Things I learned today:

1) Oatmeal is not the preferred breakfast food among campers. At least, that’s the impression I got from the disgusted looks when the aurae delivered my bowl of it this morning. Well, to each their own, I say.

2) Bargain shopping on the Via Praetoria is easy when you’re descended from the god of shopkeepers. I was on the lookout for earplugs when I spotted a toy store that sells Roman-deity action figures. Mercury was front and center in the window, wearing nothing but a short toga. Now, I’m sure that look was all the rage in ancient times, and the figure was pretty buff, but still, I was a little embarrassed to see mini Great-Granddad standing there like that. Plus, something about his eyes reminded me of Dad.…Anyway, I bought the doll. And I think Great-Granddad approved and loaned me his powers, because somehow I convinced the shop owner to throw in Mercury’s accessories—winged cap, winged sandals, caduceus, and tiny sack of coins—for free. Short toga included (thank gods).

3) Weird things happen on Temple Hill.

I learned this last lesson while checking out Mercury’s temple after my delicious and nutritious breakfast. Compared to the dinky shrines of the minor gods and goddesses, Great-Granddad’s place isn’t too shabby. A rectangular structure with marble columns all around the outside, an ornate fresco above the entrance, and inside, a life-size statue of the god himself.

The weird thing happened when I approached the altar. Someone had put two message bins there in honor of Mercury’s role as messenger to the gods. The bin marked OUTGOING was overflowing with notes, but the INCOMING one was empty, a sad reminder that our communications have flatlined.

Still, I added a note of my own to the outbox. Just a little Hey, Great-Granddad, what’s the word from Olympus? I was about to leave when I heard a fluttering sound. A piece of paper had appeared in the INCOMING bin. Written on it was the Roman numeral twelve—XII—and nothing else.

Now, it’s possible that the note fell out of the OUTGOING bin. But it’s equally possible that Mercury sent it. Either way, it felt important, and I didn’t want anyone else to find it. So I stuffed the note in my pocket and didn’t give it another thought for the rest of the day.

Yeah, right. That paper has been torturing me for hours! Where did it come from? What does XII mean? Twelve Olympians? Twelve months in a year? Twelve eggs in a dozen? My age? Argh!

It doesn’t matter that my roommate is snoring again and I forgot to buy earplugs. Thanks to XII, I’m not getting any sleep tonight anyway.