by Rick Riordan
Percy woke, shivering. For a moment he didn’t know where he was. Then he remembered: Camp Jupiter, the Fifth Cohort barracks. He lay in his bunk, staring at the ceiling and trying to control his racing heartbeat.
A golden giant was waiting to break him. Wonderful. But what unnerved him more was that sleeping woman’s face in the hills. You will be my pawn. Percy didn’t play chess, but he was pretty sure that being a pawn was bad. They died a lot.
Even the friendlier parts of his dream were disturbing. A faun named Grover was looking for him. Maybe that’s why Don had detected a – what had he called it? – an empathy link. Somebody named Tyson was searching for him, too, and Annabeth had warned Percy to stay where he was.
He sat up in his bunk. His roommates were rushing around, getting dressed and brushing their teeth. Dakota was wrapping himself in a long piece of red-speckled cloth – a toga. One of the Lares was giving him pointers on where to tuck and fold.
‘Breakfast time?’ Percy asked hopefully.
Frank’s head popped up from the bunk below. He had bags under his eyes like he hadn’t slept well. ‘A quick breakfast. Then we’ve got the senate meeting.’
Dakota’s head was stuck in his toga. He staggered around like a Kool-Aid-stained ghost.
‘Um,’ Percy said, ‘should I wear my bedsheets?’
Frank snorted. ‘That’s just for the senators. There’re ten of them, elected yearly. You’ve got to be at camp five years to qualify.’
‘So how come we’re invited to the meeting?’
‘Because … you know, the quest.’ Frank sounded worried, like he was afraid Percy would back out. ‘We have to be in on the discussion. You, me, Hazel. I mean, if you’re willing …’
Frank probably didn’t mean to guilt him, but Percy’s heart felt pulled like taffy. He had sympathy for Frank. Getting claimed by the war god in front of the whole camp – what a nightmare. Plus, how could Percy say no to that big pouty baby face? Frank had been given a huge task that would most likely get him killed. He was scared. He needed Percy’s help.
And the three of them had made a good team last night. Hazel and Frank were solid, dependable people. They’d accepted Percy like family. Still, he didn’t like the idea of this quest, especially since it came from Mars, and especially after his dreams.
‘I, um … I’d better get ready …’ He climbed out of bed and got dressed. The whole time, he thought about Annabeth. Help was on the way. He could have his old life back. All he had to do was stay put.
At breakfast, Percy was conscious of everyone looking at him. They were whispering about the previous night:
‘Two gods in one day …’
‘Un-Roman fighting …’
‘Water cannon up my nose …’
He was too hungry to care. He filled up on pancakes, eggs, bacon, waffles, apples and several glasses of orange juice. He probably would have eaten more, but Reyna announced that the senate would now convene in the city, and all the folks in togas got up to leave.
‘Here we go.’ Hazel fidgeted with a stone that looked like a two-carat ruby.
The ghost Vitellius appeared next to them in a purple shimmer. ‘Bona fortuna, you three! Ah, senate meetings. I remember the one when Caesar was assassinated. Why, the amount of blood on his toga –’
‘Thanks, Vitellius,’ Frank interrupted. ‘We should get going.’
Reyna and Octavian led the procession of senators out of camp, with Reyna’s metal greyhounds dashing back and forth along the road. Hazel, Frank and Percy trailed behind. Percy noticed Nico di Angelo in the group, wearing a black toga and talking with Gwen, who looked a little pale but surprisingly good considering she’d been dead the night before. Nico waved at Percy, then went back to his conversation, leaving Percy more sure than ever that Hazel’s brother was trying to avoid him.
Dakota stumbled along in his red-speckled robe. A lot of other senators seemed to be having trouble with their togas, too – hiking up their hems, trying to keep the cloth from slipping off their shoulders. Percy was glad he was wearing a regular purple T-shirt and jeans.
‘How could Romans move, in those things?’ he wondered.
‘They were just for formal occasions,’ Hazel said. ‘Like tuxedos. I bet the Ancient Romans hated togas as much as we do. By the way, you didn’t bring any weapons, did you?’
Percy’s hand went to his pocket, where his pen always stayed. ‘Why? Are we not supposed to?’
‘No weapons allowed inside the Pomerian Line,’ she said.
‘The what line?’
‘Pomerian,’ Frank said. ‘The city limits. Inside is a sacred “safe zone”. Legions can’t march through. No weapons allowed. That’s so senate meetings don’t get bloody.’
‘Like Julius Caesar getting assassinated?’ Percy asked.
Frank nodded. ‘Don’t worry. Nothing like that has happened in months.’
Percy hoped he was kidding.
As they got closer to the city, Percy could appreciate how beautiful it was. The tiled roofs and gold domes gleamed in the sun. Gardens bloomed with honeysuckle and roses. The central plaza was paved in white and grey stone, decorated with statues, fountains and gilded columns. In the surrounding neighbourhoods, cobblestone streets were lined with freshly painted town houses, shops, cafés and parks. In the distance rose the coliseum and the horse-racing arena.
Percy didn’t notice they’d reached the city limits until the senators in front of him started slowing down.
On the side of the road stood a white marble statue – a life-size muscular man with curly hair, no arms and an irritated expression. Maybe he looked mad because he’d been carved only from the waist up. Below that, he was just a big block of marble.
‘Single file, please!’ the statue said. ‘Have your IDs ready.’
Percy looked to his left and right. He hadn’t noticed before, but a line of identical statues ringed the city at intervals of about a hundred yards.
The senators passed through easily. The statue checked the tattoos on their forearms and called each senator by name. ‘Gwendolyn, senator, Fifth Cohort, yes. Nico di Angelo, ambassador of Pluto – very well. Reyna, praetor, of course. Hank, senator, Third Cohort – oh, nice shoes, Hank! Ah, who have we here?’
Hazel, Frank and Percy were the last ones.
‘Terminus,’ Hazel said, ‘this is Percy Jackson. Percy, this is Terminus, the god of boundaries.’
‘New, eh?’ said the god. ‘Yes, probatio tablet. Fine. Ah, weapon in your pocket? Take it out! Take it out!’
Percy didn’t know how Terminus could tell, but he took out his pen.
‘Quite dangerous,’ Terminus said. ‘Leave it in the tray. Wait, where’s my assistant? Julia!’
A little girl about six years old peeked out from behind the base of the statue. She had pigtails, a pink dress and an impish grin with two missing teeth.
‘Julia?’ Terminus glanced behind him, and Julia scurried in the other direction. ‘Where did that girl go?’
Terminus looked the other way and caught sight of Julia before she could hide. The little girl squealed with delight.
‘Oh, there you are,’ said the statue. ‘Front and centre. Bring the tray.’
Julia scrambled out and brushed off her dress. She picked up a tray and presented it to Percy. On it were several paring knives, a corkscrew, an oversized container of sun lotion and a water bottle.
‘You can pick up your weapon on the way out,’ Terminus said. ‘Julia will take good care of it. She’s a trained professional.’
The little girl nodded. ‘Pro-fess-ion-al.’ She said each syllable carefully, like she’d been practising.
Percy glanced at Hazel and Frank, who didn’t seem to find anything odd about this. Still, he wasn’t wild about handing over a deadly weapon to a kid.
‘The thing is,’ he said, ‘the pen returns to my pocket automatically, so even if
I give it up –’
‘Not to worry,’ Terminus assured him. ‘We’ll make sure it doesn’t wander off. Won’t we, Julia?’
‘Yes, Mr Terminus.’
Reluctantly, Percy put his pen on the tray.
‘Now, a few rules, since you’re new,’ Terminus said. ‘You are entering the boundaries of the city proper. Keep the peace inside the line. Yield to chariot traffic while walking on public roads. When you get to the Senate House, sit on the left-hand side. And, down there – do you see where I’m pointing?’
‘Um,’ Percy said, ‘you don’t have any hands.’
Apparently this was a sore point for Terminus. His marble face turned a dark shade of grey. ‘A smart alec, eh? Well, Mr Rule Flouter, right down there in the forum – Julia, point for me, please –’
Julia dutifully set down the security tray and pointed towards the main plaza.
‘The shop with the blue awning,’ Terminus continued, ‘that’s the general store. They sell tape measures. Buy one! I want those jeans exactly one inch above the ankles and that hair regulation cut. And tuck your shirt in.’
Hazel said, ‘Thank you, Terminus. We need to get going.’
‘Fine, fine, you may pass,’ the god said testily. ‘But stay on the right side of the road! And that rock right there – No, Hazel, look where I’m pointing. That rock is entirely too close to that tree. Move it two inches to the left.’
Hazel did what she was told, and they continued down the path, Terminus still shouting orders at them while Julia did cartwheels across the grass.
‘Is he always like that?’ Percy asked.
‘No,’ Hazel admitted. ‘Today he was laid back. Usually he’s more obsessive/compulsive.’
‘He inhabits every boundary stone around the city,’ Frank said. ‘Kind of our last line of defence if the city’s attacked.’
‘Terminus isn’t so bad,’ Hazel added. ‘Just don’t make him angry, or he’ll force you to measure every blade of grass in the valley.’
Percy filed that information. ‘And the kid? Julia?’
Hazel grinned. ‘Yeah, she’s a cutie. Her parents live in the city. Come on. We’d better catch up to the senators.’
As they approached the forum, Percy was struck by the sheer number of people. College-age kids were hanging out at the fountain. Several of them waved at the senators as they passed. One guy in his late twenties stood at a bakery counter, flirting with a young woman who was buying coffee. An older couple was watching a little boy in diapers and a miniature Camp Jupiter shirt toddle after seagulls. Merchants were opening their shops for the day, putting out signs in Latin that advertised pottery, jewellery and half-price tickets for the Hippodrome.
‘All these people are demigods?’ Percy asked.
‘Or descended from demigods,’ Hazel said. ‘Like I told you, it’s a good place to go to college or raise a family without worrying about monster attacks every day. Maybe two, three hundred people live here? The veterans act as, like, advisers and reserve forces as needed, but mostly they’re just citizens living their lives.’
Percy imagined what that would be like: getting an apartment in this tiny replica of Rome, protected by the legion and Terminus the OCD border god. He imagined holding hands with Annabeth at a café. Maybe when they were older, watching their own kid chase seagulls across the forum …
He shook the idea out of his head. He couldn’t afford to indulge in that kind of thinking. Most of his memories were gone, but he knew this place wasn’t his home. He belonged somewhere else, with his other friends.
Besides, Camp Jupiter was in danger. If Juno was right, an attack was coming in less than five days. Percy imagined that sleeping woman’s face – the face of Gaia – forming in the hills above camp. He imagined hordes of monsters descending into this valley.
If you don’t succeed, Mars had warned, there won’t be any camp left to return to. Rome will be overrun, its legacy lost forever.
He thought about the little girl Julia, the families with kids, his new friends in the Fifth Cohort, even those silly fauns. He didn’t want to picture what might happen to them if this place was destroyed.
The senators made their way to a big white-domed building on the west end of the forum. Percy paused at the doorway, trying not to think about Julius Caesar getting slashed to death at a senate meeting. Then he took a deep breath and followed Hazel and Frank inside.
XIV
Percy
The Senate House interior looked like a high school lecture hall. A semicircle of tiered seats faced a dais with a podium and two chairs. The chairs were empty, but one had a small velvet package on the seat.
Percy, Hazel and Frank sat on the left side of the semicircle. The ten senators and Nico di Angelo occupied the rest of the front row. The upper rows were filled with several dozen ghosts and a few older veterans from the city, all in formal togas. Octavian stood in front with a knife and a Beanie Baby lion, just in case anyone needed to consult the god of cutesy collectibles. Reyna walked to the podium and raised her hand for attention.
‘Right, this is an emergency meeting,’ she said. ‘We won’t stand on formalities.’
‘I love formalities!’ a ghost complained.
Reyna shot him a cross look.
‘First of all,’ she said, ‘we’re not here to vote on the quest itself. The quest has been issued by Mars Ultor, patron of Rome. We will obey his wishes. Nor are we here to debate the choice of Frank Zhang’s companions.’
‘All three from the Fifth Cohort?’ called out Hank from the Third. ‘That’s not fair.’
‘And not smart,’ said the boy next to him. ‘We know the Fifth will mess up. They should take somebody good.’
Dakota got up so fast he spilled Kool-Aid from his flask. ‘We were plenty good last night when we whipped your podex, Larry!’
‘Enough, Dakota,’ Reyna said. ‘Let’s leave Larry’s podex out of this. As quest leader, Frank has the right to choose his companions. He has chosen Percy Jackson and Hazel Levesque.’
A ghost from the second row yelled, ‘Absurdus! Frank Zhang isn’t even a full member of the legion! He’s on probatio. A quest must be led by someone of centurion rank or higher. This is completely –’
‘Cato,’ Reyna snapped. ‘We must obey the wishes of Mars Ultor. That means certain … adjustments.’
Reyna clapped her hands, and Octavian came forward. He set down his knife and Beanie Baby and took the velvet package from the chair.
‘Frank Zhang,’ he said, ‘come forward.’
Frank glanced nervously at Percy. Then he got to his feet and approached the augur.
‘It is my … pleasure,’ Octavian said, forcing out the last word, ‘to bestow upon you the Mural Crown for being first over the walls in siege warfare.’ Octavian handed him a bronze badge shaped like a laurel wreath. ‘Also, by order of Praetor Reyna, to promote you to the rank of centurion.’
He handed Frank another badge, a bronze crescent, and the senate exploded in protest.
‘He’s still a probie!’ one yelled.
‘Impossible!’ said another.
‘Water cannon up my nose!’ yelled a third.
‘Silence!’ Octavian’s voice sounded a lot more commanding than it had the previous night on the battlefield. ‘Our praetor recognizes that no one below the rank of centurion may lead a quest. For good or ill, Frank must lead this quest – so our praetor has decreed that Frank Zhang must be made centurion.’
Suddenly Percy understood what an effective speaker Octavian was. He sounded reasonable and supportive, but his expression was pained. He carefully crafted his words to put all the responsibility on Reyna. This was her idea, he seemed to say.
If it went wrong, Reyna was to blame. If only Octavian had been the one in charge, things would have been done more sensibly. But, alas, he had no choice but to support Reyna, because Octavian was a loyal Roman soldi
er.
Octavian managed to convey all that without saying it, simultaneously calming the senate and sympathizing with them. For the first time, Percy realized this scrawny, funny-looking scarecrow of a kid might be a dangerous enemy.
Reyna must have recognized this, too. A look of irritation flashed across her face. ‘There is an opening for centurion,’ she said. ‘One of our officers, also a senator, has decided to step down. After ten years in the legion, she will retire to the city and attend college. Gwen of the Fifth Cohort, we thank you for your service.’
Everyone turned to Gwen, who managed a brave smile. She looked tired from the previous night’s ordeal, but also relieved. Percy couldn’t blame her. Compared to getting skewered with a pilum, college sounded pretty good.
‘As praetor,’ Reyna continued, ‘I have the right to replace officers. I admit it’s unusual for a camper on probatio to rise directly to the rank of centurion, but I think we can agree … last night was unusual. Frank Zhang, your ID, please.’
Frank removed the lead tablet from round his neck and handed it to Octavian.
‘Your arm,’ Octavian said.
Frank held up his forearm. Octavian raised his hands to the heavens. ‘We accept Frank Zhang, Son of Mars, to the Twelfth Legion Fulminata for his first year of service. Do you pledge your life to the senate and people of Rome?’
Frank muttered something like, ‘Ud-dud.’ Then he cleared his throat and managed: ‘I do.’
The senators shouted, ‘Senatus Populusque Romanus!’
Fire blazed on Frank’s arm. For a moment his eyes filled with terror, and Percy was afraid his friend might pass out. Then the smoke and flame died, and new marks were seared onto Frank’s skin: SPQR, an image of crossed spears, and a single stripe, representing the first year of service.
‘You may sit down.’ Octavian glanced at the audience as if to say: This wasn’t my idea, folks.
‘Now,’ Reyna said, ‘we must discuss the quest.’
The senators shifted and muttered as Frank returned to his seat.
