The Sea of Monsters - Chapter 13

Chapter 13

 ANNABETH TRIES
 TO SWIM HOME
 
 I'd finally found something I was really good at.
 The Queen Anne's Revenge responded to my every com-mand. I knew which ropes to hoist, which sails
to raise, which direction to steer. We plowed through the waves at what I figured was about ten knots. I
even understood how fast that was. For a sailing ship, pretty darn fast.
 It all felt perfect—the wind in my face, the waves break-ing over the prow.
 But now that we were out of danger, all I could think about was how much I missed Tyson, and how
worried I was about Grover.
 I couldn't get over how badly I'd messed up on Circe's Island. If it hadn't been for Annabeth, I'd still be
a rodent, hiding in a hutch with a bunch of cute furry pirates. I thought about what Circe had said:See,
Percy? You've unlocked your true self!
 I still felt changed. Not just because I had a sudden desire to eat lettuce. I felt jumpy, like the instinct to
be a scared little animal was now a part of me. Or maybe it had always been there. That's what really
worried me.
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 We sailed through the night.
 Annabeth tried to help me keep lookout, but sailing didn't agree with her. After a few  hours rocking back
and forth, her face turned the color of guacamole and she went below to lie in a hammock.
 I watched the horizon. More than once I spotted mon-sters. A plume of water as tall as a skyscraper
spewed into the moonlight. A row of green spines slithered across the waves—something maybe a
hundred feet long, reptilian. I didn't really want to know.
 Once I saw Nereids, the glowing lady spirits of the sea. I tried to wave at them, but they disappeared
into the depths, leaving me unsure whether they'd seen me or not.
 Sometime after midnight, Annabeth came up on deck. We were just passing a smoking volcano island.
The sea bubbled and steamed around the shore.
 "One of the forges of Hephaestus," Annabeth said. "Where he makes his metal monsters."
 "Like the bronze bulls?"
 She nodded. "Go around. Far around."
 I didn't need to be told twice. We steered clear of the island, and soon it was just a red patch of haze
behind us.
 I looked at Annabeth. "The reason you hate Cyclopes so much ... the story about how Thalia really died.
What happened?"
 It was hard to see her expression in the dark.
 "I guess you deserve to know," she said finally. "The night Grover was escorting us to camp, he got
confused, took some wrong turns. You remember he told you that once?"
 I nodded.
 "Well, the worst wrong turn was into a Cyclops's lair in Brooklyn."
 "They've got Cyclopes in Brooklyn?" I asked.
 "You wouldn't believe how many, but that's not the point. This Cyclops, he tricked us. He managed to
split us up inside this maze of corridors in an old house in Flatbush. And he could sound like anyone,
Percy. Just the way Tyson did aboard the Princess Andromeda. He lured us, one at a time. Thalia
thought she was running to save Luke. Luke thought he heard me scream for help. And me ... I was
alone in the dark. I was seven years old. I couldn't even find the exit."
 She brushed the hair out of her face. "I remember find-ing the main room. There were bones all over the
floor. And there were Thalia and Luke and Grover, tied up and gagged, hanging from the ceiling like
smoked hams. The Cyclops was starting a fire in the middle of the floor. I drew my knife, but he heard
me. He turned and smiled. He spoke, and somehow he knew my dad's voice. I guess he just plucked it
out of my mind. He said, 'Now, Annabeth, don't you worry. I love you. You can stay here with me. You
can stay forever.'"
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 I shivered. The way she told it—even now, six years later—freaked me out worse than any ghost story
I'd ever heard. "What did you do?"
 "I stabbed him in the foot."
 I stared at her. "Are you kidding? You were seven years old and you stabbed a grown Cyclops in the
foot?"
 "Oh, he would've killed me. But I surprised him. It gave me just enough time to run to Thalia and cut the
ropes on her hands. She took it from there."
 "Yeah, but still ... that was pretty brave, Annabeth."
 She shook her head. "We barely got out alive. I still have nightmares, Percy. The way that Cyclops
talked in my father's voice. It was his fault we took so long getting to camp. All the monsters who'd been
chasing us had time to catch up. That's really why Thalia died. If it hadn't been for that Cyclops, she'd still
be alive today."
 We sat on the deck, watching the Hercules constellation rise in the night sky.
 "Go below," Annabeth told me at last. "You need some rest."
 I nodded. My eyes were heavy. But when I got below and found a hammock, it took me a long time to
fall asleep. I kept thinking about Annabeth's story. I wondered, if I were her, would I have had enough
courage to go on this quest, to sail straight toward the lair of another Cyclops?
 
 I didn't dream about Grover.
 Instead I found myself back in Luke's stateroom aboard the Princess Andromeda. The curtains were
open. It was nighttime outside. The air swirled with shadows. Voices whispered all around me—spirits of
the dead.
 Beware, they whispered. Traps. Trickery.
 Kronos's golden sarcophagus glowed faintly—the only source of light in the room.
 A cold laugh startled me. It seemed to come from miles below the ship. You don't have the courage,
young one. You can't stop me.
 I knew what I had to do. I had to open that coffin.
 I uncapped Riptide. Ghosts whirled around me like a tornado. Beware!
 My heart pounded. I couldn't make my feet move, but I had to stop Kronos. I had to destroy whatever
was in that box.
 Then a girl spoke right next to me: "Well, Seaweed Brain?"
 I looked over, expecting to see Annabeth, but the girl wasn't Annabeth. She wore punk-style clothes
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with silver chains on her wrists. She had spiky black hair, dark eye-liner around her stormy blue eyes,
and a spray of freckles across her nose. She looked familiar, but I wasn't sure why.
 "Well?" she asked. "Are we going to stop him or not?"
 I couldn't answer. I couldn't move.
 The girl rolled her eyes. "Fine. Leave it to me and Aegis."
 She tapped her wrist and her silver chains transformed— flattening and expanding into a huge shield. It
was silver and bronze, with the monstrous face of Medusa protruding from the center. It looked like a
death mask, as if the gorgon's real head had been pressed into the metal. I didn't know if that was true,
or if the shield could really petrify me, but I looked away. Just being near it made me cold with fear. I got
a feeling that in a real fight, the bearer of that shield would be almost impossible to beat. Any sane enemy
would turn and run.
 The girl drew her sword and advanced on the sarcoph-agus. The shadowy ghosts parted for her,
scattering before the terrible aura of her shield.
 "No," I tried to warn her.
 But she didn't listen. She marched straight up to the sarcophagus and pushed aside the golden lid.
 For a moment she stood there, gazing down at what-ever was in the box.
 The coffin began to glow.
 "No." The girl's voice trembled. "It can't be."
 From the depths of the ocean, Kronos laughed so loudly the whole ship trembled.
 "No!" The girl screamed as the sarcophagus engulfed her in a blast of a golden light.
 "Ah!" I sat bolt upright in my hammock.
 Annabeth was shaking me. "Percy, you were having a nightmare. You need to get up."
 "Wh—what is it?" I rubbed my eyes. "What's wrong?"
 "Land," she said grimly. "We're approaching the island of the Sirens."
 
 I could barely make out the island ahead of us—just a dark spot in the mist.
 "I want you to do me a favor," Annabeth said. "The Sirens ... we'll be in range of their singing soon."
 I remembered stories about the Sirens. They sang so sweetly their voices enchanted sailors and lured
them to their death.
 "No problem," I assured her. "We can just stop up our ears. There's a big tub of candle wax below
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deck—"
 "I want to hear them."
 I blinked. "Why?"
 "They say the Sirens sing the truth about what you desire. They tell you things about yourself you didn't
even realize. That's what's so enchanting. If you survive ... you become wiser. I want to hear them. How
often will I get that chance?"
 Coming from most people, this would've made no sense. But Annabeth being who she was—well, if she
could struggle through Ancient Greek architecture books and enjoy documentaries on the History
Channel, I guessed the Sirens would appeal to her, too.
 She told me her plan. Reluctantly, I helped her get ready.
 As soon as the rocky coastline of the island came into view, I ordered one of the ropes to wrap around
Annabeth's waist, tying her to the foremast.
 "Don't untie me," she said, "no matter what happens or how much I plead. I'll want to go straight over
the edge and drown myself."
 "Are you trying to tempt me?"
 "Ha-ha."
 I promised I'd keep her secure. Then I took two large wads of candle wax, kneaded them into earplugs,
and stuffed my ears.
 Annabeth nodded sarcastically, letting me know the earplugs were a real fashion statement. I made a
face at her and turned to the pilot's wheel.
 The silence was eerie. I couldn't hear anything but the rush of blood in my head. As we approached the
island, jagged rocks loomed out of the fog. I willed the Queen Anne's Revenge to skirt around them. If
we sailed any closer, those rocks would shred our hull like blender blades.
 I glanced back. At first, Annabeth seemed totally normal. Then she got a puzzled look on her face. Her
eyes widened.
 She strained against the ropes. She called my name—I could tell just from reading her lips. Her
expression was clear: She had to get out. This was life or death. I had to let her out of the ropes right
now.
 She seemed so miserable it was hard not to cut her free.
 I forced myself to look away. I urged the Queen Anne's Revenge to go faster.
 I still couldn't see much of the island—just mist and rocks—but floating in the water were pieces of
wood and fiberglass, the wreckage of old ships, even some flotation cushions from airplanes.
 How could music cause so many lives to veer off course? I mean, sure, there were some Top Forty
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songs that made me want to take a fiery nosedive, but still ... What could the Sirens possibly sing about?
 For one dangerous moment, I understood Annabeth's curiosity. I was tempted to take out the earplugs,
just to get a taste of the song. I could feel the Sirens' voices vibrating in the timbers of the ship, pulsing
along with the roar of blood in my ears.
 Annabeth was pleading with me. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She strained against the ropes, as if
they were holding her back from everything she cared about.
 How could you be so cruel? She seemed to be asking me . I thought you were my friend.
 I glared at the misty island. I wanted to uncap my sword, but there was nothing to fight. How do you
fight a song?
 I tried hard not to look at Annabeth. I managed it for about five minutes.
 That was my big mistake.
 When I couldn't stand it any longer, I looked back and found ... a heap of cut ropes. An empty mast.
Annabeth's bronze knife lay on the deck. Somehow, she'd managed to wriggle it into her hand. I'd totally
forgotten to disarm her.
 I rushed to the side of the boat and saw her, paddling madly for the island, the waves carrying her
straight toward the jagged rocks.
 I screamed her name, but if she heard me, it didn't do any good. She was entranced, swimming toward
her death.
 I looked back at the pilot's wheel and yelled, "Stay!"
 Then I jumped over the side.
 I sliced into the water and willed the currents to bend around me, making a jet stream that shot me
forward.
 I came to the surface and spotted Annabeth, but a wave caught her, sweeping her between two
razor-sharp fangs of rock.
 I had no choice. I plunged after her.
 I dove under the wrecked hull of a yacht, wove through a collection of floating metal balls on chains that I
realized afterward were mines. I had to use all my power over water to avoid getting smashed against the
rocks or tangled in the nets of barbed wire strung just below the surface.
 I jetted between the two rock fangs and found myself in a half-moon-shaped bay. The water was
choked with more rocks and ship wreckage and floating mines. The beach was black volcanic sand.
 I looked around desperately for Annabeth.
 There she was.
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 Luckily or unluckily, she was a strong swimmer. She'd made it past the mines and the rocks. She was
almost to the black beach.
 Then the mist cleared and I saw them—the Sirens.
 Imagine a flock of vultures the size of people—with dirty black plumage, gray talons, and wrinkled pink
necks. Now imagine human heads on top of those necks, but the human heads keep changing.
 I couldn't hear them, but I could see they were singing. As their mouths moved, their faces morphed into
people I knew—my mom, Poseidon, Grover, Tyson, Chiron. All the people I most wanted to see. They
smiled reassuringly, invit-ing me forward. But no matter what shape they took, their mouths were greasy
and caked with the remnants of old meals. Like vultures, they'd been eating with their faces, and it didn't
look like they'd been feasting on Monster Donuts.
 Annabeth swam toward them.
 I knew I couldn't let her get out of the water. The sea was my only advantage. It had always protected
me one way or another. I propelled myself forward and grabbed her inkle.
 The moment I touched her, a shock went through my body, and I saw the Sirens the way Annabeth
must've been seeing them.
 Three people sat on a picnic blanket in Central Park. A feast was spread out before them. I recognized
Annabeth's dad from photos she'd shown me—an athletic-looking, sandy-haired guy in his forties. He
was holding hands with a beautiful woman who looked a lot like Annabeth. She was dressed
casually—in blue jeans and a denim shirt and hik-ing boots—but something about the woman radiated
power. I knew that I was looking at the goddess Athena. Next to them sat a young man ... Luke.
 The whole scene glowed in a warm, buttery light. The three of them were talking and laughing, and when
they saw Annabeth, their faces lit up with delight. Annabeth's mom and dad held out their arms invitingly.
Luke grinned and gestured for Annabeth to sit next to him—as if he'd never betrayed her, as if he were
still her friend.
 Behind the trees of Central Park, a city skyline rose. I caught my breath, because it was Manhattan, but
not Manhattan. It had been totally rebuilt from dazzling white marble, bigger and grander than ever—with
golden win-dows and rooftop gardens. It was better than New York. Better than Mount Olympus.
 I knew immediately that Annabeth had designed it all. She was the architect for a whole new world. She
had reunited her parents. She had saved Luke. She had done everything she'd ever wanted.
 I blinked hard. When I opened my eyes, all I saw were the Sirens—ragged vultures with human faces,
ready to feed on another victim.
 I pulled Annabeth back into the surf. I couldn't hear her, but I could tell she was screaming. She kicked
me in the face, but I held on.
 I willed the currents to carry us out into the bay. Annabeth pummeled and kicked me, making it hard to
con-centrate. She thrashed so much we almost collided with a floating mine. I didn't know what to do.
I'd never get back to the ship alive if she kept fighting.
 We went under and Annabeth stopped struggling. Her expression became confused. Then our heads
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broke the sur-face and she started to  fight again.
 The water! Sound didn't travel well underwater. If I could submerge her long enough, I could break the
spell of the music. Of course, Annabeth wouldn't be able to breathe, but at the moment, that seemed like
a minor problem.
 I grabbed her around the waist and ordered the waves to push us down.
 We shot into the depths—ten feet, twenty feet. I knew I had to be careful because I could withstand a
lot more pressure than Annabeth. She fought and struggled for breath as bubbles rose around us.
 Bubbles.
 I was desperate. I had to keep Annabeth alive. I imag-ined all the bubbles in the sea—always churning,
rising. I imagined them coming together, being pulled toward me.
 The sea obeyed. There was a flurry of white, a tickling sensation all around me, and when my vision
cleared, Annabeth and I had a huge bubble of air around us. Only our legs stuck into the water.
 She gasped and coughed. Her whole body shuddered, but when she looked at me, I knew the spell had
been broken.
 She started to sob—I mean horrible, heartbroken sobbing. She put her head on my shoulder and I held
her.
 Fish gathered to look at us—a school of barracudas, some curious marlins.
 Scram!I told them.
 They swam off, but I could tell they went reluctantly. I swear I understood their intentions. They were
about to start rumors flying around the sea about the son of Poseidon and some girl at the bottom of
Siren Bay.
 "I'll get us back to the ship," I told her. "It's okay. Just hang on."
 Annabeth nodded to let me know she was better now, then she murmured something I couldn't hear
because of the wax in my ears.
 I made the current steer our weird little air submarine through the rocks and barbed wire and back
toward the hull of the Queen Anne's Revenge, which was maintaining a slow and steady course away
from the island.
 We stayed underwater, following the ship, until I judged we had moved out of earshot of the Sirens.
Then I surfaced and our air bubble popped.
 I ordered a rope ladder to drop over the side of the ship, and we climbed aboard.
 I kept my earplugs in, just to be sure. We sailed until the island was completely out of sight. Annabeth
sat huddled in a blanket on the forward deck. Finally she looked up, dazed and sad, and mouthed, safe.
 I took out the earplugs. No singing. The afternoon was quiet except for the sound of the waves against
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the hull. The fog had burned away to a blue sky, as if the island of the Sirens had never existed.
 "You okay?" I asked. The moment I said it, I realized how lame that sounded. Of course she wasn't
okay.
 "I didn't realize," she murmured.
 "What?"
 Her eyes were the same color as the mist over the Sirens' island. "How powerful the temptation would
be."
 I didn't want to admit that I'd seen what the Sirens had promised her. I felt like a trespasser. But I
figured I owed it to Annabeth.
 "I saw the way you rebuilt Manhattan," I told her. "And Luke and your parents."
 She blushed. "You saw that?"    
 "What Luke told you back on the Princess Andromeda, about starting the world from scratch ... that
really got to you, huh?"
 She pulled her blanket around her. "My fatal flaw. That's what the Sirens showed me. My fatal flaw is
hubris."
 I blinked. "That brown stuff they spread on veggie sandwiches?"
 She rolled her eyes. "No, Seaweed Brain. That's hummus.  Hubris is worse."
 "What could be worse than hummus?"
 "Hubris means deadly pride, Percy. Thinking you can do things better than anyone else ... even the
gods."
 "You feel that way?"
 She looked down. "Don't you ever feel like, what if the world really is  messed up? What if wecould do it
all over again from scratch? No more war. Nobody homeless. No more summer reading homework."
 "I'm listening."
 "I mean, the West represents a lot of the best things mankind ever did—that's why the fire is still burning.
That's why Olympus is still around. But sometimes you just see the bad stuff, you know? And you start
thinking the way Luke does: 'If I could tear this all down, I would do it better.' Don't you ever feel that
way? Like you could do a better job if you ran the world?"
 "Um ... no. Me running the world would kind of be a nightmare."
 "Then you're lucky. Hubris isn't your fatal flaw."
 "What is?"
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 "I don't know, Percy, but every hero has one. If you don't find it and learn to control it ... well, they don't
call it 'fatal' for nothing."
 I thought about that. It didn't exactly cheer me up.
 I also noticed Annabeth hadn't said much about the per-sonal  things she would change—like getting her
parents back together, or saving Luke. I understood. I didn't want to admit how many times I'd dreamed
of getting my own par-ents back together.
 I pictured my mom, alone in our little apartment on the Upper East Side. I tried to remember the smell of
her blue waffles in the kitchen. It seemed so far away.
 "So was it worth it?" I asked Annabeth. "Do you feel ... wiser?"
 She gazed into the distance. "I'm not sure. But we have  to save the camp. If we don't stop Luke ..."
 She didn't need to finish. If Luke's way of thinking could even tempt Annabeth, there was no telling how
many other half-bloods might join him.
 I thought about my dream of the girl and the golden sarcophagus. I wasn't sure what it meant, but I got
the feel-ing I was missing something. Something terrible that Kronos was planning. What had the girl seen
when she opened that coffin lid?
 Suddenly Annabeth's eyes widened. "Percy."
 I turned.
 Up ahead was another blotch of land—a saddle-shaped island with forested hills and white beaches and
green meadows—just like I'd seen in my dreams.
 My nautical senses confirmed it. 30 degrees, 31 min-utes north, 75 degrees, 12 minutes west.
 We had reached the home of the Cyclops.

Categories: The Sea of Monsters

The Sea of Monsters - Chapter 12

Chapter 12

 WE CHECK IN TO
 C.C.'S SPA & RESORT
 
 I woke up in a rowboat with a makeshift sail stitched of gray uniform fabric. Annabeth sat next to me,
tacking into the wind.
 I tried to sit up and immediately felt woozy.
 "Rest," she said. "You're going to need it."
 "Tyson ... ?"
 She shook her head. "Percy, I'm really sorry."
 We were silent while the waves tossed us up and down.
 "He may have survived," she said halfheartedly. "I mean, fire can't kill him."
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 I nodded, but I had no reason to feel hopeful. I'd seen that explosion rip through solid iron. If Tyson had
been down in the boiler room, there was no way he could've lived.
 He'd given his life for us, and all I could think about were the times I'd felt embarrassed by him and had
denied that the two of us were related.
 Waves lapped at the boat. Annabeth showed me some things she'd salvaged from the
wreckage—Hermes's ther-mos (now empty), a Ziploc bag full of ambrosia, a couple of sailors' shirts, and
a bottle of Dr Pepper. She'd fished me out of the water and found my knapsack, bitten in half by Scylla's
teeth. Most of my stuff had floated away, but I still had Hermes's bottle of multivitamins, and of course I
had Riptide. The ballpoint pen always appeared back in my pocket no matter where I lost it.
 We sailed for hours. Now that we were in the Sea of Monsters, the water glittered a more brilliant
green, like Hydra acid. The wind smelled fresh and salty, but it carried a strange metallic scent, too—as if
a thunderstorm were coming. Or something even more dangerous. I knew what direction we needed to
go. I knew we were exactly one hundred thirteen nautical miles west by northwest of our destination. But
that didn't make me feel any less lost.
 No matter which way we turned, the sun seemed to shine straight into my eyes. We took turns sipping
from the Dr Pepper, shading ourselves with the sail as best we could. And we talked about my latest
dream of Grover.
 By Annabeth's estimate, we had less than twenty-four hours to find Grover, assuming my dream was
accurate, and assuming the Cyclops Polyphemus didn't change his mind and try to marry Grover earlier.
 "Yeah," I said bitterly. "You can never trust a Cyclops."
 Annabeth stared across the water. "I'm sorry, Percy. I was wrong about Tyson, okay? I wish I could tell
him that."
 I tried to stay mad at her, butit  wasn't easy. We'd been through a lot together. She'd saved my life plenty
of times. It was stupid of me to resent her.
 I looked down at our measly possessions—the empty wind thermos, the bottle of multivitamins. I
thought about Luke's look of rage when I'd tried to talk to him about his dad.
 "Annabeth, what's Chiron's prophecy?"
 She pursed her lips. "Percy, I shouldn't—"
 "I know Chiron promised the gods he wouldn't tell me. But you didn't promise, did you?"
 "Knowledge isn't always good for you."
 "Your mom is the wisdom goddess!"
 "I know! But every time heroes learn the future, they try to change it, and it never works."
 "The gods are worried about something I'll do when I get older," I guessed. "Something when I turn
sixteen."
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 Annabeth twisted her Yankees cap in her hands. "Percy, I don't know the full prophecy, but it warns
about a half-blood child of the Big Three—the next one who lives to the age of sixteen. That's the real
reason Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades swore a pact after World War II not to have any more kids. The next
child of the Big Three who reaches sixteen will be a dangerous weapon."
 "Why?"
 "Because that hero will decide the fate of Olympus. He or she will make a decision that either saves the
Age of the Gods, or destroys it."
 I let that sink in. I don't get seasick, but suddenly I felt ill. "That's why Kronos didn't kill me last
summer."
 She nodded. "You could be very useful to him. If he can get you on his side, the gods will be in serious
trouble."
 "But if it's me in the prophecy—"
 "We'll only know that if you survive three more years. That can be a long time for a half-blood. When
Chiron first learned about Thalia, he assumed she was the one in the prophecy. That's why he was so
desperate to get her safely to camp. Then she went down fighting and got turned into a pine tree and
none of us knew what to think. Until you came along."
 On our port side, a spiky green dorsal fin about fifteen feet long curled out of the water and
disappeared.
 "This kid in the prophecy ... he or she couldn't be like, a Cyclops?" I asked. "The Big Three have lots of
monster children."
 Annabeth shook her head. "The Oracle said 'half-blood.' That always means half-human, half-god.
There's really nobody alive who it could be, except you."
 "Then why do the gods even let me live? It would be safer to kill me."
 "You're right."
 "Thanks a lot."
 "Percy, I don't know. I guess some of the gods would like to kill you, but they're probably afraid of
offending Poseidon. Other gods ... maybe they're still watching you, trying to decide what kind of hero
you're going be. You could be a weapon for their survival, after all. The real ques-tion is ... what will you
do in three years? What decision will you make?"
 "Did the prophecy give any hints?"
 Annabeth hesitated.
 Maybe she would've told me more, but just then a sea-gull swooped down out of nowhere and landed
on our makeshift mast. Annabeth looked startled as the bird dropped a small cluster of leaves into her
lap.
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 "Land," she said. "There's land nearby!"
 I sat up. Sure enough, there was a line of blue and brown in the distance. Another minute and I could
make out an island with a small mountain in the center, a dazzling white collection of buildings, a beach
dotted with palm trees, and a harbor filled with a strange assortment of boats.
 The current was pulling our rowboat toward what looked like a tropical paradise.
 "Welcome!" said the lady with the clipboard.
 She looked like a flight attendant—blue business suit, perfect makeup, hair pulled back in a ponytail.
She shook our hands as we stepped onto the dock. With the dazzling smile she gave us, you would've
thought we'd just gotten off the Princess Andromeda rather than a banged-up rowboat.
 Then again, our rowboat wasn't the weirdest ship in port. Along with a bunch of pleasure yachts, there
was a U.S. Navy submarine, several dugout canoes, and an old-fashioned three-masted sailing ship.
There was a helipad with a "Channel Five Fort Lauderdale" helicopter on it, and a short runway with a
Learjet and a propeller plane that looked like a World War II fighter. Maybe they were replicas for
tourists to look at or something.
 "Is this your first time with us?" the clipboard lady inquired.
 Annabeth and I exchanged looks. Annabeth said, "Umm ..."
 "First—time—at—spa," the lady said as she wrote on her clipboard. "Let's see ..."
 She looked us up and down critically. "Mmm. An herbal wrap to start for the young lady. And of
course, a complete makeover for the young gentleman."
 "A what?" I asked.
 She was too busy jotting down notes to answer.
 "Right!" She said with a breezy smile. "Well, I'm sure C.C. will want to speak with you personally before
the luau. Come, please."
 Now here's the thing. Annabeth and I were used to traps, and usually those traps looked good at first.
So I expected the clipboard lady to turn into a snake or a demon, or something, any minute. But on the
other hand, we'd been floating in a rowboat for most of the day. I was hot, tired, and hungry, and when
this lady mentioned a luau, my stom-ach sat up on its hind legs and begged like a dog.
 "I guess it couldn't hurt," Annabeth muttered.
 Of course it could, but we followed the lady anyway. I kept my hands in my pockets where I'd stashed
my only magic defenses—Hermes's multivitamins and Riptide— but the farther we wandered into the
resort, the more I for-got about them.
 The place was amazing. There was white marble and blue water everywhere I looked. Terraces climbed
up the side of the mountain, with swimming pools on every level, con-nected by watersides and waterfalls
and underwater tubes you could swim through. Fountains sprayed water into the air, forming impossible
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shapes, like flying eagles and gallop-ing horses.
 Tyson loved horses, and I knew he'd love those fountains. I almost turned around to see the expression
on his face before I remembered: Tyson was gone.
 "You okay?" Annabeth asked me. "You look pale."
 "I'm okay," I lied. "Just ... let's keep walking."
 We passed all kinds of tame animals. A sea turtle napped in a stack of beach towels. A leopard
stretched out asleep on the diving board. The resort guests—only young women, as far as I could
see—lounged in deck chairs, drink-ing fruit smoothies or reading magazines while herbal gunk dried on
their faces and manicurists in white uniforms did their nails.
 As we headed up a staircase toward what looked like the main building, I heard a woman singing. Her
voice drifted through the air like a lullaby. Her words were in some lan-guage other than Ancient Greek,
but just as old—Minoan, maybe, or something like that. I could understand what she sang
about—moonlight in the olive groves, the colors of the sunrise. And magic. Something about magic. Her
voice seemed to lift me off the steps and carry me toward her.
 We came into a big room where the whole front wall was windows. The back wall was covered in
mirrors, so the room seemed to go on forever. There was a bunch of expensive-looking white furniture,
and on a table in one corner was a large wire pet cage. The cage seemed out of place, but I didn't think
about it too much, because just then I saw the lady who'd been singing ... and whoa.
 She sat at a loom the size of a big screen TV, her hands weaving colored thread back and forth with
amazing skill. The tapestry shimmered like it was three dimensional—a waterfall scene so real I could see
the water moving and clouds drifting across a fabric sky.
 Annabeth caught her breath. "It's beautiful."
 The woman turned. She was even prettier than her fab-ric. Her long dark hair was braided with threads
of gold. She had piercing green eyes and she wore a silky black dress with shapes that seemed to move
in the fabric: animal shadows, black upon black, like deer running through a forest at night.
 "You appreciate weaving, my dear?" the woman asked.
 "Oh, yes, ma'am!" Annabeth said. "My mother is—"
 She stopped herself. You couldn't just go around announcing that your mom was Athena, the goddess
who invented the loom. Most people would lock you in a rubber room.
 Our hostess just smiled. "You have good taste, my dear. I'm so glad you've come. My name is C.C."
 The animals in the corner cage started squealing. They must've been guinea pigs, from the sound of them.
 We introduced ourselves to C.C. She looked me over with a twinge of disapproval, as if I'd failed some
kind of test. Immediately, I felt bad. For some reason, I really wanted to please this lady.
 "Oh, dear," she sighed. "Youdo need my help."
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 "Ma'am?" I asked.
 C.C. called to the lady in the business suit. "Hylla, take Annabeth on a tour, will you? Show her what we
have avail-able. The clothing will need to change. And the hair, my goodness. We will do a full image
consultation after I've spoken with this young gentleman."
 "But ..." Annabeth's voice sounded hurt. "What's wrong with my hair?"
 C.C. smiled benevolently. "My dear, you are lovely. Really! But you're not showing off yourself or your
talents at all. So much wasted potential!"
 "Wasted?"
 "Well, surely you're not happy the way you are! My goodness, there's not a single person who is. But
don't worry. We can improve anyone here at the spa. Hylla will show you what I mean. You, my dear,
need to unlock your true self!"
 Annabeth's eyes glowed with longing. I'd never seen her so much at a loss for words. "But ... what about
Percy?"
 "Oh, definitely," C.C. said, giving me a sad look. "Percy requires my personal attention. He needs much
more work than you."
 Normally if somebody had told me that, I would've gotten angry, but when C.C. said it, I felt sad. I'd
disap-pointed her. I had to figure out how to do better.
 The guinea pigs squealed like they were hungry.
 "Well ..." Annabeth said. "I suppose ..."
 "Right this way, dear," Hylla said. And Annabeth allowed herself to be led away into the waterfall-laced
gardens of the spa.
 C.C. took my arm and guided me toward the mirrored wall. "You see, Percy ... to unlock your
potential, you'll need serious help. The first step is admitting that you're not happy the way you are."
 I fidgeted in the front of the mirror. I hated thinking about my appearance—like the first zit that had
cropped up on my nose at the beginning of the school year, or the fact that my two front teeth weren't
perfectly even, or that my hair never stayed down straight.
 C.C.'s voice brought all of these things to mind, as if she were passing me under a microscope. And my
clothes were not cool. I knew that.
 Who cares? Part of me thought. But standing in front of C.C.'s mirror, it was hard to see anything good
in myself.
 "There, there," C.C. consoled. "How about we try ... this."
 She snapped her fingers and a sky-blue curtain rolled down over the mirror. It shimmered like the fabric
on her loom.
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 "What do you see?" C.C. asked.
 I looked at the blue cloth, not sure what she meant. "I don't—"
 Then it changed colors. I saw myself—a reflection, but not a reflection. Shimmering there on the cloth
was a cooler version of Percy Jackson—with just the right clothes, a confident smile on my face. My
teeth were straight. No zits. A perfect tan. More athletic. Maybe a couple of inches taller. It was me,
without the faults.
 "Whoa," I managed.
 "Do you want that?" C.C. asked. "Or shall I try a different—"
 "No," I said. "That's ... that's amazing. Can you really—"
 "I can give you a full makeover," C.C. promised.
 "What's the catch?" I said. "I have to like ... eat a special diet?"
 "Oh, it's quite easy," C.C. said. "Plenty of fresh fruit, a mild exercise program, and of course ... this."
 She stepped over to her wet bar and filled a glass with water. Then she ripped open a drink-mix packet
and poured in some red powder. The mixture began to glow. When it faded, the drink looked just like a
strawberry milk shake.
 "One of these, substituted for a regular meal," C.C. said. "I guarantee you'll see results immediately."
 "How is that possible?"
 She laughed. "Why question it? I mean, don't you want the perfect you right away?"
 Something nagged at the back of my mind. "Why are there no guys at this spa?"
 "Oh, but there are," C.C. assured me. "You'll meet them quite soon. Just try the mixture. You'll see."
 I looked at the blue tapestry, at the reflection of me, but not me.
 "Now, Percy," C.C. chided. "The hardest part of the makeover process is giving up control. You have
to decide: do you want to trust your  judgment about what you should be, or my judgment?"
 My throat felt dry. I heard myself say, "Your judgment."
 C.C. smiled and handed me the glass. I lifted it to my lips.
 It tasted just like it looked—like a strawberry milk shake. Almost immediately a warm feeling spread
through my gut: pleasant at first, then painfully hot, searing, as if the mixture were coming to a boil inside
of me.
 I doubled over and dropped the cup. "What have you ... what's happening?"
 "Don't worry, Percy," C.C. said. "The pain will pass. Look! As I promised. Immediate results."
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 Something was horribly wrong.
 The curtain dropped away, and in the mirror I saw my hands shriveling, curling, growing long delicate
claws. Fur sprouted on my face, under my shirt, in every uncomfort-able place you can imagine. My
teeth felt too heavy in my mouth. My clothes were getting too big, or C.C. was getting too tall—no, I
was shrinking.
 In one awful flash, I sank into a cavern of dark cloth. I was buried in my own shirt. I tried to run but
hands grabbed me—hands as big as I was. I tried to scream for help, but all that came out of my mouth
was, "Reeet, reeet, reeet!"
 The giant hands squeezed me around the middle, lift-ing me into the air. I struggled and kicked with legs
and arms that seemed much too stubby, and then I was staring, horrified, into the enormous face of C.C.
 "Perfect!" her voice boomed. I squirmed in alarm, but she only tightened her grip around my furry belly.
"See, Percy? You've unlocked your true self!"
 She held me up to the mirror, and what I saw made me scream in terror, "Reeet, reeet, reeet!"  There
was C.C., beau-tiful and smiling, holding a fluffy, bucktoothed creature with tiny claws and white and
orange fur. When I twisted, so did the furry critter in the mirror. I was ... I was ...
 "A guinea pig," C.C. said. "Lovely, aren't you? Men are pigs, Percy Jackson. I used to turn them into
real  pigs, but they were so smelly and large and difficult to keep. Not much different than they were
before, really. Guinea pigs are much more convenient! Now come, and meet the other men."
 "Reeet!" I protested, trying to scratch her, but C.C. squeezed me so tight I almost blacked out.
 "None of that, little one," she scolded, "or I'll feed you to the owls. Go into the cage like a good little pet.
Tomorrow, if you behave, you'll be on your way. There is always a classroom in need of a new guinea
pig."
 My mind was racing as fast as my tiny little heart. I needed to get back to my clothes, which were lying
in a heap on the floor. If I could do that, I could get Riptide out of my pocket and ... And what? I
couldn't uncap the pen. Even if I did, I couldn't hold the sword.
 I squirmed helplessly as C.C. brought me over to the guinea pig cage and opened the wire door.
 "Meet my discipline problems, Percy," she warned. "They'll never make good classroom pets, but they
might teach you some manners. Most of them have been in this cage for three hundred years. If you don't
want to stay with them permanently, I'd suggest you—"
 Annabeth's voice called: "Miss C.C.?"
 C.C. cursed in Ancient Greek. She plopped me into the cage and closed the door. I squealed and
clawed at the bars, but it was no good. I watched as C.C. hurriedly kicked my clothes under the loom
just as Annabeth came in.
 I almost didn't recognize her. She was wearing a sleeveless silk dress like C.C.'s, only white. Her blond
hair was newly washed and combed and braided with gold. Worst of all, she was wearing makeup,
which I never thought Annabeth would be caught dead in. I mean, she looked good. Really good. I
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probably would've been tongue-tied if I could've said any-thing exceptreet, reet, reet.  But there was
also something totally wrong about it. It just wasn't Annabeth.
 She looked around the room and frowned. "Where's Percy?"
 I squealed up a storm, but she didn't seem to hear me.
 C.C. smiled. "He's having one of our treatments, my dear. Not to worry. You look wonderful! What did
you think of your tour?"
 Annabeth's eyes brightened. "Your library is amazing!"
 "Yes, indeed," C.C. said, "The best knowledge of the past three millennia. Anything you want to study,
anything you want to be, my dear."
 "An architect?"
 "Pah!" C.C. said. "You, my dear, have the makings of a sorceress. Like me."
 Annabeth took a step back. "A sorceress?"
 "Yes, my dear." C.C. held up her hand. A flame appeared in her palm and danced across her fingertips.
"My mother isHecate, the goddess of magic. I know a daughter of Athena when I see one. We are not
so different, you and I. We both seek knowledge. We both admire greatness. Neither of us needs to
stand in the shadow of men."
 "I—I don't understand."
 Again, I squealed my best, trying to get Annabeth's attention, but she either couldn't hear me or didn't
think the noises were important. Meanwhile, the other guinea pigs were emerging from their hutch to
check me out. I didn't think it was possible for guinea pigs to look mean, but these did. There were half a
dozen, with dirty fur and cracked teeth and beady red eyes. They were covered with shavings and
smelled like they really had been in here for three hun-dred years, without getting their cage cleaned.
 "Stay with me," C.C. was telling Annabeth. "Study with me. You can join our staff, become a sorceress,
learn to bend others to your will. Youwill become immortal!"
 "But—"
 "You are too intelligent, my dear," C.C. said. "You know better than to trust that silly camp for heroes.
How many great female half-blood heroes can you name?"
 "Um, Atalanta, Amelia Earhart—"
 "Bah! Men get all the glory." C.C. closed her fist and extinguished the magic flame. "The only way to
power for women is sorcery. Medea, Calypso, now there were powerful women! And me, of course.
The greatest of all."
 "You ... C.C. ... Circe!"
 "Yes, my dear."
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 Annabeth backed up, and Circe laughed. "You need not worry. I mean you no harm."
 "What have you done to Percy?"
 "Only helped him realize his true form."
 Annabeth scanned the room. Finally she saw the cage, and me scratching at the bars, all the other guinea
pigs crowding around me. Her eyes went wide.
 "Forget him," Circe said. "Join me and learn the ways of sorcery."
 "But—"
 "Your friend will be well cared for. He'll be shipped to a wonderful new home on the mainland. The
kindergartners will adore him. Meanwhile, you will be wise and powerful. You will have all you ever
wanted."
 Annabeth was still staring at me, but she had a dreamy expression on her face. She looked the same
way I had when Circe enchanted me into drinking the guinea pig milk shake. I squealed and scratched,
trying to warn her to snap out of it, but I was absolutely powerless.
 "Let me think about it," Annabeth murmured. "Just... give me a minute alone. To say good-bye."
 "Of course, my dear," Circe cooed. "One minute. Oh ... and so you have absolute privacy ..." She
waved her hand and iron bars slammed down over the windows. She swept out of the room and I heard
the locks on the door click shut behind her.
 The dreamy look melted off Annabeth's face.
 She rushed over to my cage. "All right, which one is you?
 I squealed, but so did all the other guinea pigs. Annabeth looked desperate. She scanned the room and
spotted the cuff of my jeans sticking out from under the loom.
 Yes!
 She rushed over and rummaged through my pockets.
 But instead of bringing out Riptide, she found the bottle of Hermes multivitamins and started struggling
with the cap.
 I wanted to scream at her that this wasn't the time for taking supplements! She had to draw the sword!
 She popped a lemon chewable in her mouth just as the door flew open and Circe came back in, flanked
by two of her business-suited attendants.
 "Well," Circe sighed, "how fast a minute passes. What is your answer, my dear?"
 "This," Annabeth said, and she drew her bronze knife.
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 The sorceress stepped back, but her surprise quickly passed. She sneered. "Really, little girl, a knife
against my magic? Is that wise?"
 Circe looked back at her attendants, who smiled. They raised their hands as if preparing to cast a spell.
 Run!I wanted to tell Annabeth, but all I could make were rodent noises. The other guinea pigs squealed
in terror and scuttled around the cage. I had the urge to panic and hide, too, but I had to think of
something! I couldn't stand to lose Annabeth the way I'd lost Tyson.
 "What will Annabeth's makeover be?" Circe mused. "Something small and ill-tempered. I know ... a
shrew!"
 Blue fire coiled from her fingers curling like serpents around Annabeth.
 I watched, horror-struck, but nothing happened. Annabeth was still Annabeth, only angrier. She leaped
for-ward and stuck the point of her knife against Circe's neck. "How about turning me into a panther
instead? One that has her claws at your throat!"
 "How!" Circe yelped.
 Annabeth held up my bottle of vitamins for the sorcer-ess to see.
 Circe howled in frustration. "Curse Hermes and his multivitamins! Those are such a fad! They do nothing
for you."
 "Turn Percy back to a human or else!" Annabeth said.
 "I can't!"
 "Then you asked for it."
 Circe's attendants stepped forward, but their mistress said, "Get back! She's immune to magic until that
cursed vitamin wears off."
 Annabeth dragged Circe over to the guinea pig cage, knocked the top off, and poured the rest of the
vitamins inside.
 "No!" Circe screamed.
 I was the first to get a vitamin, but all the other guinea pigs scuttled out, too, and checked out this new
food.
 The first nibble, and I felt all fiery inside. I gnawed at the vitamin until it stopped looking so huge, and the
cage got smaller, and then suddenly, bang! The cage exploded. I was sitting on the floor, a human
again—somehow back in my regular clothes, thank the gods—with six other guys who all looked
disoriented, blinking and shaking wood shavings out of their hair.
 "No!" Circe screamed. "You don't understand! Those are the worst!"
 One of the men stood up—a huge guy with a long tangled pitch-black beard and teeth the same color.
He wore mismatched clothes of wool and leather, knee-length boots, and a floppy felt hat. The other
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men were dressed more simply—in breeches and stained white shirts. All of them were barefoot.
 "Argggh!" bellowed the big man. "What's the witch done t'me!"
 "No!" Circe moaned.
 Annabeth gasped. "I recognize you! Edward Teach, son of Ares?"
 "Aye, lass," the big man growled. "Though most call me Blackbeard! And there's the sorceress what
captured us, lads. Run her through, and then I mean to find me a big bowl of celery! Arggggh!"
 Circe screamed. She and her attendants ran from the room, chased by the pirates.
 Annabeth sheathed her knife and glared at me.
 "Thanks ..." I faltered. "I'm really sorry—"
 Before I could figure out how to apologize for being such an idiot, she tackled me with a hug, then pulled
away just as quickly. "I'm glad you're not a guinea pig."
 "Me, too." I hoped my face wasn't as red as it felt.
 She undid the golden braids in her hair.
 "Come on, Seaweed Brain," she said. "We have to get away while Circe's distracted."
 We ran down the hillside through the terraces, past screaming spa workers and pirates ransacking the
resort. Blackbeard's men broke the tiki torches for the luau, threw herbal wraps into the swimming pool,
and kicked over tables of sauna towels.
 I almost felt bad letting the unruly pirates out, but I guessed they deserved something more entertaining
than the exercise wheel after being cooped up in a cage for three centuries.
 "Which ship?" Annabeth said as we reached the docks.
 I looked around desperately. We couldn't very well take our rowboat. We had to get off the island fast,
but what else could we use? A sub? A fighter jet? I couldn't pilot any of those things. And then I saw it.
 "There," I said.
 Annabeth blinked. "But—"
 "I can make it work."
 "How?"
 I couldn't explain. I just somehow knew an old sailing vessel was the best bet for me. I grabbed
Annabeth's hand and pulled her toward the three-mast ship. Painted on its prow was the name that I
would only decipher later:Queen Anne's Revenge.
 "Argggh!" Blackbeard yelled somewhere behind us. "Those scalawags are a-boarding me vessel! Get
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'em, lads!"
 "We'll never get going in time!" Annabeth yelled as we climbed aboard.
 I looked around at the hopeless maze of sail and ropes. The ship was in great condition for a
three-hundred-year-old vessel, but it would still take a crew of fifty several hours to get underway. We
didn't have several hours. I could see the pirates running down the stairs, waving tiki torches and sticks of
celery.
 I closed my eyes and concentrated on the waves lapping against the hull, the ocean currents, thewinds all
around me. Suddenly, the right word appeared in my mind. "Mizzenmast!" I yelled.
 Annabeth looked at me like I was nuts, but in the next second, the air was filled with whistling sounds of
ropes being snapped taut, canvases unfurling, and wooden pulleys creaking.
 Annabeth ducked as a cable flew over her head and wrapped itself around the bowsprit. "Percy, how
..."
 I didn't have an answer, but I could feel the ship responding to me as if it were part of my body. I willed
the sails to rise as easily as if I were flexing my arm. I willed the rudder to turn.
 The Queen Anne's Revenge lurched away from the dock, and by the time the pirates arrived at the
water's edge, we were already underway, sailing into the Sea of Monsters.

Categories: The Sea of Monsters

The Sea of Monsters - Chapter 11

Chapter 11

 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.
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We'd seen the pilothouse and the powder magazine and gunnery deck (Clarisse's favorite) with two
Dahlgren smoothbore can-nons 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! FinallyI get to be the hero, and you two
willnot 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."
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 "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 her-self.
 "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 prob-lem!"
 "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 overlook-ing 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
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trees. Pink and purple flowers bloomed on the bushes. Hundreds of sheep grazed in the meadows, their
wool glinting strangely like copper and sil-ver 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 beau-tiful. 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 near-est 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."
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 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 shoul-der. I had a sneaking suspicion that one way or another I would not be spending another night
aboard the CSSBirmingham.
 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 ventila-tion 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—"
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 "I DON'T CARE WHAT IT SAID!" Ares bellowed with such force that his image shimmered. "Youwill
suc-ceed. 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 pis-tons. 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.
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 "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 ..."
 "Youarecrazy,"  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 buf-feted 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.
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 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 whirl-pool 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 fir-ing range! Make ready starboard
cannons!"
 Dead Confederates rushed back and forth. The pro-peller 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!"
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 He patted my hand. "Only way, brother." His expres-sion 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 mael-strom. 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. "Wehave  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
every-thing 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
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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
over-board. "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 crack-ing 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 mon-ster. 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
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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 fly-ing 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.

Categories: The Sea of Monsters

The Sea of Monsters - Chapter 10

Chapter 10

 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.
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 "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 ther-mos 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
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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.
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 "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 mosqui-toes 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 water-proof. Stacked in the corner was
everything you could want for a campout—sleeping bags, blankets, anice 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. Youmade 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 when-ever 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!"
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 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'lldo 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. Wouldyou 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
birth-day. 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 thereal  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 lead-ing 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.
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 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.
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 "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-sizething 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 rip-ping 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 disinte-grate. 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.
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 "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 mon-sters. 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
immedi-ately 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 look-ing 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 aboutthat  ? 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.
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 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: CSSBirmingham.
 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."

Categories: The Sea of Monsters