Percy Jackson And The Lightning Thief

We Get Advice from a Poodle

We were pretty miserable that night.We camped out in the woods, a hundred metres from the main road, in amarshy clearing that local kids had obviously been using for parties. The groundwas littered with flattened soda cans and fast-food wrappers.We'd taken some food and blankets from Aunty Em's, but we didn't dare lighta fire to dry our damp clothes. The Furies and Medusa had provided enoughexcitement for one day. We didn't want to attract anything else.We decided to sleep in shifts. I volunteered to take first watch.Annabeth curled up on the blankets and was snoring as soon as her head hitthe ground. Grover fluttered with his flying shoes to the lowest bough of a tree,put his back to the trunk, and stared at the night sky.'Go ahead and sleep,' I told him. 'I'll wake you if there's trouble.'He nodded, but still didn't close his eyes. 'It makes me sad, Percy.''What does? The fact that you signed up for this stupid quest?''No. This makes me sad.' He pointed at all the garbage on the ground. 'Andthe sky. You can't even see the stars. They've polluted the sky. This is a terribletime to be a satyr.''Oh, yeah. I guess you'd be an environmentalist.'He glared at me. 'Only a human wouldn't be. Your species is clogging up theworld so fast... ah, never mind. It's useless to lecture a human. At the rate thingsare going, I'll never find Pan.''Pam? Like the cooking spray?''Pan!' he cried indignantly. 'P-A-N. The great god Pan! What do you think Iwant a searcher's licence for?'A strange breeze rustled through the clearing, temporarily overpowering thestink of trash and muck. It brought the smell of berries and wildflowers andclean rainwater, things that might've once been in these woods. Suddenly I wasnostalgic for something I'd never known.'Tell me about the search,' I said.Grover looked at me cautiously, as if he were afraid I was just making fun.'The God of Wild Places disappeared two thousand years ago,' he told me. 'Asailor off the coast of Ephesos heard a mysterious voice crying out from theshore, "Tell them that the great god Pan has died!" When humans heard thenews, they believed it. They've been pillaging Pan's kingdom ever since. But forthe satyrs, Pan was our lord and master. He protected us and the wild places ofthe earth. We refuse to believe that he died. In every generation, the bravestsatyrs pledge their lives to finding Pan. They search the earth, exploring all thewildest places, hoping to find where he is hidden and wake him from his sleep.''And you want to be a searcher.''It's my life's dream,' he said. 'My father was a searcher. And my UncleFerdinand... the statue you saw back there –''Oh, right, sorry.'Grover shook his head. 'Uncle Ferdinand knew the risks. So did my dad. ButI'll succeed. I'll be the first searcher to return alive.''Hang on – the first?'Grover took his reed pipes out of his pocket. 'No searcher has ever comeback. Once they set out, they disappear. They're never seen alive again.''Not once in two thousand years?''No.''And your dad? You have no idea what happened to him?''None.''But you still want to go,' I said, amazed. 'I mean, you really think you'll bethe one to find Pan?''I have to believe that, Percy. Every searcher does. It's the only thing thatkeeps us from despair when we look at what humans have done to the world. Ihave to believe Pan can still be awakened.'I stared at the orange haze of the sky and tried to understand how Grovercould pursue a dream that seemed so hopeless. Then again, was I any better?'How are we going to get into the Underworld?' I asked him. 'I mean, whatchance do we have against a god?''I don't know,' he admitted. 'But back at Medusa's, when you were searchingher office? Annabeth was telling me –''Oh, I forgot. Annabeth will have a plan all figured out.''Don't be so hard on her, Percy. She's had a tough life, but she's a goodperson. After all, she forgave me...' His voice faltered.'What do you mean?' I asked. 'Forgave you for what?'Suddenly, Grover seemed very interested in playing notes on his pipes.'Wait a minute,' I said. 'Your first keeper job was five years ago. Annabethhas been at camp five years. She wasn't... I mean, your first assignment thatwent wrong –''I can't talk about it,' Grover said, and his quivering lower lip suggested he'dstart crying if I pressed him. 'But as I was saying, back at Medusas, Annabethand I agreed there's something strange going on with this quest. Something isn'twhat it seems.''Well, duh. I'm getting blamed for stealing a thunderbolt that Hades took.''That's not what I mean,' Grover said. 'The Fu – The Kindly Ones were sortof holding back. Like Mrs Dodds at Yancy Academy... why did she wait so longto try to kill you? Then on the bus, they just weren't as aggressive as theycould've been.''They seemed plenty aggressive to me.'Grover shook his head. 'They were screeching at us: "Where is it? Where?"''Asking about me,' I said.'Maybe... but Annabeth and I, we both got the feeling they weren't askingabout a person. They said "Where is it?" They seemed to be asking about anobject.''That doesn't make sense.''I know. But if we've misunderstood something about this quest, and we onlyhave nine days to find the master bolt...' He looked at me like he was hoping foranswers, but I didn't have any.I thought about what Medusa had said: I was being used by the gods. What layahead of me was worse than petrification. 'I haven't been straight with you,' Itold Grover. 'I don't care about the master bolt. I agreed to go to the Underworldso I could bring back my mother.'Grover blew a soft note on his pipes. 'I know that, Percy. But are you surethat's the only reason?''I'm not doing it to help my father. He doesn't care about me. I don't careabout him.'Grover gazed down from his tree branch. 'Look, Percy, I'm not as smart asAnnabeth. I'm not as brave as you. But I'm pretty good at reading emotions.You're glad your dad is alive. You feel good that he's claimed you, and part ofyou wants to make him proud. That's why you mailed Medusa's head toOlympus. You wanted him to notice what you'd done.''Yeah? Well maybe satyr emotions work differently than human emotions.Because you're wrong. I don't care what he thinks.'Grover pulled his feet up onto the branch. 'Okay, Percy. Whatever.''Besides, I haven't done anything worth bragging about. We barely got out ofNew York and we're stuck here with no money and no way west.'Grover looked at the night sky, like he was thinking about that problem. 'Howabout I take first watch, huh? You get some sleep.'I wanted to protest, but he started to play Mozart, soft and sweet, and I turnedaway, my eyes stinging. After a few bars of Piano Concerto no. 12, I was asleep.In my dreams, I stood in a dark cavern before a gaping pit. Grey mist creatureschurned all around me, whispering rags of smoke that I somehow knew were thespirits of the dead.They tugged at my clothes, trying to pull me back, but I felt compelled towalk forward to the very edge of the chasm.Looking down made me dizzy.The pit yawned so wide and was so completely black, I knew it must bebottomless. Yet I had a feeling that something was trying to rise from the abyss,something huge and evil.The little hero, an amused voice echoed far down in the darkness. Too weak,too young, but perhaps you will do.The voice felt ancient – cold and heavy. It wrapped around me like sheets oflead.They have misled you, boy, it said. Barter with me. I will give you what youwant.A shimmering image hovered over the void: my mother, frozen at the momentshe'd dissolved in a shower of gold. Her face was distorted with pain, as if theMinotaur were still squeezing her neck. Her eyes looked directly at me,pleading: Go!I tried to cry out, but my voice wouldn't work.Cold laughter echoed from the chasm.An invisible force pulled me forward. It would drag me into the pit unless Istood firm.Help me rise, boy. The voice became hungrier. Bring me the bolt. Strike ablow against the treacherous gods!The spirits of the dead whispered around me, No! Wake!The image of my mother began to fade. The thing in the pit tightened itsunseen grip around me.I realized it wasn't interested in pulling me in. It was using me to pull itselfoutGood, it murmured. Good.Wake! the dead whispered. Wake!Someone was shaking me.My eyes opened, and it was daylight.'Well,' Annabeth said, 'the zombie lives.'I was trembling from the dream. I could still feel the grip of the chasmmonster around my chest. 'How long was I asleep?''Long enough for me to cook breakfast.' Annabeth tossed me a bag of nachoflavoured corn chips from Aunty Em's snack bar. 'And Grover went exploring.Look, he found a friend.'My eyes had trouble focusing.Grover was sitting cross-legged on a blanket with something fuzzy in his lap,a dirty, unnaturally pink stuffed animal.No. It wasn't a stuffed animal. It was a pink poodle.The poodle yapped at me suspiciously. Grover said, 'No, he's not.'I blinked. 'Are you... talking to that thing?'The poodle growled.'This thing,' Grover warned, 'is our ticket west. Be nice to him.''You can talk to animals?'Grover ignored the question. 'Percy, meet Gladiola. Gladiola, Percy.'I stared at Annabeth, figuring she'd crack up at this practical joke they wereplaying on me, but she looked deadly serious.'I'm not saying hello to a pink poodle,' I said. 'Forget it.''Percy,' Annabeth said. 'I said hello to the poodle. You say hello to thepoodle.'The poodle growled.I said hello to the poodle.Grover explained that he'd come across Gladiola in the woods and they'dstruck up a conversation. The poodle had run away from a rich local family,who'd posted a $200 reward for his return. Gladiola didn't really want to goback to his family, but he was willing to if it meant helping Grover.'How does Gladiola know about the reward?' I asked.'He read the signs,' Grover said. 'Duh.''Of course,' I said. 'Silly me.''So we turn in Gladiola,' Annabeth explained in her best strategy voice, 'weget money and we buy tickets to Los Angeles. Simple.'I thought about my dream – the whispering voices of the dead, the thing in thechasm and my mother's face, shimmering as it dissolved into gold. All thatmight be waiting for me in the West.'Not another bus,' I said warily.'No,' Annabeth agreed.She pointed downhill, towards train tracks I hadn't been able to see last nightin the dark. 'There's an Amtrack station half a mile that way. According toGladiola, the westbound train leaves at noon.'