It wasn’t as difficult as they had anticipated. The chaos and the sound of the weed whacker made it easier.
Bundled in their lightweight Polartec jackets against the chilly rain, they strolled a few blocks through the mostly empty streets. Percy had been smart this time, bringing most of his supplies from the boat, even stashing some macrobiotic jerky in his coat pocket—just in case he needed to fend off any more killer whales.
They noticed a few bicycles and a handful of homeless people huddled in doorways, but most of Portland seemed to be tucked away indoors.
As they walked down Glisan Street, Percy couldn’t help but gaze wistfully at the café-goers enjoying their coffee and pastries. Just as he was about to suggest they stop for breakfast, a voice echoed down the street: “HA! TAKE THAT, STUPID CHICKENS!” followed by the roar of a small engine and a cacophony of squawking.
Percy exchanged glances with his friends. “You think—?” “Probably,” Frank nodded.
They dashed toward the commotion.
A block over, they stumbled upon a sprawling parking lot flanked by tree-lined sidewalks and rows of food trucks lining the streets on all sides. Percy had seen food trucks before, but never this many gathered in one place. Some were simple white metal boxes on wheels, complete with awnings and serving counters.
Others were vibrant blue, purple, or adorned with polka dots, boasting large banners and colorful menu boards, creating an inviting atmosphere reminiscent of DIY sidewalk cafés.
One advertised Korean/Brazilian fusion tacos, which sounded like some kind of top-secret radioactive cuisine. Another offered sushi on a stick. A third was selling deep-fried ice cream sandwiches. The smell was amazing— dozens of different kitchens cooking at once.
Percy’s stomach rumbled. Most of the food carts were open for business, but there was hardly anyone around. They could get anything they wanted! Deep-fried ice cream sandwiches? Oh, man, that sounded way better than wheat germ.
Unfortunately, there was more happening than just cooking. In the center of the lot, behind all the food trucks, an old man in a bathrobe was running around with a weed whacker, screaming at a flock of bird-ladies who were trying to steal food off a picnic table.
“Harpies,” said Hazel. “Which means—” “That’s Phineas,” Frank guessed.
They ran across the street and squeezed between the Korean/Brazilian truck and a Chinese egg roll burrito vendor.
The backs of the food trucks weren’t nearly as appetizing as the fronts.
They were cluttered with stacks of plastic buckets, overflowing garbage cans, and makeshift clotheslines hung with wet aprons and towels. The parking lot itself was nothing but a square of cracked asphalt, marbled with weeds. In the middle was a picnic table piled high with food from all the different trucks.
The guy in the bathrobe was old and fat. He was mostly bald, with scars across his forehead and a rim of stringy white hair. His bathrobe was spattered with ketchup, and he kept stumbling around in fuzzy pink bunny slippers, swinging his gas-powered weed whacker at the half-dozen harpies who were hovering over his picnic table.
He was clearly blind. His eyes were milky white, and usually he missed the harpies by a lot, but he was still doing a pretty good job fending them off.
“Back, dirty chickens!” he bellowed.
Percy wasn’t sure why, but he had a vague sense that harpies were supposed to be plump. These looked like they were starving. Their human faces had sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. Their bodies were covered in molting feathers, and their wings were tipped with tiny, shriveled hands.
They wore ragged burlap sacks for dresses. As they dived for the food, they seemed more desperate than angry. Percy felt sorry for them.
WHIRRRR! The old man swung his weed whacker. He grazed one of the harpies’ wings. The harpy yelped in pain and fluttered off, dropping yellow feathers as she flew.
Another harpy circled higher than the rest. She looked younger and smaller than the others, with bright-red feathers.
She watched carefully for an opening, and when the old man’s back was turned, she made a wild dive for the table. She grabbed a burrito in her clawed feet, but before she could escape, the blind man swung his weed whacker and smacked her in the back so hard, Percy winced. The harpy yelped, dropped the burrito, and flew off.
“Hey, stop it!” Percy yelled.
The harpies took that the wrong way. They glanced over at the three demigods and immediately fled. Most of them fluttered away and perched in the trees around the square, staring dejectedly at the picnic table. The red- feathered one with the hurt back flew unsteadily down Glisan Street and out of sight.
“Ha!” The blind man yelled in triumph and killed the power on his weed whacker. He grinned vacantly in Percy’s direction. “Thank you, strangers!
Your help is most appreciated.”
Percy bit back his anger. He hadn’t meant to help the old man, but he remembered that they needed information from him.
“Uh, whatever.” He approached the old guy, keeping one eye on the weed whacker. “I’m Percy Jackson. This is—”
“Demigods!” the old man said. “I can always smell demigods.” Hazel frowned. “Do we smell that bad?”
The old man laughed. “Of course not, my dear. But you’d be surprised how sharp my other senses became once I was blinded. I’m Phineas. And you—wait, don’t tell me—”
He reached for Percy’s face and poked him in the eyes. “Ow!” Percy complained.
“Son of Neptune!” Phineas exclaimed. “I thought I smelled the ocean on you, Percy Jackson. I’m also a son of Neptune, you know.”
“Hey…yeah. Okay.” Percy rubbed his eyes. Just his luck he was related to this grubby old dude. He hoped all sons of Neptune didn’t share the same fate. First, you start carrying a man satchel. Next thing you know, you’re running around in a bathrobe and pink bunny slippers, chasing chickens with a weed whacker.
Phineas turned to Hazel. “And here…Oh my, the smell of gold and deep earth. Hazel Levesque, daughter of Pluto. And next to you—the son of Mars. But there’s more to your story, Frank Zhang—”
“Ancient blood,” Frank muttered. “Prince of Pylos. Blah, blah, blah.” “Periclymenus, exactly! Oh, he was a nice fellow. I loved the
Argonauts!”
Frank’s mouth fell open. “W-wait. Perry who?”
Phineas grinned. “Don’t worry. I know about your family. That story about your great-grandfather? He didn’t really destroy the camp. Now, what an interesting group. Are you hungry?”
Frank looked like he’d been run over by a truck, but Phineas had already moved on to other matters. He waved his hand at the picnic table. In the nearby trees, the harpies shrieked miserably. As hungry as Percy was, he couldn’t stand to think about eating with those poor bird ladies watching him.
“Look, I’m confused,” Percy said. “We need some information. We were
told—”
“—that the harpies were keeping my food away from me,” Phineas finished, “and if you helped me, I’d help you.”
“Something like that,” Percy admitted.
Phineas laughed. “That’s old news. Do I look like I’m missing any meals?”
He patted his belly, which was the size of an overinflated basketball. “Um…no,” Percy said.
Phineas waved his weed whacker in an expansive gesture. All three of them ducked.
“Things have changed, my friends!” he said. “When I first got the gift of prophecy, eons ago, it’s true Jupiter cursed me. He sent the harpies to steal my food. You see, I had a bit of a big mouth. I gave away too many secrets that the gods wanted kept.” He turned to Hazel. “For instance, you’re supposed to be dead. And you—” He turned to Frank. “Your life depends on a burned stick.”
Percy frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Hazel blinked like she’d been slapped. Frank looked like the truck had backed up and run over him again.
“And you,” Phineas turned to Percy, “well now, you don’t even know who you are! I could tell you, of course, but…ha! What fun would that be? And Brigid O’Shaughnessy shot Miles Archer in The Maltese Falcon. And Darth Vader is actually Luke’s father. And the winner of the next Super Bowl will be—”
“Got it,” Frank muttered.
Hazel gripped her sword like she was tempted to pommel-whip the old man. “So you talked too much, and the gods cursed you. Why did they stop?”
“Oh, they didn’t!” The old man arched his bushy eyebrows like, Can you believe it? “I had to make a deal with the Argonauts. They wanted
information too, you see. I told them to kill the harpies, and I’d cooperate. Well, they drove those nasty creatures away, but Iris wouldn’t let them kill the harpies. An outrage! So this time, when my patron brought me back to life—”
“Your patron?” Frank asked.
Phineas gave him a wicked grin. “Why, Gaea, of course. Who do you think opened the Doors of Death? Your girlfriend here understands. Isn’t Gaea your patron, too?”
Hazel drew her sword. “I’m not his—I don’t—Gaea is not my patron!”
Phineas looked amused. If he had heard the sword being drawn, he didn’t seem concerned. “Fine, if you want to be noble and stick with the losing side, that’s your business. But Gaea is waking. She’s already rewritten the rules of life and death! I’m alive again, and in exchange for my help—a prophecy here, a prophecy there—I get my fondest wish. The tables have been turned, so to speak. Now I can eat all I want, all day long, and the harpies have to watch and starve.”
He revved his weed whacker, and the harpies wailed in the trees. “They’re cursed!” the old man said. “They can eat only food from my
table, and they can’t leave Portland. Since the Doors of Death are open, they
can’t even die. It’s beautiful!”
“Beautiful?” Frank protested. “They’re living creatures. Why are you so mean to them?”
“They’re monsters!” Phineas said. “And mean? Those feather-brained demons tormented me for years!”
“But it was their duty,” Percy said, trying to control himself. “Jupiter ordered them to.”
“Oh, I’m mad at Jupiter, too,” Phineas agreed. “In time, Gaea will see that the gods are properly punished. Horrible job they’ve done, ruling the world. But for now, I’m enjoying Portland. The mortals take no notice of me. They think I’m just a crazy old man shooing away pigeons!”
Hazel advanced on the seer. “You’re awful!” she told Phineas. “You belong in the Fields of Punishment!”
Phineas sneered. “One dead person to another, girlie? I wouldn’t be talking. You started this whole thing! If it weren’t for you, Alcyoneus wouldn’t be alive!”
Hazel stumbled back.
“Hazel?” Frank’s eyes got as wide as quarters. “What’s he talking about?”
“Ha!” Phineas said. “You’ll find out soon enough, Frank Zhang. Then we’ll see if you’re still sweet on your girlfriend.
But that’s not what you’re here about, is it? You want to find Thanatos. He’s being kept at Alcyoneus’s lair. I can tell you where that is. Of course I can. But you’ll have to do me a favor.”
“Forget it,” Hazel snapped. “You’re working for the enemy. We should send you back to the Underworld ourselves.”
“You could try.” Phineas smiled. “But I doubt I’d stay dead very long.
You see, Gaea has shown me the easy way back. And with Thanatos in chains, there’s no one to keep me down! Besides, if you kill me, you won’t get my secrets.”
Percy was tempted to let Hazel use her sword. In fact he wanted to strangle the old man himself.
Camp Jupiter, he told himself. Saving the camp is more important. He remembered Alcyoneus taunting him in his dreams. If they wasted time searching through Alaska looking for the giant’s lair, Gaea’s armies would destroy the Romans…and Percy’s other friends, wherever they were.
He gritted his teeth. “What’s the favor?”
Phineas licked his lips greedily. “There’s one harpy who’s quicker than the rest.”
“The red one,” Percy guessed.
“I’m blind! I don’t know colors!” the old man groused. “At any rate,
she’s the only one I have trouble with. She’s wily, that one. Always does her own thing, never roosts with the others. She gave me these.”
He pointed at the scars on his forehead.
“Capture that harpy,” he said. “Bring her to me. I want her tied up where I can keep an eye on her…ah, so to speak. Harpies hate being tied up. It causes them extreme pain. Yes, I’ll enjoy that. Maybe I’ll even feed her so that she lasts longer.”
Percy looked at his friends. They came to a silent agreement: they would never help this creepy old man. On the other hand, they had to get his information. They needed a Plan B.
“Oh, go talk among yourselves,” Phineas said breezily. “I don’t care. Just remember that without my help, your quest will fail. And everyone you love in the world will die. Now, off with you! Bring me a harpy!”
