by Anne Ursu
At this, the applause wavered slightly, and people began to look around nervously. Poseidon stiffened, and something dark crossed his face. The crowd quickly amplified their clapping and he relaxed.
“Now,” he proclaimed, “please enjoy yourselves. And at midnight we will have a small demonstration of what happens when you cross Poseidon the Earth Shaker!” Poseidon waved his hand in the air, and two giant wall-size movie screens unfurled on either side of the orchestra. Another wave of his hand and an image appeared on them of a cruise ship bobbing listlessly in the night sea.
Charlotte had to suppress a gasp. Murmurs of appreciation filled the room while she fixated on the screen. Her ship looked so strange—lifeless, like a corpse of a cruise ship floating along across the waters of eternity. But it wasn’t a corpse, it wasn’t lifeless, there were hundreds of people in there, including the two people whom—despite their prodigious flaws—she loved best in all the world, and who loved her best in all the world. And none of those hundreds of people knew it, but underneath their thick Siren-induced haze, they were all counting on Charlotte to save them.
Poseidon was still talking, something about the party, but Charlotte couldn’t hear—her ears were buzzing too loudly with grief and anger and fear. Poseidon waved his trident in the air and as a school of dolphins jumped over the yacht in perfect synchronicity, the starfish orchestra changed suddenly into a five-piece sea nymph band, with the musicians themselves also not in formal attire, or much of any attire at all. If Charlotte had not had other problems, she would have commented quite loudly on the disgusting display of sexism.
As the band started playing again, Poseidon strode off the stage and into the crowd, while followers milled around him sycophantically. Charlotte, meanwhile, could not take her eyes off the screens. Tears filled her eyes as in the back of her mind she saw the Siren’s victims sitting helpless and oblivious to their fate. How could she save them? She was just a girl, one girl, just Charlotte Mielswetzski, redheaded eighth grader, gymnast and cat owner, daughter and cousin, student and friend and victim of the world’s longest and most unjust grounding. What could she do against the whims of a god?
Well, it didn’t matter what she could do, for that was not the point. The point was what she had to do, which was pull herself together and get to work. And while it felt like she was alone, she was not, for she had Sir Laurence and she had Jason Hart. And that wasn’t all—she had her friends and her family. Okay, they weren’t there with her; most of them had no idea where she was and some of them weren’t even conscious. But she could use them. She needed them all, every single one of them. She needed her mother’s careful rationality, her father’s unalloyed optimism, Maddy’s intelligence, and Zee’s—yes, Zee, her Lulu cousin, whom she would happily forgive if she ever saw again—quiet strength. She needed them all—mixed with just a dash of Charlotte Mielswetzski impudence.
Tearing her eyes away from the cruise ship, Charlotte tried to pull herself together. It was hard; all her parts seemed to have their own agenda. Her stomach felt like someone had thrown it over an open flame, her throat was drier than any desert on Earth, her hands burned with cold, and her chest tugged as if she might vomit up her esophagus itself. Though her lungs were stiff and made of iron, Charlotte did the best she could to take a deep breath. Her eyes fell on a crowd of gods in front of the statue, laughing and drinking their ambrosia. One pointed to the stranded cruise ship and they all chuckled loudly, while Charlotte’s eyes narrowed. Then she flipped her ponytail and climbed up onto the stage.
The band was in the middle of a song, and as Charlotte strode along the stage, full of bravado, the nymphs eyed her quizzically. Most of the people on the dance floor were consumed with flattering Poseidon, and the few who did notice her only glanced curiously at her. She skimmed the room for faces friendly (Jason) and not (Philonecron), but she saw no one she knew, besides Calypso, who was flirting with the foreign minister. Trying to ignore the thundering of her heart, Charlotte walked up to the front of the stage and, as the song ended, turned to the singer nymph and said, her voice cracking slightly, “I need your microphone.”
The singer nymph looked at her skeptically. Charlotte straightened. “Poseidon wants me to have it,” she added.
That was all it took. The nymph handed the microphone to her quickly, as a few more heads from the dance floor turned to investigate this strange interruption in their music. Charlotte stalked up to the very front of the stage, and two of the seahorse lanterns floated above her accommodatingly.
It’s time, she told herself. You can do this, Charlotte. Of course you can. You have journeyed to the Underworld, defeated a Footman, confronted Hades, outwitted Philonecron, made a B+ in algebra. Charlotte Mielswetzski had saved humanity from an eternity of torment; she could certainly save a cruise ship full of history buffs. Adrenaline rushed through her, and suddenly everything in the room looked sharper, brighter. The roar of the crowd quieted, and she was distinctly aware of every detail of her own presence. She set her jaw and tapped the microphone.
“Hello,” she said, voice calm and clear. “Could I have your attention, please.”
Heads turned, first a few, then more, as the party guests took notice of this strange figure. Behind her the nymphs looked on curiously. In the back of the room, Poseidon, oblivious to the change in program, still held court, listening intently as a few Nereids admired his chest pendant.
“Good evening,” Charlotte said, gazing steadily out into the room. “I’m Charlotte Mielswetzski.”
Silence, then, for a moment, as her words spread around the room. Then a cascade of gasps, and Charlotte heard mutters of “That’s the mortal,” “Underworld,” and “Philonecron.”
A roar came from Poseidon then, and every single god, man, woman, beast, and all the combinations thereof ducked as one. He swung his trident in the air and yelled, “How?!”
Some of Charlotte’s bravado faded, but she struggled to give no sign. “I guess I’m just tougher than you,” she said, shrugging. “He tried to kill me,” she told the audience matter-of-factly, “but it didn’t work.”
The crowd gasped as one, and Poseidon swung his trident around wildly. “Someone’s helping you!” he roared. “Who is it? Who? Come forward and I’ll be merciful.”
Charlotte was pretty sure that was a lie. “No one’s helping me. I told you before! I did it all by myself.” Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw people surreptitiously scurrying out of the room. Over by the door, she saw a flash of scruffy dark hair, but then it was gone. “You tried to kill me, but I stopped you all by my mortal self.”
“Yearrrrgh!” Poseidon gargled, pointing the trident at her. Charlotte blanched slightly as a murmur passed through the crowd. “Just tell me how you survived, you pathetic mortal,” he spat. “Is Zeus helping you? Does he want to bring me down? Isn’t he content with the skies and the Earth—now he wants the seas as well? I’ll kill him. I’ll flood Olympus. Tell me!” He shook his head and looked out at the crowd. “That’s the only way she could live,” he told the crowd. “Zeus must be helping her. I’m the second most powerful god in the whole Universe.”
“Not true,” Charlotte said. “I’m afraid you’re just not that powerful, and now everyone here knows it.” Now it was Charlotte’s turn to address the crowd. “I mean, really, you’re all scared of him, but I beat him and I’m only in the eighth grade. Besides,” she added, looking back at Poseidon, “how much power can you really have if all you do is wave that trident around, huh? What kind of a god needs a magic wand?”
More murmurings through the crowd.
“I’ll kill you with my bare hands,” he growled, storming up to the stage, pushing people aside as he went.
Charlotte gasped, and for a moment the words she needed to say stuck in her throat. He was coming at her and he was going to kill her unless she could find the strength to say:
“I bet I could do anything with it you can.”
The words tumbled out of her m
outh in a rush, and Charlotte staggered as if to try to catch them. Stupefied by her gall, Poseidon stopped his rush toward Charlotte and stared at her, his eyes full of fury. She waited, heart in her throat as he contemplated her, his chest rising up and down rapidly with his fevered breaths. Meanwhile, the crowd around them looked from god to mortal, muttering darkly to themselves. What were they saying? Charlotte couldn’t hear, but everything depended on it. Had she planted a seed of doubt in them, and if so, had Poseidon heard it? This was what she was counting on to save her, to save them all—his reckless vanity. Maybe, just maybe, if he felt his subjects had the tiniest bit of doubt, he would play Charlotte’s game. It was the only way.
The murmuring spread through the room like ivy, and a tendril worked its way slowly up Poseidon’s body until it reached his ear. Poseidon turned his head and began to look around the room, his eyes drinking in his guests’ reactions, and something in him seemed to waver. Charlotte took in a quick gasp of air. She had him.
But just as quickly as the moment had come, it went, and Poseidon’s head snapped back to Charlotte, his face hardening in a smirk.
“Oh,” he growled. “You want my trident, do you? Is that what this is about?” He held his arms up and looked around, as if to let the whole room in on their conversation. “You think you can just use this and become like a god? You think you can defeat me with it?” He laughed cruelly. “Fine, then, mortal, take it.”
And with that, Poseidon hurled the trident in the air, and it came spinning toward Charlotte. She reached for it, desperately, but, as if with a mind of its own, it moved out of her reach, then swung around in the air, and the handle hit her squarely on the back and knocked her down on the stage. A rumbling of laughter went through the crowd.
“Foolish mortal!” Poseidon proclaimed, cackling. “Did you think you would use my own trident to defeat me?”
Smarting, Charlotte picked herself up, but the trident dove at her again, sweeping under her legs and knocking her backward. She landed on her back with a thud.
“You wanted to play god, did you?” Poseidon thundered. “You humans are always overreaching yourselves. Can’t you be content to be beasts?”
As Charlotte tried to stand, her every muscle screaming, the trident whirled around in the air so it was aimed spears first and sped toward her, then stopped, poked her tauntingly in the back, and spun around and banged into her stomach with great force.
All the air left Charlotte’s body, and she crawled on the ground, trying desperately to put breath back into her lungs. Her chest felt as if it were made out of steel; it would not move. She gasped and gasped while the immense crowd looked on and the trident backed up, readying itself for another strike. Finally, her lungs filled again, and Charlotte slowly backed herself away, trying not to yelp as pain radiated through her back.
“That’s all you are, you know. Beasts,” Poseidon snarled. “It’s not our fault someone chose to give you fire and make you aware of us. We allowed your creation, and how do you repay us? All you do is want. Want, want, want, want, want!” At his words, the trident moved back and forth in the air, as if to shake its finger at Charlotte. “Did you think you would take over my kingdom? You’ll never understand. We’re gods! There’s nothing you can do to us!”
The trident dove in again, and Charlotte rolled out of the way. The thing zoomed past her and circled around again, hovering menacingly just out of her reach. Gathering every bit of strength she had, and quite a lot she didn’t, Charlotte made a lunge for the trident.
“Oh, you still want it?” Poseidon said. “Well, take it! By all means!”
Suddenly the trident fell into Charlotte’s outstretched hands, and as soon she touched it she screamed again. It was white-hot. Her hands recoiled, and the trident clattered against the ground.
“What?” he taunted. “What’s wrong? Can’t you handle it?”
Charlotte’s hands were burning, her back was screaming in pain, her whole body felt broken. This was going to go on all night, he was going to attack her with the trident until she died. If she was lucky, she would die before the Ketos attacked the cruise ship and she would not have to watch, but Charlotte Mielswetzski was not feeling particularly lucky.
The trident sat on the floor a few feet away from her while Poseidon continued to berate her. She had one chance. Charlotte gritted her teeth, tucked her hands inside her stylish leather jacket, and, ignoring every pain in her body, lunged for the trident. Poseidon laughed again as Charlotte wrapped her jacket-covered hands around the handle. She picked it up—she expected to barely be able to lift it, but it was surprisingly light—and as the leather began to sizzle, she reeled backward and slammed the trident into the ground with all of her strength.
It was nothing like when Poseidon did it. The floor rattled, the walls rattled, but it wasn’t like the whole ship was going to break apart. Still, it was something. She hoped it was enough. It had to be enough.
“Ha!” Poseidon proclaimed. “Good one, mortal! Now, why don’t you bring that back to me….” He held out his hand and suddenly a great gust of wind stirred behind Charlotte and before she could react, it began to push her toward the laughing god. “What shall I do with you this time, Mortal?” he said. “Clearly drowning was too good for you.” Charlotte struggled to break free from the wind, but she was helpless as it pushed her toward Poseidon and her doom.
And then, boom! A green tentacle the size of a bus came crashing through the starboard wall. Glass shattered everywhere, and the tentacle swept through the room, knocking a group of gods off their feet. Boom! Another tentacle came through the port wall and landed with a huge crash on the stage, sending chunks of coral everywhere. Boom! A squid arm came crashing through the ceiling, sending the crystal chandelier smashing to the ground. Sir Laurence had gotten her signal.
“What the—” Poseidon said, whirling around. The wind stopped abruptly and Charlotte fell backward, tumbling to the ground. The trident dropped out of her hands on impact, and she scurried toward her prize, the pain in her body receding to the back of her mind. It didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered but the trident. Charlotte grabbed it again, expecting her hands to burn, but Poseidon’s spell had broken and now the gold handle was just warm to the touch, the temperature of life, and as her hands wrapped around it, it hummed eagerly. Charlotte held the trident close to her and tore off toward the door.
A loud yell came from Poseidon, and he turned to Charlotte, raising a hand to her, and then—crash!—one of the squid arms came flying out of the darkness of the night sky toward him, smashing him to the ground. People ran in every direction, as glass and coral and wood and crystal went flying everywhere. The seahorse lanterns flooded toward the doorway. As Charlotte followed, a group of Immortals made as if to stop her, but she waved the trident around as if it were a torch protecting her from a roomful of snakes. And then a tentacle came bashing through the ceiling, and the gods around Charlotte scattered.
Poseidon was up off the floor now, screaming in rage, sending all the debris in the room sailing in a concentrated stream toward Sir Laurence’s arms. But every time one got hit, another attacked the room again, knocking Immortals over like bowling pins. Again Poseidon went down on the floor and Charlotte sped toward the door. Later she would think of her injured back, her battered bones, her seared hands, her beat-up muscles. Later. It didn’t matter now—all that mattered was getting through that door.
Around her, minor gods and sea creatures were scurrying everywhere, some trying to fight off Sir Laurence, others running for the doors. The air filled with shrieks, the sound of destruction, and the enraged yells of Poseidon.
Charlotte burst through the doorway into the hall, where, huddled in a corner, white and shaken, was Jason Hart. “Charlotte!” he exclaimed, relief washing over his face. “I—I thought he was killing you!” he stuttered. “I couldn’t watch! And then people came running out and said there was a sea monster, and—”
“It doesn’t matter!” She w
hirled back around and pointed the trident toward the two giant, heavy, wooden ballroom doors. She had absolutely no idea how to work the thing, but in her head she thought, Shut, and a burst of blue flame came out of the trident. And the doors swung closed. That was easy enough. Seal, she thought, then as more blue flame came out, she turned back to Jason and shouted, “Get me out of here!”
CHAPTER 25
Surprises
JASON GRABBED CHARLOTTE’S HAND AND LED HER through the emergency exit door and down the stairs. Every movement amplified the pain in Charlotte’s body, but she had so much to worry about that the pain wasn’t exactly at the forefront of her mind. There were five flights of stairs between them and the main deck, then once they got there, there was a long hallway and expanse of deck to get across and a ladder to climb down in order to get to the lifeboat. Nothing else mattered.
The walls shook, and crashing noises filled the air as they ran down the stairwell. Charlotte sent a mental message to Sir Laurence to keep the ship together long enough for her to get off it. Four flights of stairs left, then three, then two, then—
One flight above the main deck, Jason turned off and opened the stairwell door, motioning Charlotte through. “Come on,” he shouted, “this way!”
“But the lifeboat’s down here!”
“I know a shortcut! Come on!” A particularly loud crash reverberated through the walls, and the door Jason was holding open fell off one of its gold hinges. “Let’s go!”
He started running down a long residential hallway, and Charlotte followed. Down the hallway they went, ducking pieces of debris and falling Poseidon busts, as Jason kept calling, “This way! Come on!”
Then, suddenly, in the middle of the hallway, he halted before one of the doors. “Come on,” he whispered urgently, “he’s in here!”
Charlotte halted, utterly bewildered. “Who? Jason, we have to go!”