Rick Riordan
The Sea Monsters - 02
most just walked grimly past and carried on with their duties—running messages, toting swords to
sharpen on the grinding wheels. The camp felt like a military school. And believe me, I know. I've
been kicked out of a couple.
None of that mattered to Tyson. He was absolutely fascinated by everything he saw.
"Whasthat!" he gasped.
"The stables for pegasi," I said. "The winged horses."
"Whasthat!"
"Um ... those are the toilets."
"Whasthat!"
"The cabins for the campers. If they don't know who your Olympian parent is, they put you in
the Hermes cabin—that brown one over there—until you're determined. Then, once they know, they
put you in your dad or mom's group."
He looked at me in awe. "You ... have a cabin?"
"Number three." I pointed to a low gray building made of sea stone.
"You live with friends in the cabin?"
"No. No, just me." I didn't feel like explaining. The embarrassing truth: I was the only one
who stayed in that cabin because I wasn't supposed to be alive. The "Big Three" gods—Zeus,
Poseidon, and Hades—had made a pact after World War II not to have any more children with
mortals. We were more powerful than regular half-bloods. We were too unpredictable. When we got
mad we tended to cause problems ... like World War II, for instance. The "Big Three" pact had only
been broken twice—once when Zeus sired Thalia, once when Poseidon sired me. Neither of us
should've been born.
Thalia had gotten herself turned into a pine tree when she was twelve. Me ... well, I was
doing my best not to follow her example. I had nightmares about what Poseidon might turn me into
if I were ever on the verge of death— plankton, maybe. Or a floating patch of kelp.
When we got to the Big House, we found Chiron in his apartment, listening to his favorite
1960s lounge music while he packed his saddlebags. I guess I should mention—Chiron is a
centaur. From the waist up he looks like a regular middle-aged guy with curly brown hair and a
scraggly beard. From the waist down, he's a white stallion. He can pass for human by compacting
his lower half into a magic wheelchair. In fact, he'd passed himself off as my Latin teacher during my
sixth-grade year. But most of the time, if the ceilings are high enough, he prefers hanging out in full
centaur form.
As soon as we saw him, Tyson froze. "Pony!" he cried in total rapture.
Chiron turned, looking offended. "I beg your pardon?"
Annabeth ran up and hugged him. "Chiron, what's happening? You're not ... leaving?" Her
voice was shaky. Chiron was like a second father to her.
Chiron ruffled her hair and gave her a kindly smile. "Hello, child. And Percy, my goodness.
You've grown over the year!"
I swallowed. "Clarisse said you were ... you were ..."
"Fired." Chiron's eyes glinted with dark humor. "Ah, well, someone had to take the blame.
Lord Zeus was most upset. The tree he'd created from the spirit of his daughter, poisoned! Mr. D
had to punish someone."
"Besides himself, you mean," I growled. Just the thought of the camp director, Mr. D, made
me angry.
"But this is crazy!" Annabeth cried. "Chiron, you couldn't have had anything to do with
poisoning Thalia's tree!"
"Nevertheless," Chiron sighed, "some in Olympus do not trust me now, under the
circumstances."
"What circumstances?" I asked.
Chiron's face darkened. He stuffed a Latin-English dictionary into his saddlebag while the
Frank Sinatra music oozed from his boom box.
Tyson was still staring at Chiron in amazement. He whimpered like he wanted to pat Chiron's
flank but was afraid to come closer. "Pony?"
Chiron sniffed. "My dear young Cyclops! I am a centaur."
"Chiron," I said. "What about the tree? What happened?"
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