Rick Riordan
Percy Jackson and the Olympians
63
63
"The power of Poseidon," East River murmured. "He's a jerk, but he sure knows how to
sweep pollution away."
They looked at each other, then spoke as one: "It's a deal."
I gave them each a sand-dollar half, which they held reverently.
"Um, the invaders?" I prompted.
East flicked his hand. "They just got sunk."
Hudson snapped his fingers. "Bunch of hellhounds just took a dive."
"Thank you," I said. "Stay clean."
As I rose toward the surface, East called out, "Hey, kid, any time you got a sand dollar to
spend, come on back. Assuming you live."
"Curse of Achilles," Hudson snorted. "They always think that'll save them, don't they?"
"If only he knew," East agreed. They both laughed, dissolving into the water.
Back on the shore, Annabeth was talking on her cell phone, but she hung up as soon as she
saw me. She looked pretty shaken.
"It worked," I told her. "The rivers are safe."
"Good," she said. "Because we've got other problems. Michael Yew just called. Another army
is marching over the Williamsburg Bridge. The Apollo cabin needs help. And Percy, the monster
leading the enemy . . . it's the Minotaur."
Chapter Eleven
We Break A Bridge
Fortunately, Blackjack was on duty.
I did my best taxicab whistle, and within a few minutes two dark shapes circled out of the
sky. They looked like hawks at first, but as they descended I could make out the long galloping legs
of pegasi.
Yo, boss. Blackjack landed at a trot, his friend Porkpie right behind him. Man, I thought those
wind gods were gonna knock us to Pennsylvania until we said we were with you!
"Thanks for coming," I told him. "Hey, why do pegasi gallop as they fly, anyway?"
Blackjack whinnied. Why do humans swing their arms as they walk? I dunno, boss. It just
feels right. Where to?
"We need to get to the Williamsburg Bridge," I said.
Blackjack lowered his neck. You're darn right, boss. We flew over it on the way here, and it
don't look good. Hop on!
On the way to the bridge, a knot formed in the pit of my stomach. The Minotaur was one of
the first monsters I'd ever defeated. Four years ago he'd nearly killed my mother on Half-Blood Hill. I
still had nightmares about that.
I'd been hoping he would stay dead for a few centuries, but I should've known my luck
wouldn't hold.
We saw the battle before we were close enough to make out individual fighters. It was well
after midnight now, but the bridge blazed with light. Cars were burning. Arcs of fire streamed in both
directions as flaming arrows and spears sailed through the air.
We came in for a low pass, and I saw the Apollo campers retreating. They would hide behind
cars and snipe at the approaching army, setting off explosive arrows and dropping caltrops in the
road, building fiery barricades wherever they could, dragging sleeping drivers out of their cars to get
them out of harm's way. But the enemy kept advancing. An entire phalanx of dracaenae marched in
the lead, their shields locked together, spear tips bristling over the top. An occasional arrow would
connect with their snaky trunks, or a neck, or a chink in their armor, and the unlucky snake woman
would disintegrate, but most of the Apollo arrows glanced harmlessly off their shield wall. About a
hundred more monsters marched behind them.