There was a moment’s silence. “The trident?” Sir Laurence said slowly. “You’re going to steal his trident?” He paused, thoughtfully. “And how, pray tell, are you going to do that?”
“I don’t know,” said Charlotte. “I mean, I think I can get it from him. Maybe. I have an idea.” The words surprised her when they came out of her mouth, but she realized they were true. She had an idea. Or at least the germ of an idea. Poseidon was angry, impulsive, proud—and it had occurred to Charlotte when Sir Laurence was talking that those were character traits she understood very well.
“But,” she continued, “I don’t know if it will work. And even if it does, once I get the trident, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how I’m going to get away. Poseidon can stop me with his bare hands, he proved that when he dumped me in here. But I have a friend on board, Jason, I thought he could keep Poseidon busy somehow, I don’t know how. But I have to try. Please,” she said, her voice cracking, “I have to get back.”
Sir Laurence paused. “Well, Miss Charlotte,” he said slowly, “I wonder if perhaps we might help each other?”
Charlotte and Sir Laurence talked for a long time, working out the details. Charlotte was not going to run off half-cocked this time. Her anger had gotten her absolutely nowhere—except in Sir Laurence’s gullet. She was going to have a plan, a solid, definite plan, one much better than grabbing the thing and running. She was going to have a plan that had a chance—maybe not a big chance, but a chance, anyway, of working.
It took some doing for Charlotte to get out of the upper chamber of Sir Laurence’s stomach. The thin part of the wall where she had been poking around earlier led, in fact, to the middle chamber of the stomach, where he assured her she very much did not want to be. Charlotte had to feel her way to the opposite end of the chamber and find the flap that separated the stomach from the esophagus. Sir Laurence was kind enough to surface for a moment and open his mouth so a touch of moon shone through the top wall of the chamber, and to Charlotte the light seemed like an embrace.
She spent some time trying to make the flap open, to no avail—it was designed to be opened from the other side, after all—with Sir Laurence dissolving into fits of giggles as she poked and prodded. Finally Sir Laurence suggested he might lie on his belly and take in a bit of water, and she could grab the flap as it opened—being extremely careful not to get flooded and swept down to the lower stomach chambers, which he said would be a nasty business indeed, so Charlotte pressed herself against the curved stomach wall and waited while Sir Laurence took in a gulp of the sea. Water rushed its way down the long esophagus, then pushed the flap open and entered the chamber.
Charlotte hung back until the rush had stopped, climbing as far up the wall as she could to avoid getting wet, with only moderate success. Then the flap began to swing closed, and she sprang forward and grabbed it, using her best gymnast strength to propel her way to the other side.
Charlotte had had a number of unusual experiences over the last few months, from having her shadow nearly stolen to journeying down into the Underworld to riding across the river Styx with the Ferryman of the Dead to being set upon by a shadow army to absolutely everything that had happened today. But none of those unusual experiences were quite like crawling up Sir Laurence’s esophagus. It was dark and sticky and smelly, and there was seawater up to her thighs, and something in the air made Charlotte’s eyes feel that they were going to burn off. Charlotte had to use the wall to guide her. It was an icky sort of pliable wall, covered in a gooey substance she dearly hoped was plankton. Sir Laurence did his best to hold steady, but every once in a while he bobbled, and water splashed all over Charlotte, covering her in goo. It was sort of like going down the long passage to the Underworld, only a lot stickier.
Eventually she found herself in Sir Laurence’s mouth, which had a distinct odor of rotted plant. She hung on to something (she didn’t want to know what) while Sir Laurence swam carefully right up to the side of the yacht. Then he opened his mouth, and moonlight streamed in. Slowly, carefully, Charlotte squeezed herself between two large teeth, then reached for the boat, and as her hand touched the hull, the ladder appeared.
“Well,” said Charlotte. “Here we go.”
“Quite,” mumbled Sir Laurence. He held his mouth open carefully as Charlotte climbed out and onto the ladder, her lungs expanding to drink in the sea air as Sir Laurence’s head began to submerge itself into the sea.
Charlotte quickly turned her head toward him. Before her were the top halves of two great lantern-like yellow eyes, which gazed at her gently, surrounded by a vast darkness. For a moment the two stared at each other, the girl and the sea monster, while the waves danced around them in the moonlight. Sir Laurence’s big eyes blinked twice, then he began to rise out of the water again to reveal a long, dark mouth.
“Good luck, old girl,” he whispered. As Charlotte hung on to the side of the yacht, the tip of a massive tentacle wrapped itself around her shoulders and squeezed softly.
Tears popped into Charlotte’s eyes. “Thank you, Sir Laurence.”
And with that, he was gone, leaving barely a ripple on the surface of the water.
CHAPTER 24
Party at Poseidon’s
THERE WAS AN ENTIRE MARINA’S WORTH OF BOATS anchored next to the yacht now, and as Charlotte climbed up the ladder, she heard voices chattering, chirping, squawking, and growling on the deck. She prepared herself to be grabbed by Kark, but as she peeked over the rail of the deck, she saw the crab was occupied with six tall, green-haired sea goddesses in glittering evening gowns. Quietly she slipped over the rail.
She didn’t have any idea what time it was, but the moon was high in the night sky and the yacht was aglow with festivity. Lights festooned the ship, some in the shape of sea creatures, some replicas of Poseidon, and some, rather mockingly Charlotte thought, in the shape of tridents. Colored balls of flame hovered in the air, and up in the night sky the constellations seemed to dance. The yacht, in other words, was decked out for a party.
With a pounding heart, Charlotte straightened herself up and began to walk down the deck, feeling her black cocktail waitress shoes splurch with water with every step. As she passed, heads began to turn and watch her, and noses began to curl up, almost as if there was something about her that was quite distasteful.
Charlotte looked down. She was completely soaked and covered absolutely everywhere in splashes of green goo. Strands of seaweed were intermixed with her long hair, and judging by everyone’s reaction to her, there seemed to be something very strange about her smell.
Her heart sank. It was no good. For her plan to succeed, she had to look completely unharmed, and not look (and smell) like she’d recently been dragged through sea manure. But was there time?
She looked around frantically, then, mustering as much dignity as was possible, approached a small bass-headed man in a tuxedo.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Has the party started yet?”
“Not yet,” said the fish in a nasal voice. “Soon. We’re going to make our way up there in about half an hour.” He gazed at her seriously. “You know how Poseidon likes punctuality.”
“Thank you,” said Charlotte formally, moving quickly away.
Half of her still wanted to rush to find Poseidon, to try to get the trident now, but she needed to orchestrate everything carefully. She needed to clean herself up, to change clothes, and she needed as many people at the party as could possibly be there. For once in her life, Charlotte Mielswetzski had to be patient.
She took a deep breath. There’s time, Charlotte, she told herself. Do it right this time. Then she tossed her seaweed-filled hair, stalked through the deck door, and headed for her room.
Twenty minutes later, Charlotte had eaten a package of trail mix from her backpack and was clean, dry, and dressed. It had taken her a few moments to pick her apparel—after all, she had a magic wardrobe at her disposal—but after some consideration, she had settled on a black le
ather jacket, a white shirt, and crisp blue jeans. Mr. Mirror Face was not particularly happy about her party attire, but she wasn’t wearing it for him. Then she stood in front of the mirror and examined herself; before her eyes was a small, pale, freckled girl with long red hair held back in a ponytail, green eyes flashing above a stylish black leather jacket. She did not look like someone who was going to take on a god, but she did look like someone who had a good personal shopper. And maybe that was enough.
Charlotte exhaled. Come on, she told herself, it’s now or never. Then, with a defiant flip of her ponytail, she left her room.
Charlotte had just assumed the party was going to be in the Constellation Lounge, but when she got there the lounge was empty save for two octopi in a hot tub in the corner snacking on some lobster rolls. Frowning, she left the lounge and headed back toward the main deck. As she went through the aquarium-lined hallways, she passed by the glass windows of the library, and her eyes fell on two tremendous creatures—one who seemed to be all mouth, and the other an unpleasant-looking blue-skinned woman. Strange shadows leaped on the wall around her, as if a fire danced beneath her legs. There was something familiar about the two monsters, something that filled Charlotte with unease, but as she came closer her eyes left them entirely. For sitting next to them in deep conversation was someone small and dark-haired and indubitably human, someone with large green eyes and scruffy hair, someone who made Charlotte’s heart stop. Jason Hart looked up, saw her through the window, and burst through the door.
“Charlotte!” he exclaimed, coming toward her. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Are you all right?” Jason was dressed for the party, and it looked like he’d made some attempt to get his hair under control.
Relief washed over Charlotte, and something very like happiness, if you are allowed to feel happiness when you are about to take on Poseidon. “Jason,” she exhaled, “you’re here!”
Jason enveloped Charlotte in a hug. She was quite glad she’d bathed. “Oh, Charlotte, I’m so sorry,” he breathed, beginning to lead her down the hallway, away from the library. “My dad—he was so mad, and he wouldn’t let me out of his sight. I should have known! I never should have gone to him, I was just so scared he’d get suspicious! And then I got to your room and got your note, but you weren’t in the lounge and everyone was eating dinner and—”
“Jason, it’s okay. I’ll explain it all later. We have to go now. The party’s starting. Do you know where it is?” Charlotte had done an excellent job of being patient, she thought, but it was time to act.
“Yes, yes, it’s on the top deck.”
“Good. Can you take me there? Now?”
“Charlotte”—he looked at her, eyes wide—“you can’t wear that. You have to be in formal wear. If Poseidon sees you like that, he’ll be furious! You don’t know what he does!”
“I have some idea,” she muttered. “It’s okay. I promise. He’s already going to be mad enough when he sees me.” The thought gave Charlotte a small chill. “Anyway, a girl can’t exactly run in formal wear. Now, we have to go!”
“Okay, okay,” Jason said, moving down the hallway. He looked to see if anyone was in earshot, then whispered, “Are you getting the trident?”
Charlotte set her jaw. “Yes,” she said firmly. “Yes, I am.”
Jason sucked in some air. “How?” he asked, his voice full of danger and excitement.
But Charlotte just shook her head. “There’s no time. You’ll see. Just be ready to run to the lifeboat.” She stopped. “You are…coming with me, right?”
“Charlotte!” He stared at her, letting his hand slowly graze her arm. “Of course!”
She smiled. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Jason and Charlotte took the elevator up to the top deck of the yacht along with several other party guests, all of whom were careful to look disdainfully at Charlotte’s outfit.
“Who is she?” she heard someone whisper.
“I hear her father is a river god,” came the reply.
“Well, no wonder!”
When the elevator opened, Jason and Charlotte stepped into the hallway. In front of them two vast doors stood open, and guests flooded their way inside. Jason stopped, grabbing Charlotte’s shoulder. “Emergency exit,” he whispered, pointing to a barely visible door in the wall. “It’s just five flights down to the main deck.”
Charlotte nodded solemnly, then the two entered the ballroom.
The party had already begun. The deck was filled with a menagerie of gods and sea creatures in tuxedos and long dresses standing and talking—you wouldn’t think that a Cyclops or a man with a lobster for a torso could pull off evening wear, but you’d be surprised—while the elfin waitresses circled with trays of crystal champagne glasses filled with ambrosia.
The ballroom was a giant, glass-walled square room, not entirely conforming with the dimensions of the ship. Large, brightly colored seahorse-shaped free-floating lanterns moved through the air as if they were swimming in it, and a great crystal chandelier hung in the center of the room, looking ready to squash anyone who claimed it wasn’t the most gorgeous of its kind. The floor was made of small pieces of coral in a huge mosaic that showed Poseidon riding his chariot over a vast seascape, and it was covered in a layer of diamond dust that didn’t look that different from the stuff that Charlotte used to paint her toenails for her eleventh birthday party. Like the lounge, the back end of the room was filled with a giant tank, and Charlotte saw a few mermaids with tiaras floating near the top. Against one wall was an orchestra that consisted entirely of human-size starfish who played their instruments with any number of their five arms. The stage was framed with two giant marble statues of you-know-who holding tridents up over the proceedings, as if to bless them. Or, perhaps, as if to turn everyone into goldfish.
“Where’s Poseidon?” Charlotte whispered to Jason as they stood near the doorway, surveying the room.
“He likes to make an entrance,” Jason said.
“Typical,” muttered Charlotte. She surveyed the room carefully. “Okay,” she said to Jason, “I’m going to go hide by the stage, behind the statues. You should mingle. Act naturally. Is there someone you can talk to? Is your dad here?”
“No,” said Jason, rolling his eyes. “He’s working. He doesn’t like parties. Poseidon lets him get away with it because he’s usually doing his bidding.” Jason scowled while Charlotte stared at him impatiently. “But,” he said quickly, catching her look, “I’m sure I can find people, no problem.”
“Good, good.” She surveyed the room quickly. “Okay,” she said. “I’m going to go hide behind that statue and wait. I just want you to be near the door, ready to run, okay?” Her chest tightened with worry. But what was she doing? Jason could take care of himself just fine. He’d gotten to the Isis Queen all by himself, he’d saved her in the Strait of Messina, he could handle himself. But that didn’t mean Charlotte wanted him any nearer to danger than he had to be. She was growing soft.
“Be careful,” whispered Jason.
“You too,” said Charlotte. And then she slipped through the crowd, heading toward the orchestra.
Despite her inappropriate attire, no one paid much attention to her as she moved through the ballroom—maybe because they were all too occupied with their own conversations, or maybe because most everyone was three times her size and didn’t spend a lot of time looking down. For whatever reason, Charlotte made it to the stage unscathed, and she quickly ducked behind one of the well-muscled statue legs and prepared to wait.
More people flooded the room, and still more, and Charlotte had never known how many Immortals there were in the world. Nor how many people who seemed to be mortals weren’t—she saw another movie star, a newscaster, some foreign minister, and a pop singer she’d liked when she was younger but would never admit it if you asked her now. The vast ballroom was packed with monsters and creatures and gods—and one small mortal girl, hiding behind a statue five times her size, wait
ing for the god it portrayed.
And then the trumpets sounded, a great rumbling passed over the room, and the seahorse lanterns moved into a circle in the air, all looking toward the center of the room. The fish-tailed, horse-butted god that Charlotte had seen earlier blew dramatically on his conch shell. Everyone in the ballroom moved quickly toward the walls—a good thing, as the mosaic beneath them began to spread apart. The orchestra broke into a fanfare, and as the crowd watched, a great hole opened in the middle of the floor. The seahorse lanterns bowed, and slowly, majestically, Poseidon came rising up from the ground poised imperiously on a golden horse statue. He might have required his guests to dress in formal wear, but Poseidon himself was wearing only loose white silk pants and one giant gold necklace bearing a huge medallion of his own visage. The ground closed in around the horse statue while Poseidon held absolutely still, giving everyone in the room ample time to admire him. Finally, after a full minute of this, he moved his trident around in the air with a flourish, then dismounted. Another flourish and the golden horse came to life, rearing up with a loud neigh, making all the party guests move farther back. With another whinny and a shake of his impressive head, the horse took off in a gallop through the great hall and out into the lobby, leaving party guests scattering in his wake.
Everyone in the ballroom burst into applause. Poseidon nodded gracefully, then strode over to the orchestra and picked up a microphone. Charlotte, her breath catching in her throat, instinctively moved farther behind the statue leg.
“Hello,” Poseidon told the crowd, his voice booming. “Thank you for coming to my party. It gives me great pleasure to see so many people enjoying the finest yacht in the Universe!”
Everyone applauded again.
“Eat, drink, and be merry, for we are Immortals, and it is our due. I hope you’ll say by the end of the night that this was the greatest party in the history of the gods!”
More applause. Poseidon surveyed the crowd and added, “Even Zeus himself cannot throw a party like this!”