“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?”
“Iamthe 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.
Ouch, said George.
Really, Percy, Martha scolded.Wouldyouwant 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.Hedoeshave 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
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 chariot 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.
