Rick Riordan
Percy Jackson and the Olympians
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"Fine!" Tantalus shouted, his eyes blazing with anger. "You brats want me to assign a
quest?"
"YES!"
"Very well," he agreed. "I shall authorize a champion to undertake this perilous journey, to
retrieve the Golden Fleece and bring it back to camp. Or die trying."
My heart filled with excitement. I wasn't going to let Tantalus scare me. This was what I
needed to do. I was going to save Grover and the camp. Nothing would stop me.
"I will allow our champion to consult the Oracle!" Tantalus announced. "And choose two
companions for the journey. And I think the choice of champion is obvious."
Tantalus looked at Annabeth and me as if he wanted to flay us alive. "The champion should
be one who has earned the camp's respect, who has proven resourceful in the chariot races and
courageous in the defense of the camp. You shall lead this quest ... Clarisse!"
The fire flickered a thousand different colors. The Ares cabin started stomping and cheering,
"CLARISSE! CLARISSE!"
Clarisse stood up, looking stunned. Then she swallowed, and her chest swelled with pride. "I
accept the quest!"
"Wait!" I shouted. "Grover is my friend. The dream came to me."
"Sit down!" yelled one of the Ares campers. "You had your chance last summer!"
"Yeah, he just wants to be in the spotlight again!" another said.
Clarisse glared at me. "I accept the quest!" she repeated. "I, Clarisse, daughter of Ares, will
save the camp!"
The Ares campers cheered even louder. Annabeth protested, and the other Athena campers
joined in. Everybody else started taking sides—shouting and arguing and throwing marshmallows. I
thought it was going to turn into a full-fledged s'more war until Tantalus shouted, "Silence, you
brats!"
His tone stunned even me.
"Sit down!" he ordered. "And I will tell you a ghost story."
I didn't know what he was up to, but we all moved reluctantly back to our seats. The evil aura
radiating from Tantalus was as strong as any monster I'd ever faced.
"Once upon a time there was a mortal king who was beloved of the Gods!" Tantalus put his
hand on his chest, and I got the feeling he was talking about himself.
"This king," he said, "was even allowed to feast on Mount Olympus. But when he tried to
take some ambrosia and nectar back to earth to figure out the recipe—just one little doggie bag,
mind you—the gods punished him. They banned him from their halls forever! His own people
mocked him! His children scolded him! And, oh yes, campers, he had horrible children. Children—
just—like— you."
He pointed a crooked finger at several people in the audience, including me.
"Do you know what he did to his ungrateful children?" Tantalus asked softly. "Do you know
how he paid back the gods for their cruel punishment? He invited the Olympians to a feast at his
palace, just to show there were no hard feelings. No one noticed that his children were missing. And
when he served the gods dinner, my dear campers, can you guess what was in the stew?"
No one dared answer. The firelight glowed dark blue, reflecting evilly on Tantalus's crooked
face.
"Oh, the gods punished him in the afterlife," Tantalus croaked. "They did indeed. But he'd
had his moment of satisfaction, hadn't he? His children never again spoke back to him or
questioned his authority. And do you know what? Rumor has it that the king's spirit now dwells at
this very camp, waiting for a chance to take revenge on ungrateful, rebellious children. And so ...
are there any more complaints, before we send Clarisse off on her quest?"
Silence.
Tantalus nodded at Clarisse. "The Oracle, my dear. Go on."
She shifted uncomfortably, like even she didn't want glory at the price of being Tantalus's
pet. "Sir—"
"Go!" he snarled.
She bowed awkwardly and hurried off toward the Big House.
"What about you, Percy Jackson?" Tantalus asked. "No comments from our dishwasher?"