Snow White- Percy Jackson¹

Chapter Twelve

Polyphemus Island

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“Stop!” Grover pleaded. “I–I have a good recipe!” 

Percy was about to reach for his sword, but Annabeth quickly stopped him. 

Polyphemus was hesitating, a boulder in his hand, ready to smash his would-be bride. 

“Recipe?” he asked Grover 

“Oh y–yes! You don’t want to eat me raw. You’ll get E coli and botulism and all sorts of horrible things. I’ll taste much better grilled over a slow fire. With mango chutney! You could go get some mangos right now, down there in the woods. I’ll just wait here.” 

The monster pondered this. Snow waited with held breaths, afraid the monster would hear her breathing. 

“Grilled satyr with mango chutney,” Polyphemus mused. He looked back at Clarisse, still hanging over a pot of boiling water. “You a satyr, too?”

“No, you overgrown pile of dung!” she yelled. “I’m a girl! The daughter of Ares! Now untie me so I can rip your arms off!” 

“Rip my arms off,” Polyphemus repeated. 

“And stuff them down your throat!” 

“You got spunk.” 

“Let me down!” 

Polyphemus snatched up Grover as if he were a wayward puppy. “Have to graze sheep now. Wedding postponed until tonight. Then we’ll eat satyr for the main course!” 

“But ... you’re still getting married?” Grover sounded hurt. “Who’s the bride?” 

Polyphemus looked toward the boiling pot.

Clarisse made a strangled sound. “Oh no! You can’t be serious! I’m not–” 

Snow thought that if any of her siblings were here, they would be struggling immensely to not burst out laughing. They would never let Clarisse live this moment down. Good thing she was stuck with her. The goody-two-shoes wimp. 

Before any of them could do anything, Polyphemus plucked her off the rope like she was a ripe apple, and tossed her and Grover deep into the cave. “Make yourself comfortable! I come back at sundown for big event!” 

Then the Cyclops whistled, and a mixed flock of goats and sheep—smaller than the man-eaters—flooded out of the cave and past their master. As they went to pasture, Polyphemus patted some on the back and called them by name—Beltbuster, Tammany, Lockhart, etc. 

When the last sheep had waddled out, Polyphemus rolled a boulder in front of the doorway as easily as I would close a refrigerator door, shutting off the sound of Clarisse and Grover screaming inside.

“Mangos,” Polyphemus grumbled to himself. “What are mangos?” 

He strolled off down the mountain in his baby-blue groom’s outfit, leaving them alone with a pot of boiling water and a six-ton boulder. 

Snow, Annabeth and Percy tried for hours, but it was no good. The boulder wouldn’t move. They yelled into the crack, tapped the rock, did everything they could think of to get a signal to Grover, but if he heard them, they couldn’t tell. 

Even if by some miracle they managed to kill Polyphemus, it wouldn’t do them any good. Grover and Clarisse would die inside that sealed cave. The only way to move the rock was to have the Cyclops do it. 

In frustration, Percy stabbed Riptide against the boulder. Sparks flew, but nothing else happened. The three demigods sat on the ridge in despair and watched the distant baby blue shape of the Cyclops as he moved among his flocks. He had wisely divided his regular animals from his man-eating sheep, putting each group on either side of the huge crevice that divided the island. The only way across was the rope bridge, and the planks were much too far apart for sheep hooves.