by Rick Riordan
I couldn't explain things to Tyson. He knew I was sad. He knew I wanted to go on a trip and Tantalus wouldn't let me.
"You will go anyway?" he asked.
"I don't know," I admitted. "It would be hard. Very hard."
"I will help."
"No. I—uh, I couldn't ask you to do that, big guy. Too dangerous."
Tyson looked down at the pieces of metal he was assembling in his lap—springs and gears and tiny wires. Beckendorf had given him some tools and spare parts, and now Tyson spent every night tinkering, though I wasn't sure how his huge hands could handle such delicate little pieces.
"What are you building?" I asked.
Tyson didn't answer. Instead he made a whimpering sound in the back of his throat. "Annabeth doesn't like Cyclopes. You… don't want me along?"
"Oh, that's not it," I said halfheartedly. "Annabeth likes you. Really."
He had tears in the corners of his eye.
I remembered that Grover, like all satyrs, could read human emotions. I wondered if Cyclopes had the same ability.
Tyson folded up his tinkering project in an oilcloth. He lay down on his bunk bed and hugged his bundle like a teddy bear. When he turned toward the wall, I could see the weird scars on his back, like somebody had plowed over him with a tractor. I wondered for the millionth time how he'd gotten hurt.
"Daddy always cared for m-me," he sniffled. "Now… I think he was mean to have a Cyclops boy. I should not have been born."
"Don't talk that way! Poseidon claimed you, didn't he? So… he must care about you… a lot…."
My voice trailed off as I thought about all those years Tyson had lived on the streets of New York in a cardboard refrigerator box. How could Tyson think that Poseidon had cared for him? What kind of dad let that happen to his kid, even if his kid was a monster?
"Tyson… camp will be a good home for you. The others will get used to you. I promise."
Tyson sighed. I waited for him to say something. Then I realized he was already asleep.
I lay back on my bed and tried to close my eyes, but I just couldn't. I was afraid I might have another dream about Grover. If the empathy link was real… if something happened to Grover… would I ever wake up?
The full moon shone through my window. The sound of the surf rumbled in the distance. I could smell the warm scent of the strawberry fields, and hear the laughter of the dryads as they chased owls through the forest. But something felt wrong about the night—the sickness of Thalia's tree, spreading across the valley.
Could Clarisse save Half-Blood Hill? I thought the odds were better of me getting a "Best Camper" award from Tantalus.
I got out of bed and pulled on some clothes. I grabbed a beach blanket and a six-pack of Coke from under my bunk. The Cokes were against the rules. No outside snacks or drinks were allowed, but if you talked to the right guy in Hermes's cabin and paid him a few golden drachma, he could smuggle in almost anything from the nearest convenience store.
Sneaking out after curfew was against the rules, too. If I got caught I'd either get in big trouble or be eaten by the harpies. But I wanted to see the ocean. I always felt better there. My thoughts were clearer. I left the cabin and headed for the beach.
I spread my blanket near the surf and popped open a Coke. For some reason sugar and caffeine always calmed down my hyperactive brain. I tried to decide what to do to save the camp, but nothing came to me. I wished Poseidon would talk to me, give me some advice or something.
The sky was clear and starry. I was checking out the constellations Annabeth had taught me—Sagittarius, Hercules, Corona Borealis—when somebody said, "Beautiful, aren't they?"
I almost spewed soda.
Standing right next to me was a guy in nylon running shorts and a New York City Marathon T-shirt. He was slim and fit, with salt-and-pepper hair and a sly smile. He looked kind of familiar, but I couldn't figure out why.
My first thought was that he must've been taking a midnight jog down the beach and strayed inside the camp borders. That wasn't supposed to happen. Regular mortals couldn't enter the valley. But maybe with the tree's magic weakening he'd managed to slip in. But in the middle of the night? And there was nothing around except farmland and state preserves. Where would this guy have jogged from?
"May I join you?" he asked. "I haven't sat down in ages."
Now, I know—a strange guy in the middle of the night. Common sense: I was supposed to run away, yell for help, etc. But the guy acted so calm about the whole thing that I found it hard to be afraid.
I said, "Uh, sure."
He smiled. "Your hospitality does you credit. Oh, and Coca-Cola! May I?"
He sat at the other end of the blanket, popped a soda and took a drink. "Ah… that hits the spot. Peace and quiet at—"
A cell phone went off in his pocket.
The jogger sighed. He pulled out his phone and my eyes got big, because it glowed with a bluish light. When he extended the antenna, two creatures began writhing around it—green snakes, no bigger than earthworms.
The jogger didn't seem to notice. He checked his LCD display and cursed. "I've got to take this. Just a sec…" Then into the phone: "Hello?"
He listened. The mini-snakes writhed up and down the antenna right next to his ear.
"Yeah," the jogger said. "Listen—I know, but… I don't care if he is chained to a rock with vultures pecking at his liver, if he doesn't have a tracking number, we can't locate his package…. A gift to humankind, great… You know how many of those we deliver—Oh, never mind. Listen, just refer him to Eris in customer service. I gotta go."
He hung up. "Sorry. The overnight express business is just booming. Now, as I was saying—"
"You have snakes on your phone."
"What? Oh, they don't bite. Say hello, George and Martha."
Hello, George and Martha, a raspy male voice said inside my head.
Don't be sarcastic, said a female voice.
Why not? George demanded. I do all the real work.
"Oh, let's not go into that again!" The jogger slipped his phone back into his pocket. "Now, where were we… Ah, yes. Peace and quiet."
He crossed his ankles and stared up at the stars. "Been a long time since I've gotten to relax. Ever since the telegraph—rush, rush, rush. Do you have a favorite constellation, Percy?"
I was still kind of wondering about the little green snakes he'd shoved into his jogging shorts, but I said, "Uh, I like Hercules."
"Why?"
"Well… because he had rotten luck. Even worse than mine. It makes me feel better."
The jogger chuckled. "Not because he was strong and famous and all that?"
"No."
"You're an interesting young man. And so, what now?"
I knew immediately what he was asking. What did I intend to do about the Fleece?
Before I could answer, Martha the snake's muffled voice came from his pocket: I have Demeter on line two.
"Not now," the jogger said. "Tell her to leave a message."
She's not going to like that. The last time you put her off, all the flowers in the floral delivery division wilted.
"Just tell her I'm in a meeting!" The jogger rolled his eyes. "Sorry again, Percy. You were saying…"
"Um… who are you, exactly?"
"Haven't you guessed by now, a smart boy like you?"
Show him! Martha pleaded. I haven't been full-size for months.
Don't listen to her! George said. She just wants to show off!
The man took out his phone again. "Original form, please."
The phone glowed a brilliant blue. It stretched into a three-foot-long wooden staff with dove wings sprouting out the top. George and Martha, now full-sized green snakes, coiled together around the middle. It was a caduceus, the symbol of Cabin Eleven.
My throat tightened. I realized who the jogger reminded me of with his elfish features, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes….
"You're Luke's father," I said. "Hermes."
<
br /> The god pursed his lips. He stuck his caduceus in the sand like an umbrella pole. "'Luke's father. Normally, that's not the first way people introduce me. God of thieves, yes. God of messengers and travelers, if they wish to be kind."
God of thieves works, George said.
Oh, don't mind George. Martha flicked her tongue at me. He's just bitter because Hermes likes me best.
He does not!
Does too!
"Behave, you two," Hermes warned, "or I'll turn you back into a cell phone and set you on vibrate! Now, Percy, you still haven't answered my question. What do you intend to do about the quest?"
"I–I don't have permission to go."
"No, indeed. Will that stop you?"
"I want to go. I have to save Grover."
Hermes smiled. "I knew a boy once… oh, younger than you by far. A mere baby, really."
Here we go again, George said. Always talking about himself
Quiet! Martha snapped. Do you want to get set on vibrate?
Hermes ignored them. "One night, when this boy's mother wasn't watching, he sneaked out of their cave and stole some cattle that belonged to Apollo."
"Did he get blasted to tiny pieces?" I asked.
"Hmm… no. Actually, everything turned out quite well. To make up for his theft, the boy gave Apollo an instrument he'd invented—a lyre. Apollo was so enchanted with the music that he forgot all about being angry."
"So what's the moral?"
"The moral?" Hermes asked. "Goodness, you act like it's a fable. It's a true story. Does truth have a moral?"
"Um…"
"How about this: stealing is not always bad?"
"I don't think my mom would like that moral."
Rats are delicious, suggested George.
What does that have to do with the story? Martha demanded.
Nothing, George said. But I'm hungry.
"I've got it," Hermes said. "Young people don't always do what they're told, but if they can pull it off and do something wonderful, sometimes they escape punishment. How's that?"
"You're saying I should go anyway," I said, "even without permission."
Hermes's eyes twinkled. "Martha, may I have the first package, please?"
Martha opened her mouth… and kept opening it until it was as wide as my arm. She belched out a stainless steel canister—an old-fashioned lunch box thermos with a black plastic top. The sides of the thermos were enameled with red and yellow Ancient Greek scenes—a hero killing a lion; a hero lifting up Cerberus, the three-headed dog.
"That's Hercules," I said. "But how—"
"Never question a gift," Hermes chided. "This is a collector's item from Hercules Busts Heads. The first season."
"Hercules Busts Heads?"
"Great show." Hermes sighed. "Back before Hephaestus-TV was all reality programming. Of course, the thermos would be worth much more if I had the whole lunch box—"
Or if it hadn't been in Martha's mouth, George added.
I'll get you for that. Martha began chasing him around the caduceus.
"Wait a minute," I said. "This is a gift?"
"One of two," Hermes said. "Go on, pick it up."
I almost dropped it because it was freezing cold on one side and burning hot on the other. The weird thing was, when I turned the thermos, the side facing the ocean— north—was always the cold side….
"It's a compass!" I said.
Hermes looked surprised. "Very clever. I never thought of that. But its intended use is a bit more dramatic. Uncap it, and you will release the winds from the four corners of the earth to speed you on your way. Not now! And please, when the time comes, only unscrew the lid a tiny bit. The winds are a bit like me—always restless. Should all four escape at once… ah, but I'm sure you'll be careful. And now my second gift. George?"
She's touching me, George complained as he and Martha slithered around the pole.
"She's always touching you," Hermes said. "You're intertwined. And if you don't stop that, you'll get knotted again!
The snakes stopped wrestling.
George unhinged his jaw and coughed up a little plastic bottle filled with chewable vitamins.
"You're kidding," I said. "Are those Minotaur-shaped?"
Hermes picked up the bottle and rattled it. "The lemon ones, yes. The grape ones are Furies, I think. Or are they hydras? At any rate, these are potent. Don't take one unless you really, really need it."
"How will I know if I really, really need it?"
"You'll know, believe me. Nine essential vitamins, minerals, amino acids… oh, everything you need to feel yourself again."
He tossed me the bottle.
"Um, thanks," I said. "But Lord Hermes, why are you helping me?"
He gave me a melancholy smile. "Perhaps because I hope that you can save many people on this quest, Percy. Not just your friend Grover."
I stared at him. "You don't mean… Luke?"
Hermes didn't answer.
"Look," I said. "Lord Hermes, I mean, thanks and everything, but you might as well take back your gifts. Luke can't be saved. Even if I could find him… he told me he wanted to tear down Olympus stone by stone. He betrayed everybody he knew. He—he hates you especially."
Hermes gazed up at the stars. "My dear young cousin, if there's one thing I've learned over the eons, it's that you can't give up on your family, no matter how tempting they make it. It doesn't matter if they hate you, or embarrass you, or simply don't appreciate your genius for inventing the Internet—"
"You invented the Internet?"
It was my idea, Martha said.
Rats are delicious, George said.
"It was my idea!" Hermes said. "I mean the Internet, not the rats. But that's not the point. Percy, do you understand what I'm saying about family?"
"I–I'm not sure."
"You will some day." Hermes got up and brushed the sand off his legs. "In the meantime, I must be going."
You have sixty calls to return, Martha said.
And one thousand-thirty-eight e-mails, George added. Not counting the offers for online discount ambrosia.
"And you, Percy," Hermes said, "have a shorter deadline than you realize to complete your quest. Your friends should be coming right about… now."
I heard Annabeth's voice calling my name from the sand dunes. Tyson, too, was shouting from a little bit farther away.
"I hope I packed well for you," Hermes said. "I do have some experience with travel."
He snapped his fingers and three yellow duffel bags appeared at my feet. "Waterproof, of course. If you ask nicely, your father should be able to help you reach the ship."
"Ship?"
Hermes pointed. Sure enough, a big cruise ship was cutting across Long Island Sound, its white-and-gold lights glowing against the dark water.
"Wait," I said. "I don't understand any of this. I haven't even agreed to go!"
"I'd make up your mind in the next five minutes, if I were you," Hermes advised. "That's when the harpies will come to eat you. Now, good night, cousin, and dare I say it? May the gods go with you."
He opened his hand and the caduceus flew into it.
Good luck, Martha told me.
Bring me back a rat, George said.
The caduceus changed into a cell phone and Hermes slipped it into his pocket.
He jogged off down the beach. Twenty paces away, he shimmered and vanished, leaving me alone with a thermos, a bottle of chewable vitamins, and five minutes to make an impossible decision.
EIGHT
WE BOARD THE
PRINCESS ANDROMEDA
I was staring at the waves when Annabeth and Tyson found me.
"What's going on?" Annabeth asked. "I heard you calling for help!"
"Me, too!" Tyson said. "Heard you yell, 'Bad things are attacking! "
"I didn't call you guys," I said. "I'm fine."
"But then who…" Annabeth noticed the three yellow duffel bags, then the thermos and the bottle of vitamins I was
holding. "What—"
"Just listen," I said. "We don't have much time."
I told them about my conversation with Hermes. By the time I was finished, I could hear screeching in the distance—patrol harpies picking up our scent.
"Percy," Annabeth said, "we have to do the quest."
"We'll get expelled, you know. Trust me, I'm an expert at getting expelled."
"So? If we fail, there won't be any camp to come back to."
"Yeah, but you promised Chiron—"
"I promised I'd keep you from danger. I can only do that by coming with you! Tyson can stay behind and tell them—"
"I want to go," Tyson said.
"No!" Annabeth's voice sounded close to panic. "I mean… Percy, come on. You know that's impossible."
I wondered again why she had such a grudge against Cyclopes. There was something she wasn't telling me.
She and Tyson both looked at me, waiting for an answer. Meanwhile, the cruise ship was getting farther and farther away.
The thing was, part of me didn't want Tyson along. I'd spent the last three days in close quarters with the guy, getting razzed by the other campers and embarrassed a million times a day, constantly reminded that I was related to him. I needed some space.
Plus, I didn't know how much help he'd be, or how I'd keep him safe. Sure, he was strong, but Tyson was a little kid in Cyclops terms, maybe seven or eight years old, mentally. I could see him freaking out and starting to cry while we were trying to sneak past a monster or something. He'd get us all killed.
On the other hand, the sound of the harpies was getting closer….
"We can't leave him," I decided. "Tantalus will punish him for us being gone."
"Percy," Annabeth said, trying to keep her cool, "we're going to Polyphemus's island! Polyphemus is an S-i-k… a C-y-k.." She stamped her foot in frustration. As smart as she was, Annabeth was dyslexic, too. We could've been there all night while she tried to spell Cyclops. "You know what I mean!"
"Tyson can go," I insisted, "if he wants to."
Tyson clapped his hands. "Want to!"
Annabeth gave me the evil eye, but I guess she could tell I wasn't going to change my mind. Or maybe she just knew we didn't have time to argue.
"All right," she said. "How do we get to that ship?"