We decided there was no way we could get past the man-eating sheep. Annabeth wanted to sneak up the path invisibly and grab the Fleece, but in the end I convinced her that something would go wrong. The sheep would smell her. Another guardian would appear. Something. And if that happened, I’d be too far away to help.
Besides, our first job was to find Grover and whoever had come ashore in that lifeboat—assuming they’d gotten past the sheep. I was too nervous to say what I was secretly hoping…that Tyson might still be alive.
We moored theQueen Anne’s Revengeon the back side of the island where the cliffs rose straight up a good two hundred feet. I figured the ship was less likely to be seen there.
The cliffs looked climbable, barely—about as difficult as the lava wall back at camp. At least it was free of sheep. I hoped that Polyphemus did not also keep carnivorous mountain goats.
We rowed a lifeboat to the edge of the rocks and made our way up, very slowly. Annabeth went first because she was the better climber.
We only came close to dying six or seven times, which I thought was pretty good. Once, I lost my grip and I found myself dangling by one hand from a ledge fifty feet above the rocky surf. But I found another handhold and kept climbing. A minute later Annabeth hit a slippery patch of moss and her foot slipped. Fortunately, she found something else to put it against. Unfortunately, that something was my face.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
“S’okay,” I grunted, though I’d never really wanted to know what Annabeth’s sneaker tasted like.
Finally, when my fingers felt like molten lead and my arm muscles were shaking from exhaustion, we hauled ourselves over the top of the cliff and collapsed.
“Ugh,” I said.
“Ouch,” moaned Annabeth.
“Garrr!” bellowed another voice.
If I hadn’t been so tired, I would’ve leaped another two hundred feet. I whirled around, but I couldn’t see who’d spoken.
Annabeth clamped her hand over my mouth. She pointed.
The ledge we were sitting on was narrower than I’d realized. It dropped off on the opposite side, and that’s where the voice was coming from—right below us.
“You’re a feisty one!” the deep voice bellowed.
“Challenge me!” Clarisse’s voice, no doubt about it. “Give me back my sword and I’ll fight you!”
The monster roared with laughter.
Annabeth and I crept to the edge. We were right above the entrance of the Cyclops’s cave. Below us stood Polyphemus and Grover, still in his wedding dress. Clarisse was tied up, hanging upside down over a pot of boiling water. I was half hoping to see Tyson down there, too. Even if he’d been in danger, at least I would’ve known he was alive. But there was no sign of him.
“Hmm,” Polyphemus pondered. “Eat loudmouth girl now or wait for wedding feast? What does my bride think?”
He turned to Grover, who backed up and almost tripped over his completed bridal train. “Oh, um, I’m not hungry right now, dear. Perhaps—”
“Did you saybride?” Clarisse demanded. “Who—Grover?”
Next to me, Annabeth muttered, “Shut up. She has to shut up.”
Polyphemus glowered. “What ‘Grover’?”
“The satyr!” Clarisse yelled.
“Oh!” Grover yelped. “The poor thing’s brain is boiling from that hot water. Pull her down, dear!”
Polyphemus’s eyelids narrowed over his baleful milky eye, as if he were trying to see Clarisse more clearly.
The Cyclops was an even more horrible sight than he had been in my dreams. Partly because his rancid smell was now up close and personal. Partly because he was dressed in his wedding outfit—a crude kilt and shoulder-wrap, stitched together from baby-blue tuxedoes, as if he’d skinned an entire wedding party.
“What satyr?” asked Polyphemus. “Satyrs are good eating. You bring me a satyr?”
“No, you big idiot!” bellowed Clarisse. “Thatsatyr! Grover! The one in the wedding dress!”
