The Son of Neptune

dangerous.’

Frank didn’t understand how a lump of metal could be dangerous, but he took Hazel seriously. As they watched, the chunk of platinum sank into the ground.

He stared at Hazel. ‘How did you know?’

In the light of Percy’s sword, Hazel looked as ghostly as a Lar. ‘I’ll explain later,’ she promised.

Another explosion rocked the tunnel, and they forged ahead.

They popped out of a hole just where Hazel had predicted. In front of them, the fort’s east wall loomed. Off to their left, Frank could see the main line of the Fifth Cohort advancing in turtle formation, shields forming a shell over their heads and sides. They were trying to reach the main gates, but the defenders above pelted them with rocks and shot flaming bolts from the scorpions, blasting craters around their feet. A water cannon discharged with a jaw-rattling THRUM, and a jet of liquid carved a trench in the dirt right in front of the cohort.

Percy whistled. ‘That’s a lot of pressure, all right.’

The Third and Fourth Cohorts weren’t even advancing. They stood back and laughed, watching their ‘allies’ get beaten up. The defenders clustered on the wall above the gates, yelling insults at the tortoise formation as it staggered back and forth. War games had deteriorated into ‘beat up the Fifth’.

Frank’s vision went red with anger.

‘Let’s shake things up.’ He reached in his quiver and pulled out an arrow heavier than the rest. The iron tip was shaped like the nose cone of a rocket. An ultrathin gold rope trailed from the fletching. Shooting it accurately up the wall would take more force and skill than most archers could manage, but Frank had strong arms and good aim.

Maybe Apollo is watching, he thought hopefully.

‘What does that do?’ Percy asked. ‘Grappling hook?’

‘It’s called a hydra arrow,’ Frank said. ‘Can you knock out the water cannons?’

A defender appeared on the wall above them. ‘Hey!’ he shouted to his buddies. ‘Check it out! More victims!’

‘Percy,’ Frank said, ‘now would be good.’

More kids came across the battlements to laugh at them. A few ran to the nearest water cannon and swung the barrel towards Frank.

Percy closed his eyes. He raised his hand.

Up on the wall, somebody yelled, ‘Open wide, losers!’

KA-BOOM!

The cannon exploded in a starburst of blue, green and white. Defenders screamed as a watery shockwave flattened them against the battlements. Kids toppled over the walls but were snatched by giant eagles and carried to safety. Then the entire eastern wall shuddered as the explosion backed up through the pipelines. One after another, the water cannons on the battlements exploded. The scorpions’ fires were doused. Defenders scattered in confusion or were tossed through the air, giving the rescue eagles quite a workout. At the main gates, the Fifth Cohort forgot about their formation. Mystified, they lowered their shields and stared at the chaos.

Frank shot his arrow. It streaked upward, carrying its glittering rope. When it reached the top, the metal point fractured into a dozen lines that lashed out and wrapped round anything they could find – parts of the wall, a scorpion, a broken water cannon and a couple of defending campers, who yelped and found themselves slammed against the battlements as anchors. From the main rope, handholds extended at two-foot intervals, making a ladder.

‘Go!’ Frank said.

Percy grinned. ‘You first, Frank. This is your party.’

Frank hesitated. Then he slung his bow on his back and began to climb. He was halfway up before the defenders recovered their senses enough to sound the alarm.

Frank glanced back at Fifth Cohort’s main group. They were staring up at him, dumbfounded.

‘Well?’ Frank screamed. ‘Attack!’

Gwen was the first to unfreeze. She grinned and repeated the order. A cheer went up from the battlefield. Hannibal the elephant trumpeted with happiness, but Frank couldn’t afford to watch. He clambered to the top of the wall, where three defenders were trying to hack down his rope ladder.

One good thing about being big, clumsy and clad in metal: Frank was like a heavily armoured bowling ball. He launched himself at the defenders, and they toppled like pins. Frank got to his feet. He took command of the battlements, sweeping his pilum back and forth and knocking down defenders. Some shot arrows. Some tried to get under his guard with their swords, but Frank felt unstoppable. Then Hazel appeared next to him, swinging her big cavalry sword like she was born for battle.

Percy leaped onto the wall and raised Riptide.

‘Fun,’ he said.

Together they cleared the defenders off the walls. Below them the gates broke. Hannibal barrelled into the fort, arrows and rocks bouncing harmlessly off his Kevlar armour.

The Fifth Cohort charged in behind the elephant, and the battle went hand-to-hand.

Finally, from the edge of the Field of Mars, a battle cry went up. The Third and Fourth Cohorts ran to join the fight.

‘A little late,’ Hazel grumbled.

‘We can’t let them get the banners,’ Frank said.

‘No,’ Percy agreed. ‘Those are ours.’

No more talk was necessary. They moved like a team, as if the three of them had been working together for years. They rushed down the interior steps and into the enemy base.

XII Frank

AFTER THAT, THE BATTLE WAS MAYHEM.

Frank, Percy and Hazel waded through the enemy, ploughing down anyone who stood in their way. The First and Second Cohorts – pride of Camp Jupiter, a well-oiled, highly disciplined war machine – fell apart under the assault and the sheer novelty of being on the losing side.

Part of their problem was Percy. He fought like a demon, whirling through the defenders’ ranks in a completely unorthodox style, rolling under their feet, slashing with his sword instead of stabbing like a Roman would, whacking campers with the flat of his blade and generally causing mass panic. Octavian screamed in a shrill voice – maybe ordering the First Cohort to stand their ground, maybe trying to sing soprano – but Percy put a stop to it. He somersaulted over a line of shields and slammed the butt of his sword into Octavian’s helmet. The centurion collapsed like a sock puppet.

Frank shot arrows until his quiver was empty, using blunt-tipped missiles that wouldn’t kill but left some nasty bruises. He broke his pilum over a defender’s head, then reluctantly drew his gladius.

Meanwhile, Hazel climbed onto Hannibal’s back. She charged towards the centre of the fort, grinning down at her friends. ‘Let’s go, slowpokes!’

Gods of Olympus, she’s beautiful, Frank thought.

They ran to the centre of the base. The inner keep was virtually unguarded. Obviously the defenders never dreamed an assault would get this far. Hannibal busted down the huge doors. Inside, the First and Second Cohort standard-bearers were sitting around a table playing Mythomagic with cards and figurines. The cohort’s emblems were propped carelessly against one wall.

Hazel and Hannibal rode straight into the room, and the standard-bearers fell backwards out of their chairs. Hannibal stepped on the table, and game pieces scattered.

By the time the rest of the cohort caught up with them, Percy and Frank had disarmed the enemies, grabbed