The Last Olympian (Percy Jackson and the Olympians #5)(46)

"Don't you think we know that?" East asked. "I can feel his boats right now. They're almost across."

"Yep," Hudson agreed. "I got some filthy monsters crossing my waters too."

"So stop them," I said. "Drown them. Sink their boats."

"Why should we?" Hudson grumbled. "So they invade Olympus. What do we care?"

"Because I can pay you." I took out the sand dollar my father had given me for my birthday.

The river gods' eyes widened.

"It's mine!" East said. "Give it here, kid, and I promise none of Kronos's scum are getting across the East River."

"Forget that," Hudson said. "That sand dollar's mine, unless you want me to let all those ships cross the Hudson."

"We'll compromise." I broke the sand dollar in half. A ripple of clean fresh water spread out from the break, as if all the pollution in the bay were being dissolved.

"You each get half," I said. "In exchange, you keep all of Kronos's forces away from Manhattan."

"Oh, man," Hudson whimpered, reaching out for the sand dollar. "It's been so long since I was clean."

"The power of Poseidon," East River murmured. "He's a jerk, but he sure knows how to sweep pollution away."

They looked at each other, then spoke as one: "It's a deal."

I gave them each a sand-dollar half, which they held reverently.

"Um, the invaders?" I prompted.

East flicked his hand. "They just got sunk."

Hudson snapped his fingers. "Bunch of hellhounds just took a dive."

"Thank you," I said. "Stay clean."

As I rose toward the surface, East called out, "Hey, kid, any time you got a sand dollar to spend, come on back. Assuming you live."

"Curse of Achilles," Hudson snorted. "They always think that'll save them, don't they?"

"If only he knew," East agreed. They both laughed, dissolving into the water.

Back on the shore, Annabeth was talking on her cell phone, but she hung up as soon as she saw me. She looked pretty shaken.

"It worked," I told her. "The rivers are safe."

"Good," she said. "Because we've got other problems. Michael Yew just called. Another army is marching over the Williamsburg Bridge. The Apollo cabin needs help. And Percy, the monster leading the enemy . . . it's the Minotaur."

ELEVEN

WE BREAK A BRIDGE

Fortunately, Blackjack was on duty.

I did my best taxicab whistle, and within a few minutes two dark shapes circled out of the sky. They looked like hawks at first, but as they descended I could make out the long galloping legs of pegasi.

Yo, boss. Blackjack landed at a trot, his friend Porkpie right behind him. Man, I thought those wind gods were gonna knock us to Pennsylvania until we said we were with you!

"Thanks for coming," I told him. "Hey, why do pegasi gallop as they fly, anyway?"

Blackjack whinnied. Why do humans swing their arms as they walk? I dunno, boss. It just feels right. Where to?

"We need to get to the Williamsburg Bridge," I said.

Blackjack lowered his neck. You're darn right, boss. We flew over it on the way here, and it don't look good. Hop on!

On the way to the bridge, a knot formed in the pit of my stomach. The Minotaur was one of the first monsters I'd ever defeated. Four years ago he'd nearly killed my mother on Half-Blood Hill. I still had nightmares about that.

I'd been hoping he would stay dead for a few centuries, but I should've known my luck wouldn't hold.

We saw the battle before we were close enough to make out individual fighters. It was well after midnight now, but the bridge blazed with light. Cars were burning. Arcs of fire streamed in both directions as flaming arrows and spears sailed through the air.

We came in for a low pass, and I saw the Apollo campers retreating. They would hide behind cars and snipe at the approaching army, setting off explosive arrows and dropping caltrops in the road, building fiery barricades wherever they could, dragging sleeping drivers out of their cars to get them out of harm's way. But the enemy kept advancing. An entire phalanx of dracaenae marched in the lead, their shields locked together, spear tips bristling over the top. An occasional arrow would connect with their snaky trunks, or a neck, or a chink in their armor, and the unlucky snake woman would disintegrate, but most of the Apollo arrows glanced harmlessly off their shield wall. About a hundred more monsters marched behind them.

Hellhounds leaped ahead of the line from time to time. Most were destroyed with arrows, but one got hold of an Apollo camper and dragged him away. I didn't see what happened to him next. I didn't want to know.

"There!" Annabeth called from the back of her pegasus.

Sure enough, in the middle of the invading legion was Old Beefhead himself.

The last time I'd seen the Minotaur, he'd been wearing nothing but his tighty whities. I don't know why. Maybe he'd been shaken out of bed to chase me. This time, he was prepared for battle.

From the waist down, he wore standard Greek battle gear—a kiltlike apron of leather and metal flaps, bronze greaves covering his legs, and tightly wrapped leather sandals. His top was all bull—hair and hide and muscle leading to a head so large he should've toppled over just from the weight of his horns. He seemed larger than the last time I'd seen him—ten feet tall at least. A double-bladed axe was strapped to his back, but he was too impatient to use it. As soon as he saw me circling overhead (or sniffed me, more likely, since his eyesight was bad), he bellowed and picked up a white limousine.