Rick Riordan
Percy Jackson and the Olympians
as Blackjack circled higher and higher, carrying Beckendorf and me into the sky. I wondered what
Rachel wanted to talk to me about, and whether I'd live long enough to find out.
"So," Beckendorf said, "I'm guessing you don't want me to mention that little scene to
Annabeth."
"Oh, gods," I muttered. "Don't even think about it."
Beckendorf chuckled, and together we soared out over the Atlantic.
3
3
It was almost dark by the time we spotted our target. The Princess Andromeda glowed on
the horizon—a huge cruise ship lit up yellow and white. From a distance, you'd think it was just a
party ship, not the headquarters for the Titan lord. Then as you got closer, you might notice the giant
figurehead—a dark-haired maiden in a Greek chiton, wrapped m chains with a look of horror on her
face, as if she could smell the stench of all the monsters she was being forced to carry.
Seeing the ship again twisted my gut into knots. I'd almost died twice on the Princess
Andromeda. Now it was heading straight for New York.
"You know what to do?" Beckendorf yelled over the wind.
I nodded. We'd done dry runs at the dockyards in New Jersey, using abandoned ships as
our targets. I knew how little time we would have. But I also knew this was our best chance to end
Kronos's invasion before it ever started.
"Blackjack," I said, "set us down on the lowest stern deck."
Gotcha, boss, he said. Man, I hate seeing that boat.
Three years ago, Blackjack had been enslaved on the Princess Andromeda until he'd
escaped with a little help from my friends and me. I figured he'd rather have his mane braided like
My Little Pony than be back here again.
"Don't wait for us," I told him.
But, boss—
"Trust me," I said. "We'll get out by ourselves."
Blackjack folded his wings and plummeted toward the boat like a black comet. The wind
whistled in my ears. I saw monsters patrolling the upper decks of the ship—dracaenae snake-
women, hellhounds, giants, and the humanoid seal-demons known as telkhines—but we zipped by
so fast, none of them raised the alarm. We shot down the stern of the boat, and Blackjack spread
his wings, lightly coming to a landing on the lowest deck. I climbed off, feeling queasy.
Good luck, boss, Blackjack said. Don't let 'em turn you into horse meat!
With that, my old friend flew off into the night. I took my pen out of my pocket and uncapped
it, and Riptide sprang to full size—three feet of deadly Celestial bronze glowing in the dusk.
Beckendorf pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. I thought it was a map or something.
Then I realized it was a photograph. He stared at it in the dim light—the smiling face of Silena
Beauregard, daughter of Aphrodite. They'd started going out last summer, after years of the rest of
us saying, "Duh, you guys like each other!" Even with all the dangerous missions, Beckendorf had
been happier this summer than I'd ever seen him.
"We'll make it back to camp," I promised.
For a second I saw worry in his eyes. Then he put on his old confident smile.
"You bet," he said. "Let's go blow Kronos back into a million pieces."
Beckendorf led the way. We followed a narrow corridor to the service stairwell, just like we'd
practiced, but we froze when we heard noises above us.
"I don't care what your nose says!" snarled a half-human, half-dog voice—a telkhine. "The
last time you smelled half-blood, it turned out to be a meat loaf sandwich!"
"Meat loaf sandwiches are good!" a second voice snarled. "But this is half-blood scent, I
swear. They are on board!"
"Bah, your brain isn't on board!"
They continued to argue, and Beckendorf pointed downstairs. We descended as quietly as
we could. Two floors down, the voices of the telkhines started to fade.
Finally we came to a metal hatch. Beckendorf mouthed the words "engine room."
It was locked, but Beckendorf pulled some chain cutters out of his bag and split the bolt like
it was made of butter.