Rick Riordan
The Sea Monsters - 02
My face was burning, but I knew better than to talk back. Dionysus was an overgrown brat,
but he was an immortal, superpowerful overgrown brat. I said, "Come on, Tyson."
"Oh, no," Tantalus said. "The monster stays here. We must decide what to do with it."
"Him," I snapped. "His name is Tyson."
The new activities director raised an eyebrow.
"Tyson saved the camp," I insisted. "He pounded those bronze bulls. Otherwise they
would've burned down this whole place."
"Yes," Tantalus sighed, "and what a pity that would've been."
Dionysus snickered.
"Leave us," Tantalus ordered, "while we decide this creature's fate."
Tyson looked at me with fear in his one big eye, but I knew I couldn't disobey a direct order
from the camp directors. Not openly, anyway.
"I'll be right over here, big guy," I promised. "Don't worry. We'll find you a good place to sleep
tonight."
Tyson nodded. "I believe you. You are my friend."
Which made me feel a whole lot guiltier.
I trudged over to the Poseidon table and slumped onto the bench. A wood nymph brought
me a plate of Olympian olive-and-pepperoni pizza, but I wasn't hungry. I'd been almost killed twice
today. I'd managed to end my school year with a complete disaster. Camp Half-Blood was in
serious trouble and Chiron had told me not to do anything about it.
I didn't feel very thankful, but I took my dinner, as was customary, up to the bronze brazier
and scraped part of it into the flames.
"Poseidon," I murmured, "accept my offering."
And send me some help while you're at it, I prayed silently. Please.
The smoke from the burning pizza changed into something fragrant—the smell of a clean
sea breeze with wild-flowers mixed in—but I had no idea if that meant my father was really listening.
I went back to my seat. I didn't think things could get much worse. But then Tantalus had one
of the satyrs blow the conch horn to get our attention for announcements.
"Yes, well," Tantalus said, once the talking had died down. "Another fine meal! Or so I am
told." As he spoke, he inched his hand toward his refilled dinner plate, as if maybe the food wouldn't
notice what he was doing, but it did. It shot away down the table as soon as he got within six inches.
"And here on my first day of authority," he continued, "I'd like to say what a pleasant form of
punishment it is to be here. Over the course of the summer, I hope to torture, er, interact with each
and every one of you children. You all look good enough to eat."
Dionysus clapped politely, leading to some halfhearted applause from the satyrs. Tyson was
still standing at the head table, looking uncomfortable, but every time he tried to scoot out of the
limelight, Tantalus pulled him back.
"And now some changes!" Tantalus gave the campers a crooked smile. "We are reinstituting
the chariot races!"
Murmuring broke out at all the tables—excitement, fear, disbelief.
"Now I know," Tantalus continued, raising his voice, "that these races were discontinued
some years ago due to, ah, technical problems."
"Three deaths and twenty-six mutilations," someone at the Apollo table called.
"Yes, yes!" Tantalus said. "But I know that you will all join me in welcoming the return of this
camp tradition. Golden laurels will go to the winning charioteers each month. Teams may register in
the morning! The first race will be held in three days time. We will release you from most of your
regular activities to prepare your chariots and choose your horses. Oh, and did I mention, the
victorious team's cabin will have no chores for the month in which they win?"
An explosion of excited conversation—no KP for a whole month? No stable cleaning? Was
he serious?
Then the last person I expected to object did so.
"But, sir!" Clarisse said. She looked nervous, but she stood up to speak from the Ares table.
Some of the campers snickered when they saw the YOU MOO, GIRL! sign on her back. "What
about patrol duty? I mean, if we drop everything to ready our chariots—"
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