The Son of Neptune (21 page)

I
T WASN’T AS HARD AS THEY THOUGHT
.
The screaming and the weed whacker helped.

They’d brought lightweight Polartec jackets with their supplies, so they bundled up against the cold rain and walked for a few blocks through the mostly deserted streets. This time Percy was smart and brought most of his supplies from the boat. He even stuffed the macrobiotic jerky in his coat pocket, in case he needed to threaten any more killer whales.

They saw some bicycle traffic and a few homeless guy shuddled in doorways, but the majority of Portlanders seemed to be staying indoors.

As they made their way down Glisan Street, Percy looked longingly at the folks in the cafés enjoying coffee and pastries. He was about to suggest that they stop for breakfast when he heard a voice down the street yelling: “HA! TAKE THAT, STUPID CHICKENS!” followed by the revving of a small engine and a lot of squawking.

Percy glanced at his friends. “You think—?”

“Probably,” Frank agreed.

They ran toward the sounds.

The next block over, they found a big open parking lot with tree-lined sidewalks and rows of food trucks facing the streets on all four sides. Percy had seen food trucks before, but never so many in once place. Some were simple white metal boxes on wheels, with awnings and serving counters. Others were painted blue or purple or polka-dotted, with big banners out front and colorful menu boards and tables like do-it-yourself sidewalk cafés. One advertised Korean/Brazilian fusion tacos, which sounded like some kind of top-secret radioactive cuisine. Another offered sushi on a stick. A third was selling deep-fried ice cream sandwiches. The smell was amazing—dozens of different kitchens cooking at once.

Percy’s stomach rumbled. Most of the food carts were open for business, but there was hardly anyone around. They could get anything they wanted! Deep-fried ice cream sandwiches? Oh, man, that sounded
way
better than wheat germ.

Unfortunately, there was more happening than just cooking. In the center of the lot, behind all the food trucks, an old man in a bathrobe was running around with a weed whacker, screaming at a flock of bird-ladies who were trying to steal food off a picnic table.

“Harpies,” said Hazel. “Which means—”

“That’s Phineas,” Frank guessed.

They ran across the street and squeezed between the Korean/Brazilian truck and a Chinese egg roll burrito vendor.

The backs of the food trucks weren’t nearly as appetizing as the fronts. They were cluttered with stacks of plastic buckets, overflowing garbage cans, and makeshift clotheslines hung with wet aprons and towels. The parking lot itself was nothing but a square of cracked asphalt, marbled with weeds. In the middle was a picnic table piled high with food from all the different trucks.

The guy in the bathrobe was old and fat. He was mostly bald, with scars across his forehead and a rim of stringy white hair. His bathrobe was spattered with ketchup, and he kept stumbling around in fuzzy pink bunny slippers, swinging his gas-powered weed whacker at the half-dozen harpies who were hovering over his picnic table.

He was clearly blind. His eyes were milky white, and usually he missed the harpies by a lot, but he was still doing a pretty good job fending them off.

“Back, dirty chickens!” he bellowed.

Percy wasn’t sure why, but he had a vague sense that harpies were supposed to be plump. These looked like they were starving. Their human faces had sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. Their bodies were covered in molting feathers, and their wings were tipped with tiny, shriveled hands. They wore ragged burlap sacks for dresses. As they dived for the food, they seemed more desperate than angry. Percy felt sorry for them.

WHIRRRR!
The old man swung his weed whacker. He grazed one of the harpies’ wings. The harpy yelped in pain and fluttered off, dropping yellow feathers as she flew.

Another harpy circled higher than the rest. She looked younger and smaller than the others, with bright-red feathers.

She watched carefully for an opening, and when the old man’s back was turned, she made a wild dive for the table. She grabbed a burrito in her clawed feet, but before she could escape, the blind man swung his weed whacker and smacked her in the back so hard, Percy winced. The harpy yelped, dropped the burrito, and flew off.

“Hey, stop it!” Percy yelled.

The harpies took that the wrong way. They glanced over at the three demigods and immediately fled. Most of them fluttered away and perched in the trees around the square, staring dejectedly at the picnic table. The red-feathered one with the hurt back flew unsteadily down Glisan Street and out of sight.

“Ha!” The blind man yelled in triumph and killed the power on his weed whacker. He grinned vacantly in Percy’s direction. “Thank you, strangers! Your help is most appreciated.”

Percy bit back his anger. He hadn’t meant to help the old man, but he remembered that they needed information from him.

“Uh, whatever.” He approached the old guy, keeping one eye on the weed whacker. “I’m Percy Jackson. This is—”

“Demigods!” the old man said. “I can always smell demigods.”

Hazel frowned. “Do we smell that bad?”

The old man laughed. “Of course not, my dear. But you’d be surprised how sharp my other senses became once I was blinded. I’m Phineas. And you—wait, don’t tell me—”

He reached for Percy’s face and poked him in the eyes.

“Ow!” Percy complained.

“Son of Neptune!” Phineas exclaimed. “I thought I smelled the ocean on you, Percy Jackson. I’m also a son of Neptune, you know.”

“Hey…yeah. Okay.” Percy rubbed his eyes. Just his luck he was related to this grubby old dude. He hoped all sons of Neptune didn’t share the same fate. First, you start carrying a man satchel. Next thing you know, you’re running around in a bathrobe and pink bunny slippers, chasing chickens with a weed whacker.

Phineas turned to Hazel. “And here…Oh my, the smell of gold and deep earth. Hazel Levesque, daughter of Pluto. And next to you—the son of Mars. But there’s more to your story, Frank Zhang—”

“Ancient blood,” Frank muttered. “Prince of Pylos. Blah, blah, blah.”

“Periclymenus, exactly! Oh, he was a nice fellow. I loved the Argonauts!”

Frank’s mouth fell open. “W-wait. Perry
who?
”

Phineas grinned. “Don’t worry. I know about your family. That story about your great-grandfather? He didn’t
really
destroy the camp. Now, what an interesting group. Are you hungry?”

Frank looked like he’d been run over by a truck, but Phineas had already moved on to other matters. He waved his hand at the picnic table. In the nearby trees, the harpies shrieked miserably. As hungry as Percy was, he couldn’t stand to think about eating with those poor bird ladies watching him.

“Look, I’m confused,” Percy said. “We need some information. We were told—”

“—that the harpies were keeping my food away from me,” Phineas finished, “and if you helped me, I’d help you.”

“Something like that,” Percy admitted.

Phineas laughed. “That’s old news. Do I look like I’m missing any meals?”

He patted his belly, which was the size of an overinflated basketball.

“Um ... no,” Percy said.

Phineas waved his weed whacker in an expansive gesture. All three of them ducked.

“Things have changed, my friends!” he said. “When I first got the gift of prophecy, eons ago, it’s true Jupiter cursed me. He sent the harpies to steal my food. You see, I had a bit of a big mouth. I gave away too many secrets that the gods wanted kept.” He turned to Hazel. “For instance, you’re supposed to be dead. And you—” He turned to Frank. “Your life depends on a burned stick.”

Percy frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Hazel blinked like she’d been slapped. Frank looked like the truck had backed up and run over him again.

“And you,” Phineas turned to Percy, “well now, you don’t even know who you are! I could tell you, of course, but…ha! What fun would that be? And Brigid O’Shaughnessy shot Miles Archer in
The Maltese Falcon
. And Darth Vader is actually Luke’s father. And the winner of the next Super Bowl will be—”

“Got it,” Frank muttered.

Hazel gripped her sword like she was tempted to pommel-whip the old man. “So you talked too much, and the gods cursed you. Why did they stop?”

“Oh, they didn’t!” The old man arched his bushy eyebrows like,
Can you believe it?
“I had to make a deal with the Argonauts. They wanted information too, you see. I told them to kill the harpies, and I’d cooperate. Well, they drove those nasty creatures away, but Iris wouldn’t let them kill the harpies. An outrage! So
this
time, when my patron brought me back to life—”

“Your patron?” Frank asked.

Phineas gave him a wicked grin. “Why, Gaea, of course.

Who do you think opened the Doors of Death? Your girl friend here understands. Isn’t Gaea your patron, too?”

Hazel drew her sword. “I’m not his—I don’t—Gaea is not my patron!”

Phineas looked amused. If he had heard the sword being drawn, he didn’t seem concerned. “Fine, if you want to be
noble
and stick with the losing side, that’s your business. But Gaea is waking. She’s already rewritten the rules of life and death! I’m alive again, and in exchange for my help—a prophecy here, a prophecy there—I get my fondest wish. The tables have been turned, so to speak. Now I can eat all I want, all day long, and the harpies have to watch and starve.”

He revved his weed whacker, and the harpies wailed in the trees.

“They’re cursed!” the old man said. “They can eat only food from my table, and they can’t leave Portland. Since the Doors of Death are open, they can’t even die. It’s beautiful!”

“Beautiful?” Frank protested. “They’re living creatures. Why are you so mean to them?”

“They’re monsters!” Phineas said. “And
mean
? Those feather-brained demons tormented me for years!”

“But it was their duty,” Percy said, trying to control himself. “Jupiter ordered them to.”

“Oh, I’m mad at Jupiter, too,” Phineas agreed. “In time, Gaea will see that the gods are properly punished. Horrible job they’ve done, ruling the world. But for now, I’m enjoying Portland. The mortals take no notice of me. They think I’m just a crazy old man shooing away pigeons!”

Hazel advanced on the seer. “You’re awful!” she told Phineas. “You belong in the Fields of Punishment!”

Phineas sneered. “One dead person to another, girlie? I wouldn’t be talking. You started this whole thing! If it weren’t for you, Alcyoneus wouldn’t be alive!”

Hazel stumbled back.

“Hazel?” Frank’s eyes got as wide as quarters. “What’s he talking about?”

“Ha!” Phineas said. “You’ll find out soon enough, Frank Zhang. Then we’ll see if you’re still sweet on your girlfriend.

But that’s not what you’re here about, is it? You want to find Thanatos. He’s being kept at Alcyoneus’s lair. I can tell you where that is. Of course I can. But you’ll have to do me a favor.”

“Forget it,” Hazel snapped. “You’re working for the enemy.

We should send you back to the Underworld ourselves.”

“You could try.” Phineas smiled. “But I doubt I’d stay dead very long. You see, Gaea has shown me the easy way back. And with Thanatos in chains, there’s no one to keep me down! Besides, if you kill me, you won’t get my secrets.”

Percy was tempted to let Hazel use her sword. In fact he wanted to strangle the old man himself.

Camp Jupiter,
he told himself.
Saving the camp is more important.
He remembered Alcyoneus taunting him in his dreams. If they wasted time searching through Alaska looking for the giant’s lair, Gaea’s armies would destroy the Romans…and Percy’s other friends, wherever they were.

He gritted his teeth. “What’s the favor?”

Phineas licked his lips greedily. “There’s one harpy who’s quicker than the rest.”

“The red one,” Percy guessed.

“I’m blind! I don’t know colors!” the old man groused. “At any rate, she’s the only one I have trouble with. She’s wily, that one. Always does her own thing, never roosts with the others. She gave me these.”

He pointed at the scars on his forehead.

“Capture that harpy,” he said. “Bring her to me. I want her tied up where I can keep an eye on her…ah, so to speak. Harpies hate being tied up. It causes them extreme pain. Yes, I’ll enjoy that. Maybe I’ll even feed her so that she lasts longer.”

Percy looked at his friends. They came to a silent agreement: they would
never
help this creepy old man. On the other hand, they had to get his information. They needed a Plan B.

“Oh, go talk among yourselves,” Phineas said breezily. “I don’t care. Just remember that without my help, your quest will fail. And everyone you love in the world will die. Now, off with you! Bring me a harpy!”

“W
E’LL NEED SOME OF YOUR FOOD.”
Percy shouldered his way around the old man and snatched stuff off the picnic table—a covered bowl of Thai noodles in mac-and-cheese sauce, and a tubular pastry that looked like a combination burrito and cinnamon roll.

Before he could lose control and smash the burrito in Phineas’s face, Percy said, “Come on, guys.” He led his friends out of the parking lot.

They stopped across the street. Percy took a deep breath, trying to calm down. The rain had slowed to a halfhearted drizzle. The cold mist felt good on his face.

“That man…” Hazel smacked the side of a bus-stop bench.

“He needs to die.
Again.
”

It was hard to tell in the rain, but she seemed to be blinking back tears. Her long curly hair was plastered down the sides of her face. In the gray light, her gold eyes looked more like tin.

Percy remembered how confident she’d acted when they first met—taking control of the situation with the gorgons and ushering him to safety. She’d comforted him at the shrine of Neptune and made him feel welcome at camp.

Now he wanted to return the favor, but he wasn’t sure how. She looked lost, bedraggled, and thoroughly depressed.

Percy wasn’t surprised that she had come back from the Underworld. He’d suspected that for a while—the way she avoided talking about her past, the way Nico di Angelo had been so secretive and cautious.

But that didn’t change how Percy saw her. She seemed... well,
alive
, like a regular kid with a good heart, who deserved to grow up and have a future. She wasn’t a ghoul like Phineas.

“We’ll get him,” Percy promised. “He’s
nothing
like you, Hazel. I don’t care what he says.”

She shook her head. “You don’t know the whole story. I should have been sent to Punishment. I—I’m just as bad—”

“No, you’re not!” Frank balled his fists. He looked around like he was searching for anybody who might disagree with him—enemies he could hit for Hazel’s sake. “She’s a good person!” he yelled across the street. A few harpies squawked in the trees, but no one else paid them any attention.

Hazel stared at Frank. She reached out tentatively, as if she wanted to take his hand but was afraid he might evaporate.

“Frank...” she stammered. “I—I don’t...”

Unfortunately, Frank seemed wrapped up in his own thoughts.

He slung his spear off his back and gripped it uneasily.

“I could intimidate that old man,” he offered, “maybe scare him—”

“Frank, it’s okay,” Percy said. “Let’s keep that as a backup plan, but I don’t think Phineas can be scared into cooperating. Besides, you’ve only got two more uses out of the spear, right?”

Frank scowled at the dragon’s-tooth point, which had grown back completely overnight. “Yeah. I guess.…”

Percy wasn’t sure what the old seer had meant about Frank’s family history—his great-grandfather destroying camp, his Argonaut ancestor, and the bit about a burned stick controlling Frank’s life. But it had clearly shaken Frank up. Percy decided not to ask for explanations. He didn’t want the big guy reduced to tears, especially in front of Hazel.

“I’ve got an idea.” Percy pointed up the street. “The red-feathered harpy went that way. Let’s see if we can get her to talk to us.”

Hazel looked at the food in his hands. “You’re going to use that as bait?”

“More like a peace offering,” Percy said. “Come on. Just try to keep the other harpies from stealing this stuff, okay?”

Percy uncovered the Thai noodles and unwrapped the cinnamon burrito. Fragrant steam wafted into the air. They walked down the street, Hazel and Frank with their weapons out. The harpies fluttered after them, perching on trees, mailboxes, and flagpoles, following the smell of food.

Percy wondered what the mortals saw through the Mist. Maybe they thought the harpies were pigeons and the weapons were lacrosse sticks or something. Maybe they just thought the Thai mac and cheese was so good it needed an armed escort.

Percy kept a tight grip on the food. He’d seen how quickly the harpies could snatch things. He didn’t want to lose his peace offering before he found the red-feathered harpy.

Finally he spotted her, circling above a stretch of parkland that ran for several blocks between rows of old stone buildings. Paths stretched through the park under huge maple and elm trees, past sculptures and playgrounds and shady benches. The place reminded Percy of…some other park. Maybe in his hometown? He couldn’t remember, but it made him feel homesick.

They crossed the street and found a bench to sit on, next to a big bronze sculpture of an elephant.

“Looks like Hannibal,” Hazel said.

“Except it’s Chinese,” Frank said. “My grandmother has one of those.” He flinched. “I mean, hers isn’t twelve feet tall. But she imports stuff…from China. We’re Chinese.” He looked at Hazel and Percy, who were trying hard not to laugh. “Could I just die from embarrassment now?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Percy said. “Let’s see if we can make friends with the harpy.”

He raised the Thai noodles and fanned the smell upward—spicy peppers and cheesy goodness. The red harpy circled lower.

“We won’t hurt you,” Percy called up in a normal voice. “We just want to talk. Thai noodles for a chance to talk, okay?”

The harpy streaked down in a flash of red and landed on the elephant statue.

She was painfully thin. Her feathery legs were like sticks. Her face would have been pretty except for her sunken cheeks. She moved in jerky birdlike twitches, her coffee-brown eyes darting restlessly, her fingers clawing at her plumage, her earlobes, her shaggy red hair.

“Cheese,” she muttered, looking sideways. “Ella doesn’t like cheese.”

Percy hesitated. “Your name is Ella?”

“Ella. Aella. ‘Harpy.’ In English. In Latin. Ella doesn’t like cheese.” She said all that without taking a breath or making eye contact. Her hands snatched at her hair, her burlap dress, the raindrops, whatever moved.

Quicker than Percy could blink, she lunged, snatched the cinnamon burrito, and appeared atop the elephant again.

“Gods, she’s fast!” Hazel said.

“And
heavily
caffeinated,” Frank guessed.

Ella sniffed the burrito. She nibbled at the edge and shuddered from head to foot, cawing like she was dying. “Cinnamon is good,” she pronounced. “Good for harpies. Yum.”

She started to eat, but the bigger harpies swooped down. Before Percy could react, they began pummeling Ella with their wings, snatching at the burrito.

“Nnnnnnooo.” Ella tried to hide under her wings as her sisters ganged up on her, scratching with their claws. “N-no,” she stuttered. “N-n-no!”

“Stop it!” Percy yelled. He and his friends ran to help, but it was too late. A big yellow harpy grabbed the burrito and the whole flock scattered, leaving Ella cowering and shivering on top of the elephant.

Hazel touched the harpy’s foot. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

Ella poked her head out of her wings. She was still trembling. With her shoulders hunched, Percy could see the bleeding gash on her back where Phineas had hit her with the weed whacker. She picked at her feathers, pulling out tufts of plumage. “S-small Ella,” she stuttered angrily. “W-weak Ella. No cinnamon for Ella. Only cheese.”

Frank glared across the street, where the other harpies were sitting in a maple tree, tearing the burrito to shreds. “We’ll get you something else,” he promised.

Percy set down the Thai noodles. He realized that Ella was different, even for a harpy. But after watching her get picked on, he was sure of one thing: whatever else happened, he was going to help her.

“Ella,” he said, “we want to be your friends. We can get you more food, but—”

“Friends,”
Ella said. “‘Ten seasons. 1994 to 2004.’” She glanced sideways at Percy, then looked in the air and started reciting to the clouds. “‘A half-blood of the eldest gods, shall reach sixteen against all odds.’ Sixteen. You’re sixteen. Page sixteen,
Mastering the Art of French Cooking
. ‘Ingredients: Bacon, Butter.’”

Percy’s ears were ringing. He felt dizzy, like he’d just plunged a hundred feet underwater and back up again. “Ella…what was that you said?”

“‘Bacon.’” She caught a raindrop out of the air. “‘Butter.’”

“No, before that. Those lines…I
know
those lines.”

Next to him, Hazel shivered. “It does sound familiar, like…I don’t know, like a prophecy. Maybe it’s something she heard Phineas say?”

At the name
Phineas,
Ella squawked in terror and flew away.

“Wait!” Hazel called. “I didn’t mean—Oh, gods, I’m stupid.”

“It’s all right.” Frank pointed. “Look.”

Ella wasn’t moving as quickly now. She flapped her way to the top of a three-story red brick building and scuttled out of sight over the roof. A single red feather fluttered down to the street.

“You think that’s her nest?” Frank squinted at the sign on the building. “Multnomah County Library?”

Percy nodded. “Let’s see if it’s open.”

They ran across the street and into the lobby.

A library wouldn’t have been Percy’s first choice for someplace to visit. With his dyslexia, he had enough trouble reading signs. A whole building full of books? That sounded about as much fun as Chinese water torture or getting his teeth extracted.

As they jogged through the lobby, Percy figured Annabeth would like this place. It was spacious and brightly lit, with big vaulted windows. Books and architecture, that was definitely her....

He froze in his tracks.

“Percy?” Frank asked. “What’s wrong?”

Percy tried desperately to concentrate. Where had those thoughts come from? Architecture, books…Annabeth had taken him to the library once, back home in—in—The memory faded. Percy slammed his fist into the side of a bookshelf.

“Percy?” Hazel asked gently.

He was so angry, so frustrated with his missing memories that he wanted to punch another bookshelf, but his friends’ concerned faces brought him back to the present.

“I’m—I’m all right,” he lied. “Just got dizzy for a sec. Let’s find a way to the roof.”

It took them a while, but they finally found a stairwell with roof access. At the top was a door with a handle alarm, but someone had propped it open with a copy of
War and Peace.

Outside, Ella the harpy huddled in a nest of books under a makeshift cardboard shelter.

Percy and his friends advanced slowly, trying not to scare her. Ella didn’t pay them any attention. She picked at her feathers and muttered under her breath, like she was practicing lines for a play.

Percy got within five feet and knelt down. “Hi. Sorry we scared you. Look, I don’t have much food, but…”

He took some of the macrobiotic jerky out of his pocket. Ella lunged and snatched it immediately. She huddled back in her nest, sniffing the jerky, but sighed and tossed it away. “N-not from his table. Ella cannot eat. Sad. Jerky would be good for harpies.”“Not from…Oh, right,” Percy said. “That’s part of the curse. You can only eat his food.”

“There has to be a way,” Hazel said.

“‘Photosynthesis,’” Ella muttered. “‘Noun. Biology. The synthesis of complex organic materials.’ ‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times; it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness... ’”

“What is she saying?” Frank whispered.

Percy stared at the mound of books around her. They all looked old and mildewed. Some had prices written in marker on the covers, like the library had gotten rid of them in a clearance sale.

“She’s quoting books,” Percy guessed.

“Farmer
’
s Almanac 1965
,” Ella said. “‘Start breeding animals, January twenty-sixth.’”

“Ella,” he said, “have you read all of these?”

She blinked. “More. More downstairs. Words. Words calm Ella down. Words, words, words.”

Percy picked up a book at random—a tattered copy of
A History of Horseracing.
“Ella, do you remember the, um, third paragraph on page sixty-two—”

“‘Secretariat,’” Ella said instantly, “‘favored three to two-in the 1973 Kentucky Derby, finished at standing track record of one fifty-nine and two fifths.’”

Percy closed the book. His hands were shaking. “Word for word.”

“That’s amazing,” Hazel said.

“She’s a genius chicken,” Frank agreed.

Percy felt uneasy. He was starting to form a terrible idea about why Phineas wanted to capture Ella, and it wasn’t because she’d scratched him. Percy remembered that line she’d recited,
A half-blood of the eldest gods.
He was sure it was about
him.

“Ella,” he said, “we’re going to find a way to break the curse. Would you like that?”

“‘It’s Impossible,’” she said. “‘Recorded in English by Perry Como, 1970.’”

“Nothing’s impossible,” Percy said. “Now, look, I’m going to say his name. You don’t have to run away. We’re going to save you from the curse. We just need to figure out a way to beat ... Phineas.”

He waited for her to bolt, but she just shook her head vigorously. “N-n-no! No Phineas. Ella is quick. Too quick for him. B-but he wants to ch-chain Ella. He hurts Ella.”

She tried to reach the gash on her back.