Chapter 19
THE CHARIOT RACE
ENDS WITH A BANG
We arrived in Long Island just after Clarisse, thanks to the centaurs' travel powers. I rode on Chiron's
back, but we didn't talk much, especially not about Kronos. I knew it had been difficult for Chiron to tell
me. I didn't want to push him with more questions. I mean, I've met plenty of embar-rassing parents, but
Kronos, the evil titan lord who wanted to destroy Western Civilization? Not the kind of dad you invited
to school for career day.
When we got to camp, the centaurs were anxious to meet Dionysus. They'd heard he threw some really
wild par-ties, but they were disappointed. The wine god was in no mood to celebrate as the whole camp
gathered at the top of Half-Blood Hill.
The camp had been through a hard two weeks. The arts and crafts cabin had burned to the ground from
an attack by aDraco Aionius (which as near as I could figure was Latin for
"really-big-lizard-with-breath-that-blows-stuff-up"). The Big House's rooms were overflowing with
wounded. The kids in the Apollo cabin, who were the best healers, had been working overtime
performing first aid. Everybody looked weary and battered as we crowded around Thalia's tree.
The moment Clarisse draped the Golden Fleece over the lowest bough, the moonlight seemed to
brighten, turn-ing from gray to liquid silver. A cool breeze rustled in the branches and rippled through the
grass, all the way into the valley. Everything came into sharper focus—the glow of the fireflies down in
the woods, the smell of the straw-berry fields, the sound of the waves on the beach.
Gradually, the needles on the pine tree started turning from brown to green.
Everybody cheered. It was happening slowly, but there could be no doubt—the Fleece's magic was
seeping into the tree, filling it with new power and expelling the poison.
Chiron ordered a twenty-four/seven guard duty on the hilltop, at least until he could find an appropriate
monster to protect the Fleece. He said he'd place an ad inOlympus Weekly right away.
In the meantime, Clarisse was carried on her cabin mates' shoulders down to the amphitheater, where
she was honored with a laurel wreath and a lot of celebrating around the campfire.
Nobody gave Annabeth or me a second look. It was as if we'd never left. In a way, I guess that was the
best thank-you anyone could give us, because if they admitted we'd snuck out of camp to do the quest,
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they'd have to expel us. And really, I didn't want any more attention. It felt good to be just one of the
campers for once.
Later that night, as we were roasting s'mores and listen-ing to the Stoll brothers tell us a ghost story
about an evil king who was eaten alive by demonic breakfast pastries, Clarisse shoved me from behind
and whispered in my ear, "Just because you were cool one time, Jackson, don't think you're off the hook
with Ares. I'm still waiting for the right opportunity to pulverize you."
I gave her a grudging smile.
"What?" she demanded.
"Nothing," I said. "Just good to be home."
The next morning, after the party ponies headed back to Florida, Chiron made a surprise announcement:
the chariot races would go ahead as scheduled. We'd all figured they were history now that Tantalus was
gone, but completing them did feel like the right thing to do, especially now that Chiron was back and the
camp was safe.
Tyson wasn't too keen on the idea of getting back in a chariot after our first experience, but he was
happy to let me team up with Annabeth. I would drive, Annabeth would defend, and Tyson would act as
our pit crew. While I worked with the horses, Tyson fixed up Athena's chariot and added a whole bunch
of special modifi-cations.
We spent the next two days training like crazy. Annabeth and I agreed that if we won, the prize of no
chores for the rest of the month would be split between our two cabins. Since Athena had more
campers, they would get most of the time off, which was fine by me. I didn't care about the prize. I just
wanted to win.
The night before the race, I stayed late at the stables. I was talking to our horses, giving them one final
brushing, when somebody right behind me said, "Fine animals, horses. Wish I'd thought of them."
A middle-aged guy in a postal carrier outfit was leaning against the stable door. He was slim, with curly
black hair under his white pith helmet, and he had a mailbag slung over his shoulder.
"Hermes?" I stammered.
"Hello, Percy. Didn't recognize me without my jogging clothes?"
"Uh ..." I wasn't sure whether I was supposed to kneel or buy stamps from him or what. Then it
occurred to me why he must be here. "Oh, listen, Lord Hermes, about Luke ..."
The god arched his eyebrows.
"Uh, we saw him, all right," I said, "but—"
"You weren't able to talk sense into him?"
"Well, we kind of tried to kill each other in a duel to the death."
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"I see. You tried the diplomatic approach."
"I'm really sorry. I mean, you gave us those awesome gifts and everything. And I know you wanted
Luke to come back. But ... he's turned bad.Really bad. He said he feels like you abandoned him."
I waited for Hermes to get angry. I figured he'd turn me into a hamster or something, and I did not want
to spend any more time as a rodent.
Instead, he just sighed. "Do you ever feel your father abandoned you, Percy?"
Oh, man.
I wanted to say, "Only a few hundred times a day." I hadn't spoken to Poseidon since last summer. I'd
never been to his underwater palace. And then there was the whole thing with Tyson—no warning, no
explanation. Justboom, you have a brother. You'd think that deserved a little heads-up phone call or
something.
The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I realized I did want recognition for the quest I'd
completed, but not from the other campers. I wanted my dad to say something. To notice me.
Hermes readjusted the mailbag on his shoulder. "Percy, the hardest part about being a god is that you
must often act indirectly, especially when it comes to your own children. If we were to intervene every
time our children had a problem … well, that would only create more problems and more resentment.
But I believe if you give it some thought, you will see that Poseidonhas been paying attention to you. He
has answered your prayers. I can only hope that some day, Luke may realize the same about me.
Whether you feel like you succeeded or not, you reminded Luke who he was. You spoke to him."
"I tried to kill him."
Hermes shrugged. "Families are messy. Immortal families are eternally messy. Sometimes the best we
can do is to remind each other that we're related, for better or worse … and try to keep the maiming and
killing to a minimum."
It didn't sound like much of a recipe for the perfect family. Then again, as I thought about my quest, I
realized maybe Hermes was right. Poseidon had sent the hippocampi to help us. He'd given me powers
over the sea that I'd never known about before. And there was Tyson. Had Poseidon brought us
together on purpose? How many times had Tyson saved my life this summer?
In the distance, the conch horn sounded, signaling curfew.
"You should get to bed," Hermes said. "I've helped you get into quite enough trouble this summer
already. I really only came to make this delivery."
"A delivery?"
"I am the messenger of the gods, Percy." He took an electronic signature pad from his mailbag and
handed it to me. "Sign there, please."
I picked up the stylus before realizing it was entwined with a pair of tiny green snakes. "Ah!" I dropped
the pad.
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Ouch, said George.
Really, Percy, Martha scolded.Would you want to be dropped on the floor of a horse stable?
"Oh, uh, sorry." I didn't much like touching snakes, but I picked up the pad and the stylus again. Martha
and George wriggled under my fingers, forming a kind of pencil grip like the ones my special ed teacher
made me use in second grade.
Did you bring me a rat? George asked.
"No …" I said. "Uh, we didn't find any."
What about a guinea pig?
George! Martha chided.Don't tease the boy.
I signed my name and gave the pad back to Hermes.
In exchange, he handed me a sea-blue envelope.
My fingers trembled. Even before I opened it, I could tell it was from my father. I could sense his power
in the cool blue paper, as if the envelope itself had been folded out of an ocean wave.
"Good luck tomorrow," Hermes said. "Fine team of horses you have there, though you'll excuse me if I
root for the Hermes cabin."
And don't be too discouraged when you read it, dear, Martha told me.He doeshave your interests at
heart.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
Don't mind her, George said. And next time, remember, snakes work for tips.
"Enough, you two," Hermes said. "Good-bye, Percy. For now."
Small white wings sprouted from his pith helmet. He began to glow, and I knew enough about the gods
to avert my eyes before he revealed his true divine form. With a brilliant white flash he was gone, and I
was alone with the horses.
I stared at the blue envelope in my hands. It was addressed in strong but elegant handwriting that I'd
seen once before, on a package Poseidon had sent me last summer.
Percy Jackson
c/o Camp Half-Blood
Farm Road 3.141
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Long Island, New York 11954
An actual letter from my father. Maybe he would tell me I'd done a good job getting the Fleece. He'd
explain about Tyson, or apologize for not talking to me sooner. There were so many things that I wanted
that letter to say.
I opened the envelope and unfolded the paper.
Two simple words were printed in the middle of the page:
Brace Yourself
The next morning, everybody was buzzing about the chari-ot race, though they kept glancing nervously
toward the sky like they expected to see Stymphalian birds gathering. None did. It was a beautiful
summer day with blue sky and plenty of sunshine. The camp had started to look the way it should look:
the meadows were green and lush; the white columns gleamed on the Greek buildings; dryads played
happily in the woods.
And I was miserable. I'd been lying awake all night, thinking about Poseidon's warning.
Brace yourself.
I mean, he goes to the trouble of writing a letter, and he writes two words?
Martha the snake had told me not to feel disappointed. Maybe Poseidon had a reason for being so
vague. Maybe he didn't know exactly what he was warning me about, but he sensed something big was
about to happen—something that could completely knock me off my feet unless I was prepared. It was
hard, but I tried to turn my thoughts to the race.
As Annabeth and I drove onto the track, I couldn't help admiring the work Tyson had done on the
Athena chariot. The carriage gleamed with bronze reinforcements. The wheels were realigned with
magical suspension so we glided along with hardly a bump. The rigging for the horses was so perfectly
balanced that the team turned at the slightest tug of the reins.
Tyson had also made us two javelins, each with three buttons on the shaft. The first button primed the
javelin to explode on impact, releasing razor wire that would tangle and shred an opponent's wheels. The
second button pro-duced a blunt (but still very painful) bronze spearhead designed to knock a driver out
of his carriage. The third button brought up a grappling hook that could be used to lock onto an enemy's
chariot or push it away.
I figured we were in pretty good shape for the race, but Tyson still warned me to be careful. The other
chariot teams had plenty of tricks up their togas.
"Here," he said, just before the race began.
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He handed me a wristwatch. There wasn't anything spe-cial about it—just a white-and-silver clock face,
a black leather strap—but as soon as I saw it I realized that this is what I'd seen him tinkering on all
summer.
I didn't usually like to wear watches. Who cared what time it was? But I couldn't say no to Tyson.
"Thanks, man." I put it on and found it was surprisingly light and comfortable. I could hardly tell I was
wearing it.
"Didn't finish in time for the trip," Tyson mumbled. "Sorry, sorry."
"Hey, man. No big deal."
"If you need protection in race," he advised, "hit the button."
"Ah, okay." I didn't see how keeping time was going to help a whole lot, but I was touched that Tyson
was con-cerned. I promised him I'd remember the watch. "And, hey, um, Tyson ..."
He looked at me.
"I wanted to say, well ..." I tried to figure out how to apologize for getting embarrassed about him before
the quest, for telling everyone he wasn't my real brother. It wasn't easy to find the words.
"I know what you will tell me," Tyson said, looking ashamed. "Poseidon did care for me after all."
"Uh, well—"
"He sent you to help me. Just what I asked for."
I blinked. "You asked Poseidon for ... me?"
"For a friend," Tyson said, twisting his shirt in his hands. "Young Cyclopes grow up alone on the streets,
learn to make things out of scraps. Learn to survive."
"But that's so cruel!"
He shook his head earnestly. "Makes us appreciate blessings, not be greedy and mean and fat like
Polyphemus. But I got scared. Monsters chased me so much, clawed me sometimes—"
"The scars on your back?"
A tear welled in his eye. "Sphinx on Seventy-second Street. Big bully. I prayed to Daddy for help. Soon
the peo-ple at Meriwether found me. Met you. Biggest blessing ever. Sorry I said Poseidon was mean.
He sent me a brother."
I stared at the watch that Tyson had made me.
"Percy!" Annabeth called. "Come on!"
Chiron was at the starting line, ready to blow the conch.
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"Tyson ..." I said.
"Go," Tyson said. "You will win!"
"I—yeah, okay, big guy. We'll win this one for you." I climbed on board the chariot and got into position
just as Chiron blew the starting signal.
The horses knew what to do. We shot down the track so fast I would've fallen out if my arms hadn't
been wrapped in the leather reins. Annabeth held on tight to the rail. The wheels glided beautifully. We
took the first turn a full chariot-length ahead of Clarisse, who was busy trying to fight off a javelin attack
from the Stoll brothers in the Hermes chariot.
"We've got 'em!" I yelled, but I spoke too soon.
"Incoming!" Annabeth yelled. She threw her first javelin in grappling hook mode, knocking away a
lead-weighted net that would have entangled us both. Apollo's chariot had come up on our flank. Before
Annabeth could rearm her-self, the Apollo warrior threw a javelin into our right wheel. The javelin
shattered, but not before snapping some of our spokes. Our chariot lurched and wobbled. I was sure the
wheel would collapse altogether, but we somehow kept going.
I urged the horses to keep up the speed. We were now neck and neck with Apollo. Hephaestus was
coming up close behind. Ares and Hermes were falling behind, riding side by side as Clarisse went
sword-on-javelin with Connor Stoll.
If we took one more hit to our wheel, I knew we would capsize.
"You're mine!" the driver from Apollo yelled. He was a first-year camper. I didn't remember his name,
but he sure was confident.
"Yeah, right!" Annabeth yelled back.
She picked up her second javelin—a real risk consider-ing we still had one full lap to go—and threw it
at the Apollo driver.
Her aim was perfect. The javelin grew a heavy spear point just as it caught the driver in the chest,
knocking him against his teammate and sending them both toppling out of their chariot in a backward
somersault. The horses felt the reins go slack and went crazy, riding straight for the crowd. Campers
scrambled for cover as the horses leaped the corner of the bleachers and the golden chariot flipped over.
The horses galloped back toward their stable, dragging the upside-down chariot behind them.
I held our own chariot together through the second turn, despite the groaning of the right wheel. We
passed the starting line and thundered into our final lap.
The axle creaked and moaned. The wobbling wheel was making us lose speed, even though the horses
were respond-ing to my every command, running like a well-oiled machine.
The Hephaestus team was still gaining.
Beckendorf grinned as he pressed a button on his com-mand console. Steel cables shot out of the front
of his mechanical horses, wrapping around our back rail. Our chariot shuddered as Beckendorf's winch
system started working—pulling us backward while Beckendorf pulled himself forward.
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Annabeth cursed and drew her knife. She hacked at the cables but they were too thick.
"Can't cut them.'" she yelled.
The Hephaestus chariot was now dangerously close, their horses about to trample us underfoot.
"Switch with me!" I told Annabeth. "Take the reins!"
"But—"
"Trust me!"
She pulled herself to the front and grabbed the reins. I turned, trying hard to keep my footing, and
uncapped Riptide.
I slashed down and the cables snapped like kite string. We lurched forward, but Beckendorf's driver
just swung his chariot to our left and pulled up next to us. Beckendorf drew his sword. He slashed at
Annabeth, and I parried the blade away.
We were coming up on the last turn. We'd never make it. I needed to disable the Hephaestus chariot
and get it out of the way, but I had to protect Annabeth, too. Just because Beckendorf was a nice guy
didn't mean he wouldn't send us both to the infirmary if we let our guard down.
We were neck and neck now, Clarisse coming up from behind, making up for lost time.
"See ya, Percy!" Beckendorf yelled. "Here's a little part-ing gift!"
He threw a leather pouch into our chariot. It stuck to the floor immediately and began billowing green
smoke.
"Greek fire!" Annabeth yelled.
I cursed. I'd heard stories about what Greek fire could do. I figured we had maybe ten seconds before it
exploded.
"Get rid of it!" Annabeth shouted, but I couldn't. Hephaestus's chariot was still alongside, waiting until the
last second to make sure their little present blew up. Beckendorf was keeping me busy with his sword. If
I let my guard down long enough to deal with the Greek fire, Annabeth would get sliced and we'd crash
anyway. I tried to kick the leather pouch away with my foot, but I couldn't. It was stuck fast.
Then I remembered the watch.
I didn't know how it could help, but I managed to punch the stopwatch button. Instantly, the watch
changed. It expanded, the metal rim spiraling outward like an old-fashioned camera shutter, a leather
strap wrapping around my forearm until I was holding a round war shield four feet wide, the inside soft
leather, the outside polished bronze engraved with designs I didn't have time to examine.
All I knew: Tyson had come through. I raised the shield, and Beckendorf's sword clanged against it. His
blade shat-tered.
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"What?" he shouted. "How—"
He didn't have time to say more because I knocked him in the chest with my new shield and sent him
flying out of his chariot, tumbling in the dirt.
I was about use Riptide to slash at the driver when Annabeth yelled, "Percy!"
The Greek fire was shooting sparks. I shoved the tip of my sword under the leather pouch and flipped it
up like a spatula. The firebomb dislodged and flew into the Hephaestus chariot at the driver's feet. He
yelped.
In a split second the driver made the right choice: he dove out of the chariot, which careened away and
exploded in green flames. The metal horses seemed to short-circuit. They turned and dragged the burning
wreckage back toward Clarisse and the Stoll brothers, who had to swerve to avoid it.
Annabeth pulled the reins for the last turn. I held on, sure we would capsize, but somehow she brought
us through and spurred the horses across the finish line. The crowd roared.
Once the chariot stopped, our friends mobbed us. They started chanting our names, but Annabeth yelled
over the noise: "Hold up! Listen! It wasn't just us!"
The crowd didn't want to be quiet, but Annabeth made herself heard: "We couldn't have done it without
somebody else! We couldn't have won this race or gotten the Fleece or saved Grover or anything! We
owe our lives to Tyson, Percy's ..."
"Brother!" I said, loud enough for everybody to hear. "Tyson, my baby brother."
Tyson blushed. The crowd cheered. Annabeth planted a kiss on my cheek. The roaring got a lot louder
after that. The entire Athena cabin lifted me and Annabeth and Tyson onto their shoulders and carried us
toward the winner's platform, where Chiron was waiting to bestow the laurel wreaths.
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