Camp Half-Blood Confidential, Page 4

  THALIA: Leo, did you get this stupid recording device working yet? What? I can’t hear you! What? Gods, and people wonder why I joined Artem—Oh. Hi, everyone. Apparently, I’d muted Leo.

  LEO: You’d be surprised how often people do that to me.

  THALIA: Would I? So, we’re talking with Sally Jackson, mother of Percy, and Frederick Chase, father of Annabeth, via a four-way videoconference setup that Leo vows will work just fine.

  LEO: Did I vow? Not on the River Styx. I know better!

  SALLY: Hello, Thalia, dear. You’re looking particularly punk today. And Leo—

  LEO: As smokin’ hot as always, am I right?

  SALLY: Well, smoking, anyway. You’re smoldering through your T-shirt.

  LEO: Whoops. Let me put me out. There.

  THALIA: Anyway…we’re here to get insight into how mortal parents feel about Camp Half-Blood. Ms. Jackson, Dr. Chase, you’ve never actually set foot in the camp, is that right?

  SALLY: That’s correct. Even though I can see through the Mist better than most mortals, I can’t get through the magic border. I suppose if someone gave me direct permission to enter, I might be able to, but even then, I’m not sure. The closest I ever got was the summit of Half-Blood Hill, and honestly, I’m not anxious to try that again.

  LEO: Yeah, Peleus the dragon might snack on you. Or the Athena Parthenos might zap you with her laser-beam eyes. Wait…does the statue even have laser-beam eyes, or is that just my wishful thinking? Not that I’d want you to be zapped, Mrs. J.

  SALLY: Thank you, dear, that’s very comforting to know.

  THALIA: How about you, Dr. Chase?

  FREDERICK [puts down model airplane he was tinkering with]: Hmm? Oh, yes. Camp. No, never been, though it would be fascinating to study from a historical point of view. From what Annabeth has told me, the only uninvited mortal to make it through unscathed was Rachel Dare.

  THALIA: I heard there was this pizza guy once…but that’s probably just a camp legend. Ms. Jackson, you may recall that I was there—in pine-tree mode—the first time Percy passed through. I don’t remember it, though, because…well, I was a tree.

  SALLY: I’m a little foggy on the details myself.

  FREDERICK: Something about a Minotaur?

  SALLY: Everything about a Minotaur.

  THALIA: Can’t say my first time at the border was much better. Fighting off monsters one minute, then—ZAP!—oozing tree sap the next.

  FREDERICK: My word, Thalia, I just realized…I’ve never thanked you for saving Annabeth’s life that day!

  THALIA: It’s ancient history, Dr. Chase, no worries.

  FREDERICK: Perhaps I could ship you this model of Amelia Earhart’s 1921 Kinner Airster biplane that I just finished. It’s a lovely replica!

  THALIA: That’s really not necessary. But tell me, both of you, now that things have settled down in the demigod world, wouldn’t you ever want to see Camp Half-Blood for yourselves?

  SALLY: Well…yes, of course, if there were no Minotaurs or, ah, laser-beam-shooting impediments. In fact, after Percy’s first summer there, I did ask Chiron if he’d open the camp for just one day so families could visit. Mortal families, that is.

  LEO: I’m guessing Chiron said no.

  SALLY: Yes.

  LEO: Wait…he said yes?

  SALLY: No, he said no.

  LEO: I’m confused.

  THALIA: What else is new?

  SALLY: Chiron told me that he did have a visitors’ day once, about a hundred years ago. But it did not go well.

  THALIA: What happened?

  SALLY: Somehow an eidolon, a manticore, and a disgruntled Party Pony found out about it. The eidolon possessed a camper’s half sister, the centaur got his hands on a cap of invisibility, and the manticore disguised himself as a family dog. They infiltrated the camp.

  THALIA: Not a bad plan, though I prefer a direct assault myself.

  SALLY: It might have worked, except the centaur wasn’t the sharpest kopis in the drawer. He couldn’t help showing off during the archery exhibition. Shot three bull’s-eyes before someone noticed the bow was floating in midair.

  THALIA: What about the manticore and the eidolon?

  SALLY: They caught the manticore spiking the volleyballs. With its tail spikes, that is, not actually hitting the balls over the net.

  THALIA: Volleyball existed a hundred years ago?

  FREDERICK: Yes, indeed! Volleyball, or mintonette as it was originally called, was invented in 1895 by William G. Morgan in—Sorry. Once a professor, always a professor.

  SALLY: The eidolon caused the most destruction. It hurled a jar of Greek fire at the climbing wall, which then dripped with flames for hours afterward. That’s where Chiron came up with the idea of adding lava as a permanent feature for the wall, by the way.

  THALIA: That Chiron. Always finding ways to turn death-defying challenges into much worse death-defying challenges. So what happened to the intruders?

  LEO: Festus!

  FREDERICK: Gesundheit.

  SALLY: I think he means Festus, his bronze dragon.

  LEO: The one and only! You know he was originally built for border patrol, right? What I heard, he had a killer body back then. Like, literally—he had this spiky exterior plating so he could use his body to kill. Man, I bet he body-slammed that manticore right back to Tartarus!

  SALLY: Chiron did mention there had been some body-slamming. As for the eidolon, it took the combined powers of Aphrodite’s children to charmspeak the spirit out of the girl.

  LEO: And the centaur?

  SALLY: Chiron sorted out the cause of his fellow centaur’s anger—something about not getting his fair share of root beer the last time he was at camp. Chiron, being kindhearted, let him return to his tribe with a warning. But the camp hasn’t held another visitors’ day since.

  THALIA: I guess I see why. And now that I think about it, a family day might be depressing for some of the campers who don’t have family. I mean…who’d come visit me? Or Leo?

  LEO: Speak for yourself, Tree Girl. I may not have much family, but all the ladies would flock to me like moths to my flame. Aw, yeah!

  THALIA: Aw, yech.

  FREDERICK: Now, now. We’d visit both of you! Er, that is, if you do schedule a visitors’ day, and if I can remember to put the date on my calendar….

  SALLY: [coughs] I think the important thing is that I know Percy and the rest of you have a safe place to be. I don’t feel a driving need to see the camp for myself. It’s just comforting to know that when my son is there, he’s with friends who have his back.

  LEO: Also his front, his sides, and his top. I draw the line at his bottom, though.

  SALLY: However, there is something I’d like to get on the record. Something I think all mortal parents would agree with.

  THALIA: Sure, go ahead, Ms. Jackson.

  SALLY: Demigods, we love you.

  FREDERICK: Agreed.

  SALLY: But if you don’t start Iris-messaging us a little more often, we’re going to sic Coach Hedge on you. Take care of yourselves, and make us proud. You always do!

  Recently recovered from a massive spiderweb deep within the bowels of Rome, this priceless forty-foot-tall chryselephantine* statue of the goddess Athena is accessorized with a sphinx-and-griffin crown, a handheld statue of the goddess Nike, a shield, and a snake. It exudes its protective and somewhat fierce magic from its new home atop Half-Blood Hill.

  Ask anyone here and they’ll tell you I’m a levelheaded guy. Big on logic, small on drama. A think-first, leap-second sort of demigod. Comes with being Athena’s kid, I guess.

  So I was a little freaked-out when the visions started hitting me.

  Demigods have nightmares regularly—as you’ll find out soon enough, I’m afraid. But these visions would happen when I was awake. I’d be walking along, not a care in the world, when—BAM! My brain would be flooded with images of some ancient Greek festival. I saw athletic events like in the Olympics, plus musical contests, poetr
y readings, and even beauty pageants. I witnessed winners receiving amphorae of olive oil (super valuable back then). I watched a parade that ended with a life-size wooden statue of Athena being ceremoniously draped with a huge colorful cloth.

  This mental slide show scrolled through my mind on four separate occasions. By the fourth rerun, I wanted answers. One, what the heck was this festival? Two, where were the visions coming from? And three, why was I having them?

  I got the answer to the first question by doing a little digging in our cabin’s research library. Buried in one book was a description of a festival called the Great Panathenaia that was held every four years in Athens in honor of my mother. I learned that the wooden statue was the Athena Polias, meaning Athena “of the city,” and the cloth was a special peplos (a versatile garment that could be worn as a floor-length skirt, a top-and-skirt ensemble, a shawl, or—Gods, I sound like Valentina! Sorry!) woven with images depicting Athena’s greatest triumphs, like the time she defeated the giant Enceladus.

  So I’d been seeing the Great Panathenaia. Now I just had to figure out where the visions were coming from and why I was seeing them.

  The “where” proved surprisingly easy to solve. Every time the visions hit me, I was near Half-Blood Hill. Therefore, my logical brain told me, something in that area was causing the visions. Conclusion: the something was the Athena Parthenos.

  If you don’t believe that’s possible, just go up to Half-Blood Hill and experience the Athena Parthenos’s power for yourself. The statue radiates magic. Its eyes follow you. It’s so lifelike, you expect it to speak. Trust me, once you feel its power, you’ll understand why I decided the statue was channeling the pictures from the past into my head.

  So that left the question of why. I explored several possibilities but kept coming back to one: Mom was giving me a not-so-subtle hint. I deduced she missed having a festival dedicated just to her. I further deduced she wanted me to resurrect that festival here at Camp Half-Blood. She would never come right out and tell me that, of course. Demanding to be honored isn’t her style. That’s why she used the statue as a go-between.

  Just to be sure I was right, though, I whispered my conclusions to the Athena Parthenos. Yes, I felt a little silly talking to a statue, and of course, the statue didn’t reply. Neither did Mom. Not directly, anyway. But that night, an amphora of olive oil appeared beside my bunk. This either meant she was giving me a favorable omen or she wanted me to make a whole lot of pizza. I figured it was the former.

  The next morning, I told my siblings and Chiron everything. The Athena kids were all over remaking the festival. Chiron himself had attended the original Panathenaia back in the day, so he readily greenlit the project.

  Our inaugural Camp Half-Blood Panathenaia is scheduled for next August, to coincide with the dates of the original festival and Mom’s “sprang from Zeus’s head” day. That gives us Athena kids about a year to construct a wooden Athena Polias statue, weave a ginormous peplos, organize the competitions, and plan the procession. (Some of my siblings suggested just making a peplos for the Athena Parthenos, but firstly I don’t think there’s enough cloth on Long Island to make a serape that big, and secondly the ancient Athenians didn’t do it that way. They used a wooden statue made especially for the festival. I want to do it the traditional way because, well, this is all about bringing back a tradition.)

  Am I worried we’ll be ready in time? Nah. As children of Athena, planning and organizing runs in our blood. Plus, other campers are already volunteering to help. If you want to lend a hand, the sign-up sheet is on Cabin Six’s door.

  And Mom? I think she approves. The last time I was near the Athena Parthenos, I swear it winked.

  SCENE: Apollo jogs backward along the beachfront, shooting arrows from his golden bow. He’s followed by campers dressed in combat gear, jogging in military formation.

  APOLLO: I don’t know but I’ve been told!

  CAMPERS: We don’t know but we’ve been told!

  APOLLO: The sun god’s got a bow of gold!

  CAMPERS: The sun god’s got a bow of gold!

  APOLLO: He’s the best shot in the land!

  CAMPERS: He’s the best shot in the land!

  APOLLO: Augh! [Apollo trips and lands on his backside] I’ve fallen in the sand!

  CAMPERS [jogging circles around him]: Augh! He’s fallen in the sand!

  APOLLO: I meant to do that, so don’t laugh!

  CAMPERS: He meant to do that, so don’t laugh!

  APOLLO [tries to get up but falls back again]: Ow! I hurt my godly calf!

  CAMPERS: Ow! He hurt his godly calf!

  APOLLO [glowering and starting to glow]: If you want to live another day…

  CAMPERS: If we want to live another day…

  APOLLO [radiating brighter]: STOP REPEATING WHAT I SAY!

  CAMPERS: STOP—um…

  —Military cadence written, chanted, and abruptly ended by Apollo

  Centrally located and stocked to the rafters with spears, swords, daggers, shields, bows and arrows, and clubs, the armory is a must-see for those in need of deadly weapons. Dig through, and you might even find one imbued with magical abilities. So don’t delay—your stabber, slicer, slasher, or basher awaits!

  Where is fun spelled l-a-v-a? The climbing wall, of course! Originally created to fine-tune reflexes and test hand-eye coordination, the climbing wall has become every camper’s top spot for primal-screaming practice. If a fall from halfway up the side doesn’t send you to the Big House infirmary, the slamming walls or molten magma will. So come on up—just don’t look down!

  More demigod blood has been shed in this circular fighting zone than anywhere else in camp. So what are you waiting for? Strap on your armor and get ready to sweat, because you ain’t never had a workout like this before! You’ll engage every muscle as you slash with your sword, jab with your spear, smash with your shield, and stab with your dagger. And that’s just the warm-up! Now that your blood is pumping (inside your body, outside your body, whatever), it’s time to test your metal against a straw dummy—or to test your mettle against a live opponent. But remember: the hits are real and so is the blood, so keep your guard up!

  Striking from afar more your style? We’ve got you covered! Just a javelin’s throw from the combat arena is the archery range, with its array of boldly colored targets, their bull’s-eyes daring you to hit them with a well-aimed arrow. Just be on the lookout for errant projectiles so you don’t become a target yourself!

  To be a great head counselor, you have to be more than just the oldest sibling in a cabin. You have to be a leader—smart, strong, decisive, brave—and also a fearless fighter. Clarisse La Rue, our previous head counselor, was all those things and more. Sherman Yang? Him, I wasn’t so sure about.

  Sherman took over when Clarisse left Camp Half-Blood to go to college. He was a typical Ares kid, meaning a ferocious muscle-bound fighting machine with a yen for bloody conflict and a disdain for peace. But as impressive as those qualities were, I wondered if they were enough to lead our cabin. More importantly, were they enough to lead us to victory over the other cabins? If not…well, let’s just say I was secretly studying him to find his Achilles’ heel.

  Not long after Sherman took over, Ares cabin scored poorly on the daily camp inspection. One of my sisters had left a plate of sticky, sweet barbecue under her bunk, and ants had swarmed it. Not the gigantic myrmekes—they prefer shiny things to smoked meats. It would have been okay if the myrmekes had invaded, actually. Things had been so calm lately, I wouldn’t have minded going a few rounds with them, sword versus mandible.

  Anyway, our chore that day was combat arena and archery range prep. I loved practicing in the fighting zones, but tidying up afterward and getting everything ready for the next session? I’d rather tackle the Nemean Lion, and from the looks on my cabinmates’ faces, they felt the same way. We might have staged a sit-down if nonaggressive protest didn’t sicken us so much.

  Instead, we trudged out
to the arenas. To my surprise, a number of campers from other cabins were there too. So was Sherman, which kind of surprised me, because he normally wasn’t the first one on-site when we had to do chores.

  “Ares cabin!” he barked. “Take a knee!”

  I didn’t get what was going on. We were supposed to be doing prep. And why were all these other campers here? Nevertheless, we Ares kids knelt as one and waited to see what would happen.

  “I’m running a friendly little relay race today,” Sherman announced to the whole crowd. “Who wants in?”

  The Ares kids all started raising our hands, naturally. I still didn’t understand why Sherman was holding a race instead of making us do our assigned tasks, but I wasn’t going to argue.

  He gestured at us impatiently. “No, no, not you, Ares cabin. You’re just here as observers. This race is in the arena and archery range, and you know those areas too well. It wouldn’t be fair to the other competitors.”

  Fair? How could this guy be the head of our cabin? I almost stormed away in disgust. But then I noticed the crafty twinkle in Sherman’s eye. He was up to something. What, I didn’t know. But I wanted to find out.

  “What do we win?” asked Cecil Markowitz. That kid, always thinking about the potential payout.

  Sherman smiled slyly. “Whoever finishes first gets to fire the T-shirt gun tonight.”

  His announcement caused a ripple of excitement. Guns weren’t a big favorite at Camp Half-Blood; most campers preferred the traditional weapons of ancient Greece. The Ares cabin T-shirt gun was one of the few exceptions. It shot tightly rolled Half-Blood tees fifty feet in the air. It was a real crowd-pleaser during camp sing-alongs and volleyball matches.

  After some jostling and debate, five contestants stood up to volunteer: Will Solace, Miranda Gardiner, Billie Ng, Cecil Markowitz, and Damien White. My money was on Will or Damien to win whatever Sherman had cooked up. Will, because he was clever and quick. Damien, because he was devious.

  “Competitors!” Sherman held up a hand, fingers splayed. “This race consists of five tasks, which are as follows: Each of you must sharpen the blades of two practice swords. Then you must replace four used archery targets with new ones. After that, you polish a shield. Then you must replace the points on three spears. Finally, reattach a straw dummy’s limbs and head. Then return here to me.” Sherman curled his fingers into a fist. “Any questions?”

  I was biting the inside of my cheek to keep the smirk off my face. I had to give it to Sherman—he’d come up with a great plan to get the other campers to do our work. Nothing like the promise of firing a large gun to keep people from thinking straight.

  Sherman lined up the racers and bellowed, “Go!” Off they raced. Twenty minutes later, Miranda crossed the finish line first. Gasping, she raised a triumphant fist in the air. Sherman grabbed her in a hug, then quickly let go, red-faced and grinning sheepishly. We Ares kids cheered lustily for the victor, for the chores we didn’t have to do, and most of all, for Sherman—our ace head counselor.

  Whether you’re a serious player or just a camper looking for a little fun competish, there’s no better place than the volleyball court to feel the sun on your back, the wind in your hair, or a ball in your face. Come to play, come to watch, come to catch a T-shirt from the Ares cabin’s gun—just come!