Rick Riordan
Percy Jackson and the Olympians
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column of warriors. Then a brilliant arc of blue light shot from the rooftop of one of the tallest
buildings. The light hit the giant squid, and the monster dissolved like food coloring in water.
"Daddy," Tyson said, pointing to where the light had come from.
"He did that?" I suddenly felt more hopeful. My dad had unbelievable powers. He was the
god of the sea. He could deal with this attack, right? Maybe he'd let me help.
"Have you been in the fight?" I asked Tyson in awe. "Like bashing heads with your awesome
Cyclops strength and stuff?"
Tyson pouted, and immediately I knew I'd asked a bad question, "I have been . . . fixing
weapons," he mumbled. "Come. Let's go find Daddy."
I know this might sound weird to people with, like, regular parents, but I'd only seen my dad
four or five times in my life, and never for more than a few minutes. The Greek gods don't exactly
show up for their kids' basketball games. Still, I thought I would recognize Poseidon on sight.
I was wrong.
The roof of the temple was a big open deck that had been set up as a command center. A
mosaic on the floor showed an exact map of the palace grounds and the surrounding ocean, but the
mosaic moved. Colored stone tiles representing different armies and sea monsters shifted around
as the forces changed position. Buildings that collapsed in real life also collapsed in the picture.
Standing around the mosaic, grimly studying the battle, was a strange assortment of
warriors, but none of them looked like my dad. I was searching for a big guy with a good tan and a
black beard, wearing Bermuda shorts and a Hawaiian shirt.
There was nobody like that. One guy was a merman with two fish tails instead of one. His
skin was green, his armor studded with pearls. His black hair was tied in a ponytail, and he looked
young—though it's hard to tell with non-humans. They could be a thousand years old or three.
Standing next to him was an old man with a bushy white beard and gray hair. His battle armor
seemed to weigh him down. He had green eyes and smile wrinkles around his eyes, but he wasn't
smiling now. He was studying the map and leaning on a large metal staff. To his right stood a
beautiful woman in green armor with flowing black hair and strange little horns like crab claws. And
there was a dolphin—just a regular dolphin, but it was staring at the map intently.
"Delphin," the old man said. "Send Palaemon and his legion of sharks to the western