Free The Sea of Monsters by Rick Riordan Page A

chariot, Percy.”
    “I’m not making this up. He’s in trouble, Annabeth.”
    She hesitated. I could tell she was trying to decide whether or not to trust me. Despite our occasional fights, we’d been through a lot together. And I knew she would never want anything bad to happen to Grover.
    “Percy, an empathy link is so hard to do. I mean, it’s more likely you really were dreaming.”
    “The Oracle,” I said. “We could consult the Oracle.”
    Annabeth frowned.
    Last summer, before my quest, I’d visited the strange spirit that lived in the Big House attic and it had given me a prophecy that came true in ways I’d never expected. The experience had freaked me out for months. Annabeth knew I’d never suggest going back there if I wasn’t completely serious.
    Before she could answer, the conch horn sounded.
    “Charioteers!” Tantalus called. “To your mark!”
    “We’ll talk later,” Annabeth told me, “ after I win.”
    As I was walking back to my own chariot, I noticed how many more pigeons were in the trees now—screeching like crazy, making the whole forest rustle. Nobody else seemed to be paying them much attention, but they made me nervous. Their beaks glinted strangely. Their eyes seemed shinier than regular birds.
    Tyson was having trouble getting our horses under control. I had to talk to them a long time before they would settle down.
    He’s a monster, lord! they complained to me.
    He’s a son of Poseidon , I told them. Just like . . . well, just like me.
    No! they insisted. Monster! Horse-eater! Not trusted!
    I’ll give you sugar cubes at the end of the race, I said.
    Sugar cubes?
    Very big sugar cubes. And apples. Did I mention the apples?
    Finally they agreed to let me harness them.
    Now, if you’ve never seen a Greek chariot, it’s built for speed, not safety or comfort. It’s basically a wooden basket, open at the back, mounted on an axle between two wheels. The driver stands up the whole time, and you can feel every bump in the road. The carriage is made of such light wood that if you wipe out making the hairpin turns at either end of the track, you’ll probably tip over and crush both the chariot and yourself. It’s an even better rush than skateboarding.
    I took the reins and maneuvered the chariot to the starting line. I gave Tyson a ten-foot pole and told him that his job was to push the other chariots away if they got too close, and to deflect anything they might try to throw at us.
    “No hitting ponies with the stick,” he insisted.
    “No,” I agreed. “Or people, either, if you can help it. We’re going to run a clean race. Just keep the distractions away and let me concentrate on driving.”
    “We will win!” He beamed.
    We are so going to lose, I thought to myself, but I had to try. I wanted to show the others . . . well, I wasn’t sure what, exactly. That Tyson wasn’t such a bad guy? That I wasn’t ashamed of being seen with him in public? Maybe that they hadn’t hurt me with all their jokes and name-calling?
    As the chariots lined up, more shiny-eyed pigeons gathered in the woods. They were screeching so loudly the campers in the stands were starting to take notice, glancing nervously at the trees, which shivered under the weight of the birds. Tantalus didn’t look concerned, but he did have to speak up to be heard over the noise.
    “Charioteers!” he shouted. “Attend your mark!”
    He waved his hand and the starting signal dropped. The chariots roared to life. Hooves thundered against the dirt. The crowd cheered.
    Almost immediately there was a loud nasty crack! I looked back in time to see the Apollo chariot flip over. The Hermes chariot had rammed into it—maybe by mistake, maybe not. The riders were thrown free, but their panicked horses dragged the golden chariot diagonally across the track. The Hermes team, Travis and Connor Stoll, were laughing at their good luck, but not for long. The Apollo horses crashed into theirs, and the Hermes chariot