CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Music Soothes The Savage Beast
I don't own Percy Jackson.
In hindsight, their plan really could've been a thousand times better, but in their defense, the stress was getting to even Will's nerves. To his credit, he tried to convince Percy her plan was awful, but she'd have none of it.
Looking up at the golden DOA RECORDING STUDIOS etched into black marble, though, made her wish she had listened to him.
Right underneath was stenciled on the glass doors: NO SOLICITORS. NO LOITERING. NO LIVING.
Percy turned to Will. "Okay, so I'm thinking we use whatever brilliant plan you've cooked up instead."
He just looked back at her with an unreadable expression. "Percy... I know I roasted yours, but really, there isn't a better plan. There is no 'good' plan to get into the Underworld. This is the only way." Then he pursed his lips. "Sorry, by the way. For saying your plan was bad."
"But it is."
He shrugged. "When you've experienced this world a little more, you'll realize there's really no such thing as a good plan. You'll have to make up almost everything all the time." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, okay? Your prophecy said you'll make it. You'll find the bolt and return it. We're going to be fine."
Percy thought of the pearls in her pocket, the ones the Nereid had given her, and wondered how much they could've done if something went horribly wrong. Maybe the Oracle had said she'd succeed, but she couldn't help but think that if the Oracle was that old, maybe it had a limited warranty on accurate prophecies. Besides, it was hard to convince herself of success when she was going into the Underworld.
"We'll be fine." Grover's voice jolted her back to the present, and she realized her hand had drifted to the pearls. He gave her an encouraging smile. "We got this far. We'll find the bolt and save your mom."
She looked at them both, a warm feeling blooming in her chest. She wondered how she was lucky enough to have friends like them. Less than a quarter of an hour ago, she had almost gotten them stretched to death on deluxe waterbeds, and now they were trying to be brave for her sake.
"We'll be fine," she echoed.
They walked into the lobby.
Muzak played softly on hidden speakers. The carpet and walls were steel grey. Pencil cactuses grew in the corners like skeleton hands. The furniture was black leather, and every seat was taken. There were people sitting on couches, people standing up, people staring out the windows or waiting for the elevator. Nobody moved, or talked, or did much of anything.
If Percy didn't pay special attention, she could see everybody fine, but if she tried to focus on any of them in particular, they started becoming transparent. If she wanted, she could stare straight through a man and see the wall behind him.
She tried to focus instead on the raised podium security guard desk.
They stared up at a tall and elegant man, dressed in a silk Italian suit with a black rose pinned to his lapel.
Completely forgetting all her mythology lessons, Percy read his silver name tag and blurted out, "Your name is Chiron? Charon," Percy remedied quickly when Will kicked her in the shins, but it was too late.
"What a precious young lass." His accent was British, maybe, but strange, like he learned English as a second language. "Can you read this, mate?" He pinched his name tag. "C-H-A-R-O-N. CARE-ON."
"Charon," Percy repeated faintly.
"Amazing! Now: Mr Charon."
"Mr Charon."
"Well done." He sat back in satisfaction. "Now, how can I help you, little dead ones?"
Percy blinked once, twice, completely caught off guard, and reflexively glanced at Will to save them. Once again, he had kept his cool.
"We want to go to the Underworld."
Charon's mouth twitched. "Well, that's refreshing."
"It is?" Will asked, sounding a bit confused.
"Straightforward and honest. No screaming. No 'There must be a mistake, Mr Charon.'" He looked them over. "How did you die, then?"
Percy and Will looked at Grover, but he seemed to have withered under Charon's look. He glanced at them, as if just remembering what he was supposed to say, and blurted out, "We drowned. Um... in the bathtub."
If he could've, Percy knew Will would've smacked his head. He kept his expression neutral, but there was an unmistakable twitch of his fingers and eye. Percy didn't blame Grover, though. He had almost been shaking the entire time they were in the lobby, and he had never been a good liar under even the best of circumstances. The Underworld just seemed to make him worse.
"All three of you?" Charon asked?
They had no choice but to all nod.
"Big bathtub." Charon looked mildly impressed. "I don't suppose you have coins for passage. Normally, with adults, you see, I could charge your American Express, or add the ferry price to your last cable bill. But with children... alas, you never die prepared. Suppose you'll have to take a seat for a few centuries."
"But we do have money." Percy held up the three drachmas she found on Crusty's office desk, hoping Charon didn't see her hand shaking.
"Well, now..." Charon moistened his lips. "Real drachmas. Real golden drachmas. I haven't seen these in..."
He made to take them, and Percy held her breath. Will had gone completely still beside her, eyes staring at the coins. They were so close...
Then Charon's hand stopped. He looked at them again, but his cold stare seemed to bore holes into her. "Chiron," he recalled. "You couldn't read my name correctly. Are you dyslexic, lass?"
"No," Percy blurted out, panic overtaking her. "I'm dead."
As if someone couldn't be both at the same time.
Or could they be? Maybe all of that faded when she died...
Either way, Will tensed from beside her, but it was too late. Charon had leaned forward and sniffed, his teeth baring into a snarl a moment later. "You're not dead. You're a godling. I should've known."
"We're dead godlings?" Percy said, but it came out more as a question.
Thankfully, Will saved the day.
"We have to get into the Underworld."
"Leave," Charon snapped. "I'll just take these and forget I saw you."
He went to take the coins, but Will was faster. He snatched the coins away, inches from Charon's hands, but that might not have been the best idea. Charon growled, a deep, terrifying sound down in his throat, but Will looked back at him with that unsettling unreadable expression of his, completely unfazed by the agitated spirits in the lobby who had taken to pacing, lighting cigars, running their hands through their hair, or checking watches.
"No service, no tip," Will said calmly.
He took the money bag from Percy as Charon growled again, the spirits now pounding on the elevator doors, but he paid them no attention.
"We had more to offer too." He took a fistful and let the golden coins spill across the podium.
Charon's growl changed into a purr. "Do you think I can be bought, godling? Eh... just out of curiosity, how much have you got there?"
"Enough," Percy chimed in. "Hades doesn't pay you enough, does he?"
Because if there was anything Percy understood, it was being underpaid; sure, this was Charon, and he wouldn't have batted an eye if any of them died, but Percy had seen how hard her mother worked and how few rewards she reaped from it. How long had he gone without a pay raise? A thousand years? Two? More?
"Oh, you don't know the half of it. How would you like to babysit these spirits all day? Always 'Please don't let me be dead' or 'Please let me across for free'. I haven't had a pay raise in three thousand years. Do you imagine suits like this come cheap?"
"Nobody deserves to go that long without a raise," Percy agreed.
And she meant every word. But she also stacked another gold coin along with them. She may have been angry with Hades, but she still had a job to do.
"We could mention one while talking to Hades," Will added.
Charon glanced down at his silk Italian suit, as if imagining himself in something even better, and then sighed. "The boat's almost full, anyway. I might as well add you three and be off." He stood up, scooping up the drachmas, and said, "Come along."
As they pushed through the crowd of waiting spirits, they began grabbing at the trio's clothes, hands like wind, voices whispering words lost in their own sounds. Will looked stricken, but before any of them could say anything, Charon had already shoved them out of the way, grumbling, "Freeloaders."
They were shoved into the elevator, cramped against the other shades already there, each holding a green boarding pass.
Charon turned to face the waiting room and announced, "Right. Now, no one get any ideas while I'm gone. And if anyone moves the dial off my easy-listening station again, I'll make sure you're here for another thousand years. Understand?"
He shut the doors, placed a key card into a slot in the elevator panel, and they all began to descend.
"The spirits in the lobby," Will said, breaking the silence. "What happens to them?"
"Nothing," Charon answered.
"For how long?"
"Forever, or until I'm feeling generous."
"Oh," he said. "That's... fair."
Charon smiled, but there was no warmth behind them. "And when has death ever been fair, young man? Your turn will come soon enough, where you're going."
"We'll get out alive," Percy said.
"Ha."
Percy's head suddenly spun. They weren't descending anymore—no, they were moving forward. The air turned misty. The spirits around them began to change, their clothes flickering into gray hooded robes.
When she blinked, Charon's Italian suit was gone. He wore a long black robe instead, his tortoiseshell glasses also missing. Where his eyes should'll been were empty sockets – like Ares's eyes, except Charon's were totally dark, full of night and death and despair.
The floor was swaying.
"I think I'm getting seasick," Grover managed.
Percy blinked again.
The elevator suddenly wasn't that anymore—it had transformed into a wooden barge. Charon was polling them across a dark, oily river that swirled with bones, dead fish, and other, stranger things—plastic dolls, crushed carnations, drenched diplomas with gilt edges.
"The River Styx," Will murmured, which almost made Percy jolt in surprise. "It's so..."
"Polluted," Charon said. "For thousands of years, you humans have been throwing in everything as you come across—hopes, dreams, wishes that never came true. Irresponsible waste management, if you ask me."
Of course it was the River Styx, which Percy felt silly for not realizing, but it was... sad. It had been so impressive in her classes—it was the River, the one that separated the dead from the living, its waters so sacred that even the gods didn't dare break any oaths sworn on it. And here it was, in front of her, and all she could think about was how filthy and polluted it was.
Above them, lost in the gloom, was a ceiling of stalactites. Ahead, the far shore glimmered with greenish light, the color of poison.
Very suddenly, she felt a wave of panic wash over her. What was she doing here? The people around her were dead.
She needed to get out.
Someone took her hand. Percy almost jumped, thinking she was surrounded by only ghosts, but when she glanced down, she realized it was Will who had taken her hand; he was still staring determinedly forward, but his knuckles were starkly white against her skin. She gave him a reassuring squeeze back, but she wasn't sure if he even noticed.
She might've been embarrassed, maybe, under normal circumstances, and certainly if she had been back at Camp, but she needed the reassurance that someone else was alive on this boat, some else she could touch.
Percy found herself silently whispering a prayer, but she didn't know who she was praying to, really. Down there, there was only one god who mattered.
At long last, far into the distance, the shoreline of the Underworld became visible, craggy rocks and black volcanic sand stretching inland about a hundred and fifty feet to the base of a high stone wall that loomed even further into the mist. A sound came from somewhere nearby in the green gloom, echoing off the stones—the howl of a large animal.
"Old Three-Face is hungry," Charon said. His smile turned skeletal in the greenish light. "Bad luck for you, godlings."
Percy almost jumped at the crunching of boat against black sand—if Will felt her hand twitch, he said nothing. The three were pressed against each other as the dead began to disembark as if nothing was wrong. Percy thought she saw Charon almost smile, like he knew how out of place they were.
Each one of them didn't belong there. Not Percy, the daughter of the dead's rival. Not Will, the son of the sun god. Not Grover, a spirit of nature. They were as dead as everyone around them.
And yet even still, Will held his head high and guided Percy and Grover off the boat, and not for the first time, Percy wasn't sure if she could ever thank him for keeping a level head.
"I'd wish you luck, girl," Charon said, "but there isn't any down here. Mind you, don't forget to mention my pay raise."
And yet, despite how creepy Charon had been, Percy found herself missing the barge as she watched him ferry back across the river.
"Come on."
And Percy allowed herself to be reluctantly dragged up the well-worn path.'
She had imagined the Underworld to look something like either a castle or a palace, with gilded gates or a fortified portcullis, but it was nothing like that. The entrance looked like a mix of airport security and the Jersey Turnpike.
Three separate entrances under one huge black archway that said YOU ARE NOW ENTERING EREBUS had a pass-through metal detector, each mounting at least five security cameras, though Percy wondered how the detectors could even pick up on anything but mist. It probably wasn't for metal, then, she decided, but what did it matter? Didn't Hades have supreme control over the dead?
Unless he didn't. Unless the Underworld was so large that even he couldn't control his own realm.
But then why would he want a war to expand his own kingdom? The Underworld looked packed already. The tollbooths beyond the detectors manned by black-robed ghouls like Charon looked half-overwhelmed from the sheer numbers.
"Will? I was thinking, it—"
"—doesn't make any sense?" he finished. "Yeah, I realized. We don't have a choice, though."
Grover frowned. "Wait, what?"
"Look at the Underworld." Will gestured around. "It's overcrowded. It doesn't make sense that Hades would want to expand his own kingdom. Keeping this realm running is already impressive itself. Expanding it would be a death sentence for himself. The paperwork would be insane."
"There's paperwork for the dead?" Percy asked.
"You wouldn't believe what there's paperwork for."
The howling stopped Will, though. It was almost deafening now, but Percy still couldn't see where it was coming from, though she knew who it must've been coming from. Will had let go of her hand, and it was only now that she realized she missed the warmth. She'd rather be dead before she asked him for it, though.
The three lines were marked EZ DEATH, and ATTENDANT ON DUTY for two. The first moved right along, but the other two were crawling.
"Which line?" she asked Will.
"I don't know," he said honestly. His lips were white. "The fast line probably goes to Asphodel, though. They don't want to risk judgment from the court, since it might go against them."
"The court?" She dredged up a memory from Latin class. "Oh, the one with Minos?"
"Yeah. And Jefferson, Shakespeare; people like that. They switch around who sits on the bench."
She remembered now—the three judges that decided what people's afterlives should be. Rewarded with paradise if they lived a good life, but punished if they were wicked. And those who just lived, who never did anything heroic or cruel, went to the Fields of Asphodel. She didn't know that they changed, though.
Grover nudged her. "Percy, look."
A couple of those security guys had pulled aside one of the spirits and were frisking him at the security desk. His face looked almost familiar, though...
When Grover saw her expression, he said, "The preacher who made the news, remember?"
"Oh, yeah."
She remembered now. She'd seen him on the TV a couple of times when she had gone over to Grover's Yancy Academy dorm. He had been this televangelist from upstate New York who preached the welfare of children and raised millions of dollars for orphanages. It came out that he had been actually spending the money on a mansion and its amenities, like gold-plated toilets and an indoor golf course. He'd died in a police chase when his "Lamborghini for the Lord" went off a cliff.
"What are they doing to him?" she asked.
"Special punishment from Hades," Grover said. "The really bad people get his personal attention as soon as they arrive. The Fu—um, the Kindly Ones will set up an eternal torture for him."
The Furies. She almost shuddered. She was in their home territory now, where they'd be their most powerful, and they were the host. She was the trespasser now. Old Mrs Dodds would be licking her lips in anticipation.
"But if he's Christian," she said, "and he believes in a different hell, what does he see here?"
Grover shrugged. "Who knows? People see what they want to see."
It was maybe about fifty feet in front of them that the green mist shimmered.
The howling had been so loud it shook the ground at their feet. Just where the path split into three lines was an enormous shadowy monster. She hadn't seen it before because it was almost half transparent, like the dead, and until it moved, it blended seamlessly in with its surroundings. Unfortunately for them, though, its eyes and teeth seemed solid.
And it was staring straight at them.
Percy's jaw almost dropped.
"He's a Rottweiler," was the only thing she could think of saying.
If she had been forced to imagine Cerberus before, she would've thought of some big black mastiff. But he was obviously a purebred Rottweiler, except of course that he was twice the size of a wooly mammoth, mostly invisible, and had three heads.
The dead that walked up to him didn't even seem to notice him. The ATTENDANT ON DUTY lines parted on either side of him, but the EZ DEATH spirits walked right between his front paws and under his belly, which even the tallest of them could do without crouching. Cerberus paid them absolutely no attention, though.
"I'm starting to see him better," Percy muttered. "Why is that?"
"I think..." If she thought Will had been pale before, he looked like a sheet now. He moistened his lips. "I think it's because we might be close to being dead." When Cerberus' middle head craned towards them, it sniffed the air and growled. "And I think he can smell the living."
"But that's okay," Grover said, trembling. "Because we have a plan."
"Right." Will's voice had never been so small. "A plan."
Not for the first time in her life, Percy wished that Will would come up with another flawless, brilliant plan that would save them again. She hadn't realized how much she looked up to him to always get them out of trouble, but how could she not? He was the one trained in battle, the one who knew everything, the one who kept them alive so far. But it seemed like even the son of the god of knowledge was out of tricks this time.
The middle head snarled at them, then barked so loud her eyeballs rattled.
"Can you understand him?" she asked Grover.
"Oh yeah," he said. "I can understand him."
"What's he saying?"
"I don't think humans have a four-letter word that translates, exactly."
Without taking her eyes off of the dog, Percy reached into her backpack, pulling out a big stick—a bed post she'd broken off from one of Crusty's beds. She held it up, and tried to think of happier, smaller dogs, and not one that could kill her without taking more than two steps.
She tried to smile like she wasn't about to die.
"Hey, Big Fella," she said, but she wished her voice was stronger. "I bet they don't play with you very much."
"GROWWWLLLL!"
"Good boy," she said weakly.
She waved the stick, and the dog's middle head followed the movement. The other two heads trained their eyes on her, completely ignoring the spirits now. She had Cerberus' full, undivided attention.
She wasn't sure if that was a good thing.
"Fetch!"
She gave the stick a good, solid throw into the gloom. But she heard it go ker-sploosh in the River Styx.
Cerberus glared at her, unimpressed. His eyes were baleful and cold.
So much for the plan.
Cerberus was now making a new kind of growl, deeper down in his three throats.
"Um," Grover said. "Percy?"
"Yeah?"
"I just thought you'd want to know."
"Yeah?"
"Cerberus? He's saying we've got ten seconds to pray to the god of our choice. After that... well... he's hungry."
"Wait!" Will said. He yanked his backpack off.
"Five seconds," Grover said. "Do we run now?"
Will pulled out his ukulele and began to strum, but Percy couldn't care less.
She half wanted to sob, half wanted to laugh, because how could their quest have been going this badly? How could she have led Grover and Will into a death trap? Forget the Oracle saying she'd succeed—maybe they meant that she had to die first in order to get the bolt. Chiron had said the meanings weren't clear, right? Maybe only after she was dead would she be allowed to pass and find the bolt.
But the most beautiful song drew her from her thoughts, and Percy forgot she was in the Underworld.
Will's voice was enchanting—soft, sweet, melodic. It half-lured, half-demanded she listened, and Percy didn't resist. It was almost like if she didn't listen now, she'd never hear it again. It wasn't a song she knew, but she paid it no attention, and neither did the spirits. Each one of them paused to listen to him play, but she didn't blame them. His singing would've enchanted her until the end of time.
Cerberus sat down, crushing a few ghosts who hissed as they disappeared, like air escaping a balloon, but he didn't even seem to mind. His eyes were focused completely on Will now, but Will didn't seem bothered. He just kept singing, avoiding direct, unbroken eye contact. For a moment, his eyes landed on her, and she somehow managed to give him a thumbs up.
When Will's song came to an end, Percy almost wanted to clap, but he didn't give her any time.
He took up another song, and somehow, it was softer and sweeter than the one before it. It was the classic Twenty Little Horses, and his voice's power was starting to affect her. Grover's eyes were fluttering shut behind her, and she nudged him, but she wasn't doing much better herself. It was fighting a losing battle trying to stay awake.
Cerberus lost it first, though. His eyelids began to droop, and in just minutes, he was asleep, his thunderous snores rattling her teeth.
"Percy!"
Someone grabbed her arm, and she realized she had been about to pitch backwards and pass out.
But Will had stopped playing to catch her, and Cerberus was starting to wake up. His snores were already beginning to twindle, and the spirits and security guards were starting to shake out of their stupor.
Percy hadn't even fully recovered her senses, but Grover and Will each took one of her hands and dragged her forward.
They had just managed to get through the metal detector when it immediately screamed and set off flashing lights. "Unauthorized possessions! Magic detected!"
Cerberus was fully awake now, but the three of them already broke into a run. The thunderous barking was only even better motivation. They burst through the EZ DEATH gate, which set off even more alarms, and raced into the Underworld.
"There!"
Will pointed at a giant black tree that had been hollowed out by rot, but Percy couldn't even complain. The three dove straight in, just barely missing the security ghouls that scuttled past, yelling for backup from the Furies. The three were out of breath, shoved into uncomfortable positions, but they were alive, and that was all Percy could ask for.
"So what did we learn today, Percy?" Grover panted.
"Three headed dogs prefer singing over sticks?"
"No! That your plans are awful!"
Will, ignoring their entire conversation, just gasped, "Slap me the next time I ever try to skip the mile."
"Same," Grover said.
As the three caught their breath, Will asked the one question she had been dreading. "So what do we do now?"
She tried to swallow down her fear. They had made it so far, right? The Fates couldn't let her fail when she was so close to winning. Maybe her father was distracting Hades right now. Maybe Apollo was keeping the others busy.
It was a long shot, of course, but it made her feel a little better.
"Well, we've only got one choice, don't we?"
Of course, it'd be too much like the original if Will had a rubber ball, and besides, having him in the story made this too perfect to not write.
Has it been a year since my last update? Yes. Did I copy a bit too much from the original book for this chapter? Yes. But you'll have to forgive me—I'm beginning to drag my feet through the last few chapters, given I'm planning on giving myself a real break after The Lightning Thief is over. The second half of this chapter, once again, was written in maybe a few hours, and the first half since last January. Oops.
But it's here now? And, of course, a little shameless self-promotion: my newest website, aerithmorgenstern.com has been launched! It's still in its debut phase, of course, and if I have the motivation in the future, I'll edit the site (excluding published/pending stories), but for now, you guys can check it out!
In order to ensure this note isn't as long as the chapter, we'll end it here. Thank you to readers, of course, and shout out to reviewers!