The Sea of Monsters(57)

I have to admit, Clarisse was brave. She charged the Cyclops again and again. He pounded the ground, stomped at her, grabbed at her, but she was too quick. And as soon as she made an attack, I followed up by stabbing the monster in the toe or the ankle or the hand.

But we couldn’t keep this up forever. Eventually we would tire or the monster would get in a lucky shot. It would only take one hit to kill us.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Grover carrying Annabeth across the rope bridge. It wouldn’t have been my first choice, given the man-eating sheep on the other side, but at the moment that looked better than this side of the chasm, and it gave me an idea.

“Fall back!” I told Clarisse.

She rolled away as the Cyclops’s fist smashed the olive tree beside her.

We ran for the bridge, Polyphemus right behind us. He was cut up and hobbling from so many wounds, but all we’d done was slow him down and make him mad.

“Grind you into sheep chow!” he promised. “A thousand curses on Nobody!”

“Faster!” I told Clarisse.

We tore down the hill. The bridge was our only chance. Grover had just made it to the other side and was setting Annabeth down. We had to make it across, too, before the giant caught us.

“Grover!” I yelled. “Get Annabeth’s knife!”

His eyes widened when he saw the Cyclops behind us, but he nodded like he understood.

As Clarisse and I scrambled across the bridge, Grover began sawing at the ropes.

The first strand went snap!

Polyphemus bounded after us, making the bridge sway wildly.

The ropes were now half cut. Clarisse and I dove for solid ground, landing beside Grover. I made a wild slash with my sword and cut the remaining ropes.

The bridge fell away into the chasm, and the Cyclops howled … with delight, because he was standing right next to us.

“Failed!” he yelled gleefully. “Nobody failed!”

Clarisse and Grover tried to charge him, but the monster swatted them aside like flies.

My anger swelled. I couldn’t believe I’d come this far, lost Tyson, suffered through so much, only to fail—stopped by a big stupid monster in a baby-blue tuxedo kilt. Nobody was going to swat down my friends like that! I mean … nobody, not Nobody. Ah, you know what I mean.

Strength coursed through my body. I raised my sword and attacked, forgetting that I was hopelessly outmatched. I jabbed the Cyclops in the belly. When he doubled over I smacked him in the nose with the hilt of my sword. I slashed and kicked and bashed until the next thing I knew, Polyphemus was sprawled on his back, dazed and groaning, and I was standing above him, the tip of my sword hovering over his eye.

“Uhhhhhhhh,” Polyphemus moaned.

“Percy!” Grover gasped. “How did you—”

“Please, noooo!” the Cyclops moaned, pitifully staring up at me. His nose was bleeding. A tear welled in the corner of his half-blind eye. “M-m-my sheepies need me. Only trying to protect my sheep!”

He began to sob.

I had won. All I had to do was stab—one quick strike.

“Kill him!” Clarisse yelled. “What are you waiting for?”

The Cyclops sounded so heartbroken, just like … like Tyson.

“He’s a Cyclops!” Grover warned. “Don’t trust him!”

I knew he was right. I knew Annabeth would’ve said the same thing.

But Polyphemus sobbed … and for the first time it sank in that he was a son of Poseidon, too. Like Tyson. Like me. How could I just kill him in cold blood?

“We only want the Fleece,” I told the monster. “Will you agree to let us take it?”

“No!” Clarisse shouted. “Kill him!”

The monster sniffed. “My beautiful Fleece. Prize of my collection. Take it, cruel human. Take it and go in peace.”

“I’m going to step back slowly,” I told the monster. “One false move …”

Polyphemus nodded like he understood.

I stepped back … and as fast as a cobra, Polyphemus smacked me to the edge of the cliff.

“Foolish mortal!” he bellowed, rising to his feet. “Take my Fleece? Ha! I eat you first.”

He opened his enormous mouth, and I knew that his rotten molars were the last things I would ever see.

Then something went whoosh over my head and thump!

A rock the size of a basketball sailed into Polyphemus’s throat—a beautiful three-pointer, nothing but net. The Cyclops choked, trying to swallow the unexpected pill. He staggered backward, but there was no place to stagger. His heel slipped, the edge of the cliff crumbled, and the great Polyphemus made chicken wing motions that did nothing to help him fly as he tumbled into the chasm.

I turned.

Halfway down the path to the beach, standing completely unharmed in the midst of a flock of killer sheep, was an old friend.

“Bad Polyphemus,” Tyson said. “Not all Cyclopes as nice as we look.”

Tyson gave us the short version: Rainbow the hippocampus—who’d apparently been following us ever since the Long Island Sound, waiting for Tyson to play with him—had found Tyson sinking beneath the wreckage of the CSS Birmingham and pulled him to safety. He and Tyson had been searching the Sea of Monsters ever since, trying to find us, until Tyson caught the scent of sheep and found this island.