Halfway down the path to the beach, standing completely unharmed in the midst of a flock of killer sheep, was an old friend.
“Bad Polyphemus,” Tyson said. “Not all Cyclopes as nice as we look.”
Tyson gave us the short version: Rainbow the hippocampus—who’d apparently been following us ever since the Long Island Sound, waiting for Tyson to play with him—had found Tyson sinking beneath the wreckage of the CSSBirminghamand pulled him to safety. He and Tyson had been searching the Sea of Monsters ever since, trying to find us, until Tyson caught the scent of sheep and found this island.
I wanted to hug the big oaf, except he was standing in the middle of killer sheep. “Tyson, thank the gods. Annabeth is hurt!”
“You thank the gods she is hurt?” he asked, puzzled.
“No!” I knelt beside Annabeth and was worried sick by what I saw. The gash on her forehead was worse than I’d realized. Her hairline was sticky with blood. Her skin was pale and clammy.
Grover and I exchanged nervous looks. Then an idea came to me. “Tyson, the Fleece. Can you get it for me?”
“Which one?” Tyson said, looking around at the hundreds of sheep.
“In the tree!” I said. “The gold one!”
“Oh. Pretty. Yes.”
Tyson lumbered over, careful not to step on the sheep. If any of us had tried to approach the Fleece, we would’ve been eaten alive, but I guess Tyson smelled like Polyphemus, because the flock didn’t bother him at all. They just cuddled up to him and bleated affectionately, as though they expected to get sheep treats from the big wicker basket. Tyson reached up and lifted the Fleece off its branch. Immediately the leaves on the oak tree turned yellow. Tyson started wading back toward me, but I yelled, “No time! Throw it!”
The gold ram skin sailed through the air like a glittering shag Frisbee. I caught it with a grunt. It was heavier than I’d expected—sixty or seventy pounds of precious gold wool.
I spread it over Annabeth, covering everything but her face, and prayed silently to all the gods I could think of, even the ones I didn’t like.
Please. Please.
The color returned to her face. Her eyelids fluttered open. The cut on her forehead began to close. She saw Grover and said weakly, “You’re not…married?”
Grover grinned. “No. My friends talked me out of it.”
“Annabeth,” I said, “just lay still.”
But despite our protests she sat up, and I noticed that the cut on her face was almost completely healed. She looked a lot better. In fact, she shimmered with health, as if someone had injected her with glitter.
Meanwhile, Tyson was starting to have trouble with the sheep. “Down!” he told them as they tried to climb him, looking for food. A few were sniffing in our direction. “No, sheepies. This way! Come here!”
They heeded him, but it was obvious they were hungry, and they were starting to realize Tyson didn’t have any treats for them. They wouldn’t hold out forever with so much fresh meat nearby.
“We have to go,” I said. “Our ship is. . .” TheQueen Anne’s Revengewas a very long way away. The shortest route was across the chasm, and we’d just destroyed the only bridge. The only other possibility was through the sheep.
“Tyson,” I called, “can you lead the flock as far away as possible?”
“The sheep want food.”
“I know! They want people food! Just lead them away from the path. Give us time to get to the beach. Then join us there.”
Tyson looked doubtful, but he whistled. “Come, sheepies! Um, people food this way!”
He jogged off into the meadow, the sheep in pursuit.
“Keep the Fleece around you,” I told Annabeth. “Just in case you’re not fully healed yet. Can you stand?”
She tried, but her face turned pale again. “Ohh.Notfully healed.”
Clarisse dropped next to her and felt her chest, which made Annabeth gasp.
“Ribs broken,” Clarisse said. “They’re mending, but definitely broken.”
