Free The Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan

those, so they grew strawberries instead.
    I watched the satyr playing his pipe. His music was causing lines of bugs to leave the strawberry patch in every direction, like refugees fleeing a fire. I wondered if Grover could work that kind of magic with music. I wondered if he was still inside the farmhouse, getting chewed out by Mr. D.
    “Grover won’t get in too much trouble, will he?” I asked Chiron. “I mean . . . he was a good protector. Really.”
    Chiron sighed. He shed his tweed jacket and draped it over his horse’s back like a saddle. “Grover has big dreams, Percy. Perhaps bigger than are reasonable. To reach his goal, he must first demonstrate great courage by succeeding as a keeper, finding a new camper and bringing him safely to Half-Blood Hill.”
    “But he did that!”
    “I might agree with you,” Chiron said. “But it is not my place to judge. Dionysus and the Council of Cloven Elders must decide. I’m afraid they might not see this assignment as a success. After all, Grover lost you in New York. Then there’s the unfortunate . . . ah . . . fate of your mother. And the fact that Grover was unconscious when you dragged him over the property line. The council might question whether this shows any courage on Grover’s part.”
    I wanted to protest. None of what happened was Grover’s fault. I also felt really, really guilty. If I hadn’t given Grover the slip at the bus station, he might not have gotten in trouble.
    “He’ll get a second chance, won’t he?”
    Chiron winced. “I’m afraid that was Grover’s second chance, Percy. The council was not anxious to give him another, either, after what happened the first time, five years ago. Olympus knows, I advised him to wait longer before trying again. He’s still so small for his age. . . .”
    “How old is he?”
    “Oh, twenty-eight.”
    “What! And he’s in sixth grade?”
    “Satyrs mature half as fast as humans, Percy. Grover has been the equivalent of a middle school student for the past six years.”
    “That’s horrible.”
    “Quite,” Chiron agreed. “At any rate, Grover is a late bloomer, even by satyr standards, and not yet very accomplished at woodland magic. Alas, he was anxious to pursue his dream. Perhaps now he will find some other career. . . .”
    “That’s not fair,” I said. “What happened the first time? Was it really so bad?”
    Chiron looked away quickly. “Let’s move along, shall we?”
    But I wasn’t quite ready to let the subject drop. Something had occurred to me when Chiron talked about my mother’s fate, as if he were intentionally avoiding the word death . The beginnings of an idea—a tiny, hopeful fire—started forming in my mind.
    “Chiron,” I said. “If the gods and Olympus and all that are real . . .”
    “Yes, child?”
    “Does that mean the Underworld is real, too?”
    Chiron’s expression darkened.
    “Yes, child.” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “There is a place where spirits go after death. But for now . . . until we know more . . . I would urge you to put that out of your mind.”
    “What do you mean, ‘until we know more’?”
    “Come, Percy. Let’s see the woods.”
    As we got closer, I realized how huge the forest was. It took up at least a quarter of the valley, with trees so tall and thick, you could imagine nobody had been in there since the Native Americans.
    Chiron said, “The woods are stocked, if you care to try your luck, but go armed.”
    “Stocked with what?” I asked. “Armed with what?”
    “You’ll see. Capture the flag is Friday night. Do you have your own sword and shield?”
    “My own—?”
    “No,” Chiron said. “I don’t suppose you do. I think a size five will do. I’ll visit the armory later.”
    I wanted to ask what kind of summer camp had an armory, but there was too much else to think about, so the tour continued. We saw the archery range, the canoeing lake, the stables (which Chiron didn’t seem to like very