No one dared answer. The firelight glowed dark blue, reflecting evilly on Tantalus's crooked face.

"Oh, the gods punished him in the afterlife," Tantalus croaked. "They did indeed. But he'd had his moment of satisfaction, hadn't he? His children never again spoke back to him or questioned his authority. And do you know what? Rumor has it that the king's spirit now dwells at this very camp, waiting for a chance to take revenge on ungrateful, rebellious children. And so… are there any more complaints, before we send Clarisse off on her quest?"

Silence.

Tantalus nodded at Clarisse. "The Oracle, my dear. Go on."

She shifted uncomfortably, like even she didn't want glory at the price of being Tantalus's pet. "Sir—"

"Go!" he snarled.

She bowed awkwardly and hurried off toward the Big House.

"What about you, Percy Jackson?" Tantalus asked. "No comments from our dishwasher?"

I didn't say anything. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of punishing me again.

"Good," Tantalus said. "And let me remind everyone— no one leaves this camp without my permission. Anyone who tries… well, if they survive the attempt, they will be expelled forever, but it won't come to that. The harpies will be enforcing curfew from now on, and they are always hungry! Good night, my dear campers. Sleep well."

With a wave of Tantalus's hand, the fire was extinguished, and the campers trailed off toward their cabins in the dark.

I couldn't explain things to Tyson. He knew I was sad. He knew I wanted to go on a trip and Tantalus wouldn't let me.

"You will go anyway?" he asked.

"I don't know," I admitted. "It would be hard. Very hard."

"I will help."

"No. I—uh, I couldn't ask you to do that, big guy. Too dangerous."

Tyson looked down at the pieces of metal he was assembling in his lap—springs and gears and tiny wires. Beckendorf had given him some tools and spare parts, and now Tyson spent every night tinkering, though I wasn't sure how his huge hands could handle such delicate little pieces.

"What are you building?" I asked.

Tyson didn't answer. Instead he made a whimpering sound in the back of his throat. "Annabeth doesn't like Cyclopes. You… don't want me along?"

"Oh, that's not it," I said halfheartedly. "Annabeth likes you. Really."

He had tears in the corners of his eye.

I remembered that Grover, like all satyrs, could read human emotions. I wondered if Cyclopes had the same ability.

Tyson folded up his tinkering project in an oilcloth. He lay down on his bunk bed and hugged his bundle like a teddy bear. When he turned toward the wall, I could see the weird scars on his back, like somebody had plowed over him with a tractor. I wondered for the millionth time how he'd gotten hurt.

"Daddy always cared for m-me," he sniffled. "Now… I think he was mean to have a Cyclops boy. I should not have been born."

"Don't talk that way! Poseidon claimed you, didn't he? So… he must care about you… a lot…."

My voice trailed off as I thought about all those years Tyson had lived on the streets of New York in a cardboard refrigerator box. How could Tyson think that Poseidon had cared for him? What kind of dad let that happen to his kid, even if his kid was a monster?

"Tyson… camp will be a good home for you. The others will get used to you. I promise."

Tyson sighed. I waited for him to say something. Then I realized he was already asleep.

I lay back on my bed and tried to close my eyes, but I just couldn't. I was afraid I might have another dream about Grover. If the empathy link was real… if something happened to Grover… would I ever wake up?

The full moon shone through my window. The sound of the surf rumbled in the distance. I could smell the warm scent of the strawberry fields, and hear the laughter of the dryads as they chased owls through the forest. But something felt wrong about the night—the sickness of Thalia's tree, spreading across the valley.

Could Clarisse save Half-Blood Hill? I thought the odds were better of me getting a "Best Camper" award from Tantalus.

I got out of bed and pulled on some clothes. I grabbed a beach blanket and a six-pack of Coke from under my bunk. The Cokes were against the rules. No outside snacks or drinks were allowed, but if you talked to the right guy in Hermes's cabin and paid him a few golden drachma, he could smuggle in almost anything from the nearest convenience store.

Sneaking out after curfew was against the rules, too. If I got caught I'd either get in big trouble or be eaten by the harpies. But I wanted to see the ocean. I always felt better there. My thoughts were clearer. I left the cabin and headed for the beach.

I spread my blanket near the surf and popped open a Coke. For some reason sugar and caffeine always calmed down my hyperactive brain. I tried to decide what to do to save the camp, but nothing came to me. I wished Poseidon would talk to me, give me some advice or something.

The sky was clear and starry. I was checking out the constellations Annabeth had taught me—Sagittarius, Hercules, Corona Borealis—when somebody said, "Beautiful, aren't they?"

I almost spewed soda.

Standing right next to me was a guy in nylon running shorts and a New York City Marathon T-shirt. He was slim and fit, with salt-and-pepper hair and a sly smile. He looked kind of familiar, but I couldn't figure out why.

My first thought was that he must've been taking a midnight jog down the beach and strayed inside the camp borders. That wasn't supposed to happen. Regular mortals couldn't enter the valley. But maybe with the tree's magic weakening he'd managed to slip in. But in the middle of the night? And there was nothing around except farmland and state preserves. Where would this guy have jogged from?

"May I join you?" he asked. "I haven't sat down in ages."

Now, I know—a strange guy in the middle of the night. Common sense: I was supposed to run away, yell for help, etc. But the guy acted so calm about the whole thing that I found it hard to be afraid.

I said, "Uh, sure."

He smiled. "Your hospitality does you credit. Oh, and Coca-Cola! May I?"

He sat at the other end of the blanket, popped a soda and took a drink. "Ah… that hits the spot. Peace and quiet at—"

A cell phone went off in his pocket.

The jogger sighed. He pulled out his phone and my eyes got big, because it glowed with a bluish light. When he extended the antenna, two creatures began writhing around it—green snakes, no bigger than earthworms.

The jogger didn't seem to notice. He checked his LCD display and cursed. "I've got to take this. Just a sec…" Then into the phone: "Hello?"

He listened. The mini-snakes writhed up and down the antenna right next to his ear.

"Yeah," the jogger said. "Listen—I know, but… I don't care if he is chained to a rock with vultures pecking at his liver, if he doesn't have a tracking number, we can't locate his package…. A gift to humankind, great… You know how many of those we deliver—Oh, never mind. Listen, just refer him to Eris in customer service. I gotta go."

He hung up. "Sorry. The overnight express business is just booming. Now, as I was saying—"

"You have snakes on your phone."

"What? Oh, they don't bite. Say hello, George and Martha."

Hello, George and Martha, a raspy male voice said inside my head.

Don't be sarcastic, said a female voice.

Why not? George demanded. I do all the real work.

"Oh, let's not go into that again!" The jogger slipped his phone back into his pocket. "Now, where were we… Ah, yes. Peace and quiet."

He crossed his ankles and stared up at the stars. "Been a long time since I've gotten to relax. Ever since the telegraph—rush, rush, rush. Do you have a favorite constellation, Percy?"