The Lost Hero hoo-1

by Rick Riordan

  “Well, if I knew that—”

  “Okay, okay,” she said. “What do we do—explore?”

  Leo shook his head. “After all those traps outside? Bad idea.”

  Jason’s skin tingled. He hated being a demigod. Looking around, he didn’t see a comfortable room to hang out in. He imagined vicious storm spirits lurking in the curtains, dragons under the carpet, a chandelier made of lethal ice shards, ready to impale them.

  “Leo’s right,” he said. “We’re not separating again—not like in Detroit.”

  “Oh, thank you for reminding me of the Cyclopes.” Piper’s voice quavered. “I needed that.”

  “It’s a few hours until dawn,” Jason guessed. “Too cold to wait outside. Let’s bring the cages in and make camp in this room. Wait for daylight; then we can decide what to do.”

  Nobody offered a better idea, so they rolled in the cages with Coach Hedge and the storm spirits, then settled in. Thankfully, Leo didn’t find any poison throw pillows or electric whoopee cushions on the sofas.

  Leo didn’t seem in the mood to make more tacos. Besides, they had no fire, so they settled for cold rations.

  As Jason ate, he studied the metal statues along the walls. They looked like Greek gods or heroes. Maybe that was a good sign. Or maybe they were used for target practice. On the coffee table sat a tea service and a stack of glossy brochures, but Jason couldn’t make out the words. The big chair at the other end of the table looked like a throne. None of them tried to sit in it.

  The canary cages didn’t make the place any less creepy. The venti kept churning in their prison, hissing and spinning, and Jason got the uncomfortable feeling they were watching him. He could sense their hatred for the children of Zeus—the lord of the sky who’d ordered Aeolus to imprison their kind. The venti would like nothing better than to tear Jason apart.

  As for Coach Hedge, he was still frozen mid-shout, his cudgel raised. Leo was working on the cage, trying to open it with various tools, but the lock seemed to be giving him a hard time. Jason decided not to sit next to him in case Hedge suddenly unfroze and went into ninja goat mode.

  Despite how wired he felt, once his stomach was full, Jason started to nod off. The couches were a little too comfortable —a lot better than a dragon’s back—and he’d taken the last two watches while his friends slept. He was exhausted.

  Piper had already curled up on the other sofa. Jason wondered if she was really asleep or dodging a conversation about her dad. Whatever Medea had meant in Chicago, about Piper getting her dad back if she cooperated—it didn’t sound good. If Piper had risked her own dad to save them, that made Jason feel even guiltier.

  And they were running out of time. If Jason had his days straight, this was early morning of December 20. Which meant tomorrow was the winter solstice.

  “Get some sleep,” Leo said, still working on the locked cage. “It’s your turn.”

  Jason took a deep breath. “Leo, I’m sorry about that stuff I said in Chicago. That wasn’t me. You’re not annoying and you do take stuff seriously—especially your work. I wish I could do half the things you can do.”

  Leo lowered his screwdriver. He looked at the ceiling and shook his head like, What am I gonna do with this guy?

  “I try very hard to be annoying,” Leo said. “Don’t insult my ability to annoy. And how am I supposed to resent you if you go apologizing? I’m a lowly mechanic. You’re like the prince of the sky, son of the Lord of the Universe. I’m supposed to resent you.”

  “Lord of the Universe?”

  “Sure, you’re all—bam! Lightning man. And ‘Watch me fly. I am the eagle that soars—’”

  “Shut up, Valdez.”

  Leo managed a little smile. “Yeah, see. I do annoy you.”

  “I apologize for apologizing.”

  “Thank you.” He went back to work, but the tension had eased between them. Leo still looked sad and exhausted—just not quite so angry.

  “Go to sleep, Jason,” he ordered. “It’s gonna take a few hours to get this goat man free. Then I still got to figure out how to make the winds a smaller holding cell, ’cause I am not lugging that canary cage to California.”

  “You did fix Festus, you know,” Jason said. “You gave him a purpose again. I think this quest was the high point of his life.”

  Jason was afraid he’d blown it and made Leo mad again, but Leo just sighed.

  “I hope,” he said. “Now, sleep, man. I want some time without you organic life forms.”

  Jason wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but he didn’t argue. He closed his eyes and had a long, blissfully dreamless sleep.

  He only woke when the yelling started.

  “Ahhhggggggh!”

  Jason leaped to his feet. He wasn’t sure what was more jarring—the full sunlight that now bathed the room, or the screaming satyr.

  “Coach is awake,” Leo said, which was kind of unnecessary. Gleeson Hedge was capering around on his furry hindquarters, swinging his club and yelling, “Die!” as he smashed the tea set, whacked the sofas, and charged at the throne.

  “Coach!” Jason yelled.

  Hedge turned, breathing hard. His eyes were so wild, Jason was afraid he might attack. The satyr was still wearing his orange polo shirt and his coach’s whistle, but his horns were clearly visible above his curly hair, and his beefy hindquarters were definitely all goat. Could you call a goat beefy? Jason put the thought aside.

  “You’re the new kid,” Hedge said, lowering his club. “Jason.” He looked at Leo, then Piper, who’d apparently also just woken up. Her hair looked like it had become a nest for a friendly hamster.

  “Valdez, McLean,” the coach said. “What’s going on? We were at the Grand Canyon. The anemoi thuellai were attacking and—” He zeroed in on the storm spirit cage, and his eyes went back to DEFCON 1. “Die!”

  “Whoa, Coach!” Leo stepped in his path, which was pretty brave, even though Hedge was six inches shorter. “It’s okay. They’re locked up. We just sprang you from the other cage.”

  “Cage? Cage? What’s going on? Just because I’m a satyr doesn’t mean I can’t have you doing plank push-ups, Valdez!”

  Jason cleared his throat. “Coach—Gleeson—um, whatever you want us to call you. You saved us at the Grand Canyon. You were totally brave.”

  “Of course I was!”

  “The extraction team came and took us to Camp Half-Blood. We thought we’d lost you. Then we got word the storm spirits had taken you back to their—um, operator, Medea.”

  “That witch! Wait—that’s impossible. She’s mortal. She’s dead.”

  “Yeah, well,” Leo said, “somehow she got not dead anymore.”

  Hedge nodded, his eyes narrowing. “So! You were sent on a dangerous quest to rescue me. Excellent!”

  “Um.” Piper got to her feet, holding out her hands so Coach Hedge wouldn’t attack her. “Actually, Glee—can I still call you Coach Hedge? Gleeson seems wrong. We’re on a quest for something else. We kind of found you by accident.”

  “Oh.” The coach’s spirits seemed to deflate, but only for a second. Then his eyes lit up again. “But there are no accidents! Not on quests. This was meant to happen! So, this is the witch’s lair, eh? Why is everything gold?”

  “Gold?” Jason looked around. From the way Leo and Piper caught their breath, he guessed they hadn’t noticed yet either.

  The room was full of gold—the statues, the tea set Hedge had smashed, the chair that was definitely a throne. Even the curtains—which seemed to have opened by themselves at daybreak—appeared to be woven of gold fiber.

  “Nice,” Leo said. “No wonder they got so much security.”

  “This isn’t—” Piper stammered. “This isn’t Medea’s place, Coach. It’s some rich person’s mansion in Omaha. We got away from Medea and crash-landed here.”

  “It’s destiny, cupcakes!” Hedge insisted. “I’m meant to protect you. What’s the quest?”

  Before Jason could decide i
f he wanted to explain or just shove Coach Hedge back into his cage, a door opened at the far end of the room.

  A pudgy man in a white bathrobe stepped out with a golden toothbrush in his mouth. He had a white beard and one of those long, old-fashioned sleeping caps pressed down over his white hair. He froze when he saw them, and the toothbrush fell out of his mouth.

  He glanced into the room behind him and called, “Son? Lit, come out here, please. There are strange people in the throne room.”

  Coach Hedge did the obvious thing. He raised his club and shouted, “Die!”

  XXXII

  JASON

  IT TOOK ALL THREE OF THEM to hold back the satyr. “Whoa, Coach!” Jason said. “Bring it down a few notches.” A younger man charged into the room. Jason guessed he must be Lit, the old guy’s son. He was dressed in pajama pants with a sleeveless T-shirt that said cornhuskers, and he held a sword that looked like it could husk a lot of things besides corn. His ripped arms were covered in scars, and his face, framed by curly dark hair, would’ve been handsome if it wasn’t also sliced up.

  Lit immediately zeroed in on Jason like he was the biggest threat, and stalked toward him, swinging his sword overhead. “Hold on!” Piper stepped forward, trying for her best calming voice. “This is just a misunderstanding! Everything’s fine.” Lit stopped in his tracks, but he still looked wary. It didn’t help that Hedge was screaming, “I’ll get them!

  Don’t worry!”

  “Coach,” Jason pleaded, “they may be friendly. Besides, we’re trespassing in their house.”

  “Thank you!” said the old man in the bathrobe. “Now, who are you, and why are you here?”

  “Let’s all put our weapons down,” Piper said. “Coach, you first.”

  Hedge clenched his jaw. “Just one thwack?”

  “No,” Piper said.

  “What about a compromise? I’ll kill them first, and if it turns out they were friendly, I’ll apologize.”

  “No!” Piper insisted.

  “Meh.” Coach Hedge lowered his club.

  Piper gave Lit a friendly sorry-about-that smile. Even with her hair messed up and wearing two-day-old clothes, she looked extremely cute, and Jason felt a little jealous she was giving Lit that smile.

  Lit huffed and sheathed his sword. “You speak well, girl—fortunately for your friends, or I would’ve run them through.”

  “Appreciate it,” Leo said. “I try not to get run through before lunchtime.”

  The old man in the bathrobe sighed, kicking the teapot that Coach Hedge had smashed. “Well, since you’re here. Please, sit down.”

  Lit frowned. “Your Majesty—”

  “No, no, it’s fine, Lit,” the old man said. “New land, new customs. They may sit in my presence. After all, they’ve seen me in my nightclothes. No sense observing formalities.” He did his best to smile, though it looked a little forced. “Welcome to my humble home. I am King Midas.”

  “Midas? Impossible,” said Coach Hedge. “He died.”

  They were sitting on the sofas now, while the king reclined on his throne. Tricky to do that in a bathrobe, and Jason kept worrying the old guy would forget and uncross his legs. Hopefully he was wearing golden boxers under there.

  Lit stood behind the throne, both hands on his sword, glancing at Piper and flexing his muscular arms just to be annoying. Jason wondered if he looked that ripped holding a sword. Sadly, he doubted it.

  Piper sat forward. “What our satyr friend means, Your Majesty, is that you’re the second mortal we’ve met who should be—sorry—dead. King Midas lived thousands of years ago.”

  “Interesting.” The king gazed out the windows at the brilliant blue skies and the winter sunlight. In the distance, downtown Omaha looked like a cluster of children’s blocks —way too clean and small for a regular city.

  “You know,” the king said, “I think I was a bit dead for a while. It’s strange. Seems like a dream, doesn’t it, Lit?”

  “A very long dream, Your Majesty.”

  “And yet, now we’re here. I’m enjoying myself very much. I like being alive better.”

  “But how?” Piper asked. “You didn’t happen to have a … patron?”

  Midas hesitated, but there was a sly twinkle in his eyes. “Does it matter, my dear?”

  “We could kill them again,” Hedge suggested.

  “Coach, not helping,” Jason said. “Why don’t you go outside and stand guard?”

  Leo coughed. “Is that safe? They’ve got some serious security.”

  “Oh, yes,” the king said. “Sorry about that. But it’s lovely stuff, isn’t it? Amazing what gold can still buy. Such excellent toys you have in this country!”

  He fished a remote control out of his bathrobe pocket and pressed a few buttons—a pass code, Jason guessed.

  “There,” Midas said. “Safe to go out now.”

  Coach Hedge grunted. “Fine. But if you need me …” He winked at Jason meaningfully. Then he pointed at himself, pointed two fingers at their hosts, and sliced a finger across his throat. Very subtle sign language.

  “Yeah, thanks,” Jason said.

  After the satyr left, Piper tried another diplomatic smile. “So … you don’t know how you got here?”

  “Oh, well, yes. Sort of,” the king said. He frowned at Lit. “Why did we pick Omaha, again? I know it wasn’t the weather.”

  “The oracle,” Lit said.

  “Yes! I was told there was an oracle in Omaha.” The king shrugged. “Apparently I was mistaken. But this is a rather nice house, isn’t it? Lit—it’s short for Lityerses, by the way—horrible name, but his mother insisted—Lit has plenty of wide-open space to practice his swordplay. He has quite a reputation for that. They called him the Reaper of Men back in the old days.”

  “Oh.” Piper tried to sound enthusiastic. “How nice.”

  Lit’s smile was more of a cruel sneer. Jason was now one hundred percent sure he didn’t like this guy, and he was starting to regret sending Hedge outside.

  “So,” Jason said. “All this gold—”

  The king’s eyes lit up. “Are you here for gold, my boy? Please, take a brochure!”

  Jason looked at the brochures on the coffee table. The title said GOLD: Invest for Eternity. “Um, you sell gold?”

  “No, no,” the king said. “I make it. In uncertain times like these, gold is the wisest investment, don’t you think? Governments fall. The dead rise. Giants attack Olympus. But gold retains its value!”

  Leo frowned. “I’ve seen that commercial.”

  “Oh, don’t be fooled by cheap imitators!” the king said. “I assure you, I can beat any price for a serious investor. I can make a wide assortment of gold items at a moment’s notice.”

  “But …” Piper shook her head in confusion. “Your Majesty, you gave up the golden touch, didn’t you?”

  The king looked astonished. “Gave it up?”

  “Yes,” Piper said. “You got it from some god—”

  “Dionysus,” the king agreed. “I’d rescued one of his satyrs, and in return, the god granted me one wish. I chose the golden touch.”

  “But you accidentally turned your own daughter to gold,” Piper remembered. “And you realized how greedy you’d been. So you repented.”

  “Repented!” King Midas looked at Lit incredulously. “You see, son? You’re away for a few thousand years, and the story gets twisted all around. My dear girl, did those stories ever say I’d lost my magic touch?”

  “Well, I guess not. They just said you learned how to reverse it with running water, and you brought your daughter back to life.”

  “That’s all true. Sometimes I still have to reverse my touch. There’s no running water in the house because I don’t want accidents”—he gestured to his statues—“but we chose to live next to a river just in case. Occasionally, I’ll forget and pat Lit on the back—”

  Lit retreated a few steps. “I hate that.”

  “I told you I was sorry, son. At any rat
e, gold is wonderful. Why would I give it up?”

  “Well …” Piper looked truly lost now. “Isn’t that the point of the story? That you learned your lesson?”

  Midas laughed. “My dear, may I see your backpack for a moment? Toss it here.”

  Piper hesitated, but she wasn’t eager to offend the king. She dumped everything out of the pack and tossed it to Midas. As soon as he caught it, the pack turned to gold, like frost spreading across the fabric. It still looked flexible and soft, but definitely gold. The king tossed it back.

  “As you see, I can still turn anything to gold,” Midas said. “That pack is magic now, as well. Go ahead—put your little storm spirit enemies in there.”

  “Seriously?” Leo was suddenly interested. He took the bag from Piper and held it up to the cage. As soon as he unzipped the backpack, the winds stirred and howled in protest. The cage bars shuddered. The door of the prison flew open and the winds got vacuumed straight into the pack. Leo zipped it shut and grinned. “Gotta admit. That’s cool.”

  “You see?” Midas said. “My golden touch a curse? Please. I didn’t learn any lesson, and life isn’t a story, girl. Honestly, my daughter Zoe was much more pleasant as a gold statue.”

  “She talked a lot,” Lit offered.

  “Exactly! And so I turned her back to gold.” Midas pointed. There in the corner was a golden statue of a girl with a shocked expression, as if she were thinking, Dad!

  “That’s horrible!” Piper said.

  “Nonsense. She doesn’t mind. Besides, if I’d learned my lesson, would I have gotten these?”

  Midas pulled off his oversize sleeping cap, and Jason didn’t know whether to laugh or get sick. Midas had long fuzzy gray ears sticking up from his white hair—like Bugs Bunny’s, but they weren’t rabbit ears. They were donkey ears.

  “Oh, wow,” Leo said. “I didn’t need to see that.”

  “Terrible, isn’t it?” Midas sighed. “A few years after the golden touch incident, I judged a music contest between Apollo and Pan, and I declared Pan the winner. Apollo, sore loser, said I must have the ears of an ass, and voilà. This was my reward for being truthful. I tried to keep them a secret. Only my barber knew, but he couldn’t help blabbing.” Midas pointed out another golden statue—a bald man in a toga, holding a pair of shears. “That’s him. He won’t be telling anyone’s secrets again.”