NEVER BE THE SAME . . . percy jackson

seventy four: the mean brother.

THE NEXT MORNING — yes, Brooklyn had slept about twenty four hours without stopping, what a miracle — she woke to a different ship's horn — a blast so loud it literally threw her out of bed.

She wondered if Leo was pulling another joke. Then the horn boomed again. It sounded like it was coming from several hundred yards away — from another vessel.

She leisurely got dressed into a cute tank top and shorts, mostly because she couldn't give a damn about if she was on time or not. By the time she got up on deck, the others had already gathered — all hastily dressed except for Coach Hedge, who had pulled the night watch.

Frank's Vancouver Winter Olympics shirt was inside out. Percy wore pajama pants and a bronze breastplate, which was an interesting fashion statement. Hazel's hair was all blown to one side, as though she'd walked through a cyclone; and Leo had accidentally set himself on fire. His T-shirt was in charred tatters. His arms were smoking.

About a hundred yards to port, a massive cruise ship glided past. Tourists waved at them from fifteen or sixteen rows of balconies. Some smiled and took pictures. None of them looked surprised to see an Ancient Greek trireme. Maybe the Mist made it look like a fishing boat, or perhaps the cruisers thought the Argo II was a tourist attraction.

The cruise ship blew its horn again, and the Argo II had a shaking fit.

Coach Hedge plugged his ears. "Do they have to be so loud?"

"They're just saying hi," Frank speculated.

"WHAT?" Hedge yelled back.

The ship edged past them, heading out to sea. The tourists kept waving. If they found it strange that the Argo II was populated by half-asleep kids in armor and pajamas and a man with goat legs, they didn't let on.

"Bye!" Leo called, raising his smoking hand.

"Can I man the ballistae?" Hedge asked.

"No," Leo said through a forced smile.

Hazel rubbed her eyes and looked across the glittering green water. "Where are — oh . . . Wow."

Brooklyn followed her gaze and smiled. Without the cruise ship blocking their view, she saw a mountain jutting from the sea less than half a mile to the north. She had seen impressive cliffs before. But none were as amazing as this massive fist of blinding white rock thrust into the sky. On one side, the limestone cliffs were almost completely sheer, dropping into the sea over a thousand feet below, as near as she could figure. On the other side, the mountain sloped in tiers, covered in green forest, so that the whole thing reminded her of a colossal sphinx, worn down over the millennia, with a massive white head and chest, and a green cloak over its back.

"The Rock of Gibraltar," Annabeth said in awe. "At the tip of Spain. And over there—" She pointed south, to a more distant stretch of red and ochre hills. "That must be Africa. We're at the mouth of the Mediterranean."

Nerd, Brooklyn thought.

"What now?" Piper asked. "Do we just sail in?"

"Why not?" Leo said. "It's a big shipping channel. Boats go in and out all the time."

Not triremes full of demigods, Brooklyn rolled her eyes.

Annabeth gazed at the Rock of Gibraltar. Brooklyn recognized that brooding expression on her bestie's face. It almost always meant that she anticipated trouble.

"In the old days," Annabeth said, "they called this area the pillars of Hercules. The Rock was supposed to be one pillar. The other was one of the African mountains. Nobody is sure which one."