The Sea of Monsters by Rick Riordan

you get rid of them?”
    She stabbed at a pigeon with her knife. “Hercules used noise! Brass bells! He scared them away with the most horrible sound he could—”
    Her eyes got wide. “Percy . . . Chiron’s collection!”
    I understood instantly. “You think it’ll work?”
    She handed her fighter the reins and leaped from her chariot into mine like it was the easiest thing in the world. “To the Big House! It’s our only chance!”
    Clarisse has just pulled across the finish line, completely unopposed, and seemed to notice for the first time how serious the bird problem was.
    When she saw us driving away, she yelled, “You’re run ning ? The fight is here, cowards!” She drew her sword and charged for the stands.
    I urged our horses into a gallop. The chariot rumbled through the strawberry fields, across the volleyball pit, and lurched to a halt in front of the Big House. Annabeth and I ran inside, tearing down the hallway to Chiron’s apartment.
    His boom box was still on his nightstand. So were his favorite CDs. I grabbed the most repulsive one I could find, Annabeth snatched the boom box, and together we ran back outside.
    Down at the track, the chariots were in flames. Wounded campers ran in every direction, with birds shredding their clothes and pulling out their hair, while Tantalus chased breakfast pastries around the stands, every once in a while yelling, “Everything’s under control! Not to worry!”
    We pulled up to the finish line. Annabeth got the boom box ready. I prayed the batteries weren’t dead.
    I pressed PLAY and started up Chiron’s favorite—the All-Time Greatest Hits of Dean Martin . Suddenly the air was filled with violins and a bunch of guys moaning in Italian.
    The demon pigeons went nuts. They started flying in circles, running into each other like they wanted to bash their own brains out. Then they abandoned the track altogether and flew skyward in a huge dark wave.
    “Now!” shouted Annabeth. “Archers!”
    With clear targets, Apollo’s archers had flawless aim. Most of them could nock five or six arrows at once. Within minutes, the ground was littered with dead bronze-beaked pigeons, and the survivors were a distant trail of smoke on the horizon.
    The camp was saved, but the wreckage wasn’t pretty. Most of the chariots had been completely destroyed. Almost everyone was wounded, bleeding from multiple bird pecks. The kids from Aphrodite’s cabin were screaming because their hairdos had been ruined and their clothes pooped on.
    “Bravo!” Tantalus said, but he wasn’t looking at me or Annabeth. “We have our first winner!” He walked to the finish line and awarded the golden laurels for the race to a stunned-looking Clarisse.
    Then he turned and smiled at me. “And now to punish the troublemakers who disrupted this race.”

SEVEN

I ACCEPT GIFTS
FROM A STRANGER
    The way Tantalus saw it, the Stymphalian birds had simply been minding their own business in the woods and would not have attacked if Annabeth, Tyson, and I hadn’t disturbed them with our bad chariot driving.
    This was so completely unfair, I told Tantalus to go chase a doughnut, which didn’t help his mood. He sentenced us to kitchen patrol—scrubbing pots and platters all afternoon in the underground kitchen with the cleaning harpies. The harpies washed with lava instead of water, to get that extra-clean sparkle and kill ninety-nine point nine percent of all germs, so Annabeth and I had to wear asbestos gloves and aprons.
    Tyson didn’t mind. He plunged his bare hands right in and started scrubbing, but Annabeth and I had to suffer through hours of hot, dangerous work, especially since there were tons of extra plates. Tantalus had ordered a special luncheon banquet to celebrate Clarisse’s chariot victory—a full-course meal featuring country-fried Stymphalian death-bird.
    The only good thing about our punishment was that it gave Annabeth and me a common enemy and lots of time to talk. After