Rick Riordan: The Son of Neptune

Reyna gave Hazel an irritated look. ‘He is … he was my colleague.’ She waved her hand at the second empty chair. ‘The legion normally has two elected praetors. Jason Grace, son of Jupiter, was our other praetor until he disappeared last October.’

Percy tried to calculate. He hadn’t paid much attention to the calendar out in the wilderness, but Juno had mentioned that it was now June. ‘You mean he’s been gone eight months, and you haven’t replaced him?’

‘He might not be dead,’ Hazel said. ‘We haven’t given up.’

Reyna grimaced. Percy got the feeling this guy Jason might’ve been more to her than just a colleague.

‘Elections only happen in two ways,’ Reyna said. ‘Either the legion raises someone on a shield after a major success on the battlefield – and we haven’t had any major battles – or we hold a ballot on the evening of June twenty-fourth, at the Feast of Fortuna. That’s in five days.’

Percy frowned. ‘You have a feast for tuna ?’

‘ Fortuna ,’ Hazel corrected. ‘She’s the goddess of luck. Whatever happens on her feast day can affect the entire rest of the year. She can grant the camp good luck … or really bad luck.’

Reyna and Hazel both glanced at the empty display stand, as if thinking about what was missing.

A chill went down Percy’s back. ‘The Feast of Fortune … The gorgons mentioned that. So did Juno. They said the camp was going to be attacked on that day, something about a big bad goddess named Gaia, and an army, and Death being unleashed. You’re telling me that day is this week ?’

Reyna’s fingers tightened around the hilt of her dagger. ‘You will say nothing about that outside this room,’ she ordered. ‘I will not have you spreading more panic in the camp.’

‘So it’s true,’ Percy said. ‘Do you know what’s going to happen? Can we stop it?’

Percy had just met these people. He wasn’t sure he even liked Reyna. But he wanted to help. They were demigods, the same as him. They had the same enemies. Besides, Percy remembered what Juno had told him: it wasn’t just this camp at risk. His old life, the gods and the entire world might be destroyed. Whatever was coming down, it was huge.

‘We’ve talked enough for now,’ Reyna said. ‘Hazel, take him to Temple Hill. Find Octavian. On the way you can answer Percy’s questions. Tell him about the legion.’

‘Yes, Reyna.’

Percy still had so many questions that his brain felt like it would melt. But Reyna made it clear the audience was over. She sheathed her dagger. The metal dogs stood and growled, inching towards Percy.

‘Good luck with the augury, Percy Jackson,’ she said. ‘If Octavian lets you live, perhaps we can compare notes … about your past.’

ON THE WAY OUT OF CAMP, Hazel bought him an espresso drink and a cherry muffin from Bombilo the two-headed coffee merchant.

Percy inhaled the muffin. The coffee was great. Now, Percy thought, if he could just get a shower, a change of clothes and some sleep, he’d be golden. Maybe even Imperial golden.

He watched a bunch of kids in swimsuits and towels head into a building that had steam coming out of a row of chimneys. Laughter and watery sounds echoed from inside, like it was an indoor pool – Percy’s kind of place.

‘Bath house,’ Hazel said. ‘We’ll get you in there before dinner, hopefully. You haven’t lived until you’ve had a Roman bath.’

Percy sighed with anticipation.

As they approached the front gate, the barracks got bigger and nicer. Even the ghosts looked better – with fancier armour and shinier auras. Percy tried to decipher the banners and symbols hanging in front of the buildings.

‘You guys are divided into different cabins?’ he asked.

‘Sort of.’ Hazel ducked as a kid riding a giant eagle swooped overhead. ‘We have five cohorts of about forty kids each. Each cohort is divided into barracks of ten – like roommates, kind of.’

Percy had never been great at maths, but he tried to multiply. ‘You’re telling me there’s two hundred kids at camp?’

‘Roughly.’

‘And all of them are children of the gods? The gods have been busy.’

Hazel laughed. ‘Not all of them are children of major gods. There are hundreds of minor Roman gods. Plus, a lot of the campers are legacies – second or third generation. Maybe their parents were demigods. Or their grandparents.’

Percy blinked. ‘Children of demigods?’

‘Why? Does that surprise you?’

Percy wasn’t sure. The last few weeks he’d been so worried about surviving day to day. The idea of living long enough to be an adult and have kids of his own – that seemed like an impossible dream.

‘These Legos -’

‘Legacies,’ Hazel corrected.

‘They have powers like a demigod?’

‘Sometimes. Sometimes not. But they can be trained. All the best Roman generals and emperors – you know, they all claimed to be descended from gods. Most of the time, they were telling the truth. The camp augur we’re going to meet, Octavian, he’s a legacy, descendant of Apollo. He’s got the gift of prophecy, supposedly.’

‘Supposedly?’

Hazel made a sour face. ‘You’ll see.’

That didn’t make Percy feel so great, if this dude Octavian had Percy’s fate in his hands.

‘So the divisions,’ he asked, ‘the cohorts, whatever – you’re divided according to who your godly parent is?’

Hazel stared at him. ‘What a horrible idea! No, the officers decide where to assign recruits. If we were divided according to god, the cohorts would be all uneven. I’d be alone.’

Percy felt a twinge of sadness, like he’d been in that situation. ‘Why? What’s your ancestry?’

Before she could answer, someone behind them yelled, ‘Wait!’

A ghost ran towards them – an old man with a medicine-ball belly and a toga so long he kept tripping on it. He caught up to them and gasped for air, his purple aura flickering around him.

‘This is him?’ the ghost panted. ‘A new recruit for the Fifth, perhaps?’

‘Vitellius,’ Hazel said, ‘we’re sort of in a hurry.’

The ghost scowled at Percy and walked around him, inspecting him like a used car. ‘I don’t know,’ he grumbled. ‘We need only the best for the cohort. Does he have all his teeth? Can he fight? Does he clean stables?’

‘Yes, yes and no,’ Percy said. ‘Who are you?’

‘Percy, this is Vitellius.’ Hazel’s expression said: Just humour him. ‘He’s one of our Lares; takes an interest in new recruits.’

On a nearby porch, other ghosts snickered as Vitellius paced back and forth, tripping over his toga and hiking up his sword belt.

‘Yes,’ Vitellius said, ‘back in Caesar’s day – that’s Julius Caesar, mind you – the Fifth Cohort was something! Twelfth Legion Fulminata, pride of Rome! But these days? Disgraceful what we’ve come to. Look at Hazel here, using a spatha. Ridiculous weapon for a Roman legionnaire – that’s for cavalry! And you, boy – you smell like a Greek sewer. Haven’t you had a bath?’

‘I’ve been a little busy fighting gorgons,’ Percy said.

‘Vitellius,’ Hazel interrupted, ‘we’ve got to get Percy’s augury before he can join. Why don’t you check on Frank? He’s in the armoury doing inventory. You know how much he values your help.’

The ghost’s furry purple eyebrows shot up. ‘Mars Almighty! They let the probatio check the armour? We’ll be ruined!’

He stumbled off down the street, stopping every few feet to pick up his sword or rearrange his toga.

‘O-h-h-kay,’ Percy said.