![]() ![]() Its white sails looked no bigger than postage stamps, its ninety oars like toothpicks. A few hundred yards offshore, the Argo II rested at anchor. If any dude asked Annabeth for a drink, Jason figured she was more likely to kick the guy in the bifurcum.īelow them, Afales Bay glittered, the water so blue it might’ve been dyed with food colouring. Her stormy grey eyes scanned the surroundings, alert for any threat. She, too, had a concealed sword, but even without a visible weapon she looked deadly. Piper didn’t look dangerous, but if the need arose she could dual-wield Celestial bronze blades or shoot her enemies in the face with ripe mangoes.Īnnabeth slung her own amphora off her shoulder. Tucked somewhere in the folds of her dress was her knife, Katoptris. Catch your breath, Jason.’įrom her waist cord hung her cornucopia – the magic horn of plenty. Piper set down her amphora, the tall ceramic wine jar in which her sword was hidden. ‘We get the information we need, and we get out.’ Knowing her hatred of spiders, Jason decided not to mention that. Her pinned-up blonde bun had come undone in the back and her hair dangled like long spider legs. She kept hunching her shoulders to keep the dress from slipping. She looked uncomfortable in her serving-maiden outfit. ‘It won’t come to that,’ Annabeth promised. ‘Worst idea ever.’ He leaned against a cedar tree and wiped his forehead. The summit was still a hundred yards above. ![]() Dating a girl whose mom was the goddess of love … well, Jason was always afraid he’d do something unromantic and Piper’s mom would frown down from Mount Olympus and change him into a feral hog. She resembled an ancient statue of her mom, Aphrodite, which Jason found a little intimidating.ĭating a beautiful girl was nerve-racking enough. Piper’s mahogany hair was pinned up in a braided spiral. Even in their white sleeveless gowns and laced sandals, they had no trouble navigating the rocky path. Piper and Annabeth were disguised as lovely Greek serving maidens. ‘You’re doing great.’Įasy for her to say. How was that possible? He’d gone from sixteen to seventy-five in a matter of seconds, but the old-man smell happened instantly, like Boom. He even had that old-man smell – mothballs and chicken soup. Bulging blue veins webbed the backs of his hands. He couldn’t see his face, thank goodness, but his fingers were gnarled and bony. As he tried to climb the hill, his lungs rattled like a box of rocks. And foes bear arms to the Doors of Death.
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