Rick Riordan
The Sea Monsters - 02
I didn't say anything. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of punishing me again.
"Good," Tantalus said. "And let me remind everyone— no one leaves this camp without my
permission. Anyone who tries ... well, if they survive the attempt, they will be expelled forever, but it
won't come to that. The harpies will be enforcing curfew from now on, and they are always hungry!
Good night, my dear campers. Sleep well."
With a wave of Tantalus's hand, the fire was extinguished, and the campers trailed off
toward their cabins in the dark.
I couldn't explain things to Tyson. He knew I was sad. He knew I wanted to go on a trip and
Tantalus wouldn't let me.
"You will go anyway?" he asked.
"I don't know," I admitted. "It would be hard. Very hard."
"I will help."
"No. I—uh, I couldn't ask you to do that, big guy. Too dangerous."
Tyson looked down at the pieces of metal he was assembling in his lap—springs and gears
and tiny wires. Beckendorf had given him some tools and spare parts, and now Tyson spent every
night tinkering, though I wasn't sure how his huge hands could handle such delicate little pieces.
"What are you building?" I asked.
Tyson didn't answer. Instead he made a whimpering sound in the back of his throat.
"Annabeth doesn't like Cyclopes. You ... don't want me along?"
"Oh, that's not it," I said halfheartedly. "Annabeth likes you. Really."
He had tears in the corners of his eye.
I remembered that Grover, like all satyrs, could read human emotions. I wondered if
Cyclopes had the same ability.
Tyson folded up his tinkering project in an oilcloth. He lay down on his bunk bed and hugged
his bundle like a teddy bear. When he turned toward the wall, I could see the weird scars on his
back, like somebody had plowed over him with a tractor. I wondered for the millionth time how he'd
gotten hurt.
"Daddy always cared for m-me," he sniffled. "Now ... I think he was mean to have a Cyclops
boy. I should not have been born."
"Don't talk that way! Poseidon claimed you, didn't he? So ... he must care about you ... a
lot...."
My voice trailed off as I thought about all those years Tyson had lived on the streets of New
York in a cardboard refrigerator box. How could Tyson think that P oseidon had cared for him? What
kind of dad let that happen to his kid, even if his kid was a monster?
"Tyson ... camp will be a good home for you. The others will get used to you. I promise."
Tyson sighed. I waited for him to say something. Then I realized he was already asleep.
I lay back on my bed and tried to close my eyes, but I just couldn't. I was afraid I might have
another dream about Grover. If the empathy link was real ... if something happened to Grover ...
would I ever wake up?
The full moon shone through my window. The sound of the surf rumbled in the distance. I
could smell the warm scent of the strawberry fields, and hear the laughter of the dryads as they
chased owls through the forest. But something felt wrong about the night—the sickness of Thalia's
tree, spreading across the valley.
Could Clarisse save Half-Blood Hill? I thought the odds were better of me getting a "Best
Camper" award from Tantalus.
I got out of bed and pulled on some clothes. I grabbed a beach blanket and a six-pack of
Coke from under my bunk. The Cokes were against the rules. No outside snacks or drinks were
allowed, but if you talked to the right guy in Hermes's cabin and paid him a few golden drachma, he
could smuggle in almost anything from the nearest convenience store.
Sneaking out after curfew was against the rules, too. If I got caught I'd either get in big
trouble or be eaten by the harpies. But I wanted to see the ocean. I always felt better there. My
thoughts were clearer. I left the cabin and headed for the beach.
I spread my blanket near the surf and popped open a Coke. For some reason sugar and
34