"You are in so much trouble," Clarisse said.
We'd just finished a ship tour we didn't want, through dark rooms overcrowded with dead sailors. We'd seen the coal bunker, the boilers and engine, which huffed and groaned like it would explode any minute. We'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.
Everywhere we went, dead Confederate sailors stared at us, their ghostly bearded faces shimmering over their skulls. They approved of Percy because he told them he was from Virginia. They were interested in me, too, because my name was Chase—like the Union Army Soldier—but then I ruined it by telling them I was from New York. They all hissed and muttered curses about Yankees.
Tyson was terrified of them. All through the tour, he insisted Percy hold his hand, which he didn't look too thrilled about.
Finally, we 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. I didn't want to eat anything served by ghosts, but my hunger overruled my fear.
"Tantalus expelled you for eternity," Clarisse told us smugly. "Mr. D said if any of you show your face at camp again, he'll turn you into squirrels and run you over with his SUV."
"Did they give you this ship?" I asked.
"'Course not. My father did."
"Ares?"
Clarisse sneered. "You think your daddy is the only one with sea power? The spirits on the losing side of every war owe a tribute to Ares. That's their curse for being defeated. I prayed to my father for a naval transport and here it is. These guys will do anything I tell them. Won't you, Captain?"
The captain stood behind her looking stiff and angry. His glowing green eyes fixed me with a hungry stare. "If it means an end to this infernal war, ma'am, peace at last, we'll do anything. Destroy anyone."
Clarisse smiled. "Destroy anyone. I like that."
Tyson gulped.
"Clarisse," Percy said, "Luke might be after the Fleece, too. We saw him. He's got the coordinates and he's heading south. He has a cruise ship full of monsters—"
"Good! I'll blow him out of the water."
"You don't understand," Percy said. We have to combine forces. Let us help you—"
"No!" Clarisse pounded the table. "This is my quest, smart boy! Finally I get to be the hero, and you two will not steal my chance."
"Where are your cabin mates?" I asked. "You were allowed to take two friends with you, weren't you?"
"They didn't....I let them stay behind. To protect the camp."
"You mean even the people in your own cabin wouldn't help you?"
"Shut up, Annableugh! I don't need them! Or you!"
"Clarisse," I said, "Tantalus is using you. He doesn't care about the camp. He'd love to see it destroyed. He's setting you up to fail."
"No! I don't care what the Oracle—" She stopped herself.
"What?" I said. "What did the Oracle tell you?"
"Nothing." Clarisse's ears turned pink. "All you need to know is that I'm finishing this quest and you're not helping. On the other hand, I can't let you go...."
YOU ARE READING
Annabeth Chase and the Sea of Monsters
FantasíaAnnabeth Chase is still dealing with being a Half-Blood, but she has more pressing issues. Her and her friends have to figure how to save the camp and Grover and there's only one way to do that. The question is can she do it?
