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chapter twenty-eight ( battle of the labyrinth ) ❝ who she's always been! ❞
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We found the spider banging its head on a metal door. Which was surprisingly very relatable.
The door looked like one of those old-fashioned submarines hatches━oval, with metal rivets around the edges and a wheel for a doorknob. Instead of a portal, was a big brass plaque, green with age, with a Greet Êta inscribed in the middle.
We all shared a look. None of us were really anxious to head inside straight away.
"Ready to meet Hephaestus?" Grover asked.
"No," Percy admitted.
"Yes!" Tyson giggled and turned the wheel. (Okay, everybody but Tyson).
As soon as the door opened, the spider scuttled inside with Tyson right behind it. The rest of us followed, much more hesitantly.
The room looked like a mechanic's garage with several hydraulic lifts. Some had cars on them, but others had much stranger things; like a bronze hippalektryon with its horse head off and bunch of wires hanging out of its rooster tail ... for example.
Other projects━albeit much smaller━hung along the walls. Each had its own outline on a peg-board, but othing seemed to be in the right place. The staple gun was where the hacksaw was supposed to go.
Under the nearest hydraulic lift, which was holding a '98 Toyota Corolla, a pair of legs stuck out━the lower half of a huge man in grubby grey overalls and shoes even bigger than Tyson's (and that was saying something). One leg was in a metal brace.
The spider sucttled straight under the car, and the sounds of banging stopped.
"Well, well," a deep voice boombed from under the car. "What have we here?"
The mechanic pushed out on a back trolley and sat up. Percy gulped from beside me.
Hephaestus must have cleaned up last time I saw him on Olympus. Because, here, in his workshop, he looked more hideous than usual. (And I mean that in the nicest way possible). He wore overalls smeared with oil and grime with his name Hephaestus embroided over the chest pocket. His leg creaked in it's metal brace as he stood up, and his left shoulder was lower than his right, making him look like he was leaning instead of standing up straight. His head was misshapen and bulging, with a pernament scowl upon his face. His black beared smoked and hissed. Every once in a while, a small wildfire would erupt in his whiskers then die out. Despite having humongous hands, he held the spider with amazing skill. He disassembled it in two seconds, then put it back together.
