"Just write a book" they said. "It'll be easy," they said, "Everyone gets published these days." Yeah, well, it's a little harder when your editors are gods that will turn you into a gecko and use you as a ping pong ball if you don't write them exac...
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TURNS OUR POWERS INCLUDED CONTROLLING BOATS. What do you even call that? Boat...kinesis?
Either way, it worked. We didn't even had to do anything. Percy gave a word and the boat would adjust itself. And if we did do anything by hand, it was always the right thing. The right ropes were pulled. We turned the right away to keep the boat moving. We were going a consistent ten knots – that's eleven miles per hour – which was basically racing for the Queen Anne's Revenge.
The others kept telling me I needed to rest. And I guess they were right. I hadn't really slept since we left the CSS Birmingham. Without the fear of Circe turning my friends into random rodents, I was suddenly exhausted. But...I don't know. Maybe I didn't want to hang around in another hammock. Maybe I was afraid of another weird dream. Either way, I wanted to stay awake a little but longer. Just in case.
So, while Percy sailed the boat and Annabeth went belowdeck to sleep through her sea sickness, I stared out at the horizon. Monsters popped up more often, and the water was still that sickly green, but it wasn't as scary now that we weren't in a little rowboat.
I was watching a plume of water in the distance – like a whale's spout, but fifty feet higher – when Veerle shuffled up next to me. She picked at a splinter in the wood. For a moment we just stood there awkwardly. I could tell she wanted to say something, but I guess neither of us could figure up how to bring it up without it feeling weird.
Finally, after a beat, Veerle muttered, "Sorry."
"Sorry?" I repeated.
"For Circe's. I totally freaked out and..."
Veerle peeled up a long splinter of wood, then flicked it into the water. I shrugged faintly. I didn't hold it against her. I mean, I think it was pretty obvious that Annabeth was the only one of us who'd had any plan. Veerle and I were freaking out. Percy was literally a guinea pig. If it weren't for Annabeth we probably would sitting in some kindergarten class while camp was over run (I winced – let's not think about that.)
"We'll find Grover, and the Fleece, and we'll get back in time, and everything will be okay," Veerle insisted. "We have to."
"'Cause your dad," I guessed. "You said he talked you and Clarisse, on the Birmingham. That he was trying to help...?"
"Yeah..." Veerle narrowed her eyes at me. "Why?"
"He literally tried to start a world–ending war last summer. That doesn't exactly scream 'I love helping.'"
