II
Jason
NATURALLY, the situation was worse than Jason expected.
It wouldn’t have been any fun otherwise.
Peering through the olive bushes at the top of the rise, he saw what looked like an out-of-control zombie frat party.
The ruins themselves weren’t that impressive: a few stone walls, a weed-choked central courtyard, a dead-end stairwell chiselled into the rock. Some plywood sheets covered a pit and a metal scaffold supported a cracked archway.
But superimposed over the ruins was another layer of reality – a spectral mirage of the palace as it must have appeared in its heyday. Whitewashed stucco walls lined with balconies rose three storeys high. Columned porticoes faced the central atrium, which had a huge fountain and bronze braziers. At a dozen banquet tables, ghouls laughed and ate and pushed one another around.
Jason had expected about a hundred spirits, but twice that many were milling about, chasing spectral serving girls, smashing plates and cups, and basically making a nuisance of themselves.
Most looked like Lares from Camp Jupiter – transparent purple wraiths in tunics and sandals. A few revellers had decayed bodies with grey flesh, matted clumps of hair and nasty wounds. Others seemed to be regular living mortals – some in togas, some in modern business suits or army fatigues. Jason even spotted one guy in a purple Camp Jupiter T-shirt and Roman legionnaire armour.
In the centre of the atrium, a grey-skinned ghoul in a tattered Greek tunic paraded through the crowd, holding a marble bust over his head like a sports trophy. The other ghosts cheered and slapped him on the back. As the ghoul got closer, Jason noticed that he had an arrow in his throat, the feathered shaft sprouting from his Adam’s apple. Even more disturbing: the bust he was holding … was that Zeus?
It was hard to be sure. Most Greek god statues looked similar. But the bearded, glowering face reminded Jason very much of the giant Hippie Zeus in Cabin One at Camp Half-Blood.
‘Our next offering!’ the ghoul shouted, his voice buzzing from the arrow in his throat. ‘Let us feed the Earth Mother!’
The partiers yelled and pounded their cups. The ghoul made his way to the central fountain. The crowd parted, and Jason realized the fountain wasn’t filled with water. From the three-foot-tall pedestal, a geyser of sand spewed upward, arcing into an umbrella-shaped curtain of white particles before spilling into the circular basin.
The ghoul heaved the marble bust into the fountain. As soon as Zeus’s head passed through the shower of sand, the marble disintegrated like it was going through a wood chipper. The sand glittered gold, the colour of ichor – godly blood. Then the entire mountain rumbled with a muffled BOOM, as if belching after a meal.
The dead partygoers roared with approval.
‘Any more statues?’ the ghoul shouted to the crowd. ‘No? Then I guess we’ll have to wait for some real gods to sacrifice!’
His comrades laughed and applauded as the ghoul plopped himself down at the nearest feast table.
Jason clenched his walking stick. ‘That guy just disintegrated my dad. Who does he think he is?’
‘I’m guessing that’s Antinous,’ said Annabeth, ‘one of the suitors’ leaders. If I remember right, it was Odysseus who shot him through the neck with that arrow.’
Piper winced. ‘You’d think that would keep a guy down. What about all the others? Why are there so many?’
‘I don’t know,’ Annabeth said. ‘Newer recruits for Gaia, I guess. Some must’ve come back to life before we closed the Doors of Death. Some are just spirits.’
‘Some are ghouls,’ Jason said. ‘The ones with the gaping wounds and the grey skin, like Antinous … I’ve fought their kind before.’
Piper tugged at her blue harpy feather. ‘Can they be killed?’
Jason remembered a quest he’d taken for Camp Jupiter years ago in San Bernardino. ‘Not easily. They’re strong and fast and intelligent. Also, they eat human flesh.’
‘Fantastic,’ Annabeth muttered. ‘I don’t see any option except to stick to the plan. Split up, infiltrate, find out why they’re here. If things go bad –’
‘We use the backup plan,’ Piper said.
Jason hated the backup plan.
Before they left the ship, Leo had given each of them an emergency flare the size of a birthday candle. Supposedly, if they tossed one in the air, it would shoot upward in a streak of white phosphorus, alerting the Argo II that the team was in trouble. At that point, Jason and the girls would have a few seconds to take cover before the ship’s catapults fired on their position, engulfing the palace in Greek fire and bursts of Celestial bronze shrapnel.
Not the safest plan, but at least Jason had the satisfaction of knowing that he could call an air strike on this noisy mob of dead guys if the situation got dicey. Of course, that was assuming he and his friends could get away. And assuming Leo’s doomsday candles didn’t go off by accident – Leo’s inventions sometimes did that – in which case the weather would get much hotter, with a ninety percent chance of fiery apocalypse.
‘Be careful down there,’ he told Piper and Annabeth.
Piper crept around the left side of the ridge. Annabeth went right. Jason pulled himself up with his walking stick and hobbled towards the ruins.
He flashed back to the last time he’d plunged into a mob of evil spirits, in the House of Hades. If it hadn’t been for Frank Zhang and Nico di Angelo …
Gods … Nico.
Over the past few days, every time Jason sacrificed a portion of a meal to Jupiter, he prayed to his dad to help Nico. That kid had gone through so much, and yet he had volunteered for the most difficult job: transporting the Athena Parthenos statue to Camp Half-Blood. If he didn’t succeed, the Roman and Greek demigods would slaughter each other. Then, no matter what happened in Greece, the Argo II would have no home to return to.
Jason passed through the palace’s ghostly gateway. He realized just in time that a section of mosaic floor in front of him was an illusion covering a ten-foot-deep excavation pit. He sidestepped it and continued into the courtyard.
The two levels of reality reminded him of the Titan stronghold on Mount Othrys – a disorienting maze of black marble walls that randomly melted into shadow and solidified again. At least during that fight Jason had had a hundred legionnaires at his side. Now all he had was an old man’s body, a stick and two friends in slinky dresses.
Forty feet ahead of him, Piper moved through the crowd, smiling and filling wineglasses for the ghostly revellers. If she was afraid, she didn’t show it. So far the ghosts weren’t paying her any special attention. Hazel’s magic must have been working.
Over on the right, Annabeth collected empty plates and goblets. She wasn’t smiling.
Jason remembered the talk he’d had with Percy before leaving the ship.
Percy had stayed aboard to watch for threats from the sea, but he hadn’t liked the idea of Annabeth going on this expedition without him – especially since it would be the first time they were apart since returning from Tartarus.
He’d pulled Jason aside. ‘Hey, man … Annabeth would kill me if I suggested she needed anybody to protect her.’
Jason laughed. ‘Yeah, she would.’
‘But look out for her, okay?’
Jason squeezed his friend’s shoulder. ‘I’ll make sure she gets back to you safely.’
Now Jason wondered if he could keep that promise.
He reached the edge of the crowd.
A raspy voice cried, ‘IROS!’
Antinous, the ghoul with the arrow in his throat, was staring right at him. ‘Is that you, you old beggar?’
Hazel’s magic did its work. Cold air rippled across Jason’s face as the Mist subtly altered his appearance, showing the suitors what they expected to see.
‘That’s me!’ Jason said. ‘Iros!’
A dozen more ghosts turned towards him. Some scowled and gripped the hilts of their glowing purple swords. Too late, Jason wondered if Iros was an enemy of theirs, but he’d already committed to the part.
He hobbled forward, putting on his best cranky old man expression. ‘Guess I’m late to the party. I hope you saved me some food?’
One of the ghosts sneered in disgust. ‘Ungrateful old panhandler. Should I kill him, Antinous?’
Jason’s neck muscles tightened.
Antinous regarded him for three counts, then chuckled. ‘I’m in a good mood today. Come, Iros, join me at my table.’
Jason didn’t have much choice. He sat across from Antinous while more ghosts crowded around, leering as if they expected to see a particularly vicious arm-wrestling contest.
Up close, Antinous’s eyes were solid yellow. His lips stretched paper-thin over wolfish teeth. At first, Jason thought the ghoul’s curly dark hair was disintegrating. Then he realized a steady stream of dirt was trickling from Antinous’s scalp, spilling over his shoulders. Clods of mud filled the old sword gashes in the ghoul’s grey skin. More dirt spilled from the base of the arrow wound in his throat.
The power of Gaia, Jason thought. The earth is holding this guy together.
Antinous slid a golden goblet and a platter of food across the table. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here, Iros. But I suppose even a beggar can sue for retribution. Drink. Eat.’
Thick red liquid sloshed in the goblet. On the plate sat a steaming brown lump of mystery meat.
Jason’s stomach rebelled. Even if ghoul food didn’t kill him, his vegetarian girlfriend probably wouldn’t kiss him for a month.
He recalled what Notus the South Wind had told him: A wind that blows aimlessly is no good to anyone.
Jason’s entire career at Camp Jupiter had been built on careful choices. He mediated between demigods, listened to all sides of an argument, found compromises. Even when he chafed against Roman traditions, he thought before he acted. He wasn’t impulsive.
Notus had warned him that such hesitation would kill him. Jason had to stop deliberating and take what he wanted.
If he was an ungrateful beggar, he had to act like one.
He ripped off a chunk of meat with his fingers and stuffed it in his mouth. He guzzled some red liquid, which thankfully tasted like watered-down wine, not blood or poison. Jason fought the urge to gag, but he didn’t keel over or explode.
‘Yum!’ He wiped his mouth. ‘Now tell me about this … what did you call it? Retribution? Where do I sign up?’
The ghosts laughed. One pushed his shoulder and Jason was alarmed that he could actually feel it.
At Camp Jupiter, Lares had no physical substance. Apparently these spirits did – which meant more enemies who could beat, stab or decapitate him.
Antinous leaned forward. ‘Tell me, Iros, what do you have to offer? We don’t need you to run messages for us like in the old days. Certainly you aren’t a fighter. As I recall, Odysseus crushed your jaw and tossed you into the pigsty.’
Jason’s neurons fired. Iros … the old man who’d run messages for the suitors in exchange for scraps of food. Iros had been sort of like their pet homeless person. When Odysseus came home, disguised as a beggar, Iros thought the new guy was moving in on his territory. The two had started arguing …
‘You made Iros –’ Jason hesitated. ‘You made me fight Odysseus. You bet money on it. Even when Odysseus took off his shirt and you saw how muscular he was … you still made me fight him. You didn’t care if I lived or died!’