The Son of Neptune - Chapter 4

ON THE WAY OUT OF CAMP, Hazel bought him an espresso
drink and a cherry muffin from Bombilo the two-headed
coffee merchant.
Percy inhaled the muffin. The coffee was great. Now,
Percy thought, if he could just get a shower, a change of
clothes and some sleep, he’d be golden. Maybe even
Imperial golden.
He watched a bunch of kids in swimsuits and towels
head into a building that had steam coming out of a row of
chimneys. Laughter and watery sounds echoed from
inside, like it was an indoor pool – Percy’s kind of place.
‘Bath house,’ Hazel said. ‘We’ll get you in there before
dinner, hopefully. You haven’t lived until you’ve had a
Roman bath.’
Percy sighed with anticipation.
As they approached the front gate, the barracks got
bigger and nicer. Even the ghosts looked better – with
fancier armour and shinier auras. Percy tried to decipher
the banners and symbols hanging in front of the
buildings.
‘You guys are divided into different cabins?’ he asked.
‘Sort of.’ Hazel ducked as a kid riding a giant eagle
swooped overhead. ‘We have five cohorts of about forty
kids each. Each cohort is divided into barracks of ten –
like roommates, kind of.’
Percy had never been great at maths, but he tried to
multiply. ‘You’re telling me there’s two hundred kids at
camp?’
‘Roughly.’
‘And all of them are children of the gods? The gods
have been busy.’
Hazel laughed. ‘Not all of them are children of major
gods. There are hundreds of minor Roman gods. Plus, a
lot of the campers are legacies – second or third
generation. Maybe their parents were demigods. Or their
grandparents.’
Percy blinked. ‘Children of demigods?’
‘Why? Does that surprise you?’
Percy wasn’t sure. The last few weeks he’d been so
worried about surviving day to day. The idea of living long
enough to be an adult and have kids of his own – that
seemed like an impossible dream.
‘These Legos –’
‘Legacies,’ Hazel corrected.
‘They have powers like a demigod?’
‘Sometimes. Sometimes not. But they can be trained.
All the best Roman generals and emperors – you know,
they all claimed to be descended from gods. Most of the
time, they were telling the truth. The camp augur we’re
going to meet, Octavian, he’s a legacy, descendant of
Apollo. He’s got the gift of prophecy, supposedly.’
‘Supposedly?’
Hazel made a sour face. ‘You’ll see.’
That didn’t make Percy feel so great, if this dude
Octavian had Percy’s fate in his hands.
‘So the divisions,’ he asked, ‘the cohorts, whatever –
you’re divided according to who your godly parent is?’
Hazel stared at him. ‘What a horrible idea! No, the
officers decide where to assign recruits. If we were divided
according to god, the cohorts would be all uneven. I’d be
alone.’
Percy felt a twinge of sadness, like he’d been in that
situation. ‘Why? What’s your ancestry?’
Before she could answer, someone behind them yelled,
‘Wait!’
A ghost ran towards them – an old man with a
medicine-ball belly and a toga so long he kept tripping on
it. He caught up to them and gasped for air, his purple
aura flickering around him.
‘This is him?’ the ghost panted. ‘A new recruit for the
Fifth, perhaps?’
‘Vitellius,’ Hazel said, ‘we’re sort of in a hurry.’
The ghost scowled at Percy and walked around him,
inspecting him like a used car. ‘I don’t know,’ he grumbled.
‘We need only the best for the cohort. Does he have all
his teeth? Can he fight? Does he clean stables?’
‘Yes, yes and no,’ Percy said. ‘Who are you?’
‘Percy, this is Vitellius.’ Hazel’s expression said: Just
humour him. ‘He’s one of our Lares; takes an interest in
new recruits.’
On a nearby porch, other ghosts snickered as Vitellius
paced back and forth, tripping over his toga and hiking up
his sword belt.
‘Yes,’ Vitellius said, ‘back in Caesar’s day – that’s Julius
Caesar, mind you – the Fifth Cohort was something!
Twelfth Legion Fulminata, pride of Rome! But these
days? Disgraceful what we’ve come to. Look at Hazel
here, using a spatha. Ridiculous weapon for a Roman
legionnaire – that’s for cavalry! And you, boy – you smell
like a Greek sewer. Haven’t you had a bath?’
‘I’ve been a little busy fighting gorgons,’ Percy said.
‘Vitellius,’ Hazel interrupted, ‘we’ve got to get Percy’s
augury before he can join. Why don’t you check on
Frank? He’s in the armoury doing inventory. You know
how much he values your help.’
The ghost’s furry purple eyebrows shot up. ‘Mars
Almighty! They let the probatio check the armour? We’ll
be ruined!’
He stumbled off down the street, stopping every few feet
to pick up his sword or rearrange his toga.
‘O-h-h-kay,’ Percy said.
‘Sorry,’ Hazel said. ‘He’s eccentric, but he’s one of the
oldest Lares. Been around since the legion was founded.’
‘He called the legion … Fulminata?’ Percy said.
‘“Armed with Lightning”,’ Hazel translated. ‘That’s our
motto. The Twelfth Legion was around for the entire
Roman Empire. When Rome fell, a lot of legions just
disappeared. We went underground, acting on secret
orders from Jupiter himself: stay alive, recruit demigods
and their children, keep Rome going. We’ve been doing
that ever since, moving around to wherever Roman
influence was strongest. The last few centuries, we’ve
been in America.’
As bizarre as that sounded, Percy had no trouble
believing it. In fact, it sounded familiar, like something
he’d always known.
‘And you’re in the Fifth Cohort,’ he guessed, ‘which
maybe isn’t the most popular?’
Hazel scowled. ‘Yeah. I joined up last September.’
‘So … just a few weeks before that guy Jason
disappeared.’
Percy knew he’d hit a sore spot. Hazel looked down.
She was silent long enough to count every paving stone.
‘Come on,’ she said at last. ‘I’ll show you my favourite
view.’
They stopped outside the main gates. The fort was
situated on the highest point in the valley, so they could
see pretty much everything.
The road led down to the river and divided. One path
led south across a bridge, up to the hill with all the
temples. The other road led north into the city, a miniature
version of Ancient Rome. Unlike the military camp, the
city looked chaotic and colourful, with buildings crowded
together at haphazard angles. Even from this far away,
Percy could see people gathered in the plaza, shoppers
milling around an open-air market, parents with kids
playing in the parks.
‘You’ve got families here?’ he asked.
‘In the city, absolutely,’ Hazel said. ‘When you’re
accepted into the legion, you do ten years of service. After
that, you can muster out whenever you want. Most
demigods go into the mortal world. But for some – well, it’s
pretty dangerous out there. This valley is a sanctuary.
You can go to college in the city, get married, have kids,
retire when you get old. It’s the only safe place on earth for
people like us. So, yeah, a lot of veterans make their
homes there, under the protection of the legion.’
Adult demigods. Demigods who could live without fear,
get married, raise a family. Percy couldn’t quite wrap his
mind around that. It seemed too good to be true. ‘But if
this valley is attacked?’
Hazel pursed her lips. ‘We have defences. The borders
are magical. But our strength isn’t what it used to be.
Lately, the monster attacks have been increasing. What
you said about the gorgons not dying … we’ve noticed that
too, with other monsters.’
‘Do you know what’s causing it?’
Hazel looked away. Percy could tell that she was
holding something back – something she wasn’t
supposed to say.
‘It’s – it’s complicated,’ she said. ‘My brother says Death
isn’t –’
She was interrupted by an elephant.
Someone behind them shouted, ‘Make way!’
Hazel dragged Percy out of the road as a demigod rode
past on a full-grown pachyderm covered in black Kevlar
armour. The word ELEPHANT was printed on the side of his
armour, which seemed a little obvious to Percy.
The elephant thundered down the road and turned
north, heading towards a big open field where some
fortifications were under construction.
Percy spat dust out of his mouth. ‘What the – ?’
‘Elephant,’ Hazel explained.
‘Yeah, I read the sign. Why do you have an elephant in
a bulletproof vest?’
‘War games tonight,’ Hazel said. ‘That’s Hannibal. If we
didn’t include him, he’d get upset.’
‘We can’t have that.’
Hazel laughed. It was hard to believe she’d looked so
moody a moment ago. Percy wondered what she’d been
about to say. She had a brother. Yet she had claimed
she’d be alone if the camp sorted her by her godly parent.
Percy couldn’t figure her out. She seemed nice and
easygoing, mature for somebody who couldn’t have been
more than thirteen. But she also seemed to be hiding a
deep sadness, like she felt guilty about something.
Hazel pointed south across the river. Dark clouds were
gathering over Temple Hill. Red flashes of lightning
washed the monuments in blood-coloured light.
‘Octavian is busy,’ Hazel said. ‘We’d better get over
there.’
On the way, they passed some goat-legged guys hanging
out on the side of the road.
‘Hazel!’ one of them cried.
He trotted over with a big grin on his face. He wore a
faded Hawaiian shirt and nothing for pants except thick
brown goat fur. His massive Afro jiggled. His eyes were
hidden behind little round rainbow-tinted glasses. He held
a cardboard sign that read: WILL WORK SING TALK GO AWAY
FOR DENARII.
‘Hi, Don,’ Hazel said. ‘Sorry, we don’t have time –’
‘Oh, that’s cool! That’s cool!’ Don trotted along with them.
‘Hey, this guy’s new!’ He grinned at Percy. ‘Do you have
three denarii for the bus? Because I left my wallet at
home, and I’ve got to get to work, and –’
‘Don,’ Hazel chided. ‘Fauns don’t have wallets. Or jobs.
Or homes. And we don’t have buses.’
‘Right,’ he said cheerfully, ‘but do you have denarii?’
‘Your name is Don the Faun?’ Percy asked.
‘Yeah. So?’
‘Nothing.’ Percy tried to keep a straight face. ‘Why don’t
fauns have jobs? Shouldn’t they work for the camp?’
Don bleated. ‘Fauns! Work for the camp! Hilarious!’
‘Fauns are, um, free spirits,’ Hazel explained. ‘They
hang out here because, well, it’s a safe place to hang out
and beg. We tolerate them, but –’
‘Oh, Hazel is awesome,’ Don said. ‘She’s so nice! All the
other campers are, like, “Go away, Don.” But she’s, like,
“Please go away, Don.” I love her!’
The faun seemed harmless, but Percy still found him
unsettling. He couldn’t shake the feeling that fauns should
be more than just homeless guys begging for denarii.
Don looked at the ground in front of them and gasped.
‘Score!’
He reached for something, but Hazel screamed, ‘Don,
no!’ She pushed him out of the way and snatched up a
small shiny object. Percy caught a glimpse of it before
Hazel slipped it into her pocket. He could have sworn it
was a diamond.
‘Come on, Hazel,’ Don complained. ‘I could’ve bought a
year’s worth of doughnuts with that!’
‘Don, please,’ Hazel said. ‘Go away.’
She sounded shaken, like she’d just saved Don from a
charging bulletproof elephant.
The faun sighed. ‘Aw, I can’t stay mad at you. But I
swear, it’s like you’re good luck. Every time you walk by –’
‘Goodbye, Don,’ Hazel said quickly. ‘Let’s go, Percy.’
She started jogging. Percy had to sprint to catch up.
‘What was that about?’ Percy asked. ‘That diamond in
the road –’
‘Please,’ she said. ‘Don’t ask.’
They walked in uneasy silence the rest of the way to
Temple Hill. A crooked stone path led past a crazy
assortment of tiny altars and massive domed vaults.
Statues of gods seemed to follow Percy with their eyes.
Hazel pointed out the Temple of Bellona. ‘Goddess of
war,’ she said. ‘That’s Reyna’s mom.’ Then they passed a
massive red crypt decorated with human skulls on iron
spikes.
‘Please tell me we’re not going in there,’ Percy said.
Hazel shook her head. ‘That’s the Temple of Mars
Ultor.’
‘Mars … Ares, the war god?’
‘That’s his Greek name,’ Hazel said. ‘But, yeah, same
guy. Ultor means “the Avenger”. He’s the second-most
important god of Rome.’
Percy wasn’t thrilled to hear that. For some reason, just
looking at the ugly red building made him feel angry.
He pointed towards the summit. Clouds swirled over the
largest temple, a round pavilion with a ring of white
columns supporting a domed roof. ‘I’m guessing that’s
Zeus – uh, I mean, Jupiter’s? That’s where we’re heading?’
‘Yeah.’ Hazel sounded edgy. ‘Octavian reads auguries
there – the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus.’
Percy had to think about it, but the Latin words clicked
into English. ‘Jupiter … the best and the greatest?’
‘Right.’
‘What’s Neptune’s title?’ Percy asked. ‘The coolest and
most awesome?’
‘Um, not quite.’ Hazel gestured to a small blue building
the size of a toolshed. A cobweb-covered trident was
nailed above the door.
Percy peeked inside. On a small altar sat a bowl with
three dried-up, mouldy apples.
His heart sank. ‘Popular place.’
‘I’m sorry, Percy,’ Hazel said. ‘It’s just … Romans were
always scared of the sea. They only used ships if they had
to. Even in modern times, having a child of Neptune
around has always been a bad omen. The last time one
joined the legion … well, it was 1906, when Camp Jupiter
was located across the bay in San Francisco. There was
this huge earthquake –’
‘You’re telling me a child of Neptune caused that?’
‘So they say.’ Hazel looked apologetic.
‘Anyway … Romans fear Neptune, but they don’t love him
much.’
Percy stared at the cobwebs on the trident.
Great, he thought. Even if he joined the camp, he would
never be loved. His best hope was to be scary to his new
camp mates. Maybe if he did really well they’d give him
some mouldy apples.
Still … standing at Neptune’s altar, he felt something
stirring inside him, like waves rippling through his veins.
He reached in his backpack and dug out the last bit of
food from his trip – a stale bagel. It wasn’t much, but he set
it on the altar.
‘Hey … uh, Dad.’ He felt pretty stupid talking to a bowl of
fruit. ‘If you can hear me, help me out, okay? Give me my
memory back. Tell me – tell me what to do.’
His voice cracked. He hadn’t meant to get emotional,
but he was exhausted and scared, and he’d been lost for
so long that he would’ve given anything for some
guidance. He wanted to know something about his life for
sure, without grabbing for missing memories.
Hazel put her hand on his shoulder. ‘It’ll be okay. You’re
here now. You’re one of us.’
He felt awkward, depending on an eighth-grade girl he
barely knew for comfort, but he was glad she was there.
Above them, thunder rumbled. Red lightning lit up the
hill.
‘Octavian’s almost done,’ Hazel said. ‘Let’s go.’
Compared to Neptune’s toolshed, Jupiter’s temple was
definitely optimus and maximus.
The marble floor was etched with fancy mosaics and
Latin inscriptions. Sixty feet above, the domed ceiling
sparkled gold. The whole temple was open to the wind.
In the centre stood a marble altar, where a kid in a toga
was doing some sort of ritual in front of a massive golden
statue of the big dude himself: Jupiter the sky god,
dressed in a silk XXXL purple toga, holding a lightning
bolt.
‘It doesn’t look like that,’ Percy muttered.
‘What?’ Hazel asked.
‘The master bolt,’ Percy said.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I –’ Percy frowned. For a second, he’d thought he
remembered something. Now it was gone. ‘Nothing, I
guess.’
The kid at the altar raised his hands. More red lightning
flashed in the sky, shaking the temple. Then he put his
hands down, and the rumbling stopped. The clouds
turned from grey to white and broke apart.
A pretty impressive trick, considering the kid didn’t look
like much. He was tall and skinny, with straw-coloured
hair, oversized jeans, a baggy T-shirt and a drooping
toga. He looked like a scarecrow wearing a bedsheet.
‘What’s he doing?’ Percy murmured.
The guy in the toga turned. He had a crooked smile
and a slightly crazy look in his eyes, like he’d just been
playing an intense video game. In one hand he held a
knife. In the other hand was something like a dead
animal. That didn’t make him look any less crazy.
‘Percy,’ Hazel said, ‘this is Octavian.’
‘The graecus!’ Octavian announced. ‘How interesting.’
‘Uh, hi,’ Percy said. ‘Are you killing small animals?’
Octavian looked at the fuzzy thing in his hand and
laughed. ‘No, no. Once upon a time, yes. We used to read
the will of the gods by examining animal guts – chickens,
goats, that sort of thing. Nowadays, we use these.’
He tossed the fuzzy thing to Percy. It was a
disembowelled teddy bear. Then Percy noticed that there
was a whole pile of mutilated stuffed animals at the foot of
Jupiter’s statue.
‘Seriously?’ Percy asked.
Octavian stepped off the dais. He was probably about
eighteen, but so skinny and sickly pale, he could’ve
passed for younger. At first he looked harmless, but as he
got closer Percy wasn’t so sure. Octavian’s eyes glittered
with harsh curiosity, like he might gut Percy just as easily
as a teddy bear if he thought he could learn something
from it.
Octavian narrowed his eyes. ‘You seem nervous.’
‘You remind me of someone,’ Percy said. ‘I can’t
remember who.’
‘Possibly my namesake, Octavian – Augustus Caesar.
Everyone says I bear a remarkable resemblance.’
Percy didn’t think that was it, but he couldn’t pin down
the memory. ‘Why did you call me “the Greek”?’
‘I saw it in the auguries.’ Octavian waved his knife at the
pile of stuffing on the altar. ‘The message said: The Greek
has arrived. Or possibly: The goose has cried. I’m thinking
the first interpretation is correct. You seek to join the
legion?’
Hazel spoke for him. She told Octavian everything that
had happened since they met at the tunnel – the gorgons,
the fight at the river, the appearance of Juno, their
conversation with Reyna.
When she mentioned Juno, Octavian looked surprised.
‘Juno,’ he mused. ‘We call her Juno Moneta. Juno the
Warner. She appears in times of crisis, to counsel Rome
about great threats.’
He glanced at Percy, as if to say: like mysterious
Greeks, for instance.
‘I hear the Feast of Fortuna is this week,’ Percy said.
‘The gorgons warned there’d be an invasion on that day.
Did you see that in your stuffing?’
‘Sadly, no.’ Octavian sighed. ‘The will of the gods is
hard to discern. And these days, my vision is even
darker.’
‘Don’t you have … I don’t know,’ Percy said, ‘an oracle or
something?’
‘An oracle!’ Octavian smiled. ‘What a cute idea. No, I’m
afraid we’re fresh out of oracles. Now, if we’d gone questing
for the Sibylline books, like I recommended –’
‘The Siba-what?’ Percy asked.
‘Books of prophecy,’ Hazel said, ‘which Octavian is
obsessed with. Romans used to consult them when
disasters happened. Most people believe they burned up
when Rome fell.’
‘Some people believe that,’ Octavian corrected.
‘Unfortunately our present leadership won’t authorize a
quest to look for them –’
‘Because Reyna isn’t stupid,’ Hazel said.
‘– so we have only a few remaining scraps from the
books,’ Octavian continued. ‘A few mysterious predictions,
like these.’
He nodded to the inscriptions on the marble floor.
Percy stared at the lines of words, not really expecting to
understand them. He almost choked.
‘That one.’ He pointed, translating as he read aloud:
‘Seven half-bloods shall answer the call. To storm or fire
the world must fall –’
‘Yes, yes.’ Octavian finished it without looking: ‘An oath
to keep with a final breath, and foes bear arms to the
Doors of Death.’
‘I – I know that one.’ Percy thought thunder was shaking
the temple again. Then he realized his whole body was
trembling. ‘That’s important.’
Octavian arched an eyebrow. ‘Of course it’s important.
We call it the Prophecy of Seven, but it’s several thousand
years old. We don’t know what it means. Every time
someone tries to interpret it … Well, Hazel can tell you.
Bad things happen.’
Hazel glared at him. ‘Just read the augury for Percy.
Can he join the legion or not?’
Percy could almost see Octavian’s mind working,
calculating whether or not Percy would be useful. He held
out his hand for Percy’s backpack. ‘That’s a beautiful
specimen. May I?’
Percy didn’t understand what he meant, but Octavian
snatched the Bargain Mart panda pillow that was sticking
out of the top of his pack. It was just a silly stuffed toy, but
Percy had carried it a long way. He was kind of fond of it.
Octavian turned towards the altar and raised his knife.
‘Hey!’ Percy protested.
Octavian slashed open the panda’s belly and poured its
stuffing over the altar. He tossed the panda carcass aside,
muttered a few words over the fluff, and turned with a big
smile on his face.
‘Good news!’ he said. ‘Percy may join the legion. We’ll
assign him a cohort at evening muster. Tell Reyna that I
approve.’
Hazel’s shoulders relaxed. ‘Uh … great. Come on,
Percy.’
‘Oh, and, Hazel,’ Octavian said. ‘I’m happy to welcome
Percy into the legion. But when the election for praetor
comes up, I hope you’ll remember –’
‘Jason isn’t dead,’ Hazel snapped. ‘You’re the augur.
You’re supposed to be looking for him!’
‘Oh, I am!’ Octavian pointed at the pile of gutted stuffed
animals. ‘I consult the gods every day! Alas, after eight
months, I’ve found nothing. Of course, I’m still looking. But
if Jason doesn’t return by the Feast of Fortuna we must
act. We can’t have a power vacuum any longer. I hope
you’ll support me for praetor. It would mean so much to
me.’
Hazel clenched her fists. ‘Me. Support. You?’
Octavian took off his toga, setting it and his knife on the
altar. Percy noticed seven lines on Octavian’s arm –
seven years of camp, Percy guessed. Octavian’s mark
was a harp, the symbol of Apollo.
‘After all,’ Octavian told Hazel, ‘I might be able to help
you. It would be a shame if those awful rumours about you
kept circulating … or, gods forbid, if they turned out to be
true.’
Percy slipped his hand into his pocket and grabbed his
pen. This guy was blackmailing Hazel. That was obvious.
One sign from Hazel, and Percy was ready to bust out
Riptide and see how Octavian liked being at the other end
of a blade.
Hazel took a deep breath. Her knuckles were white. ‘I’ll
think about it.’
‘Excellent,’ Octavian said. ‘By the way, your brother is
here.’
Hazel stiffened. ‘My brother? Why?’
Octavian shrugged. ‘Why does your brother do
anything? He’s waiting for you at your father’s shrine.
Just … ah, don’t invite him to stay too long. He has a
disturbing effect on the others. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I
have to keep searching for our poor lost friend, Jason.
Nice to meet you, Percy.’
Hazel stormed out of the pavilion, and Percy followed.
He was sure he’d never been so glad to leave a temple in
his life.
As Hazel marched down the hill, she cursed in Latin.
Percy didn’t understand all of it, but he got son of a
gorgon, power-hungry snake, and a few choice
suggestions about where Octavian could stick his knife.
‘I hate that guy,’ she muttered in English. ‘If I had my
way –’
‘He won’t really get elected praetor, will he?’ Percy
asked.
‘I wish I could be certain. Octavian has a lot of friends,
most of them bought. The rest of the campers are afraid of
him.’
‘Afraid of that skinny little guy?’
‘Don’t underestimate him. Reyna’s not so bad by
herself, but if Octavian shares her power …’ Hazel
shuddered. ‘Let’s go see my brother. He’ll want to meet
you.’
Percy didn’t argue. He wanted to meet this mysterious
brother, maybe learn something about Hazel’s
background – who her dad was, what secret she was
hiding. Percy couldn’t believe she’d done anything to be
guilty about. She seemed too nice. But Octavian had
acted like he had some first-class dirt on her.
Hazel led Percy to a black crypt built into the side of the
hill. Standing in front was a teenage boy in black jeans
and an aviator jacket.
‘Hey,’ Hazel called. ‘I’ve brought a friend.’
The boy turned. Percy had another one of those weird
flashes: like this was somebody he should know. The kid
was almost as pale as Octavian, but with dark eyes and
messy black hair. He didn’t look anything like Hazel. He
wore a silver skull ring, a chain for a belt and a black Tshirt
with skull designs. At his side hung a pure-black
sword.
For a microsecond when he saw Percy, the boy seemed
shocked – panicked even, like he’d been caught in a
searchlight.
‘This is Percy Jackson,’ Hazel said. ‘He’s a good guy.
Percy, this is my brother, the son of Pluto.’
The boy regained his composure and held out his
hand. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said. ‘I’m Nico di Angelo.’

Categories: The Son of Neptune