by Rick Riordan
One of the dolphin warriors dragged Coach Hedge up from below.
“Let me go, you tuna fish!” Hedge bellowed. He tried to kick the warrior, but his hoof clanged off his captor’s armor. Judging from the hoof-shaped prints in the dolphin’s breastplate and helmet, the coach had already made several attempts.
“Ah, a satyr,” Chrysaor mused. “A little old and stringy, but Cyclopes will pay well for a morsel like him. Chain him up.”
“I’m nobody’s goat meat!” Hedge protested.
“Gag him as well,” Chrysaor decided.
“Why you gilded little—” Hedge’s insult was cut short when the dolphin put a greasy wad of canvas in his mouth. Soon the coach was trussed like a rodeo calf and dumped with the other loot—crates of food, extra weapons, even the magical ice chest from the mess hall.
“You can’t do this!” Annabeth shouted.
Chrysaor’s laughter reverberated inside his gold face mask. Percy wondered if he was horribly disfigured under there, or if his gaze could petrify people the way his mother’s could.
“I can do anything I want,” Chrysaor said. “My warriors have been trained to perfection. They are vicious, cutthroat—”
“Dolphins,” Percy noted.
Chrysaor shrugged. “Yes. So? They had some bad luck a few millennia ago, kidnapped the wrong person. Some of their crew got turned completely into dolphins. Others went mad. But these…these survived as hybrid creatures. When I found them under the sea and offered them a new life, they became my loyal crew. They fear nothing!”
One of the warriors chattered at him nervously.
“Yes, yes,” Chrysaor growled. “They fear one thing, but it hardly matters. He’s not here.”
An idea began tickling at the base of Percy’s skull. Before he could pursue it, more dolphin warriors climbed the stairs, hauling up the rest of his friends. Jason was unconscious. Judging from the new bruises on his face, he’d tried to fight. Hazel and Piper were bound hand and foot. Piper had a gag in her mouth, so apparently the dolphins had discovered she could charmspeak. Frank was the only one missing, though two of the dolphins had bee stings covering their faces.
Could Frank actually turn into a swarm of bees? Percy hoped so. If he was free aboard the ship somewhere, that could be an advantage, assuming Percy could figure out how to communicate with him.
“Excellent!” Chrysaor gloated. He directed his warriors to dump Jason by the crossbows. Then he examined the girls like they were Christmas presents, which made Percy grit his teeth.
“The boy is no use to me,” Chrysaor said. “But we have an understanding with the witch Circe. She will buy the women—either as slaves or trainees, depending on their skill. But not you, lovely Annabeth.”
Annabeth recoiled. “You are not taking me anywhere.”
Percy’s hand crept to his pocket. His pen had appeared back in his jeans. He only needed a moment’s distraction to draw his sword. Maybe if he could take down Chrysaor quickly, his crew would panic.
He wished he knew something about Chrysaor’s weaknesses. Usually Annabeth provided him with information like that, but apparently Chrysaor didn’t have any legends, so they were both in the dark.
The golden warrior tutted. “Oh, sadly, Annabeth, you will not be staying with me. I would love that. But you and your friend Percy are spoken for. A certain goddess is paying a high bounty for your capture—alive, if possible, though she didn’t say you had to be unharmed.”
At that moment, Piper caused the disturbance they needed. She wailed so loudly it could be heard through her gag. Then she fainted against the nearest guard, knocking him over. Hazel got the idea and crumpled to the deck, kicking her legs and thrashing like she was having a fit.
Percy drew Riptide and lashed out. The blade should have gone straight through Chrysaor’s neck, but the golden warrior was unbelievably fast. He dodged and parried as the dolphin warriors backed up, guarding the other captives while giving their captain room to battle. They chattered and squeaked, egging him on, and Percy got the sinking suspicion the crew was used to this sort of entertainment. They didn’t feel their leader was in any sort of danger.
Percy hadn’t crossed swords with an opponent like this since…well, since he’d battled the war god Ares. Chrysaor was that good. Many of Percy’s powers had gotten stronger over the years, but now, too late, Percy realized that swordplay wasn’t one of them.
He was rusty—at least against an adversary like Chrysaor.
They battled back and forth, thrusting and parrying. Without meaning to, Percy heard the voice of Luke Castellan, his first sword-fighting mentor at Camp Half-Blood, throwing out suggestions. But it didn’t help.
The golden gorgon mask was too unnerving. The warm fog, the slick deck boards, the chattering of the warriors—none of it helped. And in the corner of his eye, Percy could see one of the dolphin-men holding a knife at Annabeth’s throat in case she tried anything tricky.
He feinted and thrust at Chrysaor’s gut, but Chrysaor anticipated the move. He knocked Percy’s sword out of his hand again, and once more Riptide flew into the sea.
Chrysaor laughed easily. He wasn’t even winded. He pressed the tip of his golden sword against Percy’s sternum.
“A good try,” said the pirate. “But now you’ll be chained and transported to Gaea’s minions. They are quite eager to spill your blood and wake the goddess.”
N OTHING LIKE TOTAL FAILURE to generate great ideas.
As Percy stood there, disarmed and outmatched, the plan formed in his head. He was so used to Annabeth providing Greek legend information that he was kind of stunned to actually remember something useful, but he had to act fast. He couldn’t let anything happen to his friends. He wasn’t going to lose Annabeth—not again.
Chrysaor couldn’t be beat. At least not in single combat. But without his crew…maybe then he could be overwhelmed if enough demigods attacked him at once.
How to deal with Chrysaor’s crew? Percy put the pieces together: the pirates had been turned into dolphin-men millennia ago when they had kidnapped the wrong person. Percy knew that story. Heck, the wrong person in question had threatened to turn him into a dolphin. And when Chrysaor said the crew wasn’t afraid of anything, one of the dolphins had nervously corrected him. Yes, Chrysaor said. But he’s not here.
Percy glanced toward the stern and spotted Frank, in human form, peeking out from behind a ballista, waiting. Percy resisted the urge to smile. The big guy claimed to be clumsy and useless, but he always seemed to be in exactly the right place when Percy needed him.
The girls…Frank…the ice chest.
It was a crazy idea. But, as usual, that’s all Percy had.
“Fine!” Percy shouted, so loudly that he got everyone’s attention. “Take us away, if our captain will let you.”
Chrysaor turned his golden mask. “What captain? My men searched the ship. There is no one else.”
Percy raised his hands dramatically. “The god appears only when he wishes. But he is our leader. He runs our camp for demigods. Doesn’t he, Annabeth?”
Annabeth was quick. “Yes!” She nodded enthusiastically. “Mr. D! The great Dionysus!”
A ripple of uneasiness passed through the dolphin-men. One dropped his sword.
“Stand fast!” Chrysaor bellowed. “There is no god on this ship. They are trying to scare you.”
“You should be scared!” Percy looked at the pirate crew with sympathy. “Dionysus will be severely cranky with you for having delayed our voyage. He will punish all of us. Didn’t you notice the girls falling into the wine god’s madness?”
Hazel and Piper had stopped the shaking fits. They were sitting on the deck, staring at Percy, but when he glared at them pointedly, they started hamming it up again, trembling and flopping around like fish. The dolphin-men fell over themselves trying to get away from their captives.
“Fakes!” Chrysaor roared. “Shut up, Percy Jackson. Your camp director is not here. He was recalled to O
lympus. This is common knowledge.”
“So you admit Dionysus is our director!” Percy said.
“He was,” Chrysaor corrected. “Everyone knows that.”
Percy gestured at the golden warrior like he’d just betrayed himself. “You see? We are doomed. If you don’t believe me, let’s check the ice chest!”
Percy stormed over to the magical cooler. No one tried to stop him. He knocked open the lid and rummaged through the ice. There had to be one. Please. He was rewarded with a silver-and-red can of soda. He brandished it at the dolphin warriors as if spraying them with bug repellent.
“Behold!” Percy shouted. “The god’s chosen beverage. Tremble before the horror of Diet Coke!”
The dolphin-men began to panic. They were on the edge of retreat. Percy could feel it.
“The god will take your ship,” Percy warned. “He will finish your transformation into dolphins, or make you insane, or transform you into insane dolphins! Your only hope is to swim away now, quickly!”
“Ridiculous!” Chrysaor’s voice turned shrill. He didn’t seem sure where to level his sword—at Percy or his own crew.
“Save yourselves!” Percy warned. “It is too late for us!”
Then he gasped and pointed to the spot where Frank was hiding. “Oh, no! Frank is turning into a crazy dolphin!”
Nothing happened.
“I said,” Percy repeated, “Frank is turning into a crazy dolphin!”
Frank stumbled out of nowhere, making a big show of grabbing his throat. “Oh, no,” he said, like he was reading from a teleprompter. “I am turning into a crazy dolphin.”
He began to change, his nose elongating into a snout, his skin becoming sleek and gray. He fell to the deck as a dolphin, his tail thumping against the boards.
The pirate crew disbanded in terror, chattering and clicking as they dropped their weapons, forgot the captives, ignored Chrysaor’s orders, and jumped overboard. In the confusion, Annabeth moved quickly to cut the bonds on Hazel, Piper, and Coach Hedge.
Within seconds, Chrysaor was alone and surrounded. Percy and his friends had no weapons except for Annabeth’s knife and Hedge’s hooves, but the murderous looks on their faces evidently convinced the golden warrior he was doomed.
He backed to the edge of the rail.
“This isn’t over, Jackson,” Chrysaor growled. “I will have my revenge—”
His words were cut short by Frank, who had changed form again. An eight-hundred-pound grizzly bear can definitely break up a conversation. He sideswiped Chrysaor and raked the golden mask off his helmet. Chrysaor screamed, instantly covering his face with his arms and tumbling into the water.
They ran to the rail. Chrysaor had disappeared. Percy thought about chasing him, but he didn’t know these waters, and he didn’t want to confront that guy alone again.
“That was brilliant!” Annabeth kissed him, which made him feel a little better.
“It was desperate,” Percy corrected. “And we need to get rid of this pirate trireme.”
“Burn it?” Annabeth asked.
Percy looked at the Diet Coke in his hand. “No. I’ve got another idea.”
It took them longer than Percy wanted. As they worked, he kept glancing at the sea, waiting for Chrysaor and his pirate dolphins to return, but they didn’t.
Leo got back on his feet, thanks to a little nectar. Piper tended to Jason’s wounds, but he wasn’t as badly hurt as he looked. Mostly he was just ashamed that he’d gotten overpowered again, which Percy could relate to.
They returned all their own supplies to the proper places and tidied up from the invasion while Coach Hedge had a field day on the enemy ship, breaking everything he could find with his baseball bat.
When he was done, Percy loaded the enemy’s weapons back on the pirate ship. Their storeroom was full of treasure, but Percy insisted that they touch none of it.
“I can sense about six million dollars’ worth of gold aboard,” Hazel said. “Plus diamonds, rubies—”
“Six m-million?” Frank stammered. “Canadian dollars or American?”
“Leave it,” Percy said. “It’s part of the tribute.”
“Tribute?” Hazel asked.
“Oh.” Piper nodded. “Kansas.”
Jason grinned. He’d been there too when they’d met the wine god. “Crazy. But I like it.”
Finally Percy went aboard the pirate ship and opened the flood valves. He asked Leo to drill a few extra holes in the bottom of the hull with his power tools, and Leo was happy to oblige.
The crew of the Argo II assembled at the rail and cut the grappling lines. Piper brought out her new horn of plenty and, on Percy’s direction, willed it to spew Diet Coke, which came out with the strength of a fire hose, dousing the enemy deck. Percy thought it would take hours, but the ship sank remarkably fast, filling with Diet Coke and seawater.
“Dionysus,” Percy called, holding up Chrysaor’s golden mask. “Or Bacchus—whatever. You made this victory possible, even if you weren’t here. Your enemies trembled at your name…or your Diet Coke, or something. So, yeah, thank you.”
The words were hard to get out, but Percy managed not to gag. “We give this ship to you as tribute. We hope you like it.”
“Six million in gold,” Leo muttered. “He’d better like it.”
“Shh,” Hazel scolded. “Precious metal isn’t all that great. Believe me.”
Percy threw the golden mask aboard the vessel, which was now sinking even faster, brown fizzy liquid spewing out the trireme’s oar slots and bubbling from the cargo hold, turning the sea frothy brown.
Percy summoned a wave, and the enemy ship was swamped. Leo steered the Argo II away as the pirate vessel disappeared underwater.
“Isn’t that polluting?” Piper asked.
“I wouldn’t worry,” Jason told her. “If Bacchus likes it, the ship should vanish.”
Percy didn’t know if that would happen, but he felt like he’d done all he could. He had no faith that Dionysus would hear them or care, much less help them in their battle against the twin giants, but he had to try.
As the Argo II headed east into the fog, Percy decided at least one good thing had come out of his sword fight with Chrysaor. He was feeling humble—even humble enough to pay tribute to the wine dude.
After their bout with the pirates, they decided to fly the rest of the way to Rome. Jason insisted he was well enough to take sentry duty, along with Coach Hedge, who was still so charged with adrenaline that every time the ship hit turbulence, he swung his bat and yelled, “Die!”
They had a couple of hours before daybreak, so Jason suggested Percy try to get a few more hours of sleep.
“It’s fine, man,” Jason said. “Give somebody else a chance to save the ship, huh?”
Percy agreed, though once in his cabin, he had trouble falling asleep.
He stared at the bronze lantern swaying from the ceiling and thought about how easily Chrysaor had beaten him at swordplay. The golden warrior could’ve killed him without breaking a sweat. He’d only kept Percy alive because someone else wanted to pay for the privilege of killing him later.
Percy felt like an arrow had slipped through a chink in his armor—as if he still had the blessing of Achilles, and someone had found his weak spot. The older he got, the longer he survived as a half-blood, the more his friends looked up to him. They depended on him and relied on his powers. Even the Romans had raised him on a shield and made him praetor, and he’d only known them for a couple of weeks.
But Percy didn’t feel powerful. The more heroic stuff he did, the more he realized how limited he was. He felt like a fraud. I’m not as great as you think, he wanted to warn his friends. His failures, like tonight, seemed to prove it. Maybe that’s why he had started to fear suffocation. It wasn’t so much drowning in the earth or the sea, but the feeling that he was sinking into too many expectations, literally getting in over his head.
Wow…when he started having thoughts like that, he kn
ew he’d been spending too much time with Annabeth.
Athena had once told Percy his fatal flaw: he was supposedly too loyal to his friends. He couldn’t see the big picture. He would save a friend even if it meant destroying the world.
At the time, Percy had shrugged this off. How could loyalty be a bad thing? Besides, things worked out okay against the Titans. He’d saved his friends and beaten Kronos.
Now, though, he started to wonder. He would gladly throw himself at any monster, god, or giant to keep his friends from being hurt. But what if he wasn’t up to the task? What if someone else had to do it? That was very hard for him to admit. He even had trouble with simple things like letting Jason take a turn at watch. He didn’t want to rely on someone else to protect him, someone who could get hurt on his account.
Percy’s mom had done that for him. She’d stayed in a bad relationship with a gross mortal guy because she thought it would save Percy from monsters. Grover, his best friend, had protected Percy for almost a year before Percy even realized he was a demigod, and Grover had almost gotten killed by the Minotaur.
Percy wasn’t a kid anymore. He didn’t want anybody he loved taking a risk for him. He had to be strong enough to be the protector himself. But now he was supposed to let Annabeth go off on her own to follow the Mark of Athena, knowing she might die. If it came to a choice—save Annabeth or let the quest succeed—could Percy really choose the quest?
Exhaustion finally overtook him. He fell asleep, and in his nightmare, the rumble of thunder became the laughter of the earth goddess Gaea.
Percy dreamed he was standing on the front porch of the Big House at Camp Half-Blood. The sleeping face of Gaea appeared on the side of Half-Blood Hill—her massive features formed from the shadows on the grassy slopes. Her lips didn’t move, but her voice echoed across the valley.
So this is your home, Gaea murmured. Take a last look, Percy Jackson. You should have returned here. At least then you could have died with your comrades when the Romans invade. Now your blood will be spilled far from home, on the ancient stones, and I will rise.