The Sea of Monsters by Rick Riordan Page B

they know something is strange about that part of the ocean. The Sea of Monsters is off the east coast of the U.S. now, just northeast of Florida. The mortals even have a name for it.”
    “The Bermuda Triangle?”
    “Exactly.”
    I let that sink in. I guess it wasn’t stranger than anything else I’d learned since coming to Camp Half-Blood.
    “Okay . . . so at least we know where to look.”
    “It’s still a huge area, Percy. Searching for one tiny island in monster-infested waters—”
    “Hey, I’m the son of the sea god. This is my home turf. How hard can it be?”
    Annabeth knit her eyebrows. “We’ll have to talk to Tantalus, get approval for a quest. He’ll say no.”
    “Not if we tell him tonight at the campfire in front of everybody. The whole camp will hear. They’ll pressure him. He won’t be able to refuse.”
    “Maybe.” A little bit of hope crept into Annabeth’s voice. “We’d better get these dishes done. Hand me the lava spray gun, will you?”
    That night at the campfire, Apollo’s cabin led the sing-along. They tried to get everybody’s spirits up, but it wasn’t easy after that afternoon’s bird attack. We all sat around a semicircle of stone steps, singing halfheartedly and watching the bonfire blaze while the Apollo guys strummed their guitars and picked their lyres.
    We did all the standard camp numbers: “Down by the Aegean,”
    “I Am My Own Great-Great-Great-Great-Grandpa,”
    “This Land is Minos’s Land.” The bonfire was enchanted, so the louder you sang, the higher it rose, changing color and heat with the mood of the crowd. On a good night, I’d seen it twenty feet high, bright purple, and so hot the whole front row’s marshmallows burst into the flames. Tonight, the fire was only five feet high, barely warm, and the flames were the color of lint.
    Dionysus left early. After suffering through a few songs, he muttered something about how even pinochle with Chiron had been more exciting than this. Then he gave Tantalus a distasteful look and headed back toward the Big House.
    When the last song was over, Tantalus said, “Well, that was lovely!”
    He came forward with a toasted marshmallow on a stick and tried to pluck it off, real casual-like. But before he could touch it, the marshmallow flew off the stick. Tantalus made a wild grab, but the marshmallow committed suicide, diving into the flames.
    Tantalus turned back toward us, smiling coldly. “Now then! Some announcements about tomorrow’s schedule.”
    “Sir,” I said.
    Tantalus’s eye twitched. “Our kitchen boy has something to say?”
    Some of the Ares campers snickered, but I wasn’t going to let anybody embarrass me into silence. I stood and looked at Annabeth. Thank the gods, she stood up with me.
    I said, “We have an idea to save the camp.”
    Dead silence, but I could tell I’d gotten everybody’s interest, because the campfire flared bright yellow.
    “Indeed,” Tantalus said blandly. “Well, if it has anything to do with chariots—”
    “The Golden Fleece,” I said. “We know where it is.”
    The flames burned orange. Before Tantalus could stop me, I blurted out my dream about Grover and Polyphemus’s island. Annabeth stepped in and reminded everybody what the Fleece could do. It sounded more convincing coming from her.
    “The Fleece can save the camp,” she concluded. “I’m certain of it.”
    “Nonsense,” said Tantalus. “We don’t need saving.”
    Everybody stared at him until Tantalus started looking uncomfortable.
    “Besides,” he added quickly, “the Sea of Monsters? That’s hardly an exact location. You wouldn’t even know where to look.”
    “Yes, I would,” I said.
    Annabeth leaned toward me and whispered, “You would?”
    I nodded, because Annabeth had jogged something in my memory when she reminded me about our taxi drive with the Gray Sisters. At the time, the information they’d given me made no sense. But now . . .
    “30, 31, 75, 12,” I