Rick Riordan
Percy Jackson and the Olympians
35
35
caffeine always calmed down my hyperactive brain. I tried to decide what to do to save the camp,
but nothing came to me. I wished Poseidon would talk to me, give me some advice or something.
The sky was clear and starry. I was checking out the constellations Annabeth had taught
me—Sagittarius, Hercules, Corona Borealis—when somebody said, "Beautiful, aren't they?"
I almost spewed soda.
Standing right next to me was a guy in nylon running shorts and a New York City Marathon
T-shirt. He was slim and fit, with salt-and-pepper hair and a sly smile. He looked kind of familiar, but
I couldn't figure out why.
My first thought was that he must've been taking a midnight jog down the beach and strayed
inside the camp borders. That wasn't supposed to happen. Regular mortals couldn't enter the valley.
But maybe with the tree's magic weakening he'd managed to slip in. But in the middle of the night?
And there was nothing around except farmland and state preserves. Where would this guy have
jogged from?
"May I join you?" he asked. "I haven't sat down in ages."
Now, I know—a strange guy in the middle of the night. Common sense: I was supposed to
run away, yell for help, etc. But the guy acted so calm about the whole thing that I found it hard to
be afraid.
I said, "Uh, sure."
He smiled. "Your hospitality does you credit. Oh, and Coca-Cola! May I?"
He sat at the other end of the blanket, popped a soda and took a drink. "Ah ... that hits the
spot. Peace and quiet at—"
A cell phone went off in his pocket.
The jogger sighed. He pulled out his phone and my eyes got big, because it glowed with a
bluish light. When he extended the antenna, two creatures began writhing around it—green snakes,
no bigger than earthworms.
The jogger didn't seem to notice. He checked his LCD display and cursed. "I've got to take
this. Just a sec ..." Then into the phone: "Hello?"
He listened. The mini-snakes writhed up and down the antenna right next to his ear.
"Yeah," the jogger said. "Listen—I know, but... I don't care if he is chained to a rock with
vultures pecking at his liver, if he doesn't have a tracking number, we can't locate his package.... A
gift to humankind, great... You know how many of those we deliver—Oh, never mind. Listen, just
refer him to Eris in customer service. I gotta go."
He hung up. "Sorry. The overnight express business is just booming. Now, as I was saying—
"
"You have snakes on your phone."
"What? Oh, they don't bite. Say hello, George and Martha."
Hello, George and Martha, a raspy male voice said inside my head.
Don't be sarcastic, said a female voice.
Why not? George demanded. I do all the real work.
"Oh, let's not go into that again!" The jogger slipped his phone back into his pocket. "Now,
where were we ... Ah, yes. Peace and quiet."
He crossed his ankles and stared up at the stars. "Been a long time since I've gotten to
relax. Ever since the telegraph—rush, rush, rush. Do you have a favorite constellation, Percy?"
I was still kind of wondering about the little green snakes he'd shoved into his jogging shorts,
but I said, "Uh, I like Hercules."
"Why?"
"Well ... because he had rotten luck. Even worse than mine. It makes me feel better."
The jogger chuckled. "Not because he was strong and famous and all that?"
"No."
"You're an interesting young man. And so, what now?"
I knew immediately what he was asking. What did I intend to do about the Fleece?
Before I could answer, Martha the snake's muffled voice came from his pocket: I have
Demeter on line two.
"Not now," the jogger said. "Tell her to leave a message."
She's not going to like that. The last time you put her off, all the flowers in the floral delivery