by Rick Riordan
Percy stared at him in awe. ‘You killed them all?’
Frank swallowed. He already felt like enough of a misfit without trying to explain his new undead minion.
Three charges. Frank could call on Grey twice more. But he’d sensed malevolence in the skeleton. It was no pet. It was a vicious, undead killing force, barely controlled by the power of Mars. Frank got the feeling it would do what he said – but if his friends happened to be in the line of fire, oh well. And if Frank was a little slow giving it directions it might start killing whatever was in its path, including its master.
Mars had told him the spear would give him breathing room until he learned to use his mother’s talents. Which meant Frank needed to learn those talents – fast.
‘Thanks a lot, Dad,’ he grumbled.
‘What?’ Hazel asked. ‘Frank, are you okay?’
‘I’ll explain later,’ he said. ‘Right now, there’s a blind man in Portland we’ve got to see.’
XXV
Percy
Percy already felt like the lamest demigod in the history of lame. The bag was the final insult.
They’d left R.O.F.L. in a hurry, so maybe Iris hadn’t meant the bag as a criticism. She’d quickly stuffed it with vitamin-enriched pastries, dried fruit leather, macrobiotic beef jerky and a few crystals for good luck. Then she’d shoved it at Percy: Here, you’ll need this. Oh, that looks good.
The handbag – sorry, masculine accessory bag – was rainbow tie-dyed with a peace symbol stitched in wooden beads and the slogan Hug the Whole World. Percy wished it said Hug the Commode. He felt like the bag was a comment on his massive, incredible uselessness. As they sailed north, he put the man satchel as far away from him as he could, but the boat was small.
He couldn’t believe how he’d broken down when his friends had needed him. First, he’d been dumb enough to leave them alone when he had run back to the boat, and Hazel had been kidnapped. Then he’d watched that army marching south and had some kind of nervous breakdown. Embarrassing? Yeah. But he couldn’t help it. When he’d seen those evil centaurs and Cyclopes, it had seemed so wrong, so backwards, that he thought his head would explode. And the giant Polybotes … that giant had given him a feeling the opposite of what he felt when he stood in the ocean. Percy’s energy had drained out of him, leaving him weak and feverish, like his insides were eroding.
Iris’s medicinal tea had helped his body feel better, but his mind still hurt. He’d heard stories about amputees who had phantom pains where their missing legs and arms used to be. That’s how his mind felt – like his missing memories were aching.
Worst of all, the further north Percy went, the more those memories faded. He had started to feel better at Camp Jupiter, remembering random names and faces. But now even Annabeth’s face was getting dimmer. At R.O.F.L., when he’d tried to send an Iris-message to Annabeth, Fleecy had just shaken her head sadly.
It’s like you’re dialling somebody, she said, but you’ve forgotten the number. Or someone is jamming the signal. Sorry, dear. I just can’t connect you.
He was terrified that he’d lose Annabeth’s face completely when he got to Alaska. Maybe he’d wake up one day and not remember her name.
Still, he had to concentrate on the quest. The sight of that enemy army had shown him what they were up against. It was early in the morning of 21 June, now. They had to get to Alaska, find Thanatos, locate the legion’s standard and make it back to Camp Jupiter by the evening of 24 June. Four days. Meanwhile, the enemy had only a few hundred miles to march.
Percy guided the boat through the strong currents off the northern California coast. The wind was cold, but it felt good, clearing some of the confusion from his head. He bent his will to push the boat as hard as he could. The hull rattled as the Pax ploughed its way north.
Meanwhile, Hazel and Frank traded stories about the events at Rainbow Organic Foods. Frank explained about the blind seer Phineas in Portland, and how Iris had said that he might be able to tell them where to find Thanatos. Frank wouldn’t say how he had managed to kill the basilisks, but Percy got the feeling it had something to do with the broken point of his spear. Whatever had happened, Frank sounded more scared of the spear than the basilisks.
When he was done, Hazel told Frank about their time with Fleecy.
‘So this Iris-message worked?’ Frank asked.
Hazel gave Percy a sympathetic look. She didn’t mention his failure to contact Annabeth.
‘I got in touch with Reyna,’ she said. ‘You’re supposed to throw a coin into a rainbow and say this incantation, like O Iris, goddess of the rainbow, accept my offering. Except Fleecy kind of changed it. She gave us her – what did she call it – her direct number? So I had to say, O Fleecy, do me a solid. Show Reyna at Camp Jupiter. I felt kind of stupid, but it worked. Reyna’s image appeared in the rainbow, like in a two-way video call. She was in the baths. Scared her out of her mind.’
‘That I would’ve paid to see,’ Frank said. ‘I mean – her expression. Not, you know, the baths.’
‘Frank!’ Hazel fanned her face like she needed air. It was an old-fashioned gesture, but cute, somehow. ‘Anyway, we told Reyna about the army, but, like Percy said, she pretty much already knew. It doesn’t change anything. She’s doing what she can to shore up the defences. Unless we unleash Death, and get back with the eagle –’
‘The camp can’t stand against that army,’ Frank finished. ‘Not without help.’
After that, they sailed in silence.
Percy kept thinking about Cyclopes and centaurs. He thought about Annabeth, the satyr Grover and his dream of a giant warship under construction.
You came from somewhere, Reyna had said.
Percy wished he could remember. He could call for help. Camp Jupiter shouldn’t have to fight alone against the giants. There must be allies out there.
He fingered the beads on his necklace, the lead probatio tablet and the silver ring Reyna had given him. Maybe in Seattle he’d be able to talk to her sister, Hylla. She might send help – assuming she didn’t kill Percy on sight.
After a few more hours of navigating, Percy’s eyes started to droop. He was afraid he’d pass out from exhaustion. Then he caught a break. A killer whale surfaced next to the boat, and Percy struck up a mental conversation with him.
It wasn’t exactly like talking, but it went something like this: Could you give us a ride north, Percy asked, like as close to Portland as possible?
Eat seals, the whale responded. Are you seals?
No, Percy admitted. I’ve got a man satchel full of macrobiotic beef jerky, though.
The whale shuddered. Promise not to feed me this, and I will take you north.
Deal.
Soon Percy had made a makeshift rope harness and strapped it round the whale’s upper body. They sped north under whale-power, and at Hazel and Frank’s insistence Percy settled in for a nap.
His dreams were as disjointed and scary as ever.
He imagined himself on Mount Tamalpais, north of San Francisco, fighting at the old Titan stronghold. That didn’t make sense. He hadn’t been with the Romans when they had attacked, but he saw it all clearly: a Titan in armour, Annabeth and two other girls fighting at Percy’s side. One of the girls died in the battle. Percy knelt over her, watching as she dissolved into stars.
Then he saw the giant warship in its dry dock. The bronze dragon figurehead glinted in the morning light. The riggings and armaments were complete, but something was wrong. A hatch in the deck was open, and smoke poured from some kind of engine. A boy with curly black hair was cursing as he pounded the engine with a wrench. Two other demigods squatted next to him, watching with concern. One was a teenage guy with short blond hair. The other was a girl with long dark hair.
‘You realize it’s the solstice,’ the girl said. ‘We’re supposed to leave today.’
‘I know that!’ The curly-haire
d mechanic whacked the engine a few more times. ‘Could be the fizzrockets. Could be the samophlange. Could be Gaia messing with us again. I’m not sure!’
‘How long?’ the blond guy asked.
‘Two, three days?’
‘They may not have that long,’ the girl warned.
Something told Percy that she meant Camp Jupiter. Then the scene shifted again.
He saw a boy and his dog roaming over the yellow hills of California. But, as the image became clearer, Percy realized it wasn’t a boy. It was a Cyclops in ragged jeans and a flannel shirt. The dog was a shambling mountain of black fur, easily as big as a rhino. The Cyclops carried a massive club over his shoulder, but Percy didn’t feel that he was an enemy. He kept yelling Percy’s name, calling him … brother?
‘He smells further away,’ the Cyclops moaned to the dog. ‘Why does he smell further?’
‘ROOF!’ the dog barked, and Percy’s dream changed again.
He saw a range of snowy mountains, so tall they broke the clouds. Gaia’s sleeping face appeared in the shadows of the rocks.
Such a valuable pawn, she said soothingly. Do not fear, Percy Jackson. Come north! Your friends will die, yes. But I will preserve you for now. I have great plans for you.
In a valley between the mountains lay a massive field of ice. The edge plunged into the sea, hundreds of feet below, with sheets of frost constantly crumbling into the water. On top of the ice field stood a legion camp – ramparts, moats, towers, barracks, just like Camp Jupiter except three times as large. At the crossroads outside the principia, a figure in dark robes stood shackled to the ice. Percy’s vision swept past him, into the headquarters. There, in the gloom, sat a giant even bigger than Polybotes. His skin glinted gold. Displayed behind him were the tattered, frozen banners of a Roman legion, including a large, golden eagle with its wings spread.
We await you, the giant’s voice boomed. While you fumble your way north, trying to find me, my armies will destroy your precious camps – first the Romans, then the others. You cannot win, little demigod.
Percy lurched awake in cold grey daylight, rain falling on his face.
‘I thought I slept heavily,’ Hazel said. ‘Welcome to Portland.’
Percy sat up and blinked. The scene around him was so different from his dream that he wasn’t sure which was real. The Pax floated on an iron-black river through the middle of a city. Heavy clouds hung low overhead. The cold rain was so light it seemed suspended in the air. On Percy’s left were industrial warehouses and railroad tracks. To his right was a small downtown area – an almost cosy-looking cluster of towers between the banks of the river and a line of misty forested hills.
Percy rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. ‘How did we get here?’
Frank gave him a look like, You won’t believe this. ‘The killer whale took us as far as the Columbia River. Then he passed the harness to a couple of twelve-foot sturgeons.’
Percy thought Frank had said surgeons. He had this weird image of giant doctors in scrubs and face masks, pulling their boat upstream. Then he realized Frank meant sturgeons, like the fish. He was glad he hadn’t said anything. Would have been embarrassing, his being son of the sea god and all.
‘Anyway,’ Frank continued, ‘the sturgeons pulled us for a long time. Hazel and I took turns sleeping. Then we hit this river –’
‘The Willamette,’ Hazel offered.
‘Right,’ Frank said. ‘After that, the boat kind of took over and navigated us here all by itself. Sleep okay?’
As the Pax glided south, Percy told them about his dreams. He tried to focus on the positive: a warship might be on the way to help Camp Jupiter. A friendly Cyclops and a giant dog were looking for him. He didn’t mention what Gaia had said: Your friends will die.
When Percy described the Roman fort on the ice, Hazel looked troubled.
‘So Alcyoneus is on a glacier,’ she said. ‘That doesn’t narrow it down much. Alaska has hundreds of those.’
Percy nodded. ‘Maybe this seer dude Phineas can tell us which one.’
The boat docked itself at a wharf. The three demigods stared up at the buildings of drizzly downtown Portland.
Frank wiped the rain off his flat-top hair.
‘So now we find a blind man in the rain,’ Frank said. ‘Yay.’
XXVI
Percy
It wasn’t as hard as they’d thought. The screaming and the weed whacker helped.
They’d brought lightweight Polartec jackets with their supplies, so they bundled up against the cold rain and walked for a few blocks through the mostly deserted streets. This time Percy was smart and brought most of his supplies from the boat. He even stuffed the macrobiotic jerky in his coat pocket, in case he needed to threaten any more killer whales.
They saw some bicycle traffic and a few homeless guys huddled in doorways, but the majority of Portlanders seemed to be staying indoors.
As they made their way down Glisan Street, Percy looked longingly at the folks in the cafés enjoying coffee and pastries. He was about to suggest that they stop for breakfast when he heard a voice down the street yelling: ‘HA! TAKE THAT, STUPID CHICKENS!’ followed by the revving of a small engine and a lot of squawking.
Percy glanced at his friends. ‘You think –?’
‘Probably,’ Frank agreed.
They ran towards the sounds.
The next block over, they found a big open parking lot with tree-lined sidewalks and rows of food trucks facing the streets on all four sides. Percy had seen food trucks before, but never so many in one place. Some were simple white metal boxes on wheels, with awnings and serving counters. Others were painted blue or purple or polka-dotted, with big banners out front and colourful menu boards and tables like do-it-yourself sidewalk cafés. One advertised Korean/Brazilian fusion tacos, which sounded like some kind of top-secret radioactive cuisine. Another offered sushi on a stick. A third was selling deep-fried ice-cream sandwiches. The smell was amazing – dozens of different kitchens cooking at once.
Percy’s stomach rumbled. Most of the food carts were open for business, but there was hardly anyone around. They could get anything they wanted! Deep-fried ice cream sandwiches? Oh, man, that sounded way better than wheat germ.
Unfortunately, there was more happening than just cooking. In the centre of the lot, behind all the food trucks, an old man in a bathrobe was running around with a weed whacker, screaming at a flock of bird-ladies who were trying to steal food off a picnic table.
‘Harpies,’ said Hazel. ‘Which means –’
‘That’s Phineas,’ Frank guessed.
They ran across the street and squeezed between the Korean/Brazilian truck and a Chinese egg-roll burrito vendor.
The backs of the food trucks weren’t nearly as appetizing as the fronts. They were cluttered with stacks of plastic buckets, overflowing garbage cans, and makeshift clotheslines hung with wet aprons and towels. The parking lot itself was nothing but a square of cracked asphalt, marbled with weeds. In the middle was a picnic table piled high with food from all the different trucks.
The guy in the bathrobe was old and fat. He was mostly bald, with scars across his forehead and a rim of stringy white hair. His bathrobe was spattered with ketchup, and he kept stumbling around in fuzzy pink bunny slippers, swinging his gas-powered weed whacker at the half-dozen harpies who were hovering over his picnic table.
He was clearly blind. His eyes were milky white, and usually he missed the harpies by a lot, but he was still doing a pretty good job fending them off.
‘Back, dirty chickens!’ he bellowed.
Percy wasn’t sure why, but he had a vague sense that harpies were supposed to be plump. These looked like they were starving. Their human faces had sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. Their bodies were covered in moulting feathers, and their wings were tipped with tiny, shrivelled hands. They wore ragged burlap sacks for dresses. As they d
ived for the food, they seemed more desperate than angry. Percy felt sorry for them.
WHIRRRR! The old man swung his weed whacker. He grazed one of the harpies’ wings. The harpy yelped in pain and fluttered off, dropping yellow feathers as she flew.
Another harpy circled higher than the rest. She looked younger and smaller than the others, with bright-red feathers. She watched carefully for an opening, and when the old man’s back was turned she made a wild dive for the table. She grabbed a burrito in her clawed feet, but, before she could escape, the blind man swung his weed whacker and smacked her in the back so hard that Percy winced. The harpy yelped, dropped the burrito and flew off.
‘Hey, stop it!’ Percy yelled.
The harpies took that the wrong way. They glanced over at the three demigods and immediately fled. Most of them fluttered away and perched in the trees around the square, staring dejectedly at the picnic table. The red-feathered one with the hurt back flew unsteadily down Glisan Street and out of sight.
‘Ha!’ The blind man yelled in triumph and killed the power on his weed whacker. He grinned vacantly in Percy’s direction. ‘Thank you, strangers! Your help is most appreciated.’
Percy bit back his anger. He hadn’t meant to help the old man, but he remembered that they needed information from him.
‘Uh, whatever.’ He approached the old guy, keeping one eye on the weed whacker. ‘I’m Percy Jackson. This is –’
‘Demigods!’ the old man said. ‘I can always smell demigods.’
Hazel frowned. ‘Do we smell that bad?’
The old man laughed. ‘Of course not, my dear. But you’d be surprised how sharp my other senses became once I was blinded. I’m Phineas. And you – wait, don’t tell me –’
He reached for Percy’s face and poked him in the eyes.
‘Ow!’ Percy complained.
‘Son of Neptune!’ Phineas exclaimed. ‘I thought I smelled the ocean on you, Percy Jackson. I’m also a son of Neptune, you know.’
‘Hey … yeah. Okay.’ Percy rubbed his eyes. Just his luck he was related to this grubby old dude. He hoped all sons of Neptune didn’t share the same fate. First, you start carrying a man satchel. Next thing you know, you’re running around in a bathrobe and pink bunny slippers, chasing chickens with a weed whacker.
