The Sea of Monsters

was heavier than I’d expected—sixty or seventy pounds of precious gold wool.
    I spread it over Annabeth, covering everything but her face, and prayed silently to all the gods I could think of, even the ones I didn’t like.
    Please. Please.
    The color returned to her face. Her eyelids fluttered open. The cut on her forehead began to close. She saw Grover and said weakly, “You’re not . . . married?”
    Grover grinned. “No. My friends talked me out of it.”
    “Annabeth,” I said, “just lay still.”
    But despite our protests she sat up, and I noticed that the cut on her face was almost completely healed. She looked a lot better. In fact, she shimmered with health, as if someone had injected her with glitter.
    Meanwhile, Tyson was starting to have trouble with the sheep. “Down!” he told them as they tried to climb him, looking for food. A few were sniffing in our direction. “No, sheepies. This way! Come here!”
    They heeded him, but it was obvious they were hungry, and they were starting to realize Tyson didn’t have any treats for them. They wouldn’t hold out forever with so much fresh meat nearby.
    “We have to go,” I said. “Our ship is. . .” The Queen Anne’s Revenge was a very long way away. The shortest route was across the chasm, and we’d just destroyed the only bridge. The only other possibility was through the sheep.
    “Tyson,” I called, “can you lead the flock as far away as possible?”
    “The sheep want food.”
    “I know! They want people food! Just lead them away from the path. Give us time to get to the beach. Then join us there.”
    Tyson looked doubtful, but he whistled. “Come, sheepies! Um, people food this way!”
    He jogged off into the meadow, the sheep in pursuit.
    “Keep the Fleece around you,” I told Annabeth. “Just in case you’re not fully healed yet. Can you stand?”
    She tried, but her face turned pale again. “Ohh. Not fully healed.”
    Clarisse dropped next to her and felt her chest, which made Annabeth gasp.
    “Ribs broken,” Clarisse said. “They’re mending, but definitely broken.”
    “How can you tell?” I asked.
    Clarisse glared at me. “Because I’ve broken a few, runt! I’ll have to carry her.”
    Before I could argue, Clarisse picked up Annabeth like a sack of flour and lugged her down to the beach. Grover and I followed.
    As soon as we got to the edge of the water, I concentrated on the Queen Anne’s Revenge . I willed it to raise anchor and come to me. After a few anxious minutes, I saw the ship rounding the tip of the island.
    “Incoming!” Tyson yelled. He was bounding down the path to join us, the sheep about fifty yards behind, bleating in frustration as their Cyclops friend ran away without feeding them.
    “They probably won’t follow us into the water,” I told the others. “All we have to do is swim for the ship.”
    “With Annabeth like this?” Clarisse protested.
    “We can do it,” I insisted. I was starting to feel confident again. I was back in my home turf—the sea. “Once we get to the ship, we’re home free.”
    We almost made it, too.
    We were just wading past the entrance to the ravine, when we heard a tremendous roar and saw Polyphemus, scraped up and bruised but still very much alive, his baby-blue wedding outfit in tatters, splashing toward us with a boulder in each hand.

SIXTEEN

I GO DOWN WITH THE SHIP
    “You’d think he’d run out of rocks,” I muttered.
    “Swim for it!” Grover said.
    He and Clarisse plunged into the surf. Annabeth hung on to Clarisse’s neck and tried to paddle with one hand, the wet Fleece weighing her down.
    But the monster’s attention wasn’t on the Fleece.
    “You, young Cyclops!” Polyphemus roared. “Traitor to your kind!”
    Tyson froze.
    “Don’t listen to him!” I pleaded. “Come on.”
    I pulled Tyson’s arm, but I might as well have been pulling a mountain. He turned and faced the older Cyclops. “I am not a traitor.”
    “You serve mortals!” Polyphemus shouted. “Thieving humans!”
    Polyphemus threw his first boulder. Tyson swatted it aside with his fist.
    “Not a traitor,” Tyson said. “And you are not my kind.”
    “Death or victory!” Polyphemus charged into the surf, but his foot was still wounded. He immediately stumbled and fell on his face. That would’ve been funny, except he started to get up again, spitting salt water and growling.
    “Percy!” Clarisse yelled. “Come on!”
    They were almost to the ship with the