PERCY WASN’T SCARED OF GHOSTS, which was lucky. Half the
people in camp were dead.
Shimmering purple warriors stood outside the armoury,
polishing ethereal swords. Others hung out in front of the
barracks. A ghostly boy chased a ghostly dog down the
street. And at the stables a big glowing red dude with the
head of a wolf guarded a herd of … Were those unicorns?
None of the campers paid the ghosts much attention, but
as Percy’s entourage walked by, with Reyna in the lead and
Frank and Hazel on either side, all the spirits stopped what
they were doing and stared at Percy. A few looked angry.
The little boy ghost shrieked something like ‘Greggus!’ and
turned invisible.
Percy wished he could turn invisible too. After weeks on
his own, all this attention made him uneasy. He stayed
between Hazel and Frank and tried to look inconspicuous.
‘Am I seeing things?’ he asked. ‘Or are those –’
‘Ghosts?’ Hazel turned. She had startling eyes, like
fourteen-karat gold. ‘They’re Lares. House gods.’
‘House gods,’ Percy said. ‘Like … smaller than real
gods, but larger than apartment gods?’
‘They’re ancestral spirits,’ Frank explained. He’d
removed his helmet, revealing a babyish face that didn’t go
with his military haircut or his big burly frame. He looked
like a toddler who’d taken steroids and joined the Marines.
‘The Lares are kind of like mascots,’ he continued.
‘Mostly they’re harmless, but I’ve never seen them so
agitated.’
‘They’re staring at me,’ Percy said. ‘That ghost kid called
me Greggus. My name isn’t Greg.’
‘Graecus,’ Hazel said. ‘Once you’ve been here a while,
you’ll start understanding Latin. Demigods have a natural
sense for it. Graecus means Greek.’
‘Is that bad?’ Percy asked.
Frank cleared his throat. ‘Maybe not. You’ve got that
type of complexion, the dark hair and all. Maybe they
think you’re actually Greek. Is your family from there?’
‘Don’t know. Like I said, my memory is gone.’
‘Or maybe …’ Frank hesitated.
‘What?’ Percy asked.
‘Probably nothing,’ Frank said. ‘Romans and Greeks
have an old rivalry. Sometimes Romans use graecus as
an insult for someone who’s an outsider – an enemy. I
wouldn’t worry about it.’
He sounded pretty worried.
They stopped at the centre of camp, where two wide
stone-paved roads met at a T.
A street sign labelled the road to the main gates as VIA
PRAETORIA. The other road, cutting across the middle of
camp, was labelled VIA PRINCIPALIS. Under those markers
were hand-painted signs like BERKELEY 5 MILES; NEW ROME 1
MILE; OLD ROME 7,280 MILES; HADES 2,310 MILES (pointing
straight down); RENO 208 MILES; and CERTAIN DEATH: YOU ARE
HERE!
For certain death, the place looked pretty clean and
orderly. The buildings were freshly whitewashed, laid out
in neat grids like the camp had been designed by a fussy
maths teacher. The barracks had shady porches, where
campers lounged in hammocks or played cards and
drank sodas. Each dorm had a different collection of
banners out front displaying Roman numerals and
various animals – eagle, bear, wolf, horse and something
that looked like a hamster.
Along the Via Praetoria, rows of shops advertised food,
armour, weapons, coffee, gladiator equipment and toga
rentals. A chariot dealership had a big advertisement out
front: CAESAR XLS W/ANTILOCK BRAKES, NO DENARII DOWN!
At one corner of the crossroads stood the most
impressive building – a two-storey wedge of white marble
with a columned portico like an old-fashioned bank.
Roman guards stood out front. Over the doorway hung a
big purple banner with the gold letters SPQR embroidered
inside a laurel wreath.
‘Your headquarters?’ Percy asked.
Reyna faced him, her eyes still cold and hostile. ‘It’s
called the principia.’
She scanned the mob of curious campers who had
followed them from the river. ‘Everyone back to your
duties. I’ll give you an update at evening muster.
Remember, we have war games after dinner.’
The thought of dinner made Percy’s stomach rumble.
The scent of barbecue from the dining hall made his
mouth water. The bakery down the street smelled pretty
wonderful too, but he doubted Reyna would let him get an
order to go.
The crowd dispersed reluctantly. Some muttered
comments about Percy’s chances.
‘He’s dead,’ said one.
‘Would be those two who found him,’ said another.
‘Yeah,’ muttered another. ‘Let him join the Fifth Cohort.
Greeks and geeks.’
Several kids laughed at that, but Reyna scowled at
them, and they cleared off.
‘Hazel,’ Reyna said. ‘Come with us. I want your report on
what happened at the gates.’
‘Me too?’ Frank said. ‘Percy saved my life. We’ve got to
let him –’
Reyna gave Frank such a harsh look that he stepped
back.
‘I’d remind you, Frank Zhang,’ she said, ‘you are on
Probatio yourself. You’ve caused enough trouble this
week.’
Frank’s ears turned red. He fiddled with a little tablet on
a cord round his neck. Percy hadn’t paid much attention to
it, but it looked like a name tag made out of lead.
‘Go to the armoury,’ Reyna told him. ‘Check our
inventory. I’ll call you if I need you.’
‘But –’ Frank caught himself. ‘Yes, Reyna.’
He hurried off.
Reyna waved Hazel and Percy towards the
headquarters. ‘Now, Percy Jackson, let’s see if we can
improve your memory.’
The principia was even more impressive inside.
On the ceiling glittered a mosaic of Romulus and
Remus under their adopted mama she-wolf (Lupa had
told Percy that story a million times). The floor was
polished marble. The walls were draped in velvet, so
Percy felt like he was inside the world’s most expensive
camping tent. Along the back wall stood a display of
banners and wooden poles studded with bronze medals –
military symbols, Percy guessed. In the centre was one
empty display stand, as if the main banner had been
taken down for cleaning or something.
In the back corner, a stairwell led down. It was blocked
by a row of iron bars like a prison door. Percy wondered
what was down there – monsters? Treasure? Amnesiac
demigods who had got on Reyna’s bad side?
In the centre of the room, a long wooden table was
cluttered with scrolls, notebooks, tablet computers,
daggers and a large bowl filled with jelly beans, which
seemed kind of out of place. Two life-sized statues of
greyhounds – one silver, one gold – flanked the table.
Reyna walked behind the table and sat in one of two
high-backed chairs. Percy wished he could sit in the other,
but Hazel remained standing. Percy got the feeling he
was supposed to also.
‘So …’ he started to say.
The dog statues bared their teeth and growled.
Percy froze. Normally he liked dogs, but these glared at
him with ruby eyes. Their fangs looked sharp as razors.
‘Easy, guys,’ Reyna told the greyhounds.
They stopped growling, but kept eyeing Percy as
though they were imagining him in a doggie bag.
‘They won’t attack,’ Reyna said, ‘unless you try to steal
something, or unless I tell them to. That’s Argentum and
Aurum.’
‘Silver and Gold,’ Percy said. The Latin meanings
popped into his head like Hazel had said they would. He
almost asked which dog was which. Then he realized that
that was a stupid question.
Reyna set her dagger on the table. Percy had the
vague feeling he’d seen her before. Her hair was black
and glossy as volcanic rock, woven in a single braid down
her back. She had the poise of a sword fighter – relaxed
yet vigilant, as if ready to spring into action at any
moment. The worry lines around her eyes made her look
older than she probably was.
‘We have met,’ he decided. ‘I don’t remember when.
Please, if you can tell me anything –’
‘First things first,’ Reyna said. ‘I want to hear your story.
What do you remember? How did you get here? And don’t
lie. My dogs don’t like liars.’
Argentum and Aurum snarled to emphasize the point.
Percy told his story – how he’d woken up at the ruined
mansion in the woods of Sonoma. He described his time
with Lupa and her pack, learning their language of
gestures and expressions, learning to survive and fight.
Lupa had taught him about demigods, monsters and
gods. She’d explained that she was one of the guardian
spirits of Ancient Rome. Demigods like Percy were still
responsible for carrying on Roman traditions in modern
times – fighting monsters, serving the gods, protecting
mortals and upholding the memory of the empire. She’d
spent weeks training him, until he was as strong and tough
and vicious as a wolf. When she was satisfied with his
skills, she’d sent him south, telling him that, if he survived
the journey, he might find a new home and regain his
memory.
None of it seemed to surprise Reyna. In fact, she
seemed to find it pretty ordinary – except for one thing.
‘No memory at all?’ she asked. ‘You still remember
nothing?’
‘Fuzzy bits and pieces.’ Percy glanced at the
greyhounds. He didn’t want to mention Annabeth. It
seemed too private, and he was still confused about
where to find her. He was sure they’d met at a camp – but
this one didn’t feel like the right place.
Also, he was reluctant to share his one clear memory:
Annabeth’s face, her blonde hair and grey eyes, the way
she laughed, threw her arms around him and gave him a
kiss whenever he did something stupid.
She must have kissed me a lot, Percy thought.
He feared that if he spoke about that memory to anyone
it would evaporate like a dream. He couldn’t risk that.
Reyna spun her dagger. ‘Most of what you’re describing
is normal for demigods. At a certain age, one way or
another, we find our way to the Wolf House. We’re tested
and trained. If Lupa thinks we’re worthy, she sends us
south to join the legion. But I’ve never heard of someone
losing his memory. How did you find Camp Jupiter?’
Percy told her about the last three days – the gorgons
who wouldn’t die, the old lady who turned out to be a
goddess and finally meeting Hazel and Frank at the
tunnel in the hill.
Hazel took the story from there. She described Percy as
brave and heroic, which made him uncomfortable. All he’d
done was carry a hippie bag lady.
Reyna studied him. ‘You’re old for a recruit. You’re what,
sixteen?’
‘I think so,’ Percy said.
‘If you spent that many years on your own, without
training or help, you should be dead. A son of Neptune?
You’d have a powerful aura that would attract all kinds of
monsters.’
‘Yeah,’ Percy said. ‘I’ve been told that I smell.’
Reyna almost cracked a smile, which gave Percy hope.
Maybe she was human after all.
‘You must’ve been somewhere before the Wolf House,’
she said.
Percy shrugged. Juno had said something about him
slumbering, and he did have a vague feeling that he’d
been asleep – maybe for a long time. But that didn’t make
sense.
Reyna sighed. ‘Well, the dogs haven’t eaten you, so I
suppose you’re telling the truth.’
‘Great,’ Percy said. ‘Next time, can I take a polygraph?’
Reyna stood. She paced in front of the banners. Her
metal dogs watched her go back and forth.
‘Even if I accept that you’re not an enemy,’ she said,
‘you’re not a typical recruit. The Queen of Olympus simply
doesn’t appear at camp, announcing a new demigod. The
last time a major god visited us in person like that …’ She
shook her head. ‘I’ve only heard legends about such
things. And a son of Neptune … that’s not a good omen.
Especially now.’
‘What’s wrong with Neptune?’ Percy asked. ‘And what do
you mean, “especially now”?’
Hazel shot him a warning look.
Reyna kept pacing. ‘You’ve fought Medusa’s sisters,
who haven’t been seen in thousands of years. You’ve
agitated our Lares, who are calling you a graecus. And
you wear strange symbols – that shirt, the beads on your
necklace. What do they mean?’
Percy looked down at his tattered orange T-shirt. It
might have had words on it at one point, but they were too
faded to read. He should have thrown the shirt away weeks
ago. It was worn to shreds, but he couldn’t bear to get rid of
it. He just kept washing it in streams and water fountains
as best he could and putting it back on.
As for the necklace, the four clay beads were each
decorated with a different symbol. One showed a trident.
Another displayed a miniature Golden Fleece. The third
was etched with the design of a maze, and the last had an
image of a building – maybe the Empire State Building?
– with names Percy didn’t recognize engraved around it.
The beads felt important, like pictures from a family
album, but he couldn’t remember what they meant.
‘I don’t know,’ he said.
‘And your sword?’ Reyna asked.
Percy checked his pocket. The pen had reappeared as
it always did. He pulled it out, but then realized he’d never
shown Reyna the sword. Hazel and Frank hadn’t seen it
either. How had Reyna known about it?
Too late to pretend it didn’t exist … He uncapped the
pen. Riptide sprang to full form. Hazel gasped. The
greyhounds barked apprehensively.
‘What is that?’ Hazel asked. ‘I’ve never seen a sword like
that.’
‘I have,’ Reyna said darkly. ‘It’s very old – a Greek
design. We used to have a few in the armoury before …’
She stopped herself. ‘The metal is called Celestial
bronze. It’s deadly to monsters, like Imperial gold, but
even rarer.’
‘Imperial gold?’ Percy asked.
Reyna unsheathed her dagger. Sure enough, the blade
was gold. ‘The metal was consecrated in ancient times, at
the Pantheon in Rome. Its existence was a closely
guarded secret of the emperors – a way for their
champions to slay monsters that threatened the empire.
We used to have more weapons like this, but now … well,
we scrape by. I use this dagger. Hazel has a spatha, a
cavalry sword. Most legionnaires use a shorter sword
called a gladius. But that weapon of yours is not Roman at
all. It’s another sign you’re not a typical demigod. And
your arm …’
‘What about it?’ Percy asked.
Reyna held up her own forearm. Percy hadn’t noticed
before, but she had a tattoo on the inside: the letters SPQR,
a crossed sword and torch, and, under that, four parallel
lines like score marks.
Percy glanced at Hazel.
‘We all have them,’ she confirmed, holding up her arm.
‘All full members of the legion do.’
Hazel’s tattoo also had the letters SPQR, but she only
had one score mark, and her emblem was different: a
black glyph like a cross with curved arms and a head:
Percy looked at his own arms. A few scrapes, some mud
and a fleck of Crispy Cheese ’n’ Wiener, but no tattoos.
‘So you’ve never been a member of the legion,’ Reyna
said. ‘These marks can’t be removed. I thought
perhaps …’ She shook her head, as if dismissing an idea.
Hazel leaned forward. ‘If he’s survived as a loner all this
time, maybe he’s seen Jason.’ She turned to Percy. ‘Have
you ever met a demigod like us before? A guy in a purple
shirt, with marks on his arm –’
‘Hazel.’ Reyna’s voice tightened. ‘Percy’s got enough to
worry about.’
Percy touched the point of his sword, and Riptide
shrank back into a pen. ‘I haven’t seen anyone like you
guys before. Who’s Jason?’
Reyna gave Hazel an irritated look. ‘He is … he was my
colleague.’ She waved her hand at the second empty
chair. ‘The legion normally has two elected praetors.
Jason Grace, son of Jupiter, was our other praetor until he
disappeared last October.’
Percy tried to calculate. He hadn’t paid much attention
to the calendar out in the wilderness, but Juno had
mentioned that it was now June. ‘You mean he’s been
gone eight months, and you haven’t replaced him?’
‘He might not be dead,’ Hazel said. ‘We haven’t given
up.’ Reyna grimaced. Percy got the feeling this guy Jason
might’ve been more to her than just a colleague.
‘Elections only happen in two ways,’ Reyna said. ‘Either
the legion raises someone on a shield after a major
success on the battlefield – and we haven’t had any major
battles – or we hold a ballot on the evening of June twentyfourth,
at the Feast of Fortuna. That’s in five days.’
Percy frowned. ‘You have a feast for tuna?’
‘Fortuna,’ Hazel corrected. ‘She’s the goddess of luck.
Whatever happens on her feast day can affect the entire
rest of the year. She can grant the camp good luck … or
really bad luck.’
Reyna and Hazel both glanced at the empty display
stand, as if thinking about what was missing.
A chill went down Percy’s back. ‘The Feast of
Fortune … The gorgons mentioned that. So did Juno.
They said the camp was going to be attacked on that day,
something about a big bad goddess named Gaia, and an
army, and Death being unleashed. You’re telling me that
day is this week?’
Reyna’s fingers tightened around the hilt of her dagger.
‘You will say nothing about that outside this room,’ she
ordered. ‘I will not have you spreading more panic in the
camp.’
‘So it’s true,’ Percy said. ‘Do you know what’s going to
happen? Can we stop it?’
Percy had just met these people. He wasn’t sure he
even liked Reyna. But he wanted to help. They were
demigods, the same as him. They had the same
enemies. Besides, Percy remembered what Juno had told
him: it wasn’t just this camp at risk. His old life, the gods
and the entire world might be destroyed. Whatever was
coming down, it was huge.
‘We’ve talked enough for now,’ Reyna said. ‘Hazel, take
him to Temple Hill. Find Octavian. On the way you can
answer Percy’s questions. Tell him about the legion.’
‘Yes, Reyna.’
Percy still had so many questions that his brain felt like
it would melt. But Reyna made it clear the audience was
over. She sheathed her dagger. The metal dogs stood
and growled, inching towards Percy.
‘Good luck with the augury, Percy Jackson,’ she said. ‘If
Octavian lets you live, perhaps we can compare
notes … about your past.’
O.O
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