The Sea of Monsters. Percy Jackson and the Olympians Book 2 / Перси Джексон и Море чудовищ (by Rick Riordan, 2006) - аудиокнига на английском

THE SEA OF MONSTERS Percy Jackson and the Olympians — Book 2 Rick Riordan ONE MY BEST FRIEND SHOPS FOR A WEDDING DRESS My nightmare started like this. I was standing on a deserted street in some little beach town. It was the middle of the night. A storm was blowing. Wind and rain ripped at the palm trees along the sidewalk. Pink and yellow stucco buildings lined the street, their windows boarded up. A block away, past a line of hibiscus bushes, the ocean churned. Florida, I thought. Though I wasn't sure how I knew that. I'd never been to Florida. Then I heard hooves clattering against the pavement. I turned and saw my friend Grover running for his life. Yeah, I said hooves. Grover is a satyr. From the waist up, he looks like a typical gangly teenager with a peach-fuzz goatee and a bad case of acne. He walks with a strange limp, but unless you happen to catch him without his pants on (which I don't recommend), you'd never know there was anything un-human about him. Baggy jeans and fake feet hide the fact that he's got furry hindquarters and hooves. Grover had been my best friend in sixth grade. He'd gone on this adventure with me and a girl named Annabeth to save the world, but I hadn't seen him since last July, when he set off alone on a dangerous quest—a quest no satyr had ever returned from. Anyway, in my dream, Grover was hauling goat tail, holding his human shoes in his hands the way he does when he needs to move fast. He clopped past the little tourist shops and surfboard rental places. The wind bent the palm trees almost to the ground. Grover was terrified of something behind him. He must've just come from the beach. Wet sand was caked in his fur. He'd escaped from somewhere. He was trying to get away from… something. A bone-rattling growl cut through the storm. Behind Grover, at the far end of the block, a shadowy figure loomed. It swatted aside a street lamp, which burst in a shower of sparks. Grover stumbled, whimpering in fear. He muttered to himself, Have to get away. Have to warn them! I couldn't see what was chasing him, but I could hear it muttering and cursing. The ground shook as it got closer. Grover dashed around a street corner and faltered. He'd run into a dead-end courtyard full of shops. No time to back up. The nearest door had been blown open by the storm. The sign above the darkened display window read: ST. AUGUSTINE BRIDAL BOUTIQUE. Grover dashed inside. He dove behind a rack of wedding dresses. The monster's shadow passed in front of the shop. I could smell the thing—a sickening combination of wet sheep wool and rotten meat and that weird sour body odor only monsters have, like a skunk that's been living off Mexican food. Grover trembled behind the wedding dresses. The monster's shadow passed on. Silence except for the rain. Grover took a deep breath. Maybe the thing was gone. Then lightning flashed. The entire front of the store exploded, and a monstrous voice bellowed: "MIIIIINE!" I sat bolt upright, shivering in my bed. There was no storm. No monster. Morning sunlight filtered through my bedroom window. I thought I saw a shadow flicker across the glass—a humanlike shape. But then there was a knock on my bedroom door—my mom called: "Percy, you're going to be late" — and the shadow at the window disappeared. It must've been my imagination. A fifth-story window with a rickety old fire escape… there couldn't have been anyone out there. "Come on, dear," my mother called again. "Last day of school. You should be excited! You've almost made it. " "Coming," I managed. I felt under my pillow. My fingers closed reassuringly around the ballpoint pen I always slept with. I brought it out, studied the Ancient Greek writing engraved on the side: Anaklusmos. Riptide. I thought about uncapping it, but something held me back. I hadn't used Riptide for so long…. Besides, my mom had made me promise not to use deadly weapons in the apartment after I'd swung a javelin the wrong way and taken out her china cabinet. I put Anaklusmos on my nightstand and dragged myself out of bed. I got dressed as quickly as I could. I tried not to think about my nightmare or monsters or the shadow at my window. Have to get away. Have to warn them! What had Grover meant? I made a three-fingered claw over my heart and pushed outward—an ancient gesture Grover had once taught me for warding off evil. The dream couldn't have been real. Last day of school. My mom was right, I should have been excited. For the first time in my life, I'd almost made it an entire year without getting expelled. No weird accidents. No fights in the classroom. No teachers turning into monsters and trying to kill me with poisoned cafeteria food or exploding homework. Tomorrow, I'd be on my way to my favorite place in the world—Camp Half-Blood. Only one more day to go. Surely even I couldn't mess that up. As usual, I didn't have a clue how wrong I was. My mom made blue waffles and blue eggs for breakfast. She's funny that way, celebrating special occasions with blue food. I think it's her way of saying anything is possible. Percy can pass seventh grade. Waffles can be blue. Little miracles like that. I ate at the kitchen table while my mom washed dishes. She was dressed in her work uniform—a starry blue skirt and a red-and-white striped blouse she wore to sell candy at Sweet on America. Her long brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail. The waffles tasted great, but I guess I wasn't digging in like I usually did. My mom looked over and frowned. "Percy, are you all right?" "Yeah… fine." But she could always tell when something was bothering me. She dried her hands and sat down across from me. "School, or…" She didn't need to finish. I knew what she was asking. "I think Grover's in trouble," I said, and I told her about my dream. She pursed her lips. We didn't talk much about the other part of my life. We tried to live as normally as possible, but my mom knew all about Grover. "I wouldn't be too worried, dear," she said. "Grover is a big satyr now. If there were a problem, I'm sure we would've heard from… from camp… " Her shoulders tensed as she said the word camp. "What is it?" I asked. "Nothing," she said. "I'll tell you what. This afternoon we'll celebrate the end of school. I'll take you and Tyson to Rockefeller Center—to that skateboard shop you like." Oh, man, that was tempting. We were always struggling with money. Between my mom's night classes and my private school tuition, we could never afford to do special stuff like shop for a skateboard. But something in her voice bothered me. "Wait a minute," I said. "I thought we were packing me up for camp tonight." She twisted her dishrag. "Ah, dear, about that… I got a message from Chiron last night." My heart sank. Chiron was the activities director at Camp Half-Blood. He wouldn't contact us unless something serious was going on. "What did he say?" "He thinks… it might not be safe for you to come to camp just yet. We might have to postpone." "Postpone? Mom, how could it not be safe? I'm a half-blood! It's like the only safe place on earth for me!" "Usually, dear. But with the problems they're having—" "What problems?" "Percy… I'm very, very sorry. I was hoping to talk to you about it this afternoon. I can't explain it all now. I'm not even sure Chiron can. Everything happened so suddenly." My mind was reeling. How could I not go to camp? I wanted to ask a million questions, but just then the kitchen clock chimed the half-hour. My mom looked almost relieved. "Seven-thirty, dear. You should go. Tyson will be waiting." "But—" "Percy, we'll talk this afternoon. Go on to school." That was the last thing I wanted to do, but my mom had this fragile look in her eyes—a kind of warning, like if I pushed her too hard she'd start to cry. Besides, she was right about my friend Tyson. I had to meet him at the subway station on time or he'd get upset. He was scared of traveling underground alone. I gathered up my stuff, but I stopped in the doorway. "Mom, this problem at camp. Does it… could it have anything to do with my dream about Grover?" She wouldn't meet my eyes. "We'll talk this afternoon, dear. I'll explain… as much as I can." Reluctantly, I told her good-bye. I jogged downstairs to catch the Number Two train. I didn't know it at the time, but my mom and I would never get to have our afternoon talk. In fact, I wouldn't be seeing home for a long, long time. As I stepped outside, I glanced at the brownstone building across the street. Just for a second I saw a dark shape in the morning sunlight—a human silhouette against the brick wall, a shadow that belonged to no one. Then it rippled and vanished. TWO I PLAY DODGEBALL WITH CANNIBALS My day started normal. Or as normal as it ever gets at Meriwether College Prep. See, it's this «progressive» school in downtown Manhattan, which means we sit on beanbag chairs instead of at desks, and we don't get grades, and the teachers wear jeans and rock concert T-shirts to work. That's all cool with me. I mean, I'm ADHD and dyslexic, like most half-bloods, so I'd never done that great in regular schools even before they kicked me out. The only bad thing about Meriwether was that the teachers always looked on the bright side of things, and the kids weren't always… well, bright. Take my first class today: English. The whole middle school had read this book called Lord of the Flies, where all these kids get marooned on an island and go psycho. So for our final exam, our teachers sent us into the break yard to spend an hour with no adult supervision to see what would happen. What happened was a massive wedgie contest between the seventh and eighth graders, two pebble fights, and a full-tackle basketball game. The school bully, Matt Sloan, led most of those activities. Sloan wasn't big or strong, but he acted like he was. He had eyes like a pit bull, and shaggy black hair, and he always dressed in expensive but sloppy clothes, like he wanted everybody to see how little he cared about his family's money. One of his front teeth was chipped from the time he'd taken his daddy's Porsche for a joyride and run into a PLEASE SLOW DOWN FOR CHILDREN sign. Anyway, Sloan was giving everybody wedgies until he made the mistake of trying it on my friend Tyson. Tyson was the only homeless kid at Meriwether College Prep. As near as my mom and I could figure, he'd been abandoned by his parents when he was very young, probably because he was so… different. He was six-foot-three and built like the Abominable Snowman, but he cried a lot and was scared of just about everything, including his own reflection. His face was kind of misshapen and brutal-looking. I couldn't tell you what color his eyes were, because I could never make myself look higher than his crooked teeth. His voice was deep, but he talked funny, like a much younger kid—I guess because he'd never gone to school before coming to Meriwether. He wore tattered jeans, grimy size-twenty sneakers, and a plaid flannel shirt with holes in it. He smelled like a New York City alleyway, because that's where he lived, in a cardboard refrigerator box off 72nd Street. Meriwether Prep had adopted him as a community service project so all the students could feel good about themselves. Unfortunately, most of them couldn't stand Tyson. Once they discovered he was a big softie, despite his massive strength and his scary looks, they made themselves feel good by picking on him. I was pretty much his only friend, which meant he was my only friend. My mom had complained to the school a million times that they weren't doing enough to help him. She'd called social services, but nothing ever seemed to happen. The social workers claimed Tyson didn't exist. They swore up and down that they'd visited the alley we described and couldn't find him, though how you miss a giant kid living in a refrigerator box, I don't know. Anyway, Matt Sloan snuck up behind him and tried to give him a wedgie, and Tyson panicked. He swatted Sloan away a little too hard. Sloan flew fifteen feet and got tangled in the little kids' tire swing. "You freak!" Sloan yelled. "Why don't you go back to your cardboard box!" Tyson started sobbing. He sat down on the jungle gym so hard he bent the bar, and buried his head in his hands. "Take it back, Sloan!" I shouted. Sloan just sneered at me. "Why do you even bother, Jackson? You might have friends if you weren't always sticking up for that freak." I balled my fists. I hoped my face wasn't as red as it felt. "He's not a freak. He's just…" I tried to think of the right thing to say, but Sloan wasn't listening. He and his big ugly friends were too busy laughing. I wondered if it were my imagination, or if Sloan had more goons hanging around him than usual. I was used to seeing him with two or three, but today he had like, half a dozen more, and I was pretty sure I'd never seen them before. "Just wait till PE, Jackson," Sloan called. "You are so dead." When first period ended, our English teacher, Mr. de Milo, came outside to inspect the carnage. He pronounced that we'd understood Lord of the Flies perfectly. We all passed his course, and we should never, never grow up to be violent people. Matt Sloan nodded earnestly, then gave me a chip-toothed grin. I had to promise to buy Tyson an extra peanut butter sandwich at lunch to get him to stop sobbing. "I… I am a freak?" he asked me. "No," I promised, gritting my teeth. "Matt Sloan is the freak." Tyson sniffled. "You are a good friend. Miss you next year if… if I can't…" His voice trembled. I realized he didn't know if he'd be invited back next year for the community service project. I wondered if the headmaster had even bothered talking to him about it. "Don't worry, big guy," I managed. "Everything's going to be fine." Tyson gave me such a grateful look I felt like a big liar. How could I promise a kid like him that anything would be fine? Our next exam was science. Mrs. Tesla told us that we had to mix chemicals until we succeeded in making something explode, Tyson was my lab partner. His hands were way too big for the tiny vials we were supposed to use. He accidentally knocked a tray of chemicals off the counter and made an orange mushroom cloud in the trash can. After Mrs. Tesla evacuated the lab and called the hazardous waste removal squad, she praised Tyson and me for being natural chemists. We were the first ones who'd ever aced her exam in under thirty seconds. I was glad the morning went fast, because it kept me from thinking too much about my problems. I couldn't stand the idea that something might be wrong at camp. Even worse, I couldn't shake the memory of my bad dream. I had a terrible feeling that Grover was in danger. In social studies, while we were drawing latitude/longitude maps, I opened my notebook and stared at the photo inside—my friend Annabeth on vacation in Washington, D.C. She was wearing jeans and a denim jacket over her orange Camp Half-Blood T-shirt. Her blond hair was pulled back in a bandanna. She was standing in front of the Lincoln Memorial with her arms crossed, looking extremely pleased with herself, like she'd personally designed the place. See, Annabeth wants to be an architect when she grows up, so she's always visiting famous monuments and stuff. She's weird that way. She'd e-mailed me the picture after spring break, and every once in a while I'd look at it just to remind myself she was real and Camp Half-Blood hadn't just been my imagination. I wished Annabeth were here. She'd know what to make of my dream. I'd never admit it to her, but she was smarter than me, even if she was annoying sometimes. I was about to close my notebook when Matt Sloan reached over and ripped the photo out of the rings. "Hey!" I protested. Sloan checked out the picture and his eyes got wide. "No way, Jackson. Who is that? She is not your—" "Give it back!" My ears felt hot. Sloan handed the photo to his ugly buddies, who snickered and started ripping it up to make spit wads. They were new kids who must've been visiting, because they were all wearing those stupid HI! MY NAME IS: tags from the admissions office. They must've had a weird sense of humor, too, because they'd all filled in strange names like: MARROW SUCKER, SKULL EATER, and JOE BOB. No human beings had names like that. "These guys are moving here next year," Sloan bragged, like that was supposed to scare me. "I bet they can pay the tuition, too, unlike your retard friend." "He's not retarded." I had to try really, really hard not to punch Sloan in the face. "You're such a loser, Jackson. Good thing I'm gonna put you out of your misery next period." His huge buddies chewed up my photo. I wanted to pulverize them, but I was under strict orders from Chiron never to take my anger out on regular mortals, no matter how obnoxious they were. I had to save my fighting for monsters. Still, part of me thought, if Sloan only knew who I really was… The bell rang. As Tyson and I were leaving class, a girl's voice whispered, "Percy!" I looked around the locker area, but nobody was paying me any attention. Like any girl at Meriwether would ever be caught dead calling my name. Before I had time to consider whether or not I'd been imagining things, a crowd of kids rushed for the gym, carrying Tyson and me along with them. It was time for PE. Our coach had promised us a free-for-all dodgeball game, and Matt Sloan had promised to kill me. The gym uniform at Meriwether is sky blue shorts and tie-dyed T-shirts. Fortunately, we did most of our athletic stuff inside, so we didn't have to jog through Tribeca looking like a bunch of boot-camp hippie children. I changed as quickly as I could in the locker room because I didn't want to deal with Sloan. I was about to leave when Tyson called, "Percy?" He hadn't changed yet. He was standing by the weight room door, clutching his gym clothes. "Will you… uh…" "Oh. Yeah." I tried not to sound aggravated about it. "Yeah, sure, man." Tyson ducked inside the weight room. I stood guard outside the door while he changed. I felt kind of awkward doing this, but he asked me to most days. I think it's because he's completely hairy and he's got weird scars on his back that I've never had the courage to ask him about. Anyway, I'd learned the hard way that if people teased Tyson while he was dressing out, he'd get upset and start ripping the doors off lockers. When we got into the gym, Coach Nunley was sitting at his little desk reading Sports Illustrated. Nunley was about a million years old, with bifocals and no teeth and a greasy wave of gray hair. He reminded me of the Oracle at Camp Half-Blood—which was a shriveled-up mummy—except Coach Nunley moved a lot less and he never billowed green smoke. Well, at least not that I'd observed. Matt Sloan said, "Coach, can I be captain?" "Eh?" Coach Nunley looked up from his magazine. "Yeah," he mumbled. "Mm-hmm." Sloan grinned and took charge of the picking. He made me the other team's captain, but it didn't matter who I picked, because all the jocks and the popular kids moved over to Sloan's side. So did the big group of visitors. On my side I had Tyson, Corey Bailer the computer geek, Raj Mandali the calculus whiz, and a half dozen other kids who always got harassed by Sloan and his gang. Normally I would've been okay with just Tyson—he was worth half a team all by himself—but the visitors on Sloan's team were almost as tall and strong-looking as Tyson, and there were six of them. Matt Sloan spilled a cage full of balls in the middle of the gym. "Scared," Tyson mumbled. "Smell funny." I looked at him. "What smells funny?" Because I didn't figure he was talking about himself. "Them." Tyson pointed at Sloan's new friends. "Smell funny." The visitors were cracking their knuckles, eyeing us like it was slaughter time. I couldn't help wondering where they were from. Someplace where they fed kids raw meat and beat them with sticks. Sloan blew the coach's whistle and the game began. Sloan's team ran for the center line. On my side, Raj Mandali yelled something in Urdu, probably "I have to go potty!" and ran for the exit. Corey Bailer tried to crawl behind the wall mat and hide. The rest of my team did their best to cower in fear and not look like targets. "Tyson," I said. "Let's g—" A ball slammed into my gut. I sat down hard in the middle of the gym floor. The other team exploded in laughter. My eyesight was fuzzy. I felt like I'd just gotten the Heimlich maneuver from a gorilla. I couldn't believe anybody could throw that hard. Tyson yelled, "Percy, duck!" I rolled as another dodgeball whistled past my ear at the speed of sound. Whooom! It hit the wall mat, and Corey Bailer yelped. "Hey!" I yelled at Sloan's team. "You could kill somebody!" The visitor named Joe Bob grinned at me evilly. Somehow, he looked a lot bigger now… even taller than Tyson. His biceps bulged beneath his T-shirt. "I hope so, Perseus Jackson! I hope so!" The way he said my name sent a chill down my back. Nobody called me Perseus except those who knew my true identity. Friends… and enemies. What had Tyson said? They smell funny. Monsters. All around Matt Sloan, the visitors were growing in size. They were no longer kids. They were eight-foot-tall giants with wild eyes, pointy teeth, and hairy arms tattooed with snakes and hula women and Valentine hearts. Matt Sloan dropped his ball. "Whoa! You're not from Detroit! Who…" The other kids on his team started screaming and backing toward the exit, but the giant named Marrow Sucker threw a ball with deadly accuracy. It streaked past Raj Mandali just as he was about to leave and hit the door, slamming it shut like magic. Raj and some of the other kids banged on it desperately but it wouldn't budge. "Let them go!" I yelled at the giants. The one called Joe Bob growled at me. He had a tattoo on his biceps that said: JB luvs Babycakes. "And lose our tasty morsels? No, Son of the Sea God. We Laistrygonians aren't just playing for your death. We want lunch!" He waved his hand and a new batch of dodgeballs appeared on the center line—but these balls weren't made of red rubber. They were bronze, the size of cannon balls, perforated like wiffle balls with fire bubbling out the holes. They must've been searing hot, but the giants picked them up with their bare hands. "Coach!" I yelled. Nunley looked up sleepily, but if he saw anything abnormal about the dodgeball game, he didn't let on. That's the problem with mortals. A magical force called the Mist obscures the true appearance of monsters and gods from their vision, so mortals tend to see only what they can understand. Maybe the coach saw a few eighth graders pounding the younger kids like usual. Maybe the other kids saw Matt Sloan's thugs getting ready to toss Molotov cocktails around. (It wouldn't have been the first time.) At any rate, I was pretty sure nobody else realized we were dealing with genuine man-eating bloodthirsty monsters. "Yeah. Mm-hmm," Coach muttered. "Play nice." And he went back to his magazine. The giant named Skull Eater threw his ball. I dove aside as the fiery bronze comet sailed past my shoulder. "Corey!" I screamed. Tyson pulled him out from behind the exercise mat just as the ball exploded against it, blasting the mat to smoking shreds. "Run!" I told my teammates. "The other exit!" They ran for the locker room, but with another wave of Joe Bob's hand, that door also slammed shut. "No one leaves unless you're out!" Joe Bob roared. "And you're not out until we eat you!" He launched his own fireball. My teammates scattered as it blasted a crater in the gym floor. I reached for Riptide, which I always kept in my pocket, but then I realized I was wearing gym shorts. I had no pockets. Riptide was tucked in my jeans inside my gym locker. And the locker room door was sealed. I was completely defenseless. Another fireball came streaking toward me. Tyson pushed me out of the way, but the explosion still blew me head over heels. I found myself sprawled on the gym floor, dazed from smoke, my tie-dyed T-shirt peppered with sizzling holes. Just across the center line, two hungry giants were glaring down at me. "Flesh!" they bellowed. "Hero flesh for lunch!" They both took aim. "Percy needs help!" Tyson yelled, and he jumped in front of me just as they threw their balls. "Tyson!" I screamed, but it was too late. Both balls slammed into him… but no… he'd caught them. Somehow Tyson, who was so clumsy he knocked over lab equipment and broke playground structures on a regular basis, had caught two fiery metal balls speeding toward him at a zillion miles an hour. He sent them hurtling back toward their surprised owners, who screamed, "BAAAAAD!" as the bronze spheres exploded against their chests. The giants disintegrated in twin columns of flame—a sure sign they were monsters, all right. Monsters don't die. They just dissipate into smoke and dust, which saves heroes a lot of trouble cleaning up after a fight. "My brothers!" Joe Bob the Cannibal wailed. He flexed his muscles and his Babycakes tattoo rippled. "You will pay for their destruction!" "Tyson!" I said. "Look out!" Another comet hurtled toward us. Tyson just had time to swat it aside. It flew straight over Coach Nunley's head and landed in the bleachers with a huge KA-BOOM! Kids were running around screaming, trying to avoid the sizzling craters in the floor. Others were banging on the door, calling for help. Sloan himself stood petrified in the middle of the court, watching in disbelief as balls of death flew around him. Coach Nunley still wasn't seeing anything. He tapped his hearing aid like the explosions were giving him interference, but he kept his eyes on his magazine. Surely the whole school could hear the noise. The headmaster, the police, somebody would come help us. "Victory will be ours!" roared Joe Bob the Cannibal. "We will feast on your bones!" I wanted to tell him he was taking the dodgeball game way too seriously, but before I could, he hefted another ball. The other three giants followed his lead. I knew we were dead. Tyson couldn't deflect all those balls at once. His hands had to be seriously burned from blocking the first volley. Without my sword… I had a crazy idea. I ran toward the locker room. "Move!" I told my teammates. "Away from the door." Explosions behind me. Tyson had batted two of the balls back toward their owners and blasted them to ashes. That left two giants still standing. A third ball hurtled straight at me. I forced myself to wait—one Mississippi, two Mississippi—then dove aside as the fiery sphere demolished the locker room door. Now, I figured that the built-up gas in most boys' locker rooms was enough to cause an explosion, so I wasn't surprised when the flaming dodgeball ignited a huge WHOOOOOOOM! The wall blew apart. Locker doors, socks, athletic supporters, and other various nasty personal belongings rained all over the gym. I turned just in time to see Tyson punch Skull Eater in the face. The giant crumpled. But the last giant, Joe Bob, had wisely held on to his own ball, waiting for an opportunity. He threw just as Tyson was turning to face him. "No!" I yelled. The ball caught Tyson square in the chest. He slid the length of the court and slammed into the back wall, which cracked and partially crumbled on top of him, making a hole right onto Church Street. I didn't see how Tyson could still be alive, but he only looked dazed. The bronze ball was smoking at his feet. Tyson tried to pick it up, but he fell back, stunned, into a pile of cinder blocks. "Well!" Joe Bob gloated. "I'm the last one standing! I'll have enough meat to bring Babycakes a doggie bag!" He picked up another ball and aimed it at Tyson. "Stop!" I yelled. "It's me you want!" The giant grinned. "You wish to die first, young hero?" I had to do something. Riptide had to be around here somewhere. Then I spotted my jeans in a smoking heap of clothes right by the giant's feet. If I could only get there…. I knew it was hopeless, but I charged. The giant laughed. "My lunch approaches." He raised his arm to throw. I braced myself to die. Suddenly the giant's body went rigid. His expression changed from gloating to surprise. Right where his belly button should've been, his T-shirt ripped open and he grew something like a horn—no, not a horn—the glowing tip of a blade. The ball dropped out of his hand. The monster stared down at the knife that had just run him through from behind. He muttered, "Ow," and burst into a cloud of green flame, which I figured was going to make Babycakes pretty upset. Standing in the smoke was my friend Annabeth. Her face was grimy and scratched. She had a ragged backpack slung over her shoulder, her baseball cap tucked in her pocket, a bronze knife in her hand, and a wild look in her storm-gray eyes, like she'd just been chased a thousand miles by ghosts. Matt Sloan, who'd been standing there dumbfounded the whole time, finally came to his senses. He blinked at Annabeth, as if he dimly recognized her from my notebook picture. "That's the girl… That's the girl—" Annabeth punched him in the nose and knocked him flat. "And you," she told him, "lay off my friend." The gym was in flames. Kids were still running around screaming. I heard sirens wailing and a garbled voice over the intercom. Through the glass windows of the exit doors, I could see the headmaster, Mr. Bonsai, wrestling with the lock, a crowd of teachers piling up behind him. "Annabeth…" I stammered. "How did you… how long have you…" "Pretty much all morning." She sheathed her bronze knife. "I've been trying to find a good time to talk to you, but you were never alone." "The shadow I saw this morning—that was—" My face felt hot. "Oh my gods, you were looking in my bedroom window?" "There's no time to explain!" she snapped, though she looked a little red-faced herself. "I just didn't want to—" "There!" a woman screamed. The doors burst open and the adults came pouring in. "Meet me outside," Annabeth told me. "And him." She pointed to Tyson, who was still sitting dazed against the wall. Annabeth gave him a look of distaste that I didn't quite understand. "You'd better bring him." "What?" "No time!" she said. "Hurry!" She put on her Yankees baseball cap, which was a magic gift from her mom, and instantly vanished. That left me standing alone in the middle of the burning gymnasium when the headmaster came charging in with half the faculty and a couple of police officers. "Percy Jackson?" Mr. Bonsai said. "What… how…" Over by the broken wall, Tyson groaned and stood up from the pile of cinder blocks. "Head hurts." Matt Sloan was coming around, too. He focused on me with a look of terror. "Percy did it, Mr. Bonsai! He set the whole building on fire. Coach Nunley will tell you! He saw it all!" Coach Nunley had been dutifully reading his magazine, but just my luck—he chose that moment to look up when Sloan said his name. "Eh? Yeah. Mm-hmm." The other adults turned toward me. I knew they would never believe me, even if I could tell them the truth. I grabbed Riptide out of my ruined jeans, told Tyson, "Come on!" and jumped through the gaping hole in the side of the building. THREE WE HAIL THE TAXI OF ETERNAL TORMENT Annabeth was waiting for us in an alley down Church Street. She pulled Tyson and me off the sidewalk just as a fire truck screamed past, heading for Meriwether Prep. "Where'd you find him?" she demanded, pointing at Tyson. Now, under different circumstances, I would've been really happy to see her. We'd made our peace last summer, despite the fact that her mom was Athena and didn't get along with my dad. I'd missed Annabeth probably more than I wanted to admit. But I'd just been attacked by cannibal giants, Tyson had saved my life three or four times, and all Annabeth could do was glare at him like he was the problem. "He's my friend," I told her. "Is he homeless?" "What does that have to do with anything? He can hear you, you know. Why don't you ask him?" She looked surprised. "He can talk?" "I talk," Tyson admitted. "You are pretty." "Ah! Gross!" Annabeth stepped away from him. I couldn't believe she was being so rude. I examined Tyson's hands, which I was sure must've been badly scorched by the flaming dodge balls, but they looked fine—grimy and scarred, with dirty fingernails the size of potato chips—but they always looked like that. "Tyson," I said in disbelief. "Your hands aren't even burned." "Of course not," Annabeth muttered. "I'm surprised the Laistrygonians had the guts to attack you with him around." Tyson seemed fascinated by Annabeth's blond hair. He tried to touch it, but she smacked his hand away. "Annabeth," I said, "what are you talking about? Laistry-what?" "Laistrygonians. The monsters in the gym. They're a race of giant cannibals who live in the far north. Odysseus ran into them once, but I've never seen them as far south as New York before." "Laistry—I can't even say that. What would you call them in English?" She thought about it for a moment. "Canadians," she decided. "Now come on, we have to get out of here." "The police'll be after me." "That's the least of our problems," she said. "Have you been having the dreams?" "The dreams… about Grover?" Her face turned pale. "Grover? No, what about Grover?" I told her my dream. "Why? What were you dreaming about?" Her eyes looked stormy, like her mind was racing a million miles an hour. "Camp," she said at last. "Big trouble at camp." "My mom was saying the same thing! But what kind of trouble?" "I don't know exactly. Something's wrong. We have to get there right away. Monsters have been chasing me all the way from Virginia, trying to stop me. Have you had a lot of attacks?" I shook my head. "None all year… until today." "None? But how…" Her eyes drifted to Tyson. "Oh." "What do you mean, 'oh'?" Tyson raised his hand like he was still in class. "Canadians in the gym called Percy something… Son of the Sea God?" Annabeth and I exchanged looks. I didn't know how I could explain, but I figured Tyson deserved the truth after almost getting killed. "Big guy," I said, "you ever hear those old stories about the Greek gods? Like Zeus, Poseidon, Athena—" "Yes," Tyson said. "Well… those gods are still alive. They kind of follow Western Civilization around, living in the strongest countries, so like now they're in the U.S. And sometimes they have kids with mortals. Kids called half-bloods." "Yes," Tyson said, like he was still waiting for me to get to the point. "Uh, well, Annabeth and I are half-bloods," I said. "We're like… heroes-in-training. And whenever monsters pick up our scent, they attack us. That's what those giants were in the gym. Monsters." "Yes." I stared at him. He didn't seem surprised or confused by what I was telling him, which surprised and confused me. "So… you believe me?" Tyson nodded. "But you are… Son of the Sea God?" "Yeah," I admitted. "My dad is Poseidon." Tyson frowned. Now he looked confused. "But then…" A siren wailed. A police car raced past our alley. "We don't have time for this," Annabeth said. "We'll talk in the taxi." "A taxi all the way to camp?" I said. "You know how much money—" "Trust me." I hesitated. "What about Tyson?" I imagined escorting my giant friend into Camp Half-Blood. If he freaked out on a regular playground with regular bullies, how would he act at a training camp for demigods? On the other hand, the cops would be looking for us. "We can't just leave him," I decided. "He'll be in trouble, too."* "Yeah." Annabeth looked grim. "We definitely need to take him. Now come on." I didn't like the way she said that, as if Tyson were a big disease we needed to get to the hospital, but I followed her down the alley. Together the three of us sneaked through the side streets of downtown while a huge column of smoke billowed up behind us from my school gymnasium. * * * "Here." Annabeth stopped us on the corner of Thomas and Trimble. She fished around in her backpack. "I hope I have one left." She looked even worse than I'd realized at first. Her chin was cut. Twigs and grass were tangled in her ponytail, as if she'd slept several nights in the open. The slashes on the hems of her jeans looked suspiciously like claw marks. "What are you looking for?" I asked. All around us, sirens wailed. I figured it wouldn't be long before more cops cruised by, looking for juvenile delinquent gym-bombers. No doubt Matt Sloan had given them a statement by now. He'd probably twisted the story around so that Tyson and I were the bloodthirsty cannibals. "Found one. Thank the gods." Annabeth pulled out a gold coin that I recognized as a drachma, the currency of Mount Olympus. It had Zeus's likeness stamped on one side and the Empire State Building on the other. "Annabeth," I said, "New York taxi drivers won't take that." "St?thi," she shouted in Ancient Greek. "? h?rma diabol?s!" As usual, the moment she spoke in the language of Olympus, I somehow understood it. She'd said: Stop, Chariot of Damnation! That didn't exactly make me feel real excited about whatever her plan was. She threw her coin into the street, but instead of clattering on the asphalt, the drachma sank right through and disappeared. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, just where the coin had fallen, the asphalt darkened. It melted into a rectangular pool about the size of a parking space—bubbling red liquid like blood. Then a car erupted from the ooze. It was a taxi, all right, but unlike every other taxi in New York, it wasn't yellow. It was smoky gray. I mean it looked like it was woven out of smoke, like you could walk right through it. There were words printed on the door—something like GYAR SSIRES—but my dyslexia made it hard for me to decipher what it said. The passenger window rolled down, and an old woman stuck her head out. She had a mop of grizzled hair covering her eyes, and she spoke in a weird mumbling way, like she'd just had a shot of Novocain. "Passage? Passage?" "Three to Camp Half-Blood," Annabeth said. She opened the cab's back door and waved at me to get in, like this was all completely normal. "Ach!" the old woman screeched. "We don't take his kind!" She pointed a bony finger at Tyson. What was it? Pick-on-Big-and-Ugly-Kids Day? "Extra pay," Annabeth promised. "Three more drachma on arrival." "Done!" the woman screamed. Reluctantly I got in the cab. Tyson squeezed in the middle. Annabeth crawled in last. The interior was also smoky gray, but it felt solid enough. The seat was cracked and lumpy—no different than most taxis. There was no Plexiglas screen separating us from the old lady driving… Wait a minute. There wasn't just one old lady. There were three, all crammed in the front seat, each with stringy hair covering her eyes, bony hands, and a charcoal-colored sackcloth dress. The one driving said, "Long Island! Out-of-metro fare bonus! Ha!" She floored the accelerator, and my head slammed against the backrest. A prerecorded voice came on over the speaker: Hi, this is Ganymede, cup-bearer to Zeus, and when I'm out buying wine for the Lord of the Skies, I always buckle up! I looked down and found a large black chain instead of a seat belt. I decided I wasn't that desperate… yet. The cab sped around the corner of West Broadway, and the gray lady sitting in the middle screeched, "Look out! Go left!" "Well, if you'd give me the eye, Tempest, I could see that!" the driver complained. Wait a minute. Give her the eye? I didn't have time to ask questions because the driver swerved to avoid an oncoming delivery truck, ran over the curb with a jaw-rattling thump, and flew into the next block. "Wasp!" the third lady said to the driver. "Give me the girl's coin! I want to bite it." "You bit it last time, Anger!" said the driver, whose name must've been Wasp. "It's my turn!" "Is not!" yelled the one called Anger. The middle one, Tempest, screamed, "Red light!" "Brake!" yelled Anger. Instead, Wasp floored the accelerator and rode up on the curb, screeching around another corner, and knocking over a newspaper box. She left my stomach somewhere back on Broome Street. "Excuse me," I said. "But… can you see?" "No!" screamed Wasp from behind the wheel. "No!" screamed Tempest from the middle. "Of course!" screamed Anger by the shotgun window. I looked at Annabeth. "They're blind?" "Not completely," Annabeth said. "They have an eye." "One eye?" "Yeah." "Each?" "No. One eye total." Next to me, Tyson groaned and grabbed the seat. "Not feeling so good." "Oh, man," I said, because I'd seen Tyson get carsick on school field trips and it was not something you wanted to be within fifty feet of. "Hang in there, big guy. Anybody got a garbage bag or something?" The three gray ladies were too busy squabbling to pay me any attention. I looked over at Annabeth, who was hanging on for dear life, and I gave her a why-did-you-do-this-to-me look. "Hey," she said, "Gray Sisters Taxi is the fastest way to camp." "Then why didn't you take it from Virginia?" "That's outside their service area," she said, like that should be obvious. "They only serve Greater New York and surrounding communities." "We've had famous people in this cab!" Anger exclaimed. "Jason! You remember him?" "Don't remind me!" Wasp wailed. "And we didn't have a cab back then, you old bat. That was three thousand years ago!" "Give me the tooth!" Anger tried to grab at Wasp's mouth, but Wasp swatted her hand away. "Only if Tempest gives me the eye!" "No!" Tempest screeched. "You had it yesterday!" "But I'm driving, you old hag!" "Excuses! Turn! That was your turn!" Wasp swerved hard onto Delancey Street, squishing me between Tyson and the door. She punched the gas and we shot up the Williamsburg Bridge at seventy miles an hour. The three sisters were fighting for real now, slapping each other as Anger tried to grab at Wasp's face and Wasp tried to grab at Tempest's. With their hair flying and their mouths open, screaming at each other, I realized that none of the sisters had any teeth except for Wasp, who had one mossy yellow incisor. Instead of eyes, they just had closed, sunken eyelids, except for Anger, who had one bloodshot green eye that stared at everything hungrily, as if it couldn't get enough of anything it saw. Finally Anger, who had the advantage of sight, managed to yank the tooth out of her sister Wasp's mouth. This made Wasp so mad she swerved toward the edge of the Williamsburg Bridge, yelling, "'Ivit back! 'Ivit back!" Tyson groaned and clutched his stomach. "Uh, if anybody's interested," I said, "we're going to die!" "Don't worry," Annabeth told me, sounding pretty worried. "The Gray Sisters know what they're doing. They're really very wise." This coming from the daughter of Athena, but I wasn't exactly reassured. We were skimming along the edge of a bridge a hundred and thirty feet above the East River. "Yes, wise!" Anger grinned in the rearview mirror, showing off her newly acquired tooth. "We know things!" "Every street in Manhattan!" Wasp bragged, still hitting her sister. "The capital of Nepal!" "The location you seek!" Tempest added. Immediately her sisters pummeled her from either side, screaming, "Be quiet! Be quiet! He didn't even ask yet!" "What?" I said. "What location? I'm not seeking any—" "Nothing!" Tempest said. "You're right, boy. It's nothing!" "Tell me." "No!" they all screamed. "The last time we told, it was horrible!" Tempest said. "Eye tossed in a lake!" Anger agreed. "Years to find it again!" Wasp moaned. "And speaking of that—give it back!" "No!" yelled Anger. "Eye!" Wasp yelled. "Gimme!" She whacked her sister Anger on the back. There was a sickening pop and something flew out of Anger's face. Anger fumbled for it, trying to catch it, but she only managed to bat it with the back of her hand. The slimy green orb sailed over her shoulder, into the backseat, and straight into my lap. I jumped so hard, my head hit the ceiling and the eyeball rolled away. "I can't see!" all three sisters yelled. "Give me the eye!" Wasp wailed. "Give her the eye!" Annabeth screamed. "I don't have it!" I said. "There, by your foot," Annabeth said. "Don't step on it! Get it!" "I'm not picking that up!" The taxi slammed against the guardrail and skidded along with a horrible grinding noise. The whole car shuddered, billowing gray smoke as if it were about to dissolve from the strain. "Going to be sick!" Tyson warned. "Annabeth," I yelled, "let Tyson use your backpack!" "Are you crazy? Get the eye!" Wasp yanked the wheel, and the taxi swerved away from the rail. We hurtled down the bridge toward Brooklyn, going faster than any human taxi. The Gray Sisters screeched and pummeled each other and cried out for their eye. At last I steeled my nerves. I ripped off a chunk of my tie-dyed T-shirt, which was already falling apart from all the burn marks, and used it to pick the eyeball off the floor. "Nice boy!" Anger cried, as if she somehow knew I had her missing peeper. "Give it back!" "Not until you explain," I told her. "What were you talking about, the location I seek?" "No time!" Tempest cried. "Accelerating!" I looked out the window. Sure enough, trees and cars and whole neighborhoods were now zipping by in a gray blur. We were already out of Brooklyn, heading through the middle of Long Island. "Percy," Annabeth warned, "they can't find our destination without the eye. We'll just keep accelerating until we break into a million pieces." "First they have to tell me," I said. "Or I'll open the window and throw the eye into oncoming traffic." "No!" the Gray Sisters wailed. "Too dangerous!" "I'm rolling down the window." "Wait!" the Gray Sisters screamed. "30, 31, 75, 12!" They belted it out like a quarterback calling a play. "What do you mean?" I said. "That makes no sense!" "30, 31, 75, 12!" Anger wailed. "That's all we can tell you. Now give us the eye! Almost to camp!" We were off the highway now, zipping through the countryside of northern Long Island. I could see Half-Blood Hill ahead of us, with its giant pine tree at the crest—Thalia's tree, which contained the life force or a fallen hero. "Percy!" Annabeth said more urgently. "Give them the eye now!" I decided not to argue. I threw the eye into Wasp's lap. The old lady snatched it up, pushed it into her eye socket like somebody putting in a contact lens, and blinked. "Whoa!" She slammed on the brakes. The taxi spun four or five times in a cloud of smoke and squealed to a halt in the middle of the farm road at the base of Half-Blood Hill. Tyson let loose a huge belch. "Better now." "All right," I told the Gray Sisters. "Now tell me what those numbers mean." "No time!" Annabeth opened her door. "We have to get out now." I was about to ask why, when I looked up at Half-Blood Hill and understood. At the crest of the hill was a group of campers. And they were under attack. FOUR TYSON PLAYS WITH FIRE Mythologically speaking, if there's anything I hate worse than trios of old ladies, it's bulls. Last summer, I fought the Minotaur on top of Half-Blood Hill. This time what I saw up there was even worse: two bulls. And not just regular bulls—bronze ones the size of elephants. And even that wasn't bad enough. Naturally they had to breathe fire, too. As soon as we exited the taxi, the Gray Sisters peeled out, heading back to New York, where life was safer. They didn't even wait for their extra three-drachma payment. They just left us on the side of the road, Annabeth with nothing but her backpack and knife, Tyson and me still in our burned-up tie-dyed gym clothes. "Oh, man," said Annabeth, looking at the battle raging on the hill. What worried me most weren't the bulls themselves. Or the ten heroes in full battle armor who were getting their bronze-plated booties whooped. What worried me was that the bulls were ranging all over the hill, even around the back side of the pine tree. That shouldn't have been possible. The camp's magic boundaries didn't allow monsters to cross past Thalia's tree. But the metal bulls were doing it anyway. One of the heroes shouted, "Border patrol, to me!" A girl's voice—gruff and familiar. Border patrol? I thought. The camp didn't have a border patrol. "It's Clarisse," Annabeth said. "Come on, we have to help her." Normally, rushing to Clarisse's aid would not have been high on my "to do" list. She was one of the biggest bullies at camp. The first time we'd met she tried to introduce my head to a toilet. She was also a daughter of Ares, and I'd had a very serious disagreement with her father last summer, so now the god of war and all his children basically hated my guts. Still, she was in trouble. Her fellow warriors were scattering, running in panic as the bulls charged. The grass was burning in huge swathes around the pine tree. One hero screamed and waved his arms as he ran in circles, the horsehair plume on his helmet blazing like a fiery Mohawk. Clarisse's own armor was charred. She was fighting with a broken spear shaft, the other end embedded uselessly in the metal joint of one bull's shoulder. I uncapped my ballpoint pen. It shimmered, growing longer and heavier until I held the bronze sword Anaklusmos in my hands. "Tyson, stay here. I don't want you taking any more chances." "No!" Annabeth said. "We need him." I stared at her. "He's mortal. He got lucky with the dodge balls but he can't—" "Percy, do you know what those are up there? The Colchis bulls, made by Hephaestus himself. We can't fight them without Medea's Sunscreen SPF 50,000. We'll get burned to a crisp." "Medea's what?" Annabeth rummaged through her backpack and cursed. "I had a jar of tropical coconut scent sitting on my night-stand at home. Why didn't I bring it?" I'd learned a long time ago not to question Annabeth too much. It just made me more confused. "Look, I don't know what you're talking about, but I'm not going to let Tyson get fried." "Percy—" "Tyson, stay back." I raised my sword. "I'm going in." Tyson tried to protest, but I was already running up the hill toward Clarisse, who was yelling at her patrol, trying to get them into phalanx formation. It was a good idea. The few who were listening lined up shoulder-to-shoulder, locking their shields to form an ox-hide—and-bronze wall, their spears bristling over the top like porcupine quills. Unfortunately, Clarisse could only muster six campers. The other four were still running around with their helmets on fire. Annabeth ran toward them, trying to help. She taunted one of the bulls into chasing her, then turned invisible, completely confusing the monster. The other bull charged Clarisse's line. I was halfway up the hill—not close enough to help. Clarisse hadn't even seen me yet. The bull moved deadly fast for something so big. Its metal hide gleamed in the sun. It had fist-sized rubies for eyes, and horns of polished silver. When it opened its hinged mouth, a column of white-hot flame blasted out. "Hold the line!" Clarisse ordered her warriors. Whatever else you could say about Clarisse, she was brave. She was a big girl with cruel eyes like her father's. She looked like she was born to wear Greek battle armor, but I didn't see how even she could stand against that bull's charge. Unfortunately, at that moment, the other bull lost interest in finding Annabeth. It turned, wheeling around behind Clarisse on her unprotected side. "Behind you!" I yelled. "Look out!" I shouldn't have said anything, because all I did was startle her. Bull Number One crashed into her shield, and the phalanx broke. Clarisse went flying backward and landed in a smoldering patch of grass. The bull charged past her, but not before blasting the other heroes with its fiery breath. Their shields melted right off their arms. They dropped their weapons and ran as Bull Number Two closed in on Clarisse for the kill. I lunged forward and grabbed Clarisse by the straps of her armor. I dragged her out of the way just as Bull Number Two freight-trained past. I gave it a good swipe with Riptide and cut a huge gash in its flank, but the monster just creaked and groaned and kept on going. It hadn't touched me, but I could feel the heat of its metal skin. Its body temperature could've microwaved a frozen burrito. "Let me go!" Clarisse pummeled my hand. "Percy, curse you!" I dropped her in a heap next to the pine tree and turned to face the bulls. We were on the inside slope of the hill now, the valley of Camp Half-Blood directly below us—the cabins, the training facilities, the Big House—all of it at risk if these bulls got past us. Annabeth shouted orders to the other heroes, telling them to spread out and keep the bulls distracted. Bull Number One ran a wide arc, making its way back toward me. As it passed the middle of the hill, where the invisible boundary line should've kept it out, it slowed down a little, as if it were struggling against a strong wind; but then it broke through and kept coming. Bull Number Two turned to face me, fire sputtering from the gash I'd cut in its side. I couldn't tell if it felt any pain, but its ruby eyes seemed to glare at me like I'd just made things personal. I couldn't fight both bulls at the same time. I'd have to take down Bull Number Two first, cut its head off before Bull Number One charged back into range. My arms already felt tired. I realized how long it had been since I'd worked out with Riptide, how out of practice I was. I lunged but Bull Number Two blew flames at me. I rolled aside as the air turned to pure heat. All the oxygen was sucked out of my lungs. My foot caught on something—a tree root, maybe—and pain shot up my ankle. Still, I managed to slash with my sword and lop off part of the monster's snout. It galloped away, wild and disoriented. But before I could feel too good about that, I tried to stand, and my left leg buckled underneath me. My ankle was sprained, maybe broken. Bull Number One charged straight toward me. No way could I crawl out of its path. Annabeth shouted: "Tyson, help him!" Somewhere near, toward the crest of the hill, Tyson wailed, "Can't—get—through!" "I, Annabeth Chase, give you permission to enter camp!" Thunder shook the hillside. Suddenly Tyson was there, barreling toward me, yelling: "Percy needs help!" Before I could tell him no, he dove between me and the bull just as it unleashed a nuclear firestorm. "Tyson!" I yelled. The blast swirled around him like a red tornado. I could only see the black silhouette of his body. I knew with horrible certainty that my friend had just been turned into a column of ashes. But when the fire died, Tyson was still standing there, completely unharmed. Not even his grungy clothes were scorched. The bull must've been as surprised as I was, because before it could unleash a second blast, Tyson balled his fists and slammed them into the bull's face. "BAD COW!" His fists made a crater where the bronze bull's snout used to be. Two small columns of flame shot out of its ears. Tyson hit it again, and the bronze crumpled under his hands like aluminum foil. The bull's face now looked like a sock puppet pulled inside out. "Down!" Tyson yelled. The bull staggered and fell on its back. Its legs moved feebly in the air, steam coming out of its ruined head in odd places. Annabeth ran over to check on me. My ankle felt like it was filled with acid, but she gave me some Olympian nectar to drink from her canteen, and I immediately started to feel better. There was a burning smell that I later learned was me. The hair on my arms had been completely singed off. "The other bull?" I asked. Annabeth pointed down the hill. Clarisse had taken care of Bad Cow Number Two. She'd impaled it through the back leg with a celestial bronze spear. Now, with its snout half gone and a huge gash in its side, it was trying to run in slow motion, going in circles like some kind of merry-go-round animal. Clarisse pulled off her helmet and marched toward us. A strand of her stringy brown hair was smoldering, but she didn't seem to notice. "You—ruin—everything!" she yelled at me. "I had it under control!" I was too stunned to answer. Annabeth grumbled, "Good to see you too, Clarisse." "Argh!" Clarisse screamed. "Don't ever, EVER try saving me again!" "Clarisse," Annabeth said, "you've got wounded campers." That sobered her up. Even Clarisse cared about the soldiers under her command. "I'll be back," she growled, then trudged off to assess the damage. I stared at Tyson. "You didn't die." Tyson looked down like he was embarrassed. "I am sorry. Came to help. Disobeyed you." "My fault," Annabeth said. "I had no choice. I had to let Tyson cross the boundary line to save you. Otherwise, you would've died." "Let him cross the boundary line? " I asked. "But—" "Percy," she said, "have you ever looked at Tyson closely? I mean… in the face. Ignore the Mist, and really look at him." The Mist makes humans see only what their brains can process… I knew it could fool demigods too, but… I looked Tyson in the face. It wasn't easy. I'd always had trouble looking directly at him, though I'd never quite understood why. I'd thought it was just because he always had peanut butter in his crooked teeth. I forced myself to focus at his big lumpy nose, then a little higher at his eyes. No, not eyes. One eye. One large, calf-brown eye, right in the middle of his forehead, with thick lashes and big tears trickling down his cheeks on either side. "Tyson," I stammered. "You're a…" "Cyclops," Annabeth offered. "A baby, by the looks of him. Probably why he couldn't get past the boundary line as easily as the bulls. Tyson's one of the homeless orphans." "One of the what?" "They're in almost all the big cities," Annabeth said distastefully. "They're… mistakes, Percy. Children of nature spirits and gods… Well, one god in particular, usually… and they don't always come out right. No one wants them. They get tossed aside. They grow up wild on the streets. I don't know how this one found you, but he obviously likes you. We should take him to Chiron, let him decide what to do." "But the fire. How—" "He's a Cyclops." Annabeth paused, as if she were remembering something unpleasant. "They work the forges of the gods. They have to be immune to fire. That's what I was trying to tell you." I was completely shocked. How had I never realized what Tyson was? But I didn't have much time to think about it just then. The whole side of the hill was burning. Wounded heroes needed attention. And there were still two banged-up bronze bulls to dispose of, which I didn't figure would fit in our normal recycling bins. Clarisse came back over and wiped the soot off her forehead. "Jackson, if you can stand, get up. We need to carry the wounded back to the Big House, let Tantalus know what's happened." "Tantalus?" I asked. "The activities director," Clarisse said impatiently. "Chiron is the activities director. And where's Argus? He's head of security. He should be here." Clarisse made a sour face. "Argus got fired. You two have been gone too long. Things are changing." "But Chiron… He's trained kids to fight monsters for over three thousand years. He can't just be gone. What happened?" "That happened," Clarisse snapped. She pointed to Thalia's tree. Every camper knew the story behind the tree. Six years ago, Grover, Annabeth, and two other demigods named Thalia and Luke had come to Camp Half-Blood chased by an army of monsters. When they got cornered on top of this hill, Thalia, a daughter of Zeus, had made her last stand here to give her friends time to reach safety. As she was dying, her father, Zeus, took pity on her and changed her into a pine tree. Her spirit had reinforced the magic borders of the camp, protecting it from monsters. The pine had been here ever since, strong and healthy. But now, its needles were yellow. A huge pile of dead ones littered the base of the tree. In the center of the trunk, three feet from the ground, was a puncture mark the size of a bullet hole, oozing green sap. A sliver of ice ran through my chest. Now I understood why the camp was in danger. The magical borders were failing because Thalia's tree was dying. Someone had poisoned it. FIVE I GET A NEW CABIN MATE Ever come home and found your room messed up? Like some helpful person (hi, Mom) has tried to «clean» it, and suddenly you can't find anything? And even if nothing is missing, you get that creepy feeling like somebody's been looking through your private stuff and dusting everything with lemon furniture polish? That's kind of the way I felt seeing Camp Half-Blood again. On the surface, things didn't look all that different. The Big House was still there with its blue gabled roof and its wraparound porch. The strawberry fields still baked in the sun. The same white-columned Greek buildings were scattered around the valley—the amphitheater, the combat arena, the dining pavilion overlooking Long Island Sound. And nestled between the woods and the creek were the same cabins—a crazy assortment of twelve buildings, each representing a different Olympian god. But there was an air of danger now. You could tell something was wrong. Instead of playing volleyball in the sandpit, counselors and satyrs were stockpiling weapons in the tool shed. Dryads armed with bows and arrows talked nervously at the edge of the woods. The forest looked sickly, the grass in the meadow was pale yellow, and the fire marks on Half-Blood Hill stood out like ugly scars. Somebody had messed with my favorite place in the world, and I was not… well, a happy camper. As we made our way to the Big House, I recognized a lot of kids from last summer. Nobody stopped to talk. Nobody said, "Welcome back." Some did double takes when they saw Tyson, but most just walked grimly past and carried on with their duties—running messages, toting swords to sharpen on the grinding wheels. The camp felt like a military school. And believe me, I know. I've been kicked out of a couple. None of that mattered to Tyson. He was absolutely fascinated by everything he saw. "Whasthat!" he gasped. "The stables for pegasi," I said. "The winged horses." "Whasthat!" "Um… those are the toilets." "Whasthat!" "The cabins for the campers. If they don't know who your Olympian parent is, they put you in the Hermes cabin—that brown one over there—until you're determined. Then, once they know, they put you in your dad or mom's group." He looked at me in awe. "You… have a cabin?" "Number three." I pointed to a low gray building made of sea stone. "You live with friends in the cabin?" "No. No, just me." I didn't feel like explaining. The embarrassing truth: I was the only one who stayed in that cabin because I wasn't supposed to be alive. The "Big Three" gods—Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades—had made a pact after World War II not to have any more children with mortals. We were more powerful than regular half-bloods. We were too unpredictable. When we got mad we tended to cause problems… like World War II, for instance. The "Big Three" pact had only been broken twice—once when Zeus sired Thalia, once when Poseidon sired me. Neither of us should've been born. Thalia had gotten herself turned into a pine tree when she was twelve. Me… well, I was doing my best not to follow her example. I had nightmares about what Poseidon might turn me into if I were ever on the verge of death— plankton, maybe. Or a floating patch of kelp. When we got to the Big House, we found Chiron in his apartment, listening to his favorite 1960s lounge music while he packed his saddlebags. I guess I should mention—Chiron is a centaur. From the waist up he looks like a regular middle-aged guy with curly brown hair and a scraggly beard. From the waist down, he's a white stallion. He can pass for human by compacting his lower half into a magic wheelchair. In fact, he'd passed himself off as my Latin teacher during my sixth-grade year. But most of the time, if the ceilings are high enough, he prefers hanging out in full centaur form. As soon as we saw him, Tyson froze. "Pony!" he cried in total rapture. Chiron turned, looking offended. "I beg your pardon?" Annabeth ran up and hugged him. "Chiron, what's happening? You're not… leaving?" Her voice was shaky. Chiron was like a second father to her. Chiron ruffled her hair and gave her a kindly smile. "Hello, child. And Percy, my goodness. You've grown over the year!" I swallowed. "Clarisse said you were… you were…" "Fired." Chiron's eyes glinted with dark humor. "Ah, well, someone had to take the blame. Lord Zeus was most upset. The tree he'd created from the spirit of his daughter, poisoned! Mr. D had to punish someone." "Besides himself, you mean," I growled. Just the thought of the camp director, Mr. D, made me angry. "But this is crazy!" Annabeth cried. "Chiron, you couldn't have had anything to do with poisoning Thalia's tree!" "Nevertheless," Chiron sighed, "some in Olympus do not trust me now, under the circumstances." "What circumstances?" I asked. Chiron's face darkened. He stuffed a Latin-English dictionary into his saddlebag while the Frank Sinatra music oozed from his boom box. Tyson was still staring at Chiron in amazement. He whimpered like he wanted to pat Chiron's flank but was afraid to come closer. "Pony?" Chiron sniffed. "My dear young Cyclops! I am a centaur." "Chiron," I said. "What about the tree? What happened?" He shook his head sadly. "The poison used on Thalia's pine is something from the Underworld, Percy. Some venom even I have never seen. It must have come from a monster quite deep in the pits of Tartarus." "Then we know who's responsible. Kro—" "Do not invoke the titan lord's name, Percy. Especially not here, not now." "But last summer he tried to cause a civil war in Olympus! This has to be his idea. He'd get Luke to do it, that traitor." "Perhaps," Chiron said. "But I fear I am being held responsible because I did not prevent it and I cannot cure it. The tree has only a few weeks of life left unless…" "Unless what?" Annabeth asked. "No," Chiron said. "A foolish thought. The whole valley is feeling the shock of the poison. The magical borders are deteriorating. The camp itself is dying. Only one source of magic would be strong enough to reverse the poison, and it was lost centuries ago." "What is it?" I asked. "We'll go find it!" Chiron closed his saddlebag. He pressed the stop button on his boom box. Then he turned and rested his hand on my shoulder, looking me straight in the eyes. "Percy, you must promise me that you will not act rashly. I told your mother I did not want you to come here at all this summer. It's much too dangerous. But now that you are here, stay here. Train hard. Learn to fight. But do not leave." "Why?" I asked. "I want to do something! I can't just let the borders fail. The whole camp will be—" "Overrun by monsters," Chiron said. "Yes, I fear so. But you must not let yourself be baited into hasty action! This could be a trap of the titan lord. Remember last summer! He almost took your life." It was true, but still, I wanted to help so badly. I also wanted to make Kronos pay. I mean, you'd think the titan lord would've learned his lesson eons ago when he was overthrown by the gods. You'd think getting chopped into a million pieces and cast into the darkest part of the Underworld would give him a subtle clue that nobody wanted him around. But no. Because he was immortal, he was still alive down there in Tartarus—suffering in eternal pain, hungering to return and take revenge on Olympus. He couldn't act on his own, but he was great at twisting the minds of mortals and even gods to do his dirty work. The poisoning had to be his doing. Who else would be so low as to attack Thalia's tree, the only thing left of a hero who'd given her life to save her friends? Annabeth was trying hard not to cry. Chiron brushed a tear from her cheek. "Stay with Percy, child," he told her. "Keep him safe. The prophecy—remember it!" "I–I will." "Um…" I said. "Would this be the super-dangerous prophecy that has me in it, but the gods have forbidden you to tell me about?" Nobody answered. "Right," I muttered. "Just checking." "Chiron…" Annabeth said. "You told me the gods made you immortal only so long as you were needed to train heroes. If they dismiss you from camp—" "Swear you will do your best to keep Percy from danger," he insisted. "Swear upon the River Styx." "I–I swear it upon the River Styx," Annabeth said. Thunder rumbled outside. "Very well," Chiron said. He seemed to relax just a little. "Perhaps my name will be cleared and I shall return. Until then, I go to visit my wild kinsmen in the Everglades. It's possible they know of some cure for the poisoned tree that I have forgotten. In any event, I will stay in exile until this matter is resolved… one way or another." Annabeth stifled a sob. Chiron patted her shoulder awkwardly. "There, now, child. I must entrust your safety to Mr. D and the new activities director. We must hope… well, perhaps they won't destroy the camp quite as quickly as I fear." "Who is this Tantalus guy, anyway?" I demanded. "Where does he get off taking your job?" A conch horn blew across the valley. I hadn't realized how late it was. It was time for the campers to assemble for dinner. "Go," Chiron said. "You will meet him at the pavilion. I will contact your mother, Percy, and let her know you're safe. No doubt she'll be worried by now. Just remember my warning! You are in grave danger. Do not think for a moment that the titan lord has forgotten you!" With that, he clopped out of the apartment and down the hall, Tyson calling after him, "Pony! Don't go!" I realized I'd forgotten to tell Chiron about my dream of Grover. Now it was too late. The best teacher I'd ever had was gone, maybe for good. Tyson started bawling almost as bad as Annabeth. I tried to tell them that things would be okay, but I didn't believe it. The sun was setting behind the dining pavilion as the campers came up from their cabins. We stood in the shadow of a marble column and watched them file in. Annabeth was still pretty shaken up, but she promised she'd talk to us later. Then she went off to join her siblings from the Athena cabin—a dozen boys and girls with blond hair and gray eyes like hers. Annabeth wasn't the oldest, but she'd been at camp more summers than just about anybody. You could tell that by looking at her camp necklace—one bead for every summer, and Annabeth had six. No one questioned her right to lead the line. Next came Clarisse, leading the Ares cabin. She had one arm in a sling and a nasty-looking gash on her cheek, but otherwise her encounter with the bronze bulls didn't seem to have fazed her. Someone had taped a piece of paper to her back that said, YOU MOO, GIRL! But nobody in her cabin was bothering to tell her about it. After the Ares kids came the Hephaestus cabin—six guys led by Charles Beckendorf, a big fifteen-year-old African American kid. He had hands the size of catchers' mitts and a face that was hard and squinty from looking into a blacksmiths forge all day. He was nice enough once you got to know him, but no one ever called him Charlie or Chuck or Charles. Most just called him Beckendorf. Rumor was he could make anything. Give him a chunk of metal and he could create a razor-sharp sword or a robotic warrior or a singing birdbath for your grandmother's garden. Whatever you wanted. The other cabins filed in: Demeter, Apollo, Aphrodite, Dionysus. Naiads came up from the canoe lake. Dryads melted out of the trees. From the meadow came a dozen satyrs, who reminded me painfully of Grover. I'd always had a soft spot for the satyrs. When they were at camp, they had to do all kinds of odd jobs for Mr. D, the director, but their most important work was out in the real world. They were the camp's seekers. They went undercover into schools all over the world, looking for potential half-bloods and escorting them back to camp. That's how I'd met Grover. He had been the first one to recognize I was a demigod. After the satyrs filed in to dinner, the Hermes cabin brought up the rear. They were always the biggest cabin. Last summer, it had been led by Luke, the guy who'd fought with Thalia and Annabeth on top of Half-Blood Hill. For a while, before Poseidon had claimed me, I'd lodged in the Hermes cabin. Luke had befriended me… and then he'd tried to kill me. Now the Hermes cabin was led by Travis and Connor Stoll. They weren't twins, but they looked so much alike it didn't matter. I could never remember which one was older. They were both tall and skinny, with mops of brown hair that hung in their eyes. They wore orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirts untucked over baggy shorts, and they had those elfish features all Hermes's kids had: upturned eyebrows, sarcastic smiles, a gleam in their eyes whenever they looked at you—like they were about to drop a firecracker down your shirt. I'd always thought it was funny that the god of thieves would have kids with the last name "Stoll," but the only time I mentioned it to Travis and Connor, they both stared at me blankly like they didn't get the joke. As soon as the last campers had filed in, I led Tyson into the middle of the pavilion. Conversations faltered. Heads turned. "Who invited that?" somebody at the Apollo table murmured. I glared in their direction, but I couldn't figure out who'd spoken. From the head table a familiar voice drawled, "Well, well, if it isn't Peter Johnson. My millennium is complete." I gritted my teeth. "Percy Jackson … sir." Mr. D sipped his Diet Coke. "Yes. Well, as you young people say these days: Whatever." He was wearing his usual leopard-pattern Hawaiian shirt, walking shorts, and tennis shoes with black socks. With his pudgy belly and his blotchy red face, he looked like a Las Vegas tourist who'd stayed up too late in the casinos. Behind him, a nervous-looking satyr was peeling the skins off grapes and handing them to Mr. D one at a time. Mr. D's real name is Dionysus. The god of wine. Zeus appointed him director of Camp Half-Blood to dry out for a hundred years—a punishment for chasing some off-limits wood nymph. Next to him, where Chiron usually sat (or stood, in centaur form), was someone I'd never seen before—a pale, horribly thin man in a threadbare orange prisoner's jumpsuit. The number over his pocket read 0001. He had blue shadows under his eyes, dirty fingernails, and badly cut gray hair, like his last haircut had been done with a weed whacker. He stared at me; his eyes made me nervous. He looked… fractured. Angry and frustrated and hungry all at the same time. "This boy," Dionysus told him, "you need to watch. Poseidon's child, you know." "Ah!" the prisoner said. "That one." His tone made it obvious that he and Dionysus had already discussed me at length. "I am Tantalus," the prisoner said, smiling coldly. "On special assignment here until, well, until my Lord Dionysus decides otherwise. And you, Perseus Jackson, I do expect you to refrain from causing any more trouble." "Trouble?" I demanded. Dionysus snapped his fingers. A newspaper appeared on the table—the front page of today's New York Post, There was my yearbook picture from Meriwether Prep. It was hard for me to make out the headline, but I had a pretty good guess what it said. Something like: Thirteen-Year-Old Lunatic Torches Gymnasium. "Yes, trouble," Tantalus said with satisfaction. "You caused plenty of it last summer, I understand." I was too mad to speak. Like it was my fault the gods had almost gotten into a civil war? A satyr inched forward nervously and set a plate of barbecue in front of Tantalus. The new activities director licked his lips. He looked at his empty goblet and said, "Root beer. Barq's special stock. 1967." The glass filled itself with foamy soda. Tantalus stretched out his hand hesitantly, as if he were afraid the goblet was hot. "Go on, then, old fellow," Dionysus said, a strange sparkle in his eyes. "Perhaps now it will work." Tantalus grabbed for the glass, but it scooted away before he could touch it. A few drops of root beer spilled, and Tantalus tried to dab them up with his fingers, but the drops rolled away like quicksilver before he could touch them. He growled and turned toward the plate of barbecue. He picked up a fork and tried to stab a piece of brisket, but the plate skittered down the table and flew off the end, straight into the coals of the brazier. "Blast!" Tantalus muttered. "Ah, well," Dionysus said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "Perhaps a few more days. Believe me, old chap, working at this camp will be torture enough. I'm sure your old curse will fade eventually." "Eventually," muttered Tantalus, staring at Dionysus's Diet Coke. "Do you have any idea how dry one's throat gets after three thousand years?" "You're that spirit from the Fields of Punishment," I said. "The one who stands in the lake with the fruit tree hanging over you, but you can't eat or drink." Tantalus sneered at me. "A real scholar, aren't you, boy?" "You must've done something really horrible when you were alive," I said, mildly impressed. "What was it?" Tantalus's eyes narrowed. Behind him, the satyrs were shaking their heads vigorously, trying to warn me. "I'll be watching you, Percy Jackson," Tantalus said. "I don't want any problems at my camp." "Your camp has problems already… sir." "Oh, go sit down, Johnson," Dionysus sighed. "I believe that table over there is yours—the one where no one else ever wants to sit." My face was burning, but I knew better than to talk back. Dionysus was an overgrown brat, but he was an immortal, superpowerful overgrown brat. I said, "Come on, Tyson." "Oh, no," Tantalus said. "The monster stays here. We must decide what to do with it." "Him," I snapped. "His name is Tyson." The new activities director raised an eyebrow. "Tyson saved the camp," I insisted. "He pounded those bronze bulls. Otherwise they would've burned down this whole place." "Yes," Tantalus sighed, "and what a pity that would've been." Dionysus snickered. "Leave us," Tantalus ordered, "while we decide this creature's fate." Tyson looked at me with fear in his one big eye, but I knew I couldn't disobey a direct order from the camp directors. Not openly, anyway. "I'll be right over here, big guy," I promised. "Don't worry. We'll find you a good place to sleep tonight." Tyson nodded. "I believe you. You are my friend." Which made me feel a whole lot guiltier. I trudged over to the Poseidon table and slumped onto the bench. A wood nymph brought me a plate of Olympian olive-and-pepperoni pizza, but I wasn't hungry. I'd been almost killed twice today. I'd managed to end my school year with a complete disaster. Camp Half-Blood was in serious trouble and Chiron had told me not to do anything about it. I didn't feel very thankful, but I took my dinner, as was customary, up to the bronze brazier and scraped part of it into the flames. "Poseidon," I murmured, "accept my offering." And send me some help while you're at it, I prayed silently. Please. The smoke from the burning pizza changed into something fragrant—the smell of a clean sea breeze with wild-flowers mixed in—but I had no idea if that meant my father was really listening. I went back to my seat. I didn't think things could get much worse. But then Tantalus had one of the satyrs blow the conch horn to get our attention for announcements. "Yes, well," Tantalus said, once the talking had died down. "Another fine meal! Or so I am told." As he spoke, he inched his hand toward his refilled dinner plate, as if maybe the food wouldn't notice what he was doing, but it did. It shot away down the table as soon as he got within six inches. "And here on my first day of authority," he continued, "I'd like to say what a pleasant form of punishment it is to be here. Over the course of the summer, I hope to torture, er, interact with each and every one of you children. You all look good enough to eat." Dionysus clapped politely, leading to some halfhearted applause from the satyrs. Tyson was still standing at the head table, looking uncomfortable, but every time he tried to scoot out of the limelight, Tantalus pulled him back. "And now some changes!" Tantalus gave the campers a crooked smile. "We are reinstituting the chariot races!" Murmuring broke out at all the tables—excitement, fear, disbelief. "Now I know," Tantalus continued, raising his voice, "that these races were discontinued some years ago due to, ah, technical problems." "Three deaths and twenty-six mutilations," someone at the Apollo table called. "Yes, yes!" Tantalus said. "But I know that you will all join me in welcoming the return of this camp tradition. Golden laurels will go to the winning charioteers each month. Teams may register in the morning! The first race will be held in three days time. We will release you from most of your regular activities to prepare your chariots and choose your horses. Oh, and did I mention, the victorious team's cabin will have no chores for the month in which they win?" An explosion of excited conversation—no KP for a whole month? No stable cleaning? Was he serious? Then the last person I expected to object did so. "But, sir!" Clarisse said. She looked nervous, but she stood up to speak from the Ares table. Some of the campers snickered when they saw the YOU MOO, GIRL! sign on her back. "What about patrol duty? I mean, if we drop everything to ready our chariots—" "Ah, the hero of the day," Tantalus exclaimed. "Brave Clarisse, who single-handedly bested the bronze bulls!" Clarisse blinked, then blushed. "Um, I didn't—" "And modest, too." Tantalus grinned. "Not to worry, my dear! This is a summer camp. We are here to enjoy ourselves, yes?" "But the tree—" "And now," Tantalus said, as several of Clarisse's cabin mates pulled her back into her seat, "before we proceed to the campfire and sing-along, one slight housekeeping issue. Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase have seen fit, for some reason, to bring this here." Tantalus waved a hand toward Tyson. Uneasy murmuring spread among the campers. A lot of sideways looks at me. I wanted to kill Tantalus. "Now, of course," he said, "Cyclopes have a reputation for being bloodthirsty monsters with a very small brain capacity. Under normal circumstances, I would release this beast into the woods and have you hunt it down with torches and pointed sticks. But who knows? Perhaps this Cyclops is not as horrible as most of its brethren. Until it proves worthy of destruction, we need a place to keep it! I've thought about the stables, but that will make the horses nervous. Hermes's cabin, possibly?" Silence at the Hermes table. Travis and Connor Stoll developed a sudden interest in the tablecloth. I couldn't blame them. The Hermes cabin was always full to bursting. There was no way they could take in a six-foot-three Cyclops. "Come now," Tantalus chided. "The monster may be able to do some menial chores. Any suggestions as to where such a beast should be kenneled?" Suddenly everybody gasped. Tantalus scooted away from Tyson in surprise. All I could do was stare in disbelief at the brilliant green light that was about to change my life—a dazzling holographic image that had appeared above Tyson's head. With a sickening twist in my stomach, I remembered what Annabeth had said about Cyclopes, They're the children of nature spirits and gods… Well, one god in particular, usually … Swirling over Tyson was a glowing green trident—the same symbol that had appeared above me the day Poseidon had claimed me as his son. There was a moment of awed silence. Being claimed was a rare event. Some campers waited in vain for it their whole lives. When I'd been claimed by Poseidon last summer, everyone had reverently knelt. But now, they followed Tantalus's lead, and Tantalus roared with laughter. "Well! I think we know where to put the beast now. By the gods, I can see the family resemblance!" Everybody laughed except Annabeth and a few of my other friends. Tyson didn't seem to notice. He was too mystified, trying to swat the glowing trident that was now fading over his head. He was too innocent to understand how much they were making fun of him, how cruel people were. But I got it. I had a new cabin mate. I had a monster for a half-brother. SIX DEMON PIGEONS ATTACK The next few days were torture, just like Tantalus wanted. First there was Tyson moving into the Poseidon cabin, giggling to himself every fifteen seconds and saying, "Percy is my brother?" like he'd just won the lottery. "Aw, Tyson," I'd say. "It's not that simple." But there was no explaining it to him. He was in heaven. And me… as much as I liked the big guy, I couldn't help feeling embarrassed. Ashamed. There, I said it. My father, the all-powerful Poseidon, had gotten moony-eyed for some nature spirit, and Tyson had been the result. I mean, I'd read the myths about Cyclopes. I even remembered that they were often Poseidon's children. But I'd never really processed that this made them my… family. Until I had Tyson living with me in the next bunk. And then there were the comments from the other campers. Suddenly, I wasn't Percy Jackson, the cool guy who'd retrieved Zeus's lightning bolt last summer. Now I was Percy Jackson, the poor schmuck with the ugly monster for a brother. "He's not my real brother!" I protested whenever Tyson wasn't around. "He's more like a half-brother on the monstrous side of the family. Like… a half-brother twice removed, or something." Nobody bought it. I admit—I was angry at my dad. I felt like being his son was now a joke. Annabeth tried to make me feel better. She suggested we team up for the chariot race to take our minds off our problems. Don't get me wrong—we both hated Tantalus and we were worried sick about camp—but we didn't know what to do about it. Until we could come up with some brilliant plan to save Thalia's tree, we figured we might as well go along with the races. After all, Annabeth's mom, Athena, had invented the chariot, and my dad had created horses. Together we would own that track. One morning Annabeth and I were sitting by the canoe lake sketching chariot designs when some jokers from Aphrodite's cabin walked by and asked me if I needed to borrow some eyeliner for my eye… "Oh sorry, eyes.” As they walked away laughing, Annabeth grumbled, "Just ignore them, Percy. It isn't your fault you have a monster for a brother." "He's not my brother!" I snapped. "And he's not a monster, either!" Annabeth raised her eyebrows. "Hey, don't get mad at me! And technically, he is a monster." "Well you gave him permission to enter the camp." "Because it was the only way to save your life! I mean… I'm sorry, Percy, I didn't expect Poseidon to claim him. Cyclopes are the most deceitful, treacherous—" "He is not! What have you got against Cyclopes, any-way? Annabeth's ears turned pink. I got the feeling there was something she wasn't telling me—something bad. "Just forget it," she said. "Now, the axle for this chariot—" "You're treating him like he's this horrible thing," I said. "He saved my life." Annabeth threw down her pencil and stood. "Then maybe you should design a chariot with him." "Maybe I should." "Fine!" "Fine!" She stormed off and left me feeling even worse than before. The next couple of days, I tried to keep my mind off my problems. Silena Beauregard, one of the nicer girls from Aphrodite's cabin, gave me my first riding lesson on a pegasus. She explained that there was only one immortal winged horse named Pegasus, who still wandered free somewhere in the skies, but over the eons he'd sired a lot of children, none quite so fast or heroic, but all named after the first and greatest. Being the son of the sea god, I never liked going into the air. My dad had this rivalry with Zeus, so I tried to stay out of the lord of the sky's domain as much as possible. But riding a winged horse felt different. It didn't make me nearly as nervous as being in an airplane. Maybe that was because my dad had created horses out of sea foam, so the pegasi were sort of… neutral territory. I could understand their thoughts. I wasn't surprised when my pegasus went galloping over the treetops or chased a flock of seagulls into a cloud. The problem was that Tyson wanted to ride the "chicken ponies," too, but the pegasi got skittish whenever he approached. I told them telepathically that Tyson wouldn't hurt them, but they didn't seem to believe me. That made Tyson cry. The only person at camp who had no problem with Tyson was Beckendorf from the Hephaestus cabin. The blacksmith god had always worked with Cyclopes in his forges, so Beckendorf took Tyson down to the armory to teach him metalworking. He said he'd have Tyson crafting magic items like a master in no time. After lunch, I worked out in the arena with Apollo's cabin. Swordplay had always been my strength. People said I was better at it than any camper in the last hundred years, except maybe Luke. People always compared me to Luke. I thrashed the Apollo guys easily. I should've been testing myself against the Ares and Athena cabins, since they had the best sword fighters, but I didn't get along with Clarisse and her siblings, and after my argument with Annabeth, I just didn't want to see her. I went to archery class, even though I was terrible at it, and it wasn't the same without Chiron teaching. In arts and crafts, I started a marble bust of Poseidon, but it started looking like Sylvester Stallone, so I ditched it. I scaled the climbing wall in full lava-and-earthquake mode. And in the evenings, I did border patrol. Even though Tantalus had insisted we forget trying to protect the camp, some of the campers had quietly kept it up, working out a schedule during our free times. I sat at the top of Half-Blood Hill and watched the dryads come and go, singing to the dying pine tree. Satyrs brought their reed pipes and played nature magic songs, and for a while the pine needles seemed to get fuller. The flowers on the hill smelled a little sweeter and the grass looked greener. But as soon as the music stopped, the sickness crept back into the air. The whole hill seemed to be infected, dying from the poison that had sunk into the tree's roots. The longer I sat there, the angrier I got. Luke had done this. I remembered his sly smile, the dragon-claw scar across his face. He'd pretended to be my friend, and the whole time he'd been Kronos's number-one servant. I opened the palm of my hand. The scar Luke had given me last summer was fading, but I could still see it—a white asterisk-shaped wound where his pit scorpion had stung me. I thought about what Luke had told me right before he'd tried to kill me: Good-bye, Percy. There is a new Golden Age coming. You won't be part of it. * * * At night, I had more dreams of Grover. Sometimes, I just heard snatches of his voice. Once, I heard him say: It's here. Another time: He likes sheep. I thought about telling Annabeth about my dreams, but I would've felt stupid. I mean, He likes sheep? She would've thought I was crazy. The night before the race, Tyson and I finished our chariot. It was wicked cool. Tyson had made the metal parts in the armory's forges. I'd sanded the wood and put the carriage together. It was blue and white, with wave designs on the sides and a trident painted on the front. After all that work, it seemed only fair that Tyson would ride shotgun with me, though I knew the horses wouldn't like it, and Tyson's extra weight would slow us down. As we were turning in for bed, Tyson said, "You are mad?" I realized I'd been scowling. "Nah. I'm not mad." He lay down in his bunk and was quiet in the dark. His body was way too long for his bed. When he pulled up the covers, his feet stuck out the bottom. "I am a monster." "Don't say that." "It is okay. I will be a good monster. Then you will not have to be mad." I didn't know what to say. I stared at the ceiling and felt like I was dying slowly, right along with Thalia's tree. "It's just… I never had a half-brother before." I tried to keep my voice from cracking. "It's really different for me. And I'm worried about the camp. And another friend of mine, Grover… he might be in trouble. I keep feeling like I should be doing something to help, but I don't know what." Tyson said nothing. "I'm sorry," I told him. "It's not your fault. I'm mad at Poseidon. I feel like he's trying to embarrass me, like he's trying to compare us or something, and I don't understand why." I heard a deep rumbling sound. Tyson was snoring. I sighed. "Good night, big guy." And I closed my eyes, too. In my dream, Grover was wearing a wedding dress. It didn't fit him very well. The gown was too long and the hem was caked with dried mud. The neckline kept falling off his shoulders. A tattered veil covered his face. He was standing in a dank cave, lit only by torches. There was a cot in one corner and an old-fashioned loom in the other, a length of white cloth half woven on the frame. And he was staring right at me, like I was a TV program he'd been waiting for. "Thank the gods!" he yelped. "Can you hear me?" My dream-self was slow to respond. I was still looking around, taking in the stalactite ceiling, the stench of sheep and goats, the growling and grumbling and bleating sounds that seemed to echo from behind a refrigerator-sized boulder, which was blocking the room's only exit, as if there were a much larger cavern beyond it. "Percy?" Grover said. "Please, I don't have the strength to project any better. You have to hear me!" "I hear you," I said. "Grover, what's going on?" From behind the boulder, a monstrous voice yelled, "Honeypie! Are you done yet?" Grover flinched. He called out in falsetto, "Not quite, dearest! A few more days!" "Bah! Hasn't it been two weeks yet?" "N-no, dearest. Just five days. That leaves twelve more to go." The monster was silent, maybe trying to do the math. He must've been worse at arithmetic than I was, because he said, "All right, but hurry! I want to SEEEEE under that veil, heh-heh-heh." Grover turned back to me. "You have to help me! No time! I'm stuck in this cave. On an island in the sea." "Where?" "I don't know exactly! I went to Florida and turned left." "What? How did you—" "It's a trap!" Grover said. "It's the reason no satyr has ever returned from this quest. He's a shepherd, Percy! And he has it. Its nature magic is so powerful it smells just like the great god Pan! The satyrs come here thinking they've found Pan, and they get trapped and eaten by Polyphemus!" "Poly-who?" "The Cyclops!" Grover said, exasperated. "I almost got away. I made it all the way to St. Augustine." "But he followed you," I said, remembering my first dream. "And trapped you in a bridal boutique." "That's right," Grover said. "My first empathy link must've worked then. Look, this bridal dress is the only thing keeping me alive. He thinks I smell good, but I told him it was just goat-scented perfume. Thank goodness he can't see very well. His eye is still half blind from the last time somebody poked it out. But soon he'll realize what I am. He's only giving me two weeks to finish the bridal train, and he's getting impatient!" "Wait a minute. This Cyclops thinks you're—" "Yes!" Grover wailed. "He thinks I'm a lady Cyclops and he wants to marry me!" Under different circumstances, I might've busted out laughing, but Grover's voice was deadly serious. He was shaking with fear. "I'll come rescue you," I promised. "Where are you?" "The Sea of Monsters, of course!" "The sea of what?" "I told you! I don't know exactly where! And look, Percy… urn, I'm really sorry about this, but this empathy link… well, I had no choice. Our emotions are connected now. If I die…" "Don't tell me, I'll die too." "Oh, well, perhaps not. You might live for years in a vegetative state. But, uh, it would be a lot better if you got me out of here." "Honeypie!" the monster bellowed. "Dinnertime! Yummy yummy sheep meat!" Grover whimpered. "I have to go. Hurry!" "Wait! You said 'it' was here. What?" But Grover's voice was already growing fainter. "Sweet dreams. Don't let me die!" The dream faded and I woke with a start. It was early morning. Tyson was staring down at me, his one big brown eye full of concern. "Are you okay?" he asked. His voice sent a chill down my back, because he sounded almost exactly like the monster I'd heard in my dream. The morning of the race was hot and humid. Fog lay low on the ground like sauna steam. Millions of birds were roosting in the trees—fat gray-and-white pigeons, except they didn't coo like regular pigeons. They made this annoying metallic screeching sound that reminded me of submarine radar. The racetrack had been built in a grassy field between the archery range and the woods. Hephaestus's cabin had used the bronze bulls, which were completely tame since they'd had their heads smashed in, to plow an oval track in a matter of minutes. There were rows of stone steps for the spectators— Tantalus, the satyrs, a few dryads, and all of the campers who weren't participating. Mr. D didn't show. He never got up before ten o'clock. "Right!" Tantalus announced as the teams began to assemble. A naiad had brought him a big platter of pastries, and as Tantalus spoke, his right hand chased a chocolate eclair across the judge's table. "You all know the rules. A quarter-mile track. Twice around to win. Two horses per chariot. Each team will consist of a driver and a fighter. Weapons are allowed. Dirty tricks are expected. But try not to kill anybody!" Tantalus smiled at us like we were all naughty children. "Any killing will result in harsh punishment. No s'mores at the campfire for a week! Now ready your chariots!" Beckendorf led the Hephaestus team onto the track. They had a sweet ride made of bronze and iron—even the horses, which were magical automatons like the Colchis bulls. I had no doubt that their chariot had all kinds of mechanical traps and more fancy options than a fully loaded Maserati. The Ares chariot was bloodred, and pulled by two grisly horse skeletons. Clarisse climbed aboard with a batch of javelins, spiked balls, caltrops, and a bunch of other nasty toys. Apollo's chariot was trim and graceful and completely gold, pulled by two beautiful palominos. Their fighter was armed with a bow, though he had promised not to shoot regular pointed arrows at the opposing drivers. Hermes's chariot was green and kind of old-looking, as if it hadn't been out of the garage in years. It didn't look like anything special, but it was manned by the Stoll brothers, and I shuddered to think what dirty tricks they'd schemed up. That left two chariots: one driven by Annabeth, and the other by me. Before the race began, I tried to approach Annabeth and tell her about my dream. She perked up when I mentioned Grover, but when I told her what he'd said, she seemed to get distant again, suspicious. "You're trying to distract me," she decided. "What? No I'm not!" "Oh, right! Like Grover would just happen to stumble across the one thing that could save the camp." "What do you mean?" She rolled her eyes. "Go back to your chariot, Percy." "I'm not making this up. He's in trouble, Annabeth." She hesitated. I could tell she was trying to decide whether or not to trust me. Despite our occasional fights, we'd been through a lot together. And I knew she would never want anything bad to happen to Grover. "Percy, an empathy link is so hard to do. I mean, it's more likely you really were dreaming." "The Oracle," I said. "We could consult the Oracle." Annabeth frowned. Last summer, before my quest, I'd visited the strange spirit that lived in the Big House attic and it had given me a prophecy that came true in ways I'd never expected. The experience had freaked me out for months. Annabeth knew I'd never suggest going back there if I wasn't completely serious. Before she could answer, the conch horn sounded. "Charioteers!" Tantalus called. "To your mark!" "We'll talk later," Annabeth told me, "after I win." As I was walking back to my own chariot, I noticed how many more pigeons were in the trees now—screeching like crazy, making the whole forest rustle. Nobody else seemed to be paying them much attention, but they made me nervous. Their beaks glinted strangely. Their eyes seemed shinier than regular birds. Tyson was having trouble getting our horses under control. I had to talk to them a long time before they would settle down. He's a monster, lord! they complained to me. He's a son of Poseidon, I told them. Just like… well, just like me. No! they insisted. Monster! Horse-eater! Not trusted! I'll give you sugar cubes at the end of the race, I said. Sugar cubes? Very big sugar cubes. And apples. Did I mention the apples? Finally they agreed to let me harness them. Now, if you've never seen a Greek chariot, it's built for speed, not safety or comfort. It's basically a wooden basket, open at the back, mounted on an axle between two wheels. The driver stands up the whole time, and you can feel every bump in the road. The carriage is made of such light wood that if you wipe out making the hairpin turns at either end of the track, you'll probably tip over and crush both the chariot and yourself. It's an even better rush than skateboarding. I took the reins and maneuvered the chariot to the starting line. I gave Tyson a ten-foot pole and told him that his job was to push the other chariots away if they got too close, and to deflect anything they might try to throw at us. "No hitting ponies with the stick," he insisted. "No," I agreed. "Or people, either, if you can help it. We're going to run a clean race. Just keep the distractions away and let me concentrate on driving." "We will win. " He beamed. We are so going to lose, I thought to myself, but I bad to try. I wanted to show the others… well, I wasn't sure what, exactly. That Tyson wasn't such a bad guy? That I wasn't ashamed of being seen with him in public? Maybe that they hadn't hurt me with all their jokes and name-calling? As the chariots lined up, more shiny-eyed pigeons gathered in the woods. They were screeching so loudly the campers in the stands were starting to take notice, glancing nervously at the trees, which shivered under the weight of the birds. Tantalus didn't look concerned, but he did have to speak up to be heard over the noise. "Charioteers!" he shouted. "Attend your mark!" He waved his hand and the starting signal dropped. The chariots roared to life. Hooves thundered against the dirt. The crowd cheered. Almost immediately there was a loud nasty crack! I looked back in time to see the Apollo chariot flip over. The Hermes chariot had rammed into it—maybe by mistake, maybe not. The riders were thrown free, but their panicked horses dragged the golden chariot diagonally across the track. The Hermes team, Travis and Connor Stoll, were laughing at their good luck, but not for long. The Apollo horses crashed into theirs, and the Hermes chariot flipped too, leaving a pile of broken wood and four rearing horses in the dust. Two chariots down in the first twenty feet. I loved this sport. I turned my attention back to the front. We were making good time, pulling ahead of Ares, but Annabeth's chariot was way ahead of us. She was already making her turn around the first post, her javelin man grinning and waving at us, shouting: "See ya!" The Hephaestus chariot was starting to gain on us, too. Beckendorf pressed a button, and a panel slid open on the side of his chariot. "Sorry, Percy!" he yelled. Three sets of balls and chains shot straight toward our wheels. They would've wrecked us completely if Tyson hadn't whacked them aside with a quick swipe of his pole. He gave the Hephaestus chariot a good shove and sent them skittering sideways while we pulled ahead. "Nice work, Tyson!" I yelled. "Birds!" he cried. "What?" We were whipping along so fast it was hard to hear or see anything, but Tyson pointed toward the woods and I saw what he was worried about. The pigeons had risen from the trees. They were spiraling like a huge tornado, heading toward the track. No big deal, I told myself. They're just pigeons. I tried to concentrate on the race. We made our first turn, the wheels creaking under us, the chariot threatening to tip, but we were now only ten feet behind Annabeth. If I could just get a little closer, Tyson could use his pole…. Annabeth's fighter wasn't smiling now. He pulled a javelin from his collection and took aim at me. He was about to throw when we heard the screaming. The pigeons were swarming—thousands of them dive-bombing the spectators in the stands, attacking the other chariots. Beckendorf was mobbed. His fighter tried to bat the birds away but he couldn't see anything. The chariot veered off course and plowed through the strawberry fields, the mechanical horses steaming. In the Ares chariot, Clarisse barked an order to her fighter, who quickly threw a screen of camouflage netting over their basket. The birds swarmed around it, pecking and clawing at the fighter's hands as he tried to hold up the net, but Clarisse just gritted her teeth and kept driving. Her skeletal horses seemed immune to the distraction. The pigeons pecked uselessly at their empty eye sockets and flew through their rib cages, but the stallions kept right on running. The spectators weren't so lucky. The birds were slashing at any bit of exposed flesh, driving everyone into a panic. Now that the birds were closer, it was clear they weren't normal pigeons. Their eyes were beady and evil-looking. Their beaks were made of bronze, and judging from the yelps of the campers, they must've been razor sharp. "Stymphalian birds!" Annabeth yelled. She slowed down and pulled her chariot alongside mine. "They'll strip everyone to bones if we don't drive them away!" "Tyson," I said, "we're turning around!" "Going the wrong way?" he asked. "Always," I grumbled, but I steered the chariot toward the stands. Annabeth rode right next to me. She shouted, "Heroes, to arms!" But I wasn't sure anyone could hear her over the screeching of the birds and the general chaos. I held my reins in one hand and managed to draw Riptide as a wave of birds dived at my face, their metal beaks snapping. I slashed them out of the air and they exploded into dust and feathers, but there were still millions of them left. One nailed me in the back end and I almost jumped straight out of the chariot. Annabeth wasn't having much better luck. The closer we got to the stands, the thicker the cloud of birds became. Some of the spectators were trying to fight back. The Athena campers were calling for shields. The archers from Apollo's cabin brought out their bows and arrows, ready to slay the menace, but with so many campers mixed in with the birds, it wasn't safe to shoot. "Too many!" I yelled to Annabeth. "How do you get rid of them?" She stabbed at a pigeon with her knife. "Hercules used noise! Brass bells! He scared them away with the most horrible sound he could—" Her eyes got wide. "Percy… Chiron's collection!" I understood instantly. "You think it'll work?" She handed her fighter the reins and leaped from her chariot into mine like it was the easiest thing in the world. "To the Big House! It's our only chance!" Clarisse has just pulled across the finish line, completely unopposed, and seemed to notice for the first time how serious the bird problem was. When she saw us driving away, she yelled, "You're running? The fight is here, cowards!" She drew her sword and charged for the stands. I urged our horses into a gallop. The chariot rumbled through the strawberry fields, across the volleyball pit, and lurched to a halt in front of the Big House. Annabeth and I ran inside, tearing down the hallway to Chiron's apartment. His boom box was still on his nightstand. So were his favorite CDs. I grabbed the most repulsive one I could find, Annabeth snatched the boom box, and together we ran back outside. Down at the track, the chariots were in flames. Wounded campers ran in every direction, with birds shredding their clothes and pulling out their hair, while Tantalus chased breakfast pastries around the stands, every once in a while yelling, "Everything's under control! Not to worry. " We pulled up to the finish line. Annabeth got the boom box ready. I prayed the batteries weren't dead. I pressed PLAY and started up Chiron's favorite—the All-Time Greatest Hits of Dean Martin. Suddenly the air was filled with violins and a bunch of guys moaning in Italian. The demon pigeons went nuts. They started flying in circles, running into each other like they wanted to bash their own brains out. Then they abandoned the track altogether and flew skyward in a huge dark wave. "Now!" shouted Annabeth. "Archers!" With clear targets, Apollo's archers had flawless aim. Most of them could nock five or six arrows at once. Within minutes, the ground was littered with dead bronze-beaked pigeons, and the survivors were a distant trail of smoke on the horizon. The camp was saved, but the wreckage wasn't pretty. Most of the chariots had been completely destroyed. Almost everyone was wounded, bleeding from multiple bird pecks. The kids from Aphrodite's cabin were screaming because their hairdos had been ruined and their clothes pooped on. "Bravo!" Tantalus said, but he wasn't looking at me or Annabeth. "We have our first winner!" He walked to "He finish line and awarded the golden laurels for the race to a stunned-looking Clarisse. Then he turned and smiled at me. "And now to punish the troublemakers who disrupted this race." SEVEN I ACCEPT GIFTS FROM A STRANGER The way Tantalus saw it, the Stymphalian birds had simply been minding their own business in the woods and would not have attacked if Annabeth, Tyson, and I hadn't disturbed them with our bad chariot driving. This was so completely unfair, I told Tantalus to go chase a doughnut, which didn't help his mood. He sentenced us to kitchen patrol—scrubbing pots and platters all afternoon in the underground kitchen with the cleaning harpies. The harpies washed with lava instead of water, to get that extra-clean sparkle and kill ninety-nine point nine percent of all germs, so Annabeth and I had to wear asbestos gloves and aprons. Tyson didn't mind. He plunged his bare hands right in and started scrubbing, but Annabeth and I had to suffer through hours of hot, dangerous work, especially since there were tons of extra plates. Tantalus had ordered a special luncheon banquet to celebrate Clarisse's chariot victory—a full-course meal featuring country-fried Stymphalian death-bird. The only good thing about our punishment was that it gave Annabeth and me a common enemy and lots of time to talk. After listening to my dream about Grover again, she looked like she might be starting to believe me. "If he's really found it," she murmured, "and if we could retrieve it—" "Hold on," I said. "You act like this… whatever-it-is Grover found is the only thing in the world that could save the camp. What is it?" "I'll give you a hint. What do you get when you skin a ram?" "Messy?" She sighed. "A fleece. The coat of a ram is called a fleece. And if that ram happens to have golden wool—" "The Golden Fleece. Are you serious?" Annabeth scrapped a plateful of death-bird bones into the lava. "Percy, remember the Gray Sisters? They said they knew the location of the thing you seek. And they mentioned Jason. Three thousand years ago, they told him how to find the Golden Fleece. You do know the story of Jason and the Argonauts?" "Yeah," I said. "That old movie with the clay skeletons." Annabeth rolled her eyes. "Oh my gods, Percy! You are so hopeless." "What?" I demanded. "Just listen. The real story of the Fleece: there were these two children of Zeus, Cadmus and Europa, okay? They were about to get offered up as human sacrifices, when they prayed to Zeus to save them. So Zeus sent this magical flying ram with golden wool, which picked them up in Greece and carried them all the way to Colchis in Asia Minor. Well, actually it carried Cadmus. Europa fell off and died along the way, but that's not important." "It was probably important to her." "The point is, when Cadmus got to Colchis, he sacrificed the golden ram to the gods and hung the Fleece in a tree in the middle of the kingdom. The Fleece brought prosperity to the land. Animals stopped getting sick. Plants grew better. Farmers had bumper crops. Plagues never visited. That's why Jason wanted the Fleece. It can revitalize any land where it's placed. It cures sickness, strengthens nature, cleans up pollution—" "It could cure Thalia's tree." Annabeth nodded. "And it would totally strengthen the borders of Camp Half-Blood. But Percy, the Fleece has been missing for centuries. Tons of heroes have searched for it with no luck." "But Grover found it," I said. "He went looking for Pan and he found the Fleece instead because they both radiate nature magic. It makes sense, Annabeth. We can rescue him and save the camp at the same time. It's perfect!" Annabeth hesitated. "A little too perfect, don't you think? What if it's a trap?" I remembered last summer, how Kronos had manipulated our quest. He'd almost fooled us into helping him start a war that would've destroyed Western Civilization. "What choice do we have?" I asked. "Are you going to help me rescue Grover or not?" She glanced at Tyson, who'd lost interest in our conversation and was happily making toy boats out of cups and spoons in the lava. "Percy," she said under her breath, "we'll have to fight a Cyclops. Polyphemus, the worst of the Cyclopes. And there's only one place his island could be. The Sea of Monsters." "Where's that?" She stared at me like she thought I was playing dumb. "The Sea of Monsters. The same sea Odysseus sailed through, and Jason, and Aeneas, and all the others." "You mean the Mediterranean?" "No. Well, yes… but no." "Another straight answer. Thanks." "Look, Percy, the Sea of Monsters is the sea all heroes sail through on their adventures. It used to be in the Mediterranean, yes. But like everything else, it shifts locations as the West's center of power shifts." "Like Mount Olympus being above the Empire State Building," I said. "And Hades being under Los Angeles." "Right." "But a whole sea full of monsters—how could you hide something like that? Wouldn't the mortals notice weird things happening… like, ships getting eaten and stuff?" "Of course they notice. They don't understand, but they know something is strange about that part of the ocean. The Sea of Monsters is off the east coast of the U.S. now, just northeast of Florida. The mortals even have a name for it." "The Bermuda Triangle?" "Exactly." I let that sink in. I guess it wasn't stranger than anything else I'd learned since coming to Camp Half-Blood. "Okay… so at least we know where to look." "It's still a huge area, Percy. Searching for one tiny island in monster-infested waters—" "Hey, I'm the son of the sea god. This is my home turf. How hard can it be?" Annabeth knit her eyebrows. "We'll have to talk to Tantalus, get approval for a quest. He'll say no." "Not if we tell him tonight at the campfire in front of everybody. The whole camp will hear. They'll pressure him. He won't be able to refuse." "Maybe." A little bit of hope crept into Annabeth's voice. "We'd better get these dishes done. Hand me the lava spray gun, will you?" That night at the campfire, Apollo's cabin led the sing-along. They tried to get everybody's spirits up, but it wasn't easy after that afternoon's bird attack. We all sat around a semicircle of stone steps, singing halfheartedly and watching the bonfire blaze while the Apollo guys strummed their guitars and picked their lyres. We did all the standard camp numbers: "Down by the Aegean," "I Am My Own Great-Great-Great-Great-Grandpa," "This Land is Minos's Land." The bonfire was enchanted, so the louder you sang, the higher it rose, changing color and heat with the mood of the crowd. On a good night, I'd seen it twenty feet high, bright purple, and so hot the whole front row's marshmallows burst into the flames. Tonight, the fire was only five feet high, barely warm, and the flames were the color of lint. Dionysus left early. After suffering through a few songs, he muttered something about how even pinochle with Chiron had been more exciting than this. Then he gave Tantalus a distasteful look and headed back toward the Big House. When the last song was over, Tantalus said, "Well, that was lovely!" He came forward with a toasted marshmallow on a stick and tried to pluck it off, real casual-like. But before he could touch it, the marshmallow flew off the stick. Tantalus made a wild grab, but the marshmallow committed suicide, diving into the flames. Tantalus turned back toward us, smiling coldly. "Now then! Some announcements about tomorrow's schedule." "Sir," I said. Tantalus's eye twitched. "Our kitchen boy has something to say?" Some of the Ares campers snickered, but I wasn't going to let anybody embarrass me into silence. I stood and looked at Annabeth. Thank the gods, she stood up with me. I said, "We have an idea to save the camp." Dead silence, but I could tell I'd gotten everybody's interest, because the campfire flared bright yellow. "Indeed," Tantalus said blandly. "Well, if it has anything to do with chariots—" "The Golden Fleece," I said. "We know where it is." The flames burned orange. Before Tantalus could stop me, I blurted out my dream about Grover and Polyphemus's island. Annabeth stepped in and reminded everybody what the Fleece could do. It sounded more convincing coming from her. "The Fleece can save the camp," she concluded. "I'm certain of it." "Nonsense," said Tantalus. "We don't need saving." Everybody stared at him until Tantalus started looking uncomfortable. "Besides," he added quickly, "the Sea of Monsters? That's hardly an exact location. You wouldn't even know where to look." "Yes, I would," I said. Annabeth leaned toward me and whispered, "You would?" I nodded, because Annabeth had jogged something in my memory when she reminded me about our taxi drive with the Gray Sisters. At the time, the information they'd given me made no sense. But now… "30, 31, 75, 12," I said. "Ooo-kay," Tantalus said. "Thank you for sharing those meaningless numbers." "They're sailing coordinates," I said. "Latitude and longitude. I, uh, learned about it in social studies." Even Annabeth looked impressed. "30 degrees, 31 minutes north, 75 degrees, 12 minutes west. He's right! The Gray Sisters gave us those coordinates. That'd be somewhere in the Atlantic, off the coast of Florida. The Sea of Monsters. We need a quest!" "Wait just a minute," Tantalus said. But the campers took up the chant. "We need a quest! We need a quest!" The flames rose higher. "It isn't necessary!" Tantalus insisted. "WE NEED A QUEST! WE NEED A QUEST!" "Fine!" Tantalus shouted, his eyes blazing with anger. "You brats want me to assign a quest?" "YES!" "Very well," he agreed. "I shall authorize a champion to undertake this perilous journey, to retrieve the Golden Fleece and bring it back to camp. Or die trying." My heart filled with excitement. I wasn't going to let Tantalus scare me. This was what I needed to do. I was going to save Grover and the camp. Nothing would stop me. "I will allow our champion to consult the Oracle!" Tantalus announced. "And choose two companions for the journey. And I think the choice of champion is obvious." Tantalus looked at Annabeth and me as if he wanted to flay us alive. "The champion should be one who has earned the camp's respect, who has proven resourceful in the chariot races and courageous in the defense of the camp. You shall lead this quest… Clarisse!" The fire flickered a thousand different colors. The Ares cabin started stomping and cheering, "CLARISSE! CLARISSE!" Clarisse stood up, looking stunned. Then she swallowed, and her chest swelled with pride. "I accept the quest!" "Wait!" I shouted. "Grover is my friend. The dream came to me." "Sit down!" yelled one of the Ares campers. "You had your chance last summer!" "Yeah, he just wants to be in the spotlight again!" another said. Clarisse glared at me. "I accept the quest!" she repeated. "I, Clarisse, daughter of Ares, will save the camp!" The Ares campers cheered even louder. Annabeth protested, and the other Athena campers joined in. Everybody else started taking sides—shouting and arguing and throwing marshmallows. I thought it was going to turn into a full-fledged s'more war until Tantalus shouted, "Silence, you brats!" His tone stunned even me. "Sit down!" he ordered. "And I will tell you a ghost story." I didn't know what he was up to, but we all moved reluctantly back to our seats. The evil aura radiating from Tantalus was as strong as any monster I'd ever faced. "Once upon a time there was a mortal king who was beloved of the Gods!" Tantalus put his hand on his chest, and I got the feeling he was talking about himself. "This king," he said, "was even allowed to feast on Mount Olympus. But when he tried to take some ambrosia and nectar back to earth to figure out the recipe—just one little doggie bag, mind you—the gods punished him. They banned him from their halls forever! His own people mocked him! His children scolded him! And, oh yes, campers, he had horrible children. Children—just—like— you." He pointed a crooked finger at several people in the audience, including me. "Do you know what he did to his ungrateful children?" Tantalus asked softly. "Do you know how he paid back the gods for their cruel punishment? He invited the Olympians to a feast at his palace, just to show there were no hard feelings. No one noticed that his children were missing. And when he served the gods dinner, my dear campers, can you guess what was in the stew?" No one dared answer. The firelight glowed dark blue, reflecting evilly on Tantalus's crooked face. "Oh, the gods punished him in the afterlife," Tantalus croaked. "They did indeed. But he'd had his moment of satisfaction, hadn't he? His children never again spoke back to him or questioned his authority. And do you know what? Rumor has it that the king's spirit now dwells at this very camp, waiting for a chance to take revenge on ungrateful, rebellious children. And so… are there any more complaints, before we send Clarisse off on her quest?" Silence. Tantalus nodded at Clarisse. "The Oracle, my dear. Go on." She shifted uncomfortably, like even she didn't want glory at the price of being Tantalus's pet. "Sir—" "Go!" he snarled. She bowed awkwardly and hurried off toward the Big House. "What about you, Percy Jackson?" Tantalus asked. "No comments from our dishwasher?" I didn't say anything. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of punishing me again. "Good," Tantalus said. "And let me remind everyone— no one leaves this camp without my permission. Anyone who tries… well, if they survive the attempt, they will be expelled forever, but it won't come to that. The harpies will be enforcing curfew from now on, and they are always hungry! Good night, my dear campers. Sleep well." With a wave of Tantalus's hand, the fire was extinguished, and the campers trailed off toward their cabins in the dark. I couldn't explain things to Tyson. He knew I was sad. He knew I wanted to go on a trip and Tantalus wouldn't let me. "You will go anyway?" he asked. "I don't know," I admitted. "It would be hard. Very hard." "I will help." "No. I—uh, I couldn't ask you to do that, big guy. Too dangerous." Tyson looked down at the pieces of metal he was assembling in his lap—springs and gears and tiny wires. Beckendorf had given him some tools and spare parts, and now Tyson spent every night tinkering, though I wasn't sure how his huge hands could handle such delicate little pieces. "What are you building?" I asked. Tyson didn't answer. Instead he made a whimpering sound in the back of his throat. "Annabeth doesn't like Cyclopes. You… don't want me along?" "Oh, that's not it," I said halfheartedly. "Annabeth likes you. Really." He had tears in the corners of his eye. I remembered that Grover, like all satyrs, could read human emotions. I wondered if Cyclopes had the same ability. Tyson folded up his tinkering project in an oilcloth. He lay down on his bunk bed and hugged his bundle like a teddy bear. When he turned toward the wall, I could see the weird scars on his back, like somebody had plowed over him with a tractor. I wondered for the millionth time how he'd gotten hurt. "Daddy always cared for m-me," he sniffled. "Now… I think he was mean to have a Cyclops boy. I should not have been born." "Don't talk that way! Poseidon claimed you, didn't he? So… he must care about you… a lot…." My voice trailed off as I thought about all those years Tyson had lived on the streets of New York in a cardboard refrigerator box. How could Tyson think that Poseidon had cared for him? What kind of dad let that happen to his kid, even if his kid was a monster? "Tyson… camp will be a good home for you. The others will get used to you. I promise." Tyson sighed. I waited for him to say something. Then I realized he was already asleep. I lay back on my bed and tried to close my eyes, but I just couldn't. I was afraid I might have another dream about Grover. If the empathy link was real… if something happened to Grover… would I ever wake up? The full moon shone through my window. The sound of the surf rumbled in the distance. I could smell the warm scent of the strawberry fields, and hear the laughter of the dryads as they chased owls through the forest. But something felt wrong about the night—the sickness of Thalia's tree, spreading across the valley. Could Clarisse save Half-Blood Hill? I thought the odds were better of me getting a "Best Camper" award from Tantalus. I got out of bed and pulled on some clothes. I grabbed a beach blanket and a six-pack of Coke from under my bunk. The Cokes were against the rules. No outside snacks or drinks were allowed, but if you talked to the right guy in Hermes's cabin and paid him a few golden drachma, he could smuggle in almost anything from the nearest convenience store. Sneaking out after curfew was against the rules, too. If I got caught I'd either get in big trouble or be eaten by the harpies. But I wanted to see the ocean. I always felt better there. My thoughts were clearer. I left the cabin and headed for the beach. I spread my blanket near the surf and popped open a Coke. For some reason sugar and caffeine always calmed down my hyperactive brain. I tried to decide what to do to save the camp, but nothing came to me. I wished Poseidon would talk to me, give me some advice or something. The sky was clear and starry. I was checking out the constellations Annabeth had taught me—Sagittarius, Hercules, Corona Borealis—when somebody said, "Beautiful, aren't they?" I almost spewed soda. Standing right next to me was a guy in nylon running shorts and a New York City Marathon T-shirt. He was slim and fit, with salt-and-pepper hair and a sly smile. He looked kind of familiar, but I couldn't figure out why. My first thought was that he must've been taking a midnight jog down the beach and strayed inside the camp borders. That wasn't supposed to happen. Regular mortals couldn't enter the valley. But maybe with the tree's magic weakening he'd managed to slip in. But in the middle of the night? And there was nothing around except farmland and state preserves. Where would this guy have jogged from? "May I join you?" he asked. "I haven't sat down in ages." Now, I know—a strange guy in the middle of the night. Common sense: I was supposed to run away, yell for help, etc. But the guy acted so calm about the whole thing that I found it hard to be afraid. I said, "Uh, sure." He smiled. "Your hospitality does you credit. Oh, and Coca-Cola! May I?" He sat at the other end of the blanket, popped a soda and took a drink. "Ah… that hits the spot. Peace and quiet at—" A cell phone went off in his pocket. The jogger sighed. He pulled out his phone and my eyes got big, because it glowed with a bluish light. When he extended the antenna, two creatures began writhing around it—green snakes, no bigger than earthworms. The jogger didn't seem to notice. He checked his LCD display and cursed. "I've got to take this. Just a sec…" Then into the phone: "Hello?" He listened. The mini-snakes writhed up and down the antenna right next to his ear. "Yeah," the jogger said. "Listen—I know, but… I don't care if he is chained to a rock with vultures pecking at his liver, if he doesn't have a tracking number, we can't locate his package…. A gift to humankind, great… You know how many of those we deliver—Oh, never mind. Listen, just refer him to Eris in customer service. I gotta go." He hung up. "Sorry. The overnight express business is just booming. Now, as I was saying—" "You have snakes on your phone." "What? Oh, they don't bite. Say hello, George and Martha." Hello, George and Martha, a raspy male voice said inside my head. Don't be sarcastic, said a female voice. Why not? George demanded. I do all the real work. "Oh, let's not go into that again!" The jogger slipped his phone back into his pocket. "Now, where were we… Ah, yes. Peace and quiet." He crossed his ankles and stared up at the stars. "Been a long time since I've gotten to relax. Ever since the telegraph—rush, rush, rush. Do you have a favorite constellation, Percy?" I was still kind of wondering about the little green snakes he'd shoved into his jogging shorts, but I said, "Uh, I like Hercules." "Why?" "Well… because he had rotten luck. Even worse than mine. It makes me feel better." The jogger chuckled. "Not because he was strong and famous and all that?" "No." "You're an interesting young man. And so, what now?" I knew immediately what he was asking. What did I intend to do about the Fleece? Before I could answer, Martha the snake's muffled voice came from his pocket: I have Demeter on line two. "Not now," the jogger said. "Tell her to leave a message." She's not going to like that. The last time you put her off, all the flowers in the floral delivery division wilted. "Just tell her I'm in a meeting!" The jogger rolled his eyes. "Sorry again, Percy. You were saying…" "Um… who are you, exactly?" "Haven't you guessed by now, a smart boy like you?" Show him! Martha pleaded. I haven't been full-size for months. Don't listen to her! George said. She just wants to show off! The man took out his phone again. "Original form, please." The phone glowed a brilliant blue. It stretched into a three-foot-long wooden staff with dove wings sprouting out the top. George and Martha, now full-sized green snakes, coiled together around the middle. It was a caduceus, the symbol of Cabin Eleven. My throat tightened. I realized who the jogger reminded me of with his elfish features, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes…. "You're Luke's father," I said. "Hermes." The god pursed his lips. He stuck his caduceus in the sand like an umbrella pole. "'Luke's father. Normally, that's not the first way people introduce me. God of thieves, yes. God of messengers and travelers, if they wish to be kind." God of thieves works, George said. Oh, don't mind George. Martha flicked her tongue at me. He's just bitter because Hermes likes me best. He does not! Does too! "Behave, you two," Hermes warned, "or I'll turn you back into a cell phone and set you on vibrate! Now, Percy, you still haven't answered my question. What do you intend to do about the quest?" "I–I don't have permission to go." "No, indeed. Will that stop you?" "I want to go. I have to save Grover." Hermes smiled. "I knew a boy once… oh, younger than you by far. A mere baby, really." Here we go again, George said. Always talking about himself Quiet! Martha snapped. Do you want to get set on vibrate? Hermes ignored them. "One night, when this boy's mother wasn't watching, he sneaked out of their cave and stole some cattle that belonged to Apollo." "Did he get blasted to tiny pieces?" I asked. "Hmm… no. Actually, everything turned out quite well. To make up for his theft, the boy gave Apollo an instrument he'd invented—a lyre. Apollo was so enchanted with the music that he forgot all about being angry." "So what's the moral?" "The moral?" Hermes asked. "Goodness, you act like it's a fable. It's a true story. Does truth have a moral?" "Um…" "How about this: stealing is not always bad?" "I don't think my mom would like that moral." Rats are delicious, suggested George. What does that have to do with the story? Martha demanded. Nothing, George said. But I'm hungry. "I've got it," Hermes said. "Young people don't always do what they're told, but if they can pull it off and do something wonderful, sometimes they escape punishment. How's that?" "You're saying I should go anyway," I said, "even without permission." Hermes's eyes twinkled. "Martha, may I have the first package, please?" Martha opened her mouth… and kept opening it until it was as wide as my arm. She belched out a stainless steel canister—an old-fashioned lunch box thermos with a black plastic top. The sides of the thermos were enameled with red and yellow Ancient Greek scenes—a hero killing a lion; a hero lifting up Cerberus, the three-headed dog. "That's Hercules," I said. "But how—" "Never question a gift," Hermes chided. "This is a collector's item from Hercules Busts Heads. The first season." "Hercules Busts Heads?" "Great show." Hermes sighed. "Back before Hephaestus-TV was all reality programming. Of course, the thermos would be worth much more if I had the whole lunch box—" Or if it hadn't been in Martha's mouth, George added. I'll get you for that. Martha began chasing him around the caduceus. "Wait a minute," I said. "This is a gift?" "One of two," Hermes said. "Go on, pick it up." I almost dropped it because it was freezing cold on one side and burning hot on the other. The weird thing was, when I turned the thermos, the side facing the ocean— north—was always the cold side…. "It's a compass!" I said. Hermes looked surprised. "Very clever. I never thought of that. But its intended use is a bit more dramatic. Uncap it, and you will release the winds from the four corners of the earth to speed you on your way. Not now! And please, when the time comes, only unscrew the lid a tiny bit. The winds are a bit like me—always restless. Should all four escape at once… ah, but I'm sure you'll be careful. And now my second gift. George?" She's touching me, George complained as he and Martha slithered around the pole. "She's always touching you," Hermes said. "You're intertwined. And if you don't stop that, you'll get knotted again! The snakes stopped wrestling. George unhinged his jaw and coughed up a little plastic bottle filled with chewable vitamins. "You're kidding," I said. "Are those Minotaur-shaped?" Hermes picked up the bottle and rattled it. "The lemon ones, yes. The grape ones are Furies, I think. Or are they hydras? At any rate, these are potent. Don't take one unless you really, really need it." "How will I know if I really, really need it?" "You'll know, believe me. Nine essential vitamins, minerals, amino acids… oh, everything you need to feel yourself again." He tossed me the bottle. "Um, thanks," I said. "But Lord Hermes, why are you helping me?" He gave me a melancholy smile. "Perhaps because I hope that you can save many people on this quest, Percy. Not just your friend Grover." I stared at him. "You don't mean… Luke?" Hermes didn't answer. "Look," I said. "Lord Hermes, I mean, thanks and everything, but you might as well take back your gifts. Luke can't be saved. Even if I could find him… he told me he wanted to tear down Olympus stone by stone. He betrayed everybody he knew. He—he hates you especially." Hermes gazed up at the stars. "My dear young cousin, if there's one thing I've learned over the eons, it's that you can't give up on your family, no matter how tempting they make it. It doesn't matter if they hate you, or embarrass you, or simply don't appreciate your genius for inventing the Internet—" "You invented the Internet?" It was my idea, Martha said. Rats are delicious, George said. "It was my idea!" Hermes said. "I mean the Internet, not the rats. But that's not the point. Percy, do you understand what I'm saying about family?" "I–I'm not sure." "You will some day." Hermes got up and brushed the sand off his legs. "In the meantime, I must be going." You have sixty calls to return, Martha said. And one thousand-thirty-eight e-mails, George added. Not counting the offers for online discount ambrosia. "And you, Percy," Hermes said, "have a shorter deadline than you realize to complete your quest. Your friends should be coming right about… now." I heard Annabeth's voice calling my name from the sand dunes. Tyson, too, was shouting from a little bit farther away. "I hope I packed well for you," Hermes said. "I do have some experience with travel." He snapped his fingers and three yellow duffel bags appeared at my feet. "Waterproof, of course. If you ask nicely, your father should be able to help you reach the ship." "Ship?" Hermes pointed. Sure enough, a big cruise ship was cutting across Long Island Sound, its white-and-gold lights glowing against the dark water. "Wait," I said. "I don't understand any of this. I haven't even agreed to go!" "I'd make up your mind in the next five minutes, if I were you," Hermes advised. "That's when the harpies will come to eat you. Now, good night, cousin, and dare I say it? May the gods go with you." He opened his hand and the caduceus flew into it. Good luck, Martha told me. Bring me back a rat, George said. The caduceus changed into a cell phone and Hermes slipped it into his pocket. He jogged off down the beach. Twenty paces away, he shimmered and vanished, leaving me alone with a thermos, a bottle of chewable vitamins, and five minutes to make an impossible decision. EIGHT WE BOARD THE PRINCESS ANDROMEDA I was staring at the waves when Annabeth and Tyson found me. "What's going on?" Annabeth asked. "I heard you calling for help!" "Me, too!" Tyson said. "Heard you yell, 'Bad things are attacking! " "I didn't call you guys," I said. "I'm fine." "But then who…" Annabeth noticed the three yellow duffel bags, then the thermos and the bottle of vitamins I was holding. "What—" "Just listen," I said. "We don't have much time." I told them about my conversation with Hermes. By the time I was finished, I could hear screeching in the distance—patrol harpies picking up our scent. "Percy," Annabeth said, "we have to do the quest." "We'll get expelled, you know. Trust me, I'm an expert at getting expelled." "So? If we fail, there won't be any camp to come back to." "Yeah, but you promised Chiron—" "I promised I'd keep you from danger. I can only do that by coming with you! Tyson can stay behind and tell them—" "I want to go," Tyson said. "No!" Annabeth's voice sounded close to panic. "I mean… Percy, come on. You know that's impossible." I wondered again why she had such a grudge against Cyclopes. There was something she wasn't telling me. She and Tyson both looked at me, waiting for an answer. Meanwhile, the cruise ship was getting farther and farther away. The thing was, part of me didn't want Tyson along. I'd spent the last three days in close quarters with the guy, getting razzed by the other campers and embarrassed a million times a day, constantly reminded that I was related to him. I needed some space. Plus, I didn't know how much help he'd be, or how I'd keep him safe. Sure, he was strong, but Tyson was a little kid in Cyclops terms, maybe seven or eight years old, mentally. I could see him freaking out and starting to cry while we were trying to sneak past a monster or something. He'd get us all killed. On the other hand, the sound of the harpies was getting closer…. "We can't leave him," I decided. "Tantalus will punish him for us being gone." "Percy," Annabeth said, trying to keep her cool, "we're going to Polyphemus's island! Polyphemus is an S-i-k… a C-y-k" She stamped her foot in frustration. As smart as she was, Annabeth was dyslexic, too. We could've been there all night while she tried to spell Cyclops. "You know what I mean!" "Tyson can go," I insisted, "if he wants to." Tyson clapped his hands. "Want to!" Annabeth gave me the evil eye, but I guess she could tell I wasn't going to change my mind. Or maybe she just knew we didn't have time to argue. "All right," she said. "How do we get to that ship?" "Hermes said my father would help." "Well then, Seaweed Brain? What are you waiting for?" I'd always had a hard time calling on my father, or praying, or whatever you want to call it, but I stepped into the waves. "Urn, Dad?" I called. "How's it going?" "Percy!" Annabeth whispered. "We're in a hurry!" "We need your help," I called a little louder. "We need to get to that ship, like, before we get eaten and stuff, so…" At first, nothing happened. Waves crashed against the shore like normal. The harpies sounded like they were right behind the sand dunes. Then, about a hundred yards out to sea, three white lines appeared on the surface. They moved fast toward the shore, like claws ripping through the ocean. As they neared the beach, the surf burst apart and the heads of three white stallions reared out of the waves. Tyson caught his breath. "Fish ponies!" He was right. As the creatures pulled themselves onto the sand, I saw that they were only horses in the front; their back halves were silvery fish bodies, with glistening scales and rainbow tail fins. "Hippocampi!" Annabeth said. "They're beautiful." The nearest one whinnied in appreciation and nuzzled Annabeth. "We'll admire them later," I said. "Come on!" "There!" a voice screeched behind us. "Bad children out of cabins! Snack time for lucky harpies!" Five of them were fluttering over the top of the dunes—plump little hags with pinched faces and talons and feathery wings too small for their bodies. They reminded me of miniature cafeteria ladies who'd been crossbred with dodo birds. They weren't very fast, thank the gods, but they were vicious if they caught you. "Tyson!" I said. "Grab a duffel bag!" He was still staring at the hippocampi with his mouth hanging open, "Tyson!" "Uh?" "Come on!" With Annabeth's help I got him moving. We gathered the bags and mounted our steeds. Poseidon must've known Tyson was one of the passengers, because one hippocampus was much larger than the other two—just right for carrying a Cyclops. "Giddyup!" I said. My hippocampus turned and plunged into the waves. Annabeth's and Tyson's followed right behind. The harpies cursed at us, wailing for their snacks to come back, but the hippocampi raced over the water at the speed of Jet Skis. The harpies fell behind, and soon the shore of Camp Half-Blood was nothing but a dark smudge. I wondered if I'd ever see the place again. But right then I had other problems. The cruise ship was now looming in front of us—our ride toward Florida and the Sea of Monsters. Riding the hippocampus was even easier than riding a pegasus. We zipped along with the wind in our faces, speeding through the waves so smooth and steady I hardly needed to hold on at all. As we got closer to the cruise ship, I realized just how huge it was. I felt as though I were looking up at a building in Manhattan. The white hull was at least ten stories tall, topped with another dozen levels of decks with brightly lit balconies and portholes. The ship's name was painted just above the bow line in black letters, lit with a spotlight. It took me a few seconds to decipher it: PRINCESS ANDROMEDA Attached to the bow was a huge masthead—a three-story-tall woman wearing a white Greek chiton, sculpted to look as if she were chained to the front of the ship. She was young and beautiful, with flowing black hair, but her expression was one of absolute terror. Why anybody would want a screaming princess on the front of their vacation ship, I had no idea. I remembered the myth about Andromeda and how she had been chained to a rock by her own parents as a sacrifice to a sea monster. Maybe she'd gotten too many F's on her report card or something. Anyway, my namesake, Perseus, had saved her just in time and turned the sea monster to stone using the head of Medusa. That Perseus always won. That's why my mom had named me after him, even though he was a son of Zeus and I was a son of Poseidon. The original Perseus was one of the only heroes in the Greek myths who got a happy ending. The others died—betrayed, mauled, mutilated, poisoned, or cursed by the gods. My mom hoped I would inherit Perseus's luck. Judging by how my life was going so far, I wasn't real optimistic. "How do we get aboard?" Annabeth shouted over the noise of the waves, but the hippocampi seemed to know what we needed. They skimmed along the starboard side of the ship, riding easily through its huge wake, and pulled up next to a service ladder riveted to the side of the hull. "You first," I told Annabeth. She slung her duffel bag over her shoulder and grabbed the bottom rung. Once she'd hoisted herself onto the ladder, her hippocampus whinnied a farewell and dove underwater. Annabeth began to climb. I let her get a few rungs up, then followed her. Finally it was just Tyson in the water. His hippocampus was treating him to 360° aerials and backward ollies, and Tyson was laughing so hysterically, the sound echoed up the side of the ship. "Tyson, shhh!" I said. "Come on, big guy!" "Can't we take Rainbow?" he asked, his smile fading. I stared at him. "Rainbow?" The hippocampus whinnied as if he liked his new name. "Um, we have to go," I said. "Rainbow… well, he can't climb ladders." Tyson sniffled. He buried his face in the hippocampus's mane. "I will miss you, Rainbow!" The hippocampus made a neighing sound I could've sworn was crying. "Maybe we'll see him again sometime," I suggested. "Oh, please!" Tyson said, perking up immediately. "Tomorrow!" I didn't make any promises, but I finally convinced Tyson to say his farewells and grab hold of the ladder. With a final sad whinny, Rainbow the hippocampus did a back-flip and dove into the sea. The ladder led to a maintenance deck stacked with yellow lifeboats. There was a set of locked double doors, which Annabeth managed to pry open with her knife and a fair amount of cursing in Ancient Greek. I figured we'd have to sneak around, being stowaways and all, but after checking a few corridors and peering over a balcony into a huge central promenade lined with closed shops, I began to realize there was nobody to hide from. I mean, sure it was the middle of the night, but we walked half the length of the boat and met no one. We passed forty or fifty cabin doors and heard no sound behind any of them. "It's a ghost ship," I murmured. "No," Tyson said, fiddling with the strap of his duffel bag. "Bad smell." Annabeth frowned. "I don't smell anything." "Cyclopes are like satyrs," I said. "They can smell monsters. Isn't that right, Tyson?" He nodded nervously. Now that we were away from Camp Half-Blood, the Mist had distorted his face again. Unless I concentrated very hard, it seemed that he had two eyes instead of one. "Okay," Annabeth said. "So what exactly do you smell?" "Something bad," Tyson answered. "Great," Annabeth grumbled. "That clears it up." We came outside on the swimming pool level. There were rows of empty deck chairs and a bar closed off with a chain curtain. The water in the pool glowed eerily, sloshing back and forth from the motion of the ship. Above us fore and aft were more levels—a climbing wall, a putt-putt golf course, a revolving restaurant, but no sign of life. And yet… I sensed something familiar. Something dangerous. I had the feeling that if I weren't so tired and burned out on adrenaline from our long night, I might be able to put a name to what was wrong. "We need a hiding place," I said. "Somewhere safe to sleep." "Sleep," Annabeth agreed wearily. We explored a few more corridors until we found an empty suite on the ninth level. The door was open, which struck me as weird. There was a basket of chocolate goodies on the table, an iced-down bottle of sparkling cider on the nightstand, and a mint on the pillow with a handwritten note that said: Enjoy your cruise! We opened our duffel bags for the first time and found that Hermes really had thought of everything—extra clothes, toiletries, camp rations, a Ziploc bag full of cash, a leather pouch full of golden drachmas. He'd even managed to pack Tyson's oilcloth with his tools and metal bits, and Annabeth's cap of invisibility, which made them both feel a lot better. "I'll be next door," Annabeth said. "You guys don't drink or eat anything." "You think this place is enchanted?" She frowned. "I don't know. Something isn't right. Just… be careful." We locked our doors. Tyson crashed on the couch. He tinkered for a few minutes on his metalworking project—which he still wouldn't show me—but soon enough he was yawning. He wrapped up his oilcloth and passed out. I lay on the bed and stared out the porthole. I thought I heard voices out in the hallway, like whispering. I knew that couldn't be. We'd walked all over the ship and had seen nobody. But the voices kept me awake. They reminded me of my trip to the Underworld—the way the spirits of the dead sounded as they drifted past. Finally my weariness got the best of me. I fell asleep… and had my worst dream yet. I was standing in a cavern at the edge of an enormous pit. I knew the place too well. The entrance to Tartarus. And I recognized the cold laugh that echoed from the darkness below. If it isn't the young hero. The voice was like a knife blade scraping across stone. On his way to another great victory. I wanted to shout at Kronos to leave me alone. I wanted to draw Riptide and strike him down. But I couldn't move. And even if I could, how could I kill something that had already been destroyed—chopped to pieces and cast into eternal darkness? Don't let me stop you, the titan said. Perhaps this time, when you fail, you'll wonder if it's worthwhile slaving for the gods. How exactly has your father shown his appreciation lately? His laughter filled the cavern, and suddenly the scene changed. It was a different cave—Grover's bedroom prison in the Cyclops's lair. Grover was sitting at the loom in his soiled wedding dress, madly unraveling the threads of the unfinished bridal train. "Honeypie!" the monster shouted from behind the boulder. Grover yelped and began weaving the threads back together. The room shook as the boulder was pushed aside. Looming in the doorway was a Cyclops so huge he made Tyson look vertically challenged. He had jagged yellow teeth and gnarled hands as big as my whole body. He wore a faded purple T-shirt that said WORLD SHEEP EXPO 2001. He must've been at least fifteen feet tall, but the most startling thing was his enormous milky eye, scarred and webbed with cataracts. If he wasn't completely blind, he had to be pretty darn close. "What are you doing?" the monster demanded. "Nothing!" Grover said in his falsetto voice. "Just weaving my bridal train, as you can see." The Cyclops stuck one hand into the room and groped around until he found the loom. He pawed at the cloth. "It hasn't gotten any longer!" "Oh, um, yes it has, dearest. See? I've added at least an inch." "Too many delays!" the monster bellowed. Then he sniffed the air. "You smell good! Like goats!" "Oh." Grover forced a weak giggle. "Do you like it? It's Eau de Chevre. I wore it just for you." "Mmmm!" The Cyclops bared his pointed teeth. "Good enough to eat!" "Oh, you're such a flirt!" "No more delays!" "But dear, I'm not done!" "Tomorrow!" "No, no. Ten more days." "Five!" "Oh, well, seven then. If you insist." "Seven! That is less than five, right?" "Certainly. Oh yes." The monster grumbled, still not happy with his deal, but he left Grover to his weaving and rolled the boulder back into place. Grover closed his eyes and took a shaky breath, trying to calm his nerves. "Hurry, Percy," he muttered. "Please, please, please!" * * * I woke to a ship's whistle and a voice on the intercom— some guy with an Australian accent who sounded way too happy. "Good morning, passengers! We'll be at sea all day today. Excellent weather for the poolside mambo party! Don't forget million-dollar bingo in the Kraken Lounge at one o'clock, and for our special guests, disemboweling practice on the Promenade!" I sat up in bed. "What did he say?" Tyson groaned, still half asleep. He was lying facedown on the couch, his feet so far over the edge they were in the bathroom. "The happy man said… bowling practice?" I hoped he was right, but then there was an urgent knock on the suite's interior door. Annabeth stuck her head in—her blond hair in a rat's nest. "Disemboweling practice?" Once we were all dressed, we ventured out into the ship and were surprised to see other people. A dozen senior citizens were heading to breakfast. A dad was taking his kids to the pool for a morning swim. Crew members in crisp white uniforms strolled the deck, tipping their hats to the passengers. Nobody asked who we were. Nobody paid us much attention. But there was something wrong. As the family of swimmers passed us, the dad told his kids: "We are on a cruise. We are having fun." "Yes," his three kids said in unison, their expressions blank. "We are having a blast. We will swim in the pool." They wandered off. "Good morning," a crew member told us, his eyes glazed. "We are all enjoying ourselves aboard the Princess Andromeda. Have a nice day." He drifted away. "Percy, this is weird," Annabeth whispered. "They're all in some kind of trance." Then we passed a cafeteria and saw our first monster. It was a hellhound—a black mastiff with its front paws up on the buffet line and its muzzle buried in the scrambled eggs. It must've been young, because it was small compared to most—no bigger than a grizzly bear. Still, my blood turned cold. I'd almost gotten killed by one of those before. The weird thing was: a middle-aged couple was standing in the buffet line right behind the devil dog, patiently waiting their turn for the eggs. They didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. "Not hungry anymore," Tyson murmured. Before Annabeth or I could reply, a reptilian voice came from down the corridor, "Ssssix more joined yesssterday." Annabeth gestured frantically toward the nearest hiding place—the women's room—and all three of us ducked inside. I was so freaked out it didn't even occur to me to be embarrassed. Something—or more like two somethings—slithered past the bathroom door, making sounds like sandpaper against the carpet. "Yesss," a second reptilian voice said. "He drawssss them. Ssssoon we will be sssstrong." The things slithered into the cafeteria with a cold hissing that might have been snake laughter. Annabeth looked at me. "We have to get out of here." "You think I want to be in the girls' restroom?" "I mean the ship, Percy! We have to get off the ship." "Smells bad," Tyson agreed. "And dogs eat all the eggs. Annabeth is right. We must leave the restroom and ship." I shuddered. If Annabeth and Tyson were actually agreeing about something, I figured I'd better listen. Then I heard another voice outside—one that chilled me worse than any monster's. "— only a matter of time. Don't push me, Agrius!" It was Luke, beyond a doubt. I could never forget his voice. "I'm not pushing you!" another guy growled. His voice was deeper and even angrier than Luke's. "I'm just saying, if this gamble doesn't pay off—" "It'll pay off," Luke snapped. "They'll take the bait. Now, come, we've got to get to the admiralty suite and check on the casket." Their voices receded down the corridor. Tyson whimpered. "Leave now?" Annabeth and I exchanged looks and came to a silent agreement. "We can't," I told Tyson. "We have to find out what Luke is up to," Annabeth agreed. "And if possible, we're going to beat him up, bind him in chains, and drag him to Mount Olympus." NINE I HAVE THE WORST FAMILY REUNION EVER Annabeth volunteered to go alone since she had the cap of invisibility, but I convinced her it was too dangerous. Either we all went together, or nobody went. "Nobody!" Tyson voted. "Please?" But in the end he came along, nervously chewing on his huge fingernails. We stopped at our cabin long enough to gather our stuff. We figured whatever happened, we would not be staying another night aboard the zombie cruise ship, even if they did have million-dollar bingo. I made sure Riptide was in my pocket and the vitamins and thermos from Hermes were at the top of my bag. I didn't want Tyson to carry everything, but he insisted, and Annabeth told me not to worry about it. Tyson could carry three full duffel bags over his shoulder as easily as I could carry a backpack. We sneaked through the corridors, following the ship's YOU ARE HERE signs toward the admiralty suite. Annabeth scouted ahead invisibly. We hid whenever someone passed by, but most of the people we saw were just glassy-eyed zombie passengers. As we came up the stairs to deck thirteen, where the admiralty suite was supposed to be, Annabeth hissed, "Hide!" and shoved us into a supply closet. I heard a couple of guys coming down the hall. "You see that Aethiopian drakon in the cargo hold?" one of them said. The other laughed. "Yeah, it's awesome." Annabeth was still invisible, but she squeezed my arm hard. I got a feeling I should know that second guy's voice. "I hear they got two more coming," the familiar voice said. "They keep arriving at this rate, oh, man—no contest!" The voices faded down the corridor. "That was Chris Rodriguez!" Annabeth took off her cap and turned visible. "You remember—from Cabin Eleven." I sort of recalled Chris from the summer before. He was one of those undetermined campers who got stuck in the Hermes cabin because his Olympian dad or mom never claimed him. Now that I thought about it, I realized I hadn't seen Chris at camp this summer. "What's another half-blood doing here?" Annabeth shook her head, clearly troubled. We kept going down the corridor. I didn't need maps anymore to know I was getting close to Luke. I sensed something cold and unpleasant—the presence of evil. "Percy." Annabeth stopped suddenly. "Look." She stood in front of a glass wall looking down into the multistory canyon that ran through the middle of the ship. At the bottom was the Promenade—a mall full of shops— but that's not what had caught Annabeth's attention. A group of monsters had assembled in front of the candy store: a dozen Laistrygonian giants like the ones who'd attacked me with dodge balls, two hellhounds, and a few even stranger creatures—humanoid females with twin serpent tails instead of legs. "Scythian Dracaenae," Annabeth whispered. "Dragon women." The monsters made a semicircle around a young guy in Greek armor who was hacking on a straw dummy. A lump formed in my throat when I realized the dummy was wearing an orange Camp Half-Blood T-shirt. As we watched, the guy in armor stabbed the dummy through its belly and ripped upward. Straw flew everywhere. The monsters cheered and howled. Annabeth stepped away from the window. Her face was ashen. "Come on," I told her, trying to sound braver than I felt. "The sooner we find Luke the better." At the end of the hallway were double oak doors that looked like they must lead somewhere important. When we were thirty feet away, Tyson stopped. "Voices inside." "You can hear that far?" I asked. Tyson closed his eye like he was concentrating hard. Then his voice changed, becoming a husky approximation of Luke's. " — the prophecy ourselves. The fools won't know which way to turn." Before I could react, Tyson's voice changed again, becoming deeper and gruffer, like the other guy we'd heard talking to Luke outside the cafeteria. "You really think the old horseman is gone for good?" Tyson laughed Luke's laugh. "They can't trust him. Not with the skeletons in his closet. The poisoning of the tree was the final straw." Annabeth shivered. "Stop that, Tyson! How do you do that? It's creepy." Tyson opened his eye and looked puzzled. "Just listening." "Keep going," I said. "What else are they saying?" Tyson closed his eye again. He hissed in the gruff man's voice: "Quiet!" Then Luke's voice, whispering: "Are you sure?" "Yes," Tyson said in the gruff voice. "Right outside." Too late, I realized what was happening. I just had time to say, "Run!" when the doors of the stateroom burst open and there was Luke, flanked by two hairy giants armed with javelins, their bronze tips aimed right at our chests. "Well," Luke said with a crooked smile. "If it isn't my two favorite cousins. Come right in." The stateroom was beautiful, and it was horrible. The beautiful part: Huge windows curved along the back wall, looking out over the stern of the ship. Green sea and blue sky stretched all the way to the horizon. A Persian rug covered the floor. Two plush sofas occupied the middle of the room, with a canopied bed in one corner and a mahogany dining table in the other. The table was loaded with food—pizza boxes, bottles of soda, and a stack of roast beef sandwiches on a silver platter. The horrible part: On a velvet dais at the back of the room lay a ten-foot-long golden casket. A sarcophagus, engraved with Ancient Greek scenes of cities in flames and heroes dying grisly deaths. Despite the sunlight streaming through the windows, the casket made the whole room feel cold. "Well," Luke said, spreading his arms proudly. "A little nicer than Cabin Eleven, huh?" He'd changed since the last summer. Instead of Bermuda shorts and a T-shirt, he wore a button-down shirt, khaki pants, and leather loafers. His sandy hair, which used to be so unruly, was now clipped short. He looked like an evil male model, showing off what the fashionable college-age villain was wearing to Harvard this year. He still had the scar under his eye—a jagged white line from his battle with a dragon. And propped against the sofa was his magical sword, Backbiter, glinting strangely with its half-steel, half-Celestial bronze blade that could kill both mortals and monsters. "Sit," he told us. He waved his hand and three dining chairs scooted themselves into the center of the room. None of us sat. Luke's large friends were still pointing their javelins at us. They looked like twins, but they weren't human. They stood about eight feet tall, for one thing, and wore only blue jeans, probably because their enormous chests were already shag-carpeted with thick brown fur. They had claws for fingernails, feet like paws. Their noses were snoutlike, and their teeth were all pointed canines. "Where are my manners?" Luke said smoothly. "These are my assistants, Agrius and Oreius. Perhaps you've heard of them." I said nothing. Despite the javelins pointed at me, it wasn't the bear twins who scared me. I'd imagined meeting Luke again many times since he'd tried to kill me last summer. I'd pictured myself boldly standing up to him, challenging him to a duel. But now that we were face-to-face, I could barely stop my hands from shaking. "You don't know Agrius and Oreius's story?" Luke asked. "Their mother… well, it's sad, really. Aphrodite ordered the young woman to fall in love. She refused and ran to Artemis for help. Artemis let her become one of her maiden huntresses, but Aphrodite got her revenge. She bewitched the young woman into falling in love with a bear. When Artemis found out, she abandoned the girl in disgust. Typical of the gods, wouldn't you say? They fight with one another and the poor humans get caught in the middle. The girl's twin sons here, Agrius and Oreius, have no love for Olympus. They like half-bloods well enough, though…" "For lunch," Agrius growled. His gruff voice was the one I'd heard talking with Luke earlier. "Hehe! Hehe!" His brother Oreius laughed, licking his fur-lined lips. He kept laughing like he was having an asthmatic fit until Luke and Agrius both stared at him. "Shut up, you idiot!" Agrius growled. "Go punish yourself!" Oreius whimpered. He trudged over to the corner of the room, slumped onto a stool, and banged his forehead against the dining table, making the silver plates rattle. Luke acted like this was perfectly normal behavior. He made himself comfortable on the sofa and propped his feet up on the coffee table. "Well, Percy, we let you survive another year. I hope you appreciated it. How's your mom? How's school?" "You poisoned Thalia's tree." Luke sighed. "Right to the point, eh? Okay, sure I poisoned the tree. So what?" "How could you?" Annabeth sounded so angry I thought she'd explode. "Thalia saved your life! Our lives! How could you dishonor her—" "I didn't dishonor her!" Luke snapped. "The gods dishonored her, Annabeth! If Thalia were alive, she'd be on my side." "Liar!" "If you knew what was coming, you'd understand—" "I understand you want to destroy the camp!" she yelled. "You're a monster!" Luke shook his head. "The gods have blinded you. Can't you imagine a world without them, Annabeth? What good is that ancient history you study? Three thousand years of baggage! The West is rotten to the core. It has to be destroyed. Join me! We can start the world anew. We could use your intelligence, Annabeth." "Because you have none of your own!" His eyes narrowed. "I know you, Annabeth. You deserve better than tagging along on some hopeless quest to save the camp. Half-Blood Hill will be overrun by monsters within the month. The heroes who survive will have no choice but to join us or be hunted to extinction. You really want to be on a losing team… with company like this?" Luke pointed at Tyson. "Hey!" I said. "Traveling with a Cyclops," Luke chided. "Talk about dishonoring Thalia's memory! I'm surprised at you, Annabeth. You of all people—" "Stop it!" she shouted. I didn't know what Luke was talking about, but Annabeth buried her head in her hands like she was about to cry. "Leave her alone," I said. "And leave Tyson out this." Luke laughed. "Oh, yeah, I heard. Your father claimed him." I must have looked surprised, because Luke smiled. "Yes, Percy, I know all about that. And about your plan to find the Fleece. What were those coordinates, again… 30, 31, 75, 12? You see, I still have friends at camp who keep me posted." "Spies, you mean." He shrugged. "How many insults from your father can you stand, Percy? You think he's grateful to you? You think Poseidon cares for you any more than he cares for this monster?" Tyson clenched his fists and made a rumbling sound down in his throat. Luke just chuckled. "The gods are so using you, Percy. Do you have any idea what's in store for you if you reach your sixteenth birthday? Has Chiron even told you the prophecy?" I wanted to get in Luke's face and tell him off, but as usual, he knew just how to throw me off balance. Sixteenth birthday? I mean, I knew Chiron had received a prophecy from the Oracle many years ago. I knew part of it was about me. But, if I reached my sixteenth birthday? I didn't like the sound of that. "I know what I need to know," I managed. "Like, who my enemies are." "Then you're a fool." Tyson smashed the nearest dining chair to splinters. "Percy is not a fool!" Before I could stop him, he charged Luke. His fists came down toward Luke's head—a double overhead blow that would've knocked a hole in titanium—but the bear twins intercepted. They each caught one of Tyson's arms and stopped him cold. They pushed him back and Tyson stumbled. He fell to the carpet so hard the deck shook. "Too bad, Cyclops," Luke said. "Looks like my grizzly friends together are more than a match for your strength. Maybe I should let them—" "Luke," I cut in. "Listen to me. Your father sent us." His face turned the color of pepperoni. "Don't—even— mention him." "He told us to take this boat. I thought it was just for a ride, but he sent us here to find you. He told me he won't give up on you, no matter how angry you are." "Angry?" Luke roared. "Give up on me? He abandoned me, Percy! I want Olympus destroyed! Every throne crushed to rubble! You tell Hermes it's going to happen, too. Each time a half-blood joins us, the Olympians grow weaker and we grow stronger. He grows stronger." Luke pointed to the gold sarcophagus. The box creeped me out, but I was determined not to show it. "So?" I demanded. "What's so special…" Then it hit me, what might be inside the sarcophagus. The temperature in the room seemed to drop twenty degrees. "Whoa, you don't mean—" "He is re-forming," Luke said. "Little by little, we're calling his life force out of the pit. With every recruit who pledges our cause, another small piece appears—" "That's disgusting!" Annabeth said. Luke sneered at her. "Your mother was born from Zeus's split skull, Annabeth. I wouldn't talk. Soon there will be enough of the titan lord so that we can make him whole again. We will piece together a new body for him, a work worthy of the forges of Hephaestus." "You're insane," Annabeth said. "Join us and you'll be rewarded. We have powerful friends, sponsors rich enough to buy this cruise ship and much more. Percy, your mother will never have to work again. You can buy her a mansion. You can have power, fame—whatever you want. Annabeth, you can realize your dream of being an architect. You can build a monument to last a thousand years. A temple to the lords of the next age!" "Go to Tartarus," she said. Luke sighed. "A shame." He picked up something that looked like a TV remote and pressed a red button. Within seconds the door of the stateroom opened and two uniformed crew members came in, armed with nightsticks. They had the same glassy-eyed look as the other mortals I'd seen, but I had a feeling this wouldn't make them any less dangerous in a fight. "Ah, good, security," Luke said, "I'm afraid we have some stowaways." "Yes, sir," they said dreamily. Luke turned to Oreius. "It's time to feed the Aethiopian drakon. Take these fools below and show them how it's done." Oreius grinned stupidly. "Hehe! Hehe!" "Let me go, too," Agrius grumbled. "My brother is worthless. That Cyclops—" "Is no threat," Luke said. He glanced back at the golden casket, as if something were troubling him. "Agrius, stay here. We have important matters to discuss." "But—" "Oreius, don't fail me. Stay in the hold to make sure the drakon is properly fed." Oreius prodded us with his javelin and herded us out of the stateroom, followed by the two human security guards. As I walked down the corridor with Oreius's javelin poking me in the back, I thought about what Luke had said—that the bear twins together were a match for Tyson's strength. But maybe separately… We exited the corridor amidships and walked across an open deck lined with lifeboats. I knew the ship well enough to realize this would be our last look at sunlight. Once we got to the other side, we'd take the elevator down into the hold, and that would be it. I looked at Tyson and said, "Now." Thank the gods, he understood. He turned and smacked Oreius thirty feet backward into the swimming pool, right into the middle of the zombie tourist family. "Ah!" the kids yelled in unison. "We are not having a blast in the pool!" One of the security guards drew his nightstick, but Annabeth knocked the wind out of him with a well-placed kick. The other guard ran for the nearest alarm box. "Stop him!" Annabeth yelled, but it was too late. Just before I banged him on head with a deck chair, he hit the alarm. Red lights flashed. Sirens wailed. "Lifeboat!" I yelled. We ran for the nearest one. By the time we got the cover off, monsters and more security men were swarming the deck, pushing aside tourists and waiters with trays of tropical drinks. A guy in Greek armor drew his sword and charged, but slipped in a puddle of pi?a colada. Laistrygonian archers assembled on the deck above us, notching arrows in their enormous bows. "How do you launch this thing?" screamed Annabeth. A hellhound leaped at me, but Tyson slammed it aside with a fire extinguisher. "Get in!" I yelled. I uncapped Riptide and slashed the first volley of arrows out of the air. Any second we would be overwhelmed. The lifeboat was hanging over the side of the ship, high above the water. Annabeth and Tyson were having no luck with the release pulley. I jumped in beside them. "Hold on!" I yelled, and I cut the ropes. A shower of arrows whistled over our heads as we free-fell toward the ocean. TEN WE HITCH A RIDE WITH DEAD CONFEDERATES "Thermos!" I screamed as we hurtled toward the water. "What?" Annabeth must've thought I'd lost my mind. She was holding on to the boat straps for dear life, her hair flying straight up like a torch. But Tyson understood. He managed to open my duffel bag and take out Hermes's magical thermos without losing his grip on it or the boat. Arrows and javelins whistled past us. I grabbed the thermos and hoped I was doing the right thing. "Hang on!" "I am hanging on!" Annabeth yelled. "Tighter!" I hooked my feet under the boat's inflatable bench, and as Tyson grabbed Annabeth and me by the backs of our shirts, I gave the thermos cap a quarter turn. Instantly, a white sheet of wind jetted out of the thermos and propelled us sideways, turning our downward plummet into a forty-five-degree crash landing. The wind seemed to laugh as it shot from the thermos, like it was glad to be free. As we hit the ocean, we bumped once, twice, skipping like a stone, then we were whizzing along like a speed boat, salt spray in our faces and nothing but sea ahead. I heard a wail of outrage from the ship behind us, but we were already out of weapon range. The Princess Andromeda faded to the size of a white toy boat in the distance, and then it was gone. As we raced over the sea, Annabeth and I tried to send an Iris-message to Chiron. We figured it was important we let somebody know what Luke was doing, and we didn't know who else to trust. The wind from the thermos stirred up a nice sea spray that made a rainbow in the sunlight—perfect for an Iris-message—but our connection was still poor. When Annabeth threw a gold drachma into the mist and prayed for the rainbow goddess to show us Chiron, his face appeared all right, but there was some kind of weird strobe light flashing in the background and rock music blaring, like he was at a dance club. We told him about sneaking away from camp, and Luke and the Princess Andromeda and the golden box for Kronos's remains, but between the noise on his end and the rushing wind and water on our end, I'm not sure how much he heard. "Percy," Chiron yelled, "you have to watch out for—" His voice was drowned out by loud shouting behind him—a bunch of voices whooping it up like Comanche warriors. "What?" I yelled. "Curse my relatives!" Chiron ducked as a plate flew over his head and shattered somewhere out of sight. "Annabeth, you shouldn't have let Percy leave camp! But if you do get the Fleece—" "Yeah, baby!" somebody behind Chiron yelled. "Woo-hoooooo!" The music got cranked up, subwoofers so loud it made our boat vibrate. "— Miami," Chiron was yelling. "I'll try to keep watch—" Our misty screen smashed apart like someone on the other side had thrown a bottle at it, and Chiron was gone. An hour later we spotted land—a long stretch of beach lined with high-rise hotels. The water became crowded with fishing boats and tankers. A coast guard cruiser passed on our starboard side, then turned like it wanted a second look. I guess it isn't every day they see a yellow lifeboat with no engine going a hundred knots an hour, manned by three kids. "That's Virginia Beach!" Annabeth said as we approached the shoreline. "Oh my gods, how did the Princess Andromeda travel so far overnight? That's like—" "Five hundred and thirty nautical miles," I said. She stared at me. "How did you know that?" "I–I'm not sure." Annabeth thought for a moment. "Percy, what's our position?" "36 degrees, 44 minutes north, 76 degrees, 2 minutes west," I said immediately. Then I shook my head. "Whoa. How did I know that?" "Because of your dad," Annabeth guessed. "When you're at sea, you have perfect bearings. That is so cool." I wasn't sure about that. I didn't want to be a human GPS unit. But before I could say anything, Tyson tapped my shoulder. "Other boat is coming." I looked back. The coast guard vessel was definitely on our tail now. Its lights were flashing and it was gaining speed. "We can't let them catch us," I said. "They'll ask too many questions." "Keep going into Chesapeake Bay," Annabeth said. "I know a place we can hide." I didn't ask what she meant, or how she knew the area so well. I risked loosening the thermos cap a little more, and a fresh burst of wind sent us rocketing around the northern tip of Virginia Beach into Chesapeake Bay. The coast guard boat fell farther and farther behind. We didn't slow down until the shores of the bay narrowed on either side, and I realized we'd entered the mouth of a river. I could feel the change from salt water to fresh water. Suddenly I was tired and frazzled, like I was coming down off a sugar high. I didn't know where I was anymore, or which way to steer the boat. It was a good thing Annabeth was directing me. "There," she said. "Past that sandbar." We veered into a swampy area choked with marsh grass. I beached the lifeboat at the foot of a giant cypress. Vine-covered trees loomed above us. Insects chirred in the woods. The air was muggy and hot, and steam curled off the river. Basically, it wasn't Manhattan, and I didn't like it. "Come on," Annabeth said. "It's just down the bank." "What is?" I asked. "Just follow." She grabbed a duffel bag. "And we'd better cover the boat. We don't want to draw attention." After burying the lifeboat with branches, Tyson and I followed Annabeth along the shore, our feet sinking in red mud. A snake slithered past my shoe and disappeared into the grass. "Not a good place," Tyson said. He swatted the mosquitoes that were forming a buffet line on his arm. After another few minutes, Annabeth said, "Here." All I saw was a patch of brambles. Then Annabeth moved aside a woven circle of branches, like a door, and I realized I was looking into a camouflaged shelter. The inside was big enough for three, even with Tyson being the third. The walls were woven from plant material, like a Native American hut, but they looked pretty waterproof. Stacked in the corner was everything you could want for a campout—sleeping bags, blankets, an ice chest, and a kerosene lamp. There were demigod provisions, too— bronze javelin tips, a quiver full of arrows, an extra sword, and a box of ambrosia. The place smelled musty, like it had been vacant for a long time. "A half-blood hideout." I looked at Annabeth in awe. You made this place?" "Thalia and I," she said quietly. "And Luke." That shouldn't have bothered me. I mean, I knew Thalia and Luke had taken care of Annabeth when she was little. I knew the three of them had been runaways together, hiding from monsters, surviving on their own before Grover found them and tried to get them to Half-Blood Hill. But whenever Annabeth talked about the time she'd spent with them, I kind of felt… I don't know. Uncomfortable? No. That's not the word. The word was jealous. "So…" I said. "You don't think Luke will look for us here?" She shook her head. "We made a dozen safe houses like this. I doubt Luke even remembers where they are. Or cares." She threw herself down on the blankets and started going through her duffel bag. Her body language made it pretty clear she didn't want to talk. "Um, Tyson?" I said. "Would you mind scouting around outside? Like, look for a wilderness convenience store or something?" "Convenience store?" "Yeah, for snacks. Powdered donuts or something. Just don't go too far." "Powdered donuts," Tyson said earnestly. "I will look for powdered donuts in the wilderness." He headed outside and started calling, "Here, donuts!" Once he was gone, I sat down across from Annabeth. "Hey, I'm sorry about, you know, seeing Luke." "It's not your fault." She unsheathed her knife and started cleaning the blade with a rag. "He let us go too easily," I said. I hoped I'd been imagining it, but Annabeth nodded. "I was thinking the same thing. What we overheard him say about a gamble, and 'they'll take the bait'… I think he was talking about us." "The Fleece is the bait? Or Grover?" She studied the edge of her knife. "I don't know, Percy. Maybe he wants the Fleece for himself. Maybe he's hoping we'll do the hard work and then he can steal it from us. I just can't believe he would poison the tree." "What did he mean," I asked, "that Thalia would've been on his side?" "He's wrong." "You don't sound sure." Annabeth glared at me, and I started to wish I hadn't asked her about this while she was holding a knife. "Percy, you know who you remind me of most? Thalia. You guys are so much alike it's scary. I mean, either you would've been best friends or you would've strangled each other." "Let's go with 'best friends. " "Thalia got angry with her dad sometimes. So do you. Would you turn against Olympus because of that?" I stared at the quiver of arrows in the corner. "No." "Okay, then. Neither would she. Luke's wrong." Annabeth stuck her knife blade into the dirt. I wanted to ask her about the prophecy Luke had mentioned and what it had to do with my sixteenth birthday. But I figured she wouldn't tell me. Chiron had made it pretty clear that I wasn't allowed to hear it until the gods decided otherwise. "So what did Luke mean about Cyclopes?" I asked. "He said you of all people—" "I know what he said. He… he was talking about the real reason Thalia died." I waited, not sure what to say. Annabeth drew a shaky breath. "You can never trust a Cyclops, Percy. Six years ago, on the night Grover was leading us to Half-Blood Hill—" She was interrupted when the door of the hut creaked open. Tyson crawled in. "Powdered donuts!" he said proudly, holding up a pastry box. Annabeth stared at him. "Where did you get that? We're in the middle of the wilderness. There's nothing around for—" "Fifty feet," Tyson said. "Monster Donut shop—just over the hill!" "This is bad," Annabeth muttered. We were crouching behind a tree, staring at the donut shop in the middle of the woods. It looked brand new, with brightly lit windows, a parking area, and a little road leading off into the forest, but there was nothing else around, and no cars parked in the lot. We could see one employee reading a magazine behind the cash register. That was it. On the store's marquis, in huge black letters that even I could read, it said: MONSTER DONUT A cartoon ogre was taking a bite out of the O in MONSTER. The place smelled good, like fresh-baked chocolate donuts. "This shouldn't be here," Annabeth whispered. "It's wrong." "What?" I asked. "It's a donut shop." "Shhh!" "Why are we whispering? Tyson went in and bought a dozen. Nothing happened to him." "He's a monster." "Aw, c'mon, Annabeth. Monster Donut doesn't mean monsters! It's a chain. We've got them in New York." "A chain," she agreed. "And don't you think it's strange that one appeared immediately after you told Tyson to get donuts? Right here in the middle of the woods?" I thought about it. It did seem a little weird, but, I mean, donut shops weren't real high on my list of sinister forces. "It could be a nest," Annabeth explained. Tyson whimpered. I doubt he understood what Annabeth was saying any better than I did, but her tone was making him nervous. He'd plowed through half a dozen donuts from his box and was getting powdered sugar all over his face. "A nest for what?" I asked. "Haven't you ever wondered how franchise stores pop up so fast?" she asked. "One day there's nothing and then the next day—boom, there's a new burger place or a coffee shop or whatever? First a single store, then two, then four— exact replicas spreading across the country?" "Um, no. Never thought about it." "Percy, some of the chains multiply so fast because all their locations are magically linked to the life force of a monster. Some children of Hermes figured out how to do it back in the 1950s. They breed—" She froze. "What?" I demanded. "They breed what?" "No—sudden—moves," Annabeth said, like her life depended on it. "Very slowly, turn around." Then I heard it: a scraping noise, like something large dragging its belly through the leaves. I turned and saw a rhino-size thing moving through the shadows of the trees. It was hissing, its front half writhing in all different directions. I couldn't understand what I was seeing at first. Then I realized the thing had multiple necks—at least seven, each topped with a hissing reptilian head. Its skin was leathery, and under each neck it wore a plastic bib that read: I'm A MONSTER DONUT KID! I took out my ballpoint pen, but Annabeth locked eyes with me—a silent warning. Not yet. I understood. A lot of monsters have terrible eyesight. It was possible the Hydra might pass us by. But if I uncapped my sword now, the bronze glow would certainly get its attention. We waited. The Hydra was only a few feet away. It seemed to be sniffing the ground and the trees like it was hunting for something. Then I noticed that two of the heads were ripping apart a piece of yellow canvas—one of our duffel bags. The thing had already been to our campsite. It was following our scent. My heart pounded. I'd seen a stuffed Hydra-head trophy at camp before, but that did nothing to prepare me for the real thing. Each head was diamond-shaped, like a rattlesnake's, but the mouths were lined with jagged rows of sharklike teeth. Tyson was trembling. He stepped back and accidentally snapped a twig. Immediately, all seven heads turned toward us and hissed. "Scatter!" Annabeth yelled. She dove to the right. I rolled to the left. One of the Hydra heads spat an arc of green liquid that shot past my shoulder and splashed against an elm. The trunk smoked and began to disintegrate. The whole tree toppled straight toward Tyson, who still hadn't moved, petrified by the monster that was now right in front of him. "Tyson!" I tackled him with all my might, knocking him aside just as the Hydra lunged and the tree crashed on top of two of its heads. The Hydra stumbled backward, yanking its heads free then wailing in outrage at the fallen tree. All seven heads shot acid, and the elm melted into a steaming pool of muck. "Move!" I told Tyson. I ran to one side and uncapped Riptide, hoping to draw the monster's attention. It worked. The sight of celestial bronze is hateful to most monsters. As soon as my glowing blade appeared, the Hydra whipped toward it with all its heads, hissing and baring its teeth. The good news: Tyson was momentarily out of danger. The bad news: I was about to be melted into a puddle of goo. One of the heads snapped at me experimentally. Without thinking, I swung my sword. "No!" Annabeth yelled. Too late. I sliced the Hydra's head clean off. It rolled away into the grass, leaving a flailing stump, which immediately stopped bleeding and began to swell like a balloon. In a matter of seconds the wounded neck split into two necks, each of which grew a full-size head. Now I was looking at an eight-headed Hydra. "Percy!" Annabeth scolded. "You just opened another Monster Donut shop somewhere!" I dodged a spray of acid. "I'm about to die and you're worried about that? How do we kill it?" "Fire!" Annabeth said. "We have to have fire!" As soon as she said that, I remembered the story. The Hydra's heads would only stop multiplying if we burned the stumps before they regrew. That's what Heracles had done, anyway. But we had no fire. I backed up toward river. The Hydra followed. Annabeth moved in on my left and tried to distract one of the heads, parrying its teeth with her knife, but another head swung sideways like a club and knocked her into the muck. "No hitting my friends!" Tyson charged in, putting himself between the Hydra and Annabeth. As Annabeth got to her feet, Tyson started smashing at the monster heads with his fists so fast it reminded me of the whack-a-mole game at the arcade. But even Tyson couldn't fend off the Hydra forever. We kept inching backward, dodging acid splashes and deflecting snapping heads without cutting them off, but I knew we were only postponing our deaths. Eventually, we would make a mistake and the thing would kill us. Then I heard a strange sound—a chug-chug-chug that at first I thought was my heartbeat. It was so powerful it made the riverbank shake. "What's that noise?" Annabeth shouted, keeping her eyes on the Hydra. "Steam engine," Tyson said. "What?" I ducked as the Hydra spat acid over my head. Then from the river behind us, a familiar female voice shouted: "There! Prepare the thirty-two-pounder!" I didn't dare look away from the Hydra, but if that was who I thought it was behind us, I figured we now had enemies on two fronts. A gravelly male voice said, "They're too close, m'lady!" "Damn the heroes!" the girl said. "Full steam ahead!" "Aye, m'lady." "Fire at will, Captain!" Annabeth understood what was happening a split second before I did. She yelled, "Hit the dirt!" and we dove for the ground as an earth-shattering BOOM echoed from the river. There was a flash of light, a column of smoke, and the Hydra exploded right in front of us, showering us with nasty green slime that vaporized as soon as it hit, the way monster guts tend to do. "Gross!" screamed Annabeth. "Steamship!" yelled Tyson. I stood, coughing from the cloud of gunpowder smoke that was rolling across the banks. Chugging toward us down the river was the strangest ship I'd ever seen. It rode low in the water like a submarine, its deck plated with iron. In the middle was a trapezoid-shaped casemate with slats on each side for cannons. A flag waved from the top—a wild boar and spear on a bloodred field. Lining the deck were zombies in gray uniforms— dead soldiers with shimmering faces that only partially covered their skulls, like the ghouls I'd seen in the Underworld guarding Hades's palace. The ship was an ironclad. A Civil War battle cruiser. I could just make out the name along the prow in moss-covered letters: CSS Birmingham. And standing next to the smoking cannon that had almost killed us, wearing full Greek battle armor, was Clarisse. "Losers," she sneered. "But I suppose I have to rescue you. Come aboard." ELEVEN CLARISSE BLOWS UP EVERYTHING "You are in so much trouble," Clarisse said. We'd just finished a ship tour we didn't want, through dark rooms overcrowded with dead sailors. We'd seen the coal bunker, the boilers and engine, which huffed and groaned like it would explode any minute. We'd seen the pilothouse and the powder magazine and gunnery deck (Clarisse's favorite) with two Dahlgren smoothbore cannons on the port and starboard sides and a Brooke nine-inch rifled gun fore and aft—all specially refitted to fire celestial bronze cannon balls. Everywhere we went, dead Confederate sailors stared at us, their ghostly bearded faces shimmering over their skulls. They approved of Annabeth because she told them she was from Virginia. They were interested in me, too, because my name was Jackson—like the Southern general—but then I ruined it by telling them I was from New York. They all hissed and muttered curses about Yankees. Tyson was terrified of them. All through the tour, he insisted Annabeth hold his hand, which she didn't look too thrilled about. Finally, we were escorted to dinner. The CSS Birmingham captain's quarters were about the size of a walk-in closet, but still much bigger than any other room on board. The table was set with white linen and china. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, potato chips, and Dr Peppers were served by skeletal crewmen. I didn't want to eat anything served by ghosts, but my hunger overruled my fear. "Tantalus expelled you for eternity," Clarisse told us smugly. "Mr. D said if any of you show your face at camp again, he'll turn you into squirrels and run you over with his SUV." "Did they give you this ship?" I asked. "'Course not. My father did." "Ares?" Clarisse sneered. "You think your daddy is the only one with sea power? The spirits on the losing side of every war owe a tribute to Ares. That's their curse for being defeated. I prayed to my father for a naval transport and here it is. These guys will do anything I tell them. Won't you, Captain?" The captain stood behind her looking stiff and angry. His glowing green eyes fixed me with a hungry stare. "If it means an end to this infernal war, ma'am, peace at last, we'll do anything. Destroy anyone." Clarisse smiled. "Destroy anyone. I like that." Tyson gulped. "Clarisse," Annabeth said, "Luke might be after the Fleece, too. We saw him. He's got the coordinates and he's heading south. He has a cruise ship full of monsters—" "Good! I'll blow him out of the water." "You don't understand," Annabeth said. We have to combine forces. Let us help you—" "No!" Clarisse pounded the table. "This is my quest, smart girl! Finally I get to be the hero, and you two will not steal my chance." "Where are your cabin mates?" I asked. "You were allowed to take two friends with you, weren't you?" "They didn't… I let them stay behind. To protect the camp." "You mean even the people in your own cabin wouldn't help you?" "Shut up, Prissy! I don't need them! Or you!" "Clarisse," I said, "Tantalus is using you. He doesn't care about the camp. He'd love to see it destroyed. He's setting you up to fail." "No! I don't care what the Oracle—" She stopped herself. "What?" I said. "What did the Oracle tell you?" "Nothing." Clarisse's ears turned pink. "All you need to know is that I'm finishing this quest and you're not helping. On the other hand, I can't let you go…" "So we're prisoners?" Annabeth asked. "Guests. For now." Clarisse propped her feet up on the white linen tablecloth and opened another Dr Pepper. "Captain, take them below. Assign them hammocks on the berth deck. If they don't mind their manners, show them how we deal with enemy spies." The dream came as soon as I fell asleep. Grover was sitting at his loom, desperately unraveling his wedding train, when the boulder door rolled aside and the Cyclops bellowed, "Aha!" Grover yelped. "Dear! I didn't—you were so quiet!" "Unraveling!" Polyphemus roared. "So that's the problem!" "Oh, no. I–I wasn't—" "Come!" Polyphemus grabbed Grover around the waist and half carried, half dragged him through the tunnels of the cave. Grover struggled to keep his high heels on his hooves. His veil kept tilting on his head, threatening to come off. The Cyclops pulled him into a warehouse-size cavern decorated with sheep junk. There was a wool-covered La-Z-Boy recliner and a wool-covered television set, crude bookshelves loaded with sheep collectibles—coffee mugs shaped like sheep faces, plaster figurines of sheep, sheep board games, and picture books and action figures. The floor was littered with piles of sheep bones, and other bones that didn't look exactly like sheep—the bones of satyrs who'd come to the island looking for Pan. Polyphemus set Grover down only long enough to move another huge boulder. Daylight streamed into the cave, and Grover whimpered with longing. Fresh air! The Cyclops dragged him outside to a hilltop overlooking the most beautiful island I'd ever seen. It was shaped kind of like a saddle cut in half by an ax. There were lush green hills on either side and a wide valley in the middle, split by a deep chasm that was spanned by a rope bridge. Beautiful streams rolled to the edge of the canyon and dropped off in rainbow-colored waterfalls. Parrots fluttered in the trees. Pink and purple flowers bloomed on the bushes. Hundreds of sheep grazed in the meadows, their wool glinting strangely like copper and silver coins. And at the center of the island, right next to the rope bridge, was an enormous twisted oak tree with something glittering in its lowest bough. The Golden Fleece. Even in a dream, I could feel its power radiating across the island, making the grass greener, the flowers more beautiful. I could almost smell the nature magic at work. I could only imagine how powerful the scent would be for a satyr. Grover whimpered. "Yes," Polyphemus said proudly. "See over there? Fleece is the prize of my collection! Stole it from heroes long ago, and ever since—free food! Satyrs come from all over the world, like moths to flame. Satyrs good eating! And now—" Polyphemus scooped up a wicked set of bronze shears. Grover yelped, but Polyphemus just picked up the nearest sheep like it was a stuffed animal and shaved off its wool. He handed a fluffy mass of it to Grover. "Put that on the spinning wheel!" he said proudly. "Magic. Cannot be unraveled." "Oh… well…" "Poor Honeypie!" Polyphemus grinned. "Bad weaver. Ha-ha! Not to worry. That thread will solve problem. Finish wedding train by tomorrow!" "Isn't that… thoughtful of you!" "Hehe." "But—but, dear," Grover gulped, "what if someone were to rescue—I mean attack this island?" Grover looked straight at me, and I knew he was asking for my benefit. "What would keep them from marching right up here to your cave?" "Wifey scared! So cute! Not to worry. Polyphemus has state-of-the-art security system. Have to get through my pets." "Pets?" Grover looked across the island, but there was nothing to see except sheep grazing peacefully in the meadows. "And then," Polyphemus growled, "they would have to get through me!" He pounded his fist against the nearest rock, which cracked and split in half. "Now, come!" he shouted. "Back to the cave." Grover looked about ready to cry—so close to freedom, but so hopelessly far. Tears welled in his eyes as the boulder door rolled shut, sealing him once again in the stinky torch-lit dankness of the Cyclops's cave. I woke to alarm bells ringing throughout the ship. The captain's gravelly voice: "All hands on deck! Find Lady Clarisse! Where is that girl?" Then his ghostly face appeared above me. "Get up, Yankee. Your friends are already above. We are approaching the entrance." "The entrance to what?" He gave me a skeletal smile. "The Sea of Monsters, of course." I stuffed my few belongings that had survived the Hydra into a sailor's canvas knapsack and slung it over my shoulder. I had a sneaking suspicion that one way or another I would not be spending another night aboard the CSS Birmingham. I was on my way upstairs when something made me freeze. A presence nearby—something familiar and unpleasant. For no particular reason, I felt like picking a fight. I wanted to punch a dead Confederate. The last time I'd felt like that kind of anger… Instead of going up, I crept to the edge of the ventilation grate and peered down into the boiler deck. Clarisse was standing right below me, talking to an image that shimmered in the steam from the boilers—a muscular man in black leather biker clothes, with a military haircut, red-tinted sunglasses, and a knife strapped to his side. My fists clenched. It was my least favorite Olympian: Ares, the god of war. "I don't want excuses, little girl!" he growled. "Y-yes, father," Clarisse mumbled. "You don't want to see me mad, do you?" "No, father." "No, father," Ares mimicked. "You're pathetic. I should've let one of my sons take this quest." "I'll succeed!" Clarisse promised, her voice trembling. "I'll make you proud." "You'd better," he warned. "You asked me for this quest, girl. If you let that slimeball Jackson kid steal it from you—" "But the Oracle said—" "I DON'T CARE WHAT IT SAID!" Ares bellowed with such force that his image shimmered. "You will succeed. And if you don't…" He raised his fist. Even though he was only a figure in the steam, Clarisse flinched. "Do we understand each other?" Ares growled. The alarm bells rang again. I heard voices coming toward me, officers yelling orders to ready the cannons. I crept back from the ventilation grate and made my way upstairs to join Annabeth and Tyson on the spar deck. "What's wrong?" Annabeth asked me. "Another dream?" I nodded, but I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to think about what I'd seen downstairs. It bothered me almost as much as the dream about Grover. Clarisse came up the stairs right after me. I tried not to look at her. She grabbed a pair of binoculars from a zombie officer and peered toward the horizon. "At last. Captain, full steam ahead!" I looked in the same direction as she was, but I couldn't see much. The sky was overcast. The air was hazy and humid, like steam from an iron. If I squinted real hard, I could just make out a couple of dark fuzzy splotches in the distance. My nautical senses told me we were somewhere off the coast of northern Florida, so we'd come a long way overnight, farther than any mortal ship should've been able to travel. The engine groaned as we increased speed. Tyson muttered nervously, "Too much strain on the pistons. Not meant for deep water." I wasn't sure how he knew that, but it made me nervous. After a few more minutes, the dark splotches ahead of us came into focus. To the north, a huge mass of rock rose out of the sea—an island with cliffs at least a hundred feet tall. About half a mile south of that, the other patch of darkness was a storm brewing. The sky and sea boiled together in a roaring mass. "Hurricane?" Annabeth asked. "No," Clarisse said. "Charybdis." Annabeth paled. "Are you crazy?" "Only way into the Sea of Monsters. Straight between Charybdis and her sister Scylla." Clarisse pointed to the top of the cliffs, and I got the feeling something lived up there that I did not want to meet. "What do you mean the only way?" I asked. "The sea is wide open! Just sail around them." Clarisse rolled her eyes. "Don't you know anything? If I tried to sail around them, they would just appear in my path again. If you want to get into the Sea of Monsters, you have to sail through them." "What about the Clashing Rocks?" Annabeth said. "That's another gateway. Jason used it." "I can't blow apart rocks with my cannons," Clarisse said. "Monsters, on the other hand…" "You are crazy," Annabeth decided. "Watch and learn, Wise Girl." Clarisse turned to the captain. "Set course for Charybdis!" "Aye, m'lady." The engine groaned, the iron plating rattled, and the ship began to pick up speed. "Clarisse," I said, "Charybdis sucks up the sea. Isn't that the story?" "And spits it back out again, yeah." "What about Scylla?" "She lives in a cave, up on those cliffs. If we get too close, her snaky heads will come down and start plucking sailors off the ship." "Choose Scylla then," I said. "Everybody goes below deck and we chug right past." "No!" Clarisse insisted. "If Scylla doesn't get her easy meat, she might pick up the whole ship. Besides, she's too high to make a good target. My cannons can't shoot straight up. Charybdis just sits there at the center of her whirlwind. We're going to steam straight toward her, train our guns on her, and blow her to Tartarus!" She said it with such relish I almost wanted to believe her. The engine hummed. The boilers were heating up so much I could feel the deck getting warm beneath my feet. The smokestacks billowed. The red Ares flag whipped in the wind. As we got closer to the monsters, the sound of Charybdis got louder and louder—a horrible wet roar like the galaxy's biggest toilet being flushed. Every time Charybdis inhaled, the ship shuddered and lurched forward. Every time she exhaled, we rose in the water and were buffeted by ten-foot waves. I tried to time the whirlpool. As near as I could figure, it took Charybdis about three minutes to suck up and destroy everything within a half-mile radius. To avoid her, we would have to skirt right next to Scylla's cliffs. And as bad as Scylla might be, those cliffs were looking awfully good to me. Undead sailors calmly went about their business on the spar deck. I guess they'd fought a losing cause before, so this didn't bother them. Or maybe they didn't care about getting destroyed because they were already deceased. Neither thought made me feel any better. Annabeth stood next to me, gripping the rail. "You still have your thermos full of wind?" I nodded. "But it's too dangerous to use with a whirlpool like that. More wind might just make things worse." "What about controlling the water?" she asked. "You're Poseidon's son. You've done it before." She was right. I closed my eyes and tried to calm the sea, but I couldn't concentrate. Charybdis was too loud and powerful. The waves wouldn't respond. "I–I can't," I said miserably. "We need a backup plan," Annabeth said. "This isn't going to work." "Annabeth is right," Tyson said. "Engine's no good." "What do you mean?" she asked. "Pressure. Pistons need fixing." Before he could explain, the cosmic toilet flushed with a mighty roaaar! The ship lurched forward and I was thrown to the deck. We were in the whirlpool. "Full reverse!" Clarisse screamed above the noise. The sea churned around us, waves crashing over the deck. The iron plating was now so hot it steamed. "Get us within firing range! Make ready starboard cannons!" Dead Confederates rushed back and forth. The propeller grinded into reverse, trying to slow the ship, but we kept sliding toward the center of the vortex. A zombie sailor burst out of the hold and ran to Clarisse. His gray uniform was smoking. His beard was on fire. "Boiler room overheating, ma'am! She's going to blow!" "Well, get down there and fix it!" "Can't!" the sailor yelled. "We're vaporizing in the heat." Clarisse pounded the side of the casemate. "All I need is a few more minutes! Just enough to get in range!" "We're going in too fast," the captain said grimly. "Prepare yourself for death." "No!" Tyson bellowed. "I can fix it." Clarisse looked at him incredulously. "You?" "He's a Cyclops," Annabeth said. "He's immune to fire. And he knows mechanics." "Go!" yelled Clarisse. "Tyson, no!" I grabbed his arm. "It's too dangerous!" He patted my hand. "Only way, brother." His expression was determined—confident, even. I'd never seen him look like this before. "I will fix it. Be right back." As I watched him follow the smoldering sailor down the hatch, I had a terrible feeling. I wanted to run after him, but the ship lurched again—and then I saw Charybdis. She appeared only a few hundred yards away, through a swirl of mist and smoke and water. The first thing I noticed was the reef—a black crag of coral with a fig tree clinging to the top, an oddly peaceful thing in the middle of a maelstrom. All around it, water curved into a funnel, like light around a black hole. Then I saw the horrible thing anchored to the reef just below the waterline—an enormous mouth with slimy lips and mossy teeth the size of rowboats. And worse, the teeth had braces, bands of corroded scummy metal with pieces of fish and driftwood and floating garbage stuck between them. Charybdis was an orthodontist's nightmare. She was nothing but a huge black maw with bad teeth alignment and a serious overbite, and she'd done nothing for centuries but eat without brushing after meals. As I watched, the entire sea around her was sucked into the void—sharks, schools of fish, a giant squid. And I realized that in a few seconds, the CSS Birmingham would be next. "Lady Clarisse," the captain shouted. "Starboard and forward guns are in range!" "Fire!" Clarisse ordered. Three rounds were blasted into the monster's maw. One blew off the edge of an incisor. Another disappeared into her gullet. The third hit one of Charybdis's retaining bands and shot back at us, snapping the Ares flag off its pole. "Again!" Clarisse ordered. The gunners reloaded, but I knew it was hopeless. We would have to pound the monster a hundred more times to do any real damage, and we didn't have that long. We were being sucked in too fast. Then the vibrations in the deck changed. The hum of the engine got stronger and steadier. The ship shuddered and we started pulling away from the mouth. "Tyson did it!" Annabeth said. "Wait!" Clarisse said. "We need to stay close!" "We'll die!" I said. "We have to move away." I gripped the rail as the ship fought against the suction. The broken Ares flag raced past us and lodged in Charybdis's braces. We weren't making much progress, but at least we were holding our own. Tyson had somehow given us just enough juice to keep the ship from being sucked in. Suddenly, the mouth snapped shut. The sea died to absolute calm. Water washed over Charybdis. Then, just as quickly as it had closed, the mouth exploded open, spitting out a wall of water, ejecting everything inedible, including our cannonballs, one of which slammed into the side of the CSS Birmingham with a ding like the bell on a carnival game. We were thrown backward on a wave that must've been forty feet high. I used all of my willpower to keep the ship from capsizing, but we were still spinning out of control, hurtling toward the cliffs on the opposite side of the strait. Another smoldering sailor burst out of the hold. He stumbled into Clarisse, almost knocking them both overboard. "The engine is about to blow!" "Where's Tyson?" I demanded. "Still down there," the sailor said. "Holding it together somehow, though I don't know for how much longer." The captain said, "We have to abandon ship." "No!" Clarisse yelled. "We have no choice, m'lady. The hull is already cracking apart! She can't—" He never finished his sentence. Quick as lightning, something brown and green shot from the sky, snatched up the captain, and lifted him away. All that was left were his leather boots. "Scylla!" a sailor yelled, as another column of reptilian flesh shot from the cliffs and snapped him up. It happened so fast it was like watching a laser beam rather than a monster. I couldn't even make out the thing's face, just a flash of teeth and scales. I uncapped Riptide and tried to swipe at the monster as it carried off another deckhand, but I was way too slow. "Everyone get below!" I yelled. "We can't!" Clarisse drew her own sword. "Below deck is in flames." "Lifeboats!" Annabeth said. "Quick!" "They'll never get clear of the cliffs," Clarisse said. "We'll all be eaten." "We have to try. Percy, the thermos." "I can't leave Tyson!" "We have to get the boats ready!" Clarisse took Annabeth's command. She and a few of her undead sailors uncovered one of the two emergency rowboats while Scylla's heads rained from the sky like a meteor shower with teeth, picking off Confederate sailors one after another. "Get the other boat." I threw Annabeth the thermos. "I'll get Tyson." "You can't!" she said. "The heat will kill you!" I didn't listen. I ran for the boiler room hatch, when suddenly my feet weren't touching the deck anymore. I was flying straight up, the wind whistling in my ears, the side of the cliff only inches from my face. Scylla had somehow caught me by the knapsack, and was lifting me up toward her lair. Without thinking, I swung my sword behind me and managed to jab the thing in her beady yellow eye. She grunted and dropped me. The fall would've been bad enough, considering I was a hundred feet in the air. But as I fell, the CSS Birmingham exploded below me. KAROOM! The engine room blew, sending chunks of ironclad flying in either direction like a fiery set of wings. "Tyson!" I yelled. The lifeboats had managed to get away from the ship, but not very far. Flaming wreckage was raining down. Clarisse and Annabeth would either be smashed or burned or pulled to the bottom by the force of the sinking hull, and that was thinking optimistically, assuming they got away from Scylla. Then I heard a different kind of explosion—the sound of Hermes's magic thermos being opened a little too far. White sheets of wind blasted in every direction, scattering the lifeboats, lifting me out of my free fall and propelling me across the ocean. I couldn't see anything. I spun in the air, got clonked on the head by something hard, and hit the water with a crash that would've broken every bone in my body if I hadn't been the son of the Sea God. The last thing I remembered was sinking in a burning sea, knowing that Tyson was gone forever, and wishing I were able to drown. TWELVE WE CHECK IN TO C.C.'S SPA