The Trials of Apollo Camp Jupiter Classified: A Probatio's Journal

by Rick Riordan

  While Frank was talking, Reyna studied me. And continued to study me after he finished. Then, to my astonishment, she smiled. “Your loyalty to your friends is admirable, Claudia. Your forthright truthfulness, too, though it’s a little late in coming.”

  She sat back and steepled her fingers. “Now then. About your plan to deal with Mimi…I have one change to make to it.” She nodded toward Frank. “Instead of endangering Aquila, Frank will fly you and your supplies to the landfill. Agreed?”

  The idea of boarding Air Praetor wasn’t hugely appealing—it still isn’t—but I was in no position to argue, and she was in no mood to debate. “Agreed.”

  So now I’m back in my bunk yet again. My fellow legionnaires are whispering about me, because they think I’m still in trouble. But I’m just waiting for nightfall and praying that the first part of my plan is going off without a hitch.

  Because we have just one shot to get this right. If we fail, the ancile is history…and so are Camp Jupiter, New Rome, and all ancient Roman creatures great and small. If we succeed, though, we’ll get in, get out, and be back in time for breakfast.

  For the sake of the Twelfth Legion Fulminata, I hope it’s not oatmeal.

  Right. Here’s how it was supposed to go yesterday:

  Frank the giant eagle was to transport a poop-free compostable garbage bag filled with deathballs, the Janus can, the retiarius net, and the laquearius lasso to the landfill.

  What actually happened:

  Frank the giant eagle crash-landed while transporting what he thought was a poop-free compostable garbage bag filled with the aforementioned items, but which upon impact was discovered to contain nothing but poop. And a single deathball, which Hannibal’s handler suspects Hannibal ingested by mistake. Ick.

  While Frank visited the infirmary to get his broken wing, um, arm repaired, Blaise, Janice, and I scrapped our original concept and improvised. Under cover of darkness and armed with spritz bottles of Bombilo’s Café Scent, we lugged the deathballs, the Janus can, and the other weapons through secret tunnels, over the hills, and through the woods to the landfill. (No one thought to tell us that Reyna had access to a truck. Not that any of us can drive…but still.) I’d dreaded the hike, because I knew the others would look to me, the descendant of the god of travelers, to steer them in the right direction, and frankly, after my aqueduct wanderings, I wasn’t sure I was up to the task.

  Fortunately, we got an unexpected guide for our journey: Elon.

  Mamurius had tracked down the faun soon after leaving the principia. He promised/threatened to make whatever remained of Elon’s life a living Underworld if he didn’t help us. Elon was more than happy to lend a hoof since it meant stopping Mimi. He knew the way, too, since he’d been traveling to and from the landfill to feast on trash for days. As an added bonus, as we hiked, we convinced him to stop referring to himself in the third person. Win-win!

  When we reached the edge of the landfill, we changed into our disguises—hard hats and bright yellow safety vests. If anyone questioned us, we’d say we were workers on the night shift. No clue if the landfill has a night shift, but it was the best we could come up with on short notice. We sent Elon back to camp with a message for the praetors and a spare bottle of Bombilo’s—which he was happily drinking when I looked back—then crept over mountains of wet, slimy garbage toward Mimi’s trailer.

  Worst. Hike. Ever.

  We reached the trailer without incident. As quickly and quietly as we could, we went to work setting the booby traps. We hung the weighted net over the doorway and planted a sea of deathballs on the steps. We dug a trench in the trash just beyond the stairs and built an arch made of recyclables above it. When Janice had attached the lasso to the keystone, we took up our positions: Janice and Blaise tucked inside the protection of the Janus can with the rope and me on the trailer roof above the net.

  I gave Blaise the go-ahead nod. He threw a rock at the trailer door and quickly crouched back down inside the can.

  I held my breath. Moments passed. Then a light came on inside the trailer. The door opened. A woman emerged. A woman, and the most unbelievable stench, like the inside of an old milk carton mixed with moldering gym clothes all doused in skunk spray.

  Ladies and gentlemen, Mimi had left the building.

  It was time to act. I released the net. It dropped over Mimi’s head and wrapped her up like a used Christmas tree. She let out a howl and lurched onto the steps. Her feet hit the deathballs. She skated, slipped, and sprawled straight into the trench. Janice yanked the pull rope. The keystone popped free, and in one glorious cascade, the arch and all the trash piled up around it fell on top of Mimi.

  I swung from the roof through the open door into the trailer. I tore through closets and looked under the bed. Nothing. I pulled open drawers and checked the shower stall. Still nothing. I spun in circles, desperately searching for the ancile or something, anything, that would point to its whereabouts.

  I almost missed it. Lying horizontal at waist height and covered by a length of purple fabric, it looked like an ironing board. But when I whisked the fabric away, there it was. The missing shield.

  I snatched it up—carefully—and raced outside to find Janice and Blaise madly spritzing a moving mound of garbage with Bombilo’s Café Scent. That mouthwatering odor held her at bay just long enough for reinforcements to reach us. Aquila, Frank, and another giant eagle swooped in, caught us in their talons, and flew us off into the moonlight.

  Camp Jupiter had never looked so splendid. And the baths…oh. Pure heaven.

  I’ve been thinking a lot about secrets. Me and my messages and dream. The identity of the one true ancile. Elon’s wackadoodle relationship with Mimi. Would our situation have gotten so out of control if people had opened up and shared what they knew sooner? Maybe.

  But mostly, I’ve been thinking about a new secret I learned today.

  I was in New Rome, on my way to the library, where a new-but-old paving stone was going to be laid. The name etched on the paver? Mamurius Veturius. He wasn’t recognized as a hero in his lifetime, but he sure helped save the day in ours.

  I was killing some time before the ceremony by wandering the streets. Janice had offered to go with me. Blaise, too—he turned red as a forge fire when he mumbled it, which makes me wonder if maybe he is in love with me after all. Well. Plenty of time for that sort of thing now that Camp Jupiter is safe.

  I told them both thanks, but no thanks. I wanted to explore New Rome on my own this time. To drink in the sights, sounds, and yep, the smells, without any distractions. To imagine my father walking these same cobblestone streets. I had no route in mind—I just let my feet take me where they would.

  They steered me to a place I’d never been to before, yet it was as familiar as the back of my hand. A doorway to a modest home tucked on a side street. There was nothing unusual about it—it looked just like every other front door on that street.

  Except it was open. And leaning against the frame was a woman with dark wavy hair. Like mine. Dark eyes. Like mine. A big nose. Like mine. Her hand drifted to her stomach and rested there. And then she smiled at me.

  “Hello, Claudia.” Her voice was soft and high with just the hint of a squeak.

  I froze in my tracks, speechless. Then I cleared my throat. “M-Mom?”

  Her smile widened. She pushed off the doorframe and moved toward me. Took my hands in hers. “My name is Cardea—Cardi, to you and your father.”

  “The goddess of thresholds and hinges,” I murmured. (Thank you, ID the Deity class!)

  She nodded. “I have been allowed to contact you in this form because of what you did to save our world. Without you and your friends…well, we ‘minor’ deities [Julia would have been proud of my mom’s mad air-quote skills] might not be here.”

  “In this form,” I repeated. “Meaning…you’ve contacted me in other ways?” I gave myself a mental head slap. “The messages. They were from you, not Great-Granddad?”

  She s
eesawed her hand in a maybe/maybe not gesture. “I wrote them, yes. But I couldn’t have delivered them, not without his help.”

  I nodded my understanding, remembering what Leila had said about the recent problems with communications. Still…“If you knew what was going on, with the ancile and everything, why didn’t you or the other gods intervene to stop Mimi?”

  Her lovely face clouded over. “Because reasons,” she said softly.

  (Reyna told me later that gods and goddesses don’t appreciate it when other deities muck about in their children’s affairs. Doesn’t stop them from doing it all the time, of course. And at least my mom had done what she could to help.)

  Cardea’s form started to flicker then. “My time here is almost up. Hold out your arm, quickly.” I did as she requested. “This is supposed to be done in the Forum before the Senate and the Legion, but they’re a little busy right now, so…” She met my eyes apologetically. “Close your eyes. This might hurt.”

  It did hurt. A lot, in fact. A searing pain like when you brush against a hot stove, only a billion times worse. It was over quickly, though. And when I opened my eyes, I saw what had caused the burning sensation. There were now four tattoos on my forearm: a hinge, a caduceus, a single stripe, and the letters SPQR.

  Mom traced her fingers over the images, a touch so featherlight I wouldn’t have felt it if I hadn’t seen her hand. And then her form faded away, and I was left with just her soft whisper in my ear. “Senatus Populusque Romanus!”

  I saluted the sky. “SPQR, Mom! SPQR forever!”

  ancile (ancilia, pl.) an ornate and cello-shaped shield; one of twelve sacred shields kept in the Temple of Mars

  aqueduct a structure built to ferry water from a distant source

  aquila Latin for eagle

  Athena the Greek goddess of wisdom. Roman form: Minerva

  aura (aurae, pl.) wind spirit

  Bellona a Roman goddess of war; daughter of Jupiter and Juno

  caduceus a herald’s staff carried by Mercury, with a pair of wings at the top and snakes entwined around the shaft

  Camp Jupiter the training ground for Roman demigods, located in California, between the Oakland Hills and the Berkeley Hills

  Cardea Roman goddess of the hinge

  centaur a being with the torso and head of a man and the body of a horse

  centurion an officer in the Roman army

  Claudius Roman emperor from 41 to 54 CE

  cloaca maxima Latin for greatest sewer

  Cloacina the Roman goddess who presided over the cloaca maxima

  cohort a group of legionnaires

  Colosseum an elliptical amphitheater built for gladiator fights, monster simulations, and mock naval battles

  cynocephalus (cynocephali, pl.) a being with a human body and a dog’s head

  Decumanian Gate Camp Jupiter’s western entrance

  denarius (denarii, pl.) a unit of Roman currency

  dryad a spirit (usually female) associated with a certain tree

  faun a Roman forest god, part goat and part man. Greek form: satyr

  Field of Mars part battlefield, part party zone, the place where drills and war games are held at Camp Jupiter

  Forum the center of life in New Rome; a plaza with statues and fountains that is lined with shops and nighttime entertainment venues

  fulminata Latin for armed with lightning; a Roman legion under Julius Caesar whose emblem was a lightning bolt (fulmen)

  Gaea the Greek earth goddess; wife of Ouranos; mother of the Titans, giants, Cyclopes, and other monsters. Roman form: Terra

  galea Latin for helmet

  gladiator a person trained to fight with particular weapons in an arena

  gladius a stabbing sword; the primary weapon of Roman foot soldiers

  greaves shin armor

  Imperial gold a rare metal deadly to monsters, consecrated at the Pantheon; its existence was a closely guarded secret of the emperors

  invenient Latin for find

  Janus the Roman god of doorways, transitions, beginnings, and endings

  Juno the Roman goddess of marriage; Jupiter’s wife and sister; Apollo’s stepmother. Greek form: Hera

  Jupiter the Roman god of the sky and king of the gods. Greek form: Zeus

  laquearius (laquearii, pl.) Latin for snarer; a gladiator who fought with a lasso in one hand and a sword in the other

  Lar (Lares, pl.) Roman house gods

  legion a unit of soldiers in the Roman army

  legionnaire a member of the Roman army

  Little Tiber named after the Tiber River of Rome, the smallest river that forms the barrier of Camp Jupiter

  Lupa the wolf goddess, guardian spirit of Rome

  Mamurius Veturius master craftsman to King Numa, who instructed him to make eleven identical copies of the ancile

  manubalista a Roman heavy crossbow

  Mars Ultor the Avenger, another name for the Roman god of war

  Mefitis the Roman goddess of noxious vapors that emanate from the earth

  Mercury the Roman god of travelers; guide to spirits of the dead; god of communication. Greek form: Hermes

  Mist a magical force that prevents mortals from seeing gods, mythical creatures, and supernatural occurrences by replacing them with things the human mind can comprehend

  murmillo the oldest gladiator fighting style, in which the gladius sword is the primary weapon

  naiad a female water spirit

  Neptune the Roman god of the sea. Greek form: Poseidon

  New Rome both the valley in which Camp Jupiter is located and a city—a smaller, modern version of the ancient imperial city—where Roman demigods can go to live in peace, study, and retire

  Numa the king who took the throne after Rome’s founder, Romulus, died

  oculus the round skylight in the center of a domed ceiling

  pilum a javelin

  plumbata a throwing dart

  Pluto the Roman god of death and ruler of the Underworld. Greek form: Hades

  Pomerian Line the invisible boundary that encircles New Rome

  praetor an elected Roman magistrate and commander of the army

  praetorian guard a unit of elite Roman soldiers in the Imperial Roman Army

  principia the military headquarters for the praetors at Camp Jupiter

  probatio the rank assigned to new members of the legion at Camp Jupiter

  pugio a dagger

  purgamentorum derelinquere caeno Latin for sewage sludge

  retiarius (retiarii, pl.) a gladiator who fights with a net and a trident or dagger

  Romulus a demigod son of Mars, twin brother of Remus; the first king of Rome, who founded the city in 753 BCE

  scutum a large curved shield

  Senate a council of ten representatives elected from the legion at Camp Jupiter

  SPQR an abbreviation for Senatus Populusque Romanus (Senate and People of Rome)

  Temple Hill the site just outside the city limits of New Rome where the temples to all the gods are located

  Terminus the Roman god of boundaries

  testudo a tortoise battle formation in which legionnaires put their shields together to form a barrier

  trireme a Greek warship, having three tiers of oars on each side

  Via Praetoria the main road into Camp Jupiter that runs from the barracks to the headquarters

  Vulcan the Roman god of fire, including volcanic, and of crafts and blacksmithing. Greek form: Hephaestus

  Not ready to leave Camp Jupiter?

  Read the first chapter of

  The Trials of Apollo Book 4:

  The Tyrant’s Tomb

  I BELIEVE IN RETURNING DEAD BODIES.

  It seems like a simple courtesy, doesn’t it? A warrior dies, you should do what you can to get their body back to their people for funerary rites. Maybe I’m old-fashioned. (I am over four thousand years old.) But I find it rude not to properly dispose of corpses.

  Achilles during the Trojan War, for instance.
Total pig. He chariot-dragged the body of the Trojan champion Hector around the walls of the city for days. Finally I convinced Zeus to pressure the big bully into returning Hector’s body to his parents so he could have a decent burial. I mean, come on. Have a little respect for the people you slaughter.

  Then there was Oliver Cromwell’s corpse. I wasn’t a fan of the man, but please. First, the English bury him with honors. Then they decide they hate him, so they dig him up and “execute” his body. Then his head falls off the pike where it’s been impaled for decades and gets passed around from collector to collector for almost three centuries like a disgusting souvenir snow globe. Finally, in 1960, I whispered in the ears of some influential people, Enough, already. I am the god Apollo, and I order you to bury that thing. You’re grossing me out.

  When it came to Jason Grace, my fallen friend and half brother, I wasn’t going to leave anything to chance. I would personally escort his coffin to Camp Jupiter and see him off with full honors.

  That turned out to be a good call. What with the ghouls attacking us and everything.

  Sunset turned San Francisco Bay into a cauldron of molten copper as our private plane landed at Oakland Airport. I say our private plane; the chartered trip was actually a parting gift from our friend Piper McLean and her movie star father. (Everyone should have at least one friend with a movie star parent.)

  Waiting for us beside the runway was another surprise the McLeans must have arranged: a gleaming black hearse.

  Meg McCaffrey and I stretched our legs on the tarmac while the ground crew somberly removed Jason’s coffin from the Cessna’s storage bay. The polished mahogany box seemed to glow in the evening light. Its brass fixtures glinted red. I hated how beautiful it was. Death shouldn’t be beautiful.

  The crew loaded it into the hearse, then transferred our luggage to the backseat. We didn’t have much: Meg’s backpack and mine, my bow and quiver and ukulele, and a couple of sketchbooks and a poster-board diorama we’d inherited from Jason.