The Mark of Athena

gag. Then she fainted against the nearest guard, knocking him over. Hazel got the idea and crumpled to the deck, kicking her legs and thrashing like she was having a fit.

Percy drew Riptide and lashed out. The blade should have gone straight through Chrysaor’s neck, but the golden warrior was unbelievably fast. He dodged and parried as the dolphin warriors backed up, guarding the other captives while giving their captain room to battle. They chattered and squeaked, egging him on, and Percy got the sinking suspicion the crew was used to this sort of entertainment. They didn’t feel their leader was in any sort of danger.

Percy hadn’t crossed swords with an opponent like this since…well, since he’d battled the war god Ares. Chrysaor was that good. Many of Percy’s powers had gotten stronger over the years, but now, too late, Percy realized that swordplay wasn’t one of them.

He was rusty—at least against an adversary like Chrysaor.

They battled back and forth, thrusting and parrying. Without meaning to, Percy heard the voice of Luke Castellan, his first sword-fighting mentor at Camp Half-Blood, throwing out suggestions. But it didn’t help.

The golden gorgon mask was too unnerving. The warm fog, the slick deck boards, the chattering of the warriors—none of it helped. And in the corner of his eye, Percy could see one of the dolphin-men holding a knife at Annabeth’s throat in case she tried anything tricky.

He feinted and thrust at Chrysaor’s gut, but Chrysaor anticipated the move. He knocked Percy’s sword out of his hand again, and once more Riptide flew into the sea.

Chrysaor laughed easily. He wasn’t even winded. He pressed the tip of his golden sword against Percy’s sternum.

“A good try,” said the pirate. “But now you’ll be chained and transported to Gaea’s minions. They are quite eager to spill your blood and wake the goddess.”

NOTHING LIKE TOTAL FAILURE to generate great ideas.

As Percy stood there, disarmed and outmatched, the plan formed in his head. He was so used to Annabeth providing Greek legend information that he was kind of stunned to actually remember something useful, but he had to act fast. He couldn’t let anything happen to his friends. He wasn’t going to lose Annabeth—not again.

Chrysaor couldn’t be beat. At least not in single combat. But without his crew…maybe then he could be overwhelmed if enough demigods attacked him at once.

How to deal with Chrysaor’s crew? Percy put the pieces together: the pirates had been turned into dolphin-men millennia ago when they had kidnapped the wrong person. Percy knew that story. Heck, the wrong person in question had threatened to turn him into a dolphin. And when Chrysaor said the crew wasn’t afraid of anything, one of the dolphins had nervously corrected him. Yes, Chrysaor said. But he’s not here.

Percy glanced toward the stern and spotted Frank, in human form, peeking out from behind a ballista, waiting. Percy resisted the urge to smile. The big guy claimed to be clumsy and useless, but he always seemed to be in exactly the right place when Percy needed him.

The girls…Frank…the ice chest.

It was a crazy idea. But, as usual, that’s all Percy had.

“Fine!” Percy shouted, so loudly that he got everyone’s attention. “Take us away, if our captain will let you.”

Chrysaor turned his golden mask. “What captain? My men searched the ship. There is no one else.”

Percy raised his hands dramatically. “The god appears only when he wishes. But he is our leader. He runs our camp for demigods. Doesn’t he, Annabeth?”

Annabeth was quick. “Yes!” She nodded enthusiastically. “Mr. D! The great Dionysus!”

A ripple of uneasiness passed through the dolphin-men. One dropped his sword.

“Stand fast!” Chrysaor bellowed. “There is no god on this ship. They are trying to scare you.”

“You should be scared!” Percy looked at the pirate crew with sympathy. “Dionysus will be severely cranky with you for having delayed our voyage. He will punish all of us. Didn’t you notice the girls falling into the wine god’s madness?”

Hazel and Piper had stopped the shaking fits. They were sitting on the deck, staring at Percy, but when he glared at them pointedly, they started hamming it up again, trembling and flopping around like fish. The dolphin- men fell over themselves trying to get away from their captives.

“Fakes!” Chrysaor roared. “Shut up, Percy Jackson. Your camp director is not here. He was recalled to Olympus. This is common knowledge.”

“So you admit Dionysus is our director!” Percy said.

“He was,” Chrysaor corrected. “Everyone knows that.”

Percy gestured at the golden warrior like he’d just betrayed himself. “You see? We are doomed. If you don’t believe me, let’s check the ice chest!”

Percy stormed over to the magical cooler. No one tried to stop him. He knocked open the lid and rummaged through the ice. There had to be one. Please. He was rewarded with a silver-and-red can of soda. He brandished it at the dolphin warriors as if spraying them with bug repellent.

“Behold!” Percy shouted. “The god’s chosen beverage. Tremble before the horror of Diet Coke!”

The dolphin-men began to panic. They were on the edge of retreat. Percy could feel it.

“The god will take your ship,” Percy warned. “He will finish your transformation into dolphins, or make you insane, or transform you into insane dolphins! Your only hope is to swim away now, quickly!”

“Ridiculous!” Chrysaor’s voice turned shrill. He didn’t seem sure where to level his sword—at Percy or his own