LUNACY; percy jackson

02.9

[act two; chapter nine     -     crazy]

"You are in so much trouble," Clarisse said.

They'd just finished a ship tour they didn't want, through dark rooms overcrowded with dead sailors. They'd seen the coal bunker, the boilers and engine, which huffed and groaned like it would explode any minute. They'd seen the pilothouse and the powder magazine and gunnery deck (Clarisse's favorite) with two Dahlgren smoothbore cannons on the port and starboard sides and a Brooke nine-inch rifled gun fore and aft—all specially refitted to fire celestial bronze cannon balls to which Andromeda had gaped at, wondering what it would be like to fire something like that, you know, just out of curiosity.

Everywhere the group went, dead Confederate sailors stared at them, their ghostly bearded faces shimmering over their skulls. They approved of Annabeth because she told them she was from Virginia. They were interested in Percy, too, because his name was Jackson—like the Southern general—but then he ruined his chance at being liked by dead guys by telling them he was from New York. They all hissed and muttered curses about Yankees.

Tyson was terrified of them. All through the tour, he insisted Annabeth hold his hand, which she didn't look too thrilled about.

They seemed a little off when talking with Andromeda. She told them about how she was from Louisiana, the soldiers almost smiling at her words. But when one of them noticed her eye color, they began to shy away.

Turns out Andromeda didn't mind talking to dead people. They were better than the gods anyway.

Finally, they were escorted to dinner. The CSS Birmingham captain's quarters were about the size of a walk-in closet, but still much bigger than any other room on board. The table was set with white linen and china. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, potato chips, and Dr Peppers were served by skeletal crewmen.