forest green ● jason grace

six

"I'm pretty sure Octavian made us go this way to fuck with us," Daria said, wincing when Hazel made a small sound of protest. "We've never had to go through Terminus before."

"Yeah, well," Percy sighed. "We probably just appeared on the smell radar for every monster within five miles. We'd better get moving."

It took them two hours to reach the docks in Alameda. Compared to other quests, this trek was suspiciously easy. No monsters attacked. No crazy old guys with fishy breath like the city

Frank had stored his spear, bow, and quiver in a long bag made for skis. Hazel's cavalry sword was wrapped in a bedroll slung on her back. Daria had her rings and of course, Percy's pen was in his pocket. 

"It looks a bit ridiculous, don't you think?" Daria motioned to Frank. "A ski bag in California."

"It's December," Frank protested.

"And 80 degrees," Percy pointed out.

Hazel looked like she was already regretting being here. "Can we just take BART?"

"The BART," Daria corrected. Hazel rolled her eyes.

They got off in Oakland. They had to walk through some rough neighborhoods, but nobody bothered them. Whenever the local gang members came close enough to look in Daria's eyes, they quickly veered away. There was a reason that the majority of Camp Jupiter was intimidated by her. 

In the late afternoon, they made it to the Alameda docks. Daria looked out over San Francisco Bay and breathed in the salty sea air. She took one glance at Percy, who looked like he had just found out the secret to eternal peace, and a sense of satisfaction rose in her stomach. She just felt ...normal. There was no way Neptune could be her father. So it begged the age-old question, who was her godly parent? And did the woman from her dreams hold the answer?

"Urn... you guys know what we're looking for?" Percy asked.

Hazel and Frank shook their heads.

"Something small," Daria said helpfully. "Inefficient, probably lackluster and ugly."

"Oh..." Frank pointed. "You don't think...?"

At the end of the dock was a tiny boat, like a dinghy, covered in a purple tarp. Embroidered in faded gold along the canvas was S.P.Q.R.

Daria could see Percy's confidence waver. "No way."

He uncovered the boat, his hands working the knots like he'd been doing it his whole life. Under the tarp was an old steel rowboat with no oars. The boat had been painted dark blue at one point, but the hull was so crusted with tar and salt it looked like one massive nautical bruise.

On the bow, the name Pax was still readable, lettered in gold. Painted eyes drooped sadly at the water level, as if the boat were about to fall asleep. 

"Behold," Frank said. "The mighty Roman navy."

"There's got to be a mistake," Hazel said. "This is a piece of junk."

"Truthfully," Daria shrugged. "This is better than I was expecting."

Percy jumped aboard, and the hull hummed under his feet, responding to his presence. He gathered up the garbage in the cooler and put it on the dock. He willed the scummy water to flow over the sides and out of the boat. Then he pointed at the steel wool and it flew across the floor, scrubbing and polishing so fast, the steel began to smoke. When it was done, the boat was clean. Percy pointed at the rope, and it untied itself from the dock.

No oars, but that didn't matter. Daria could tell that the boat was ready to move, just awaiting his command.

"This'll do," he said. "Hop in."