Rick Riordan
Percy Jackson and the Olympians
11
11
At least I thought that’s what she said, but that didn’t make any sense. Grover with a
girlfriend? Then I looked at Juniper more closely, and I realized her ears were slightly pointed. Her
eyes, instead of being red from crying, were tinged green, the color of chlorophyll. She was a tree
nymph— a dryad.
“Master Underwood!” the council member on the right shouted, cutting off whatever Grover
was trying to say. “Do you seriously expect us to believe this?”
“B-but Silenus,” Grover stammered. “It’s the truth!”
The Council guy, Silenus, turned to his colleagues and muttered something. Chiron cantered
up to the front and stood next to them. I remembered he was an honorary member of the council,
but I’d never thought about it much. The elders didn’t look very impressive. They reminded me of
the goats in a petting zoo—huge bellies, sleepy expressions, and glazed eyes that couldn’t see past
the next handful of goat chow. I wasn’t sure why Grover seemed so nervous.
Silenus tugged his yellow polo shirt over his belly and adjusted himself on his rosebush
throne. “Master Underwood, for six months—six months— we have been hearing these scandalous
claims that you heard the wild god Pan speak.”
“But I did!”
“Impudence!” said the elder on the left.
“Now, Maron,” Chiron said. “Patience.”
“Patience, indeed!” Maron said. “I’ve had it up to my horns with this nonsense. As if the wild
god would speak to…to him.”
Juniper looked like she wanted to charge the old satyr and beat him up, but Annabeth and
Clarisse held her back. “Wrong fight, girlie,” Clarisse muttered. “Wait.”
I don’t know what surprised me more: Clarisse holding someone back from a fight, or the fact
that she and Annabeth, who despised each other, almost seemed like they were working together.
“For six months,” Silenus continued, “we have indulged you, Master Underwood. We let you
travel. We allowed you to keep your searcher’s license. We waited for you to bring proof of your
preposterous claim. And what have you found in six months of travel?”
“I just need more time,” Grover pleaded.
“Nothing!” the elder in the middle chimed in. “You have found nothing.”
“But, Leneus—”
Silenus raised his hand. Chiron leaned in and said something to the satyrs. The satyrs didn’t
look happy. They muttered and argued among themselves, but Chiron said something else, and
Silenus sighed. He nodded reluctantly.
“Master Underwood,” Silenus announced, “we will give you one more chance.”
Grover brightened. “Thank you!”
“One more week.”
“What? But sir! That’s impossible!”
“One more week, Master Underwood. And then, if you cannot prove your claims, it will be
time for you to pursue another career. Something to suit your dramatic talents. Puppet theater,
perhaps. Or tap dancing.”
“But sir, I—I can’t lose my searcher’s license. My whole life—”
“This meeting of the council is adjourned,” Silenus said. “And now let us enjoy our noonday
meal!”
The old satyr clapped his hands, and a bunch of nymphs melted out of the trees with platters
of vegetables, fruits, tin cans, and other goat delicacies. The circle of satyrs broke and charged the
food. Grover walked dejectedly toward us. His faded blue T-shirt had a picture of a satyr on it. It
read GOT HOOVES?
“Hi, Percy,” he said, so depressed he didn’t even offer to shake my hand. “That went well,
huh?”
“Those old goats!” Juniper said. “Oh, Grover, they don’t know how hard you’ve tried!”
“There is another option,” Clarisse said darkly.
“No. No.” Juniper shook her head. “Grover, I won’t let you.”
His face was ashen. “I—I’ll have to think about it. But we don’t even know where to look.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
In the distance, a conch horn sounded.