Your Loyalty to Me

BOOM Goes Weasel!

Apollo's POV

'Don't judge,' Piper warned as she re-emerged from her room.

"Oh, don't worry sister," Aria smiled evilly. "Imma be as judgey as judgey can be."

Whereas, I would not have dreamed of it.

Piper McLean looked fashionably ready for combat in her bright white Converses, distressed skinny jeans, leather belt and orange camp tee. Braided down one side of her hair was a bright blue feather - a harpy feather, if I wasn't mistaken.

Strapped to her belt was a triangular-bladed dagger like the kind Greek women used to wear - a parazonium. Hecuba, future queen of Troy, sported one back when we were dating. It was mostly ceremonial, as I recalled, but very sharp. (Hecuba had a bit of a temper.)

Hanging from the other side of Piper's belt ... Ah. I guessed this was the reason she felt self-conscious. Holstered to her thigh was a miniature quiver stocked with foot-long projectiles, their fletching made from fluffy thistles. Slung across her shoulder, along with a backpack, was a four-foot tube of river cane.

'A blowpipe!' I cried. 'I love blowpipes!'

Not that I was an expert, mind you, but the blowpipe was a missile weapon - elegant, difficult to master and very sneaky. How could I not love it?

Meg scratched her neck. 'Are blowpipes Greeky?'

Piper laughed. 'No, they're not Greeky. But they are Cherokee-y. My Grandpa Tom made this one for me a long time ago. He was always trying to get me to practise.'

Grover's goatee twitched as if trying to free itself from his chin, Houdini-style. 'Blowpipes are really difficult to use. My Uncle Ferdinand had one. How good are you?'

"Not the best,' Piper admitted. 'Nowhere near as good as my cousin in Tahlequah; she's a tribal champion. But I've been practising. Last time Jason and I were in the maze -' she patted her quiver - 'these came in handy. You'll see.'

Grover managed to contain his excitement. I understood his concern. In a novice's hands, a blowpipe was more dangerous to allies than to enemies.

"And the dagger?' Grover asked. 'Is that really -?'

"Katoptris,' Piper said proudly. 'Belonged to Helen of Troy.'

I yelped. 'You have Helen of Troy's dagger? Where did you find it?'

Piper shrugged. 'In a shed at camp.'

I felt like pulling out my hair. I remembered the day Helen had received that dagger as a wedding present. Such a gorgeous blade, held by the most beautiful woman ever to walk the earth. (No offence to the billions of other women out there who are also quite enchanting; I love you all.) And Piper had found this historically significant, well-crafted, powerful weapon in a shed?

Alas, time makes bric-a-brac of everything, no matter how important. I wondered if such a fate awaited me. In a thousand years, somebody might find me in a toolshed and say, Oh, look. Apollo, god of poetry. Maybe I can polish him up and use him.

'Does the blade still show visions?' I asked.

'You know about that, huh?' Piper shook her head. 'The visions stopped last summer. That wouldn't have anything to do with you getting kicked out of Olympus, would it, Mr God of Prophecy?'

Aria smirked. 'Most things are his fault.'

"Hey!"

Aria rolled her eyes. "Alright Pipes, where are you taking us? I'm afraid we'll be stuck with Coach Hedge's Pinto if it's a long journey."