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"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.
Everywhere the four 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 it by telling them he was from New York. They all hissed and muttered curses about Yankees. They didn't mind Marlowe that much, but some kept muttering to each other about a similar-looking dude they saw in the Underworld. At that thought, Marlowe made sure to steer clear. She was sure they were talking about her father and had no interest in even thinking about him.
Tyson was terrified of them. All through the tour, he insisted Marlowe hold his hand, which she didn't mind. It distracted her from what the soldiers were saying, anyways.
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.
"Tantalus expelled you for eternity," Clarisse told them 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."
"Eh, I doubt that," Marlowe said, shrugging. She popped the cap on a Dr. Pepper and took a swig. "Without me, there's no one to play pinochle with and he loves stealing all my drachmas."
"Did they give you this ship?" Percy asked, rolling his eyes at Marlowe's comment, but a smile on his face nonetheless.
"'Course not. My father did," Clarisse said, leaning back in her chair.
"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 Marlowe with a hungry stare and she suddenly felt uncomfortable. "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," Annabeth said, "Luke might be after the Fleece, too. We saw him."
