own commemorative T-shirt or Valdezinator.
‘That’s a shame, Apollo. I was hoping we could make a deal.’ Leo turned the levers on his