Deadly Waters | Percy Jackson

6. Jackson Becomes Supreme Lord of the Bathroom

Once Percy got over the fact that his Latin teacher was a horse, they had a nice tour, though he was careful not to walk behind him. Percy'd done pooper-scooper patrol in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade a few times, and, he's sorry, he did not trust Chiron's back end the way he trusted his front.

They passed the volleyball pit. Several of the campers nudged each other. One pointed to the minotaur horn Percy was carrying. Another said, "That's him."

Way to make a guy feel welcomed.

Most of the campers were older than him. Their satyr friends were bigger than Grover, all of them trotting around in orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirts, with nothing else to cover their bare shaggy hindquarters. Percy wasn't normally shy, but the way they stared at him made him uncomfortable. He felt like they were expecting him to do a flip or something.

He looked back at the farmhouse. It was a lot bigger than he'd realized-four stories tall, sky blue with white trim, like an upscale seaside resort. He was checking out the brass eagle weathervane on top when something caught his eye, a shadow in the uppermost window of the attic gable. Something had moved the curtain, just for a second, and Percy got the distinct impression he was being watched.

"What's up there?" he asked Chiron.

The centuar looked where the boy was pointing, and his smile faded. "Just the attic."

"Somebody lives there?"

"No," he said with finality. "Not a single living thing."

Percy was also sure something had moved that curtain, but he got the feeling Chiron was being truthful, whilst also somehow lying.

It was something that Pez was expert at doing.

"Come along, Percy," Chiron said, his light-hearted tone now a little forced. "Lots to see."

They walked through the strawberry fields, where campers were picking bushels of berries while a satyr played a tune on a reed pipe.

Chiron told Percy the camp grew a nice crop for export to New York restaurants and Mount Olympus. "It pays our expenses," he explained. "And the strawberries take almost no effort."

He said Mr. D had this effect on fruit-bearing plants: they just went crazy when he was around. It worked best with wine grapes, but Mr. D was restricted from growing those, so they grew strawberries instead.

Percy watched the satyr playing his pipe. His music was causing lines of bugs to leave the strawberry patch in every direction, like refugees fleeing a fire. He wondered if Grover could work that kind of magic with music. He wondered if he was still inside the farmhouse, getting chewed out by Mr. D.

"Grover won't get in too much trouble, will he?" Percy asked Chiron. "I mean . . . he was a good protector. Really."

Chiron sighed. He shed his tweed jacket and draped it over his horses back like a saddle. "Grover has big dreams, Percy. Perhaps bigger than are reasonable. To reach his goal, he must first demonstrate great courage by succeeding as a keeper, finding a new camper and bringing him safely to Half-Blood Hill."

"But he did that!"

"I might agree with you," Chiron said. "But it is not my place to judge. Dionysus and the Council of Cloven Elders must decide. I'm afraid they might not see this assignment as a success. After all, Grover lost you in New York. Then there's the unfortunate . . . ah . . . fate of your mother. And the fact that Grover was unconscious when you dragged him over the property line. The council might question whether this shows any courage on Grover's part."