I DO NOT OWN PERCY JACKSON RICK RIORDAN DOES! I only have rights to Atlanta and, just Atlanta. The stories are still in Percy's POV.
I didn't really change too much in the shop, kept all of it, but Ermis is the one that deals with Crusty and not Percy. I wanted to give everyone a chance to have this badass moment on this quests.
Chapter seventeen: We Shop for Water Beds
It was Annabeth's idea.
She loaded us into the back of a Vegas Taxi as if we actually had money, and told the driver, "Los Angles, please."
The cabbie chewed his cigar-which mad almost made Atlanta leave if it wasn't for Ermis- and sized us up. "That's three hundred miles. For that, you gotta pay up front."
"You accept casino debit cards?" Annabeth asked.
He shrugged. "Some of 'em. Same as credit cards. I gotta swipe 'em through first."
Annabeth handed him her green LotusCash card.
He looked at it skeptically.
"Swipe it," Annabeth invited.
He did.
His meter machine started rattling. The lights flashed. Finally an infinity symbol came up next to the dollar sign.
The cigar fell out of the driver's mouth. He looked back at us, his eyes wide. "Where to in Los Angeles…uh, Your Highness?"
"The Santa Monica Pier." Annabeth sat up a little straighter. I could tell she like the "Your Highness" thing. "Get us there fast, and you can keep the card."
Maybe she shouldn't have told him that.
The cab's speedometer never dipped below ninety-five the whole way through the Mojave Desert.
On the road, we had plenty of time to talk. Atlanta's dream was a nightmare that felt like a memory. She was a little girl again. Her left arm was gone, but she had bandages wrapped around her arm, where it was cut and she could see gold blood soaking the bandage. She was also dressed in a Greek toga, that was dirty and in poor condition. She was in chains and in a dark room. The door opened and a bright light blinded her. A man stood in the door way and she started to shake. She felt like she knew who this was, but can't remember.
She told us, how he said was disappointed that she dropped her sword while training today. All she could do was nodded her head. The man told her, that maybe having one less arm, would make her think twice on dropping her weapon a second time, before locking her in the room alone once again. She said the dream, felt more like a memory because how real it was.
I grabbed her hand, and squeezed it tightly. She held it back, putting her head on my shoulder.
I told everyone of my latest dream, but the but the details got sketchier the more I tried to remember them. The Lotus Casino seemed to have short-circuited my memory. I couldn't recall what the invisible servant's voice had sounded like, though I was sure it was somebody I knew. The servant had called the monster in the pit something other than "my lord"…some special name or title…
"The Silent One?" Annabeth suggested. "The Rich One? Both of those are nicknames for Hades."
"Maybe…" I said, though neither sounded quite right.
"That throne room sounds like Hades's," Grover said. "That's the way it's usually described."
I shook my head. "Something's wrong. The throne room wasn't the main part of the dream. And that voice from the pit…I don't know. It just didn't feel like a god's voice."
Annabeth's eyes widen.
"What's up?" Ermis asked.
Annabeth looked to focused on whatever she was thinking to be rude or snap at him. "Oh…nothing. I was just-No, it had to be Hades. Maybe he sent this thief, this invisible person, to get the master bolt, and something went wrong-"
"Like what?" I asked.
"I-I don't know," she said. "But if he stole Zeus's symbol of power from Olympus, and the gods were hunting him, I mean, a lot of things could go wrong. So this thief had to hid the bolt, or he lost it somehow. Anyway, he failed to bring it to Hades. That's why the voice said in your dream, right? The guy failed. That would explain what the Furies were searching for when they came after us on the bus. Maybe they thought we had retrieved the bolt."
I wasn't sure what was wrong with her. She looked pale.
"But if Atlanta and I have already retrieved the bolt," I said, "why would we be traveling to the Underworld?"
"To threaten Hades," Grover suggested. "He did try to take your mother. You could get him to leave your family alone."
I whistled. "You have evil thoughts for a goat."
"Why thank-you."
"But the thing in the pit said it was waiting for two items," I said. "If the master bolt is one, what's the other?"
Grover shook his head, clearly mystified.
Annabeth was looking at me as if she knew my next question and was silently willing me not to ask it.
"You have an idea what might be in that pit, don't you?" I asked her. "I mean, if it isn't Hades."
"Percy…let's not talk about it. Because if it isn't Hades…No. It has to be Hades."
Wasteland rolled by. We passed a sign that said CALIFORNIA STATE LINE, 12 MILES.
I got the feeling I was one missing one simple, critical pieced of information. It was like when I started at a common word I should know, but I couldn't make sense of it because one or two were floating around. The more I thought about mine and Atlanta's quest, the more I was sure that confronting Hades wasn't the real answer. There was something else going on, something even more dangerous.
The problem was: we were hurtling toward the Underworld at ninety-five miles an hour, betting that Hades had the master bolt. If we got there and found out we were wrong, we wouldn't have time to correct ourselves. The solstice deadline would pass and war would begin.
"The answer is in the Underworld," Annabeth assured me. "You saw spirits of the dead, Percy. There's only one place that could be. We're going the right thing."
She tried to boost our morale by suggesting clever strategies for getting into the Land of the Dead, but my heart wasn't in it. There were just too many unknown factors. It was like cramming for a test without knowing the subject. And believe me, I'd done that with Atlanta plenty of times.
The cab sped west. Every gust of wind through Death Valley sounded like a spirit of the dead. Every time the brakes hissed on an eighteen-wheeler, it reminded me of Echidna's reptilian voice.
At sunset, the taxi dropped us at the beach in Santa Monica. It looked exactly the way L.A. beaches do in the movies, only it smelled worse. There were carnival rides lining the Piper, palm trees lining the sidewalks, homeless guys sleeping in the sand dunes, and surfer dudes waiting for the perfect wave.
Grover, Annabeth, and I walked down to the edge of the surf.
"What now?" Annabeth asked.
The Pacific was turning gold in the setting sun. I thought about how long it had been since Atlanta and I'd stood on the beach at Montauk, on the opposite side of the country, looking out at a different sea.
How could there be a god who could control all that? What did my science teacher used to say-two-thirds of the earth's surface was covered in water? How could I be the son of someone that powerful?
I stepped into the surf.
"Percy?" Annabeth said. "What are you doing?"
I kept walking, up to my waist, then my chest.
She called after me, "You know how polluted that water is? There all kinds of toxic-"
"Annabeth, did you forget who his father is?" Atlanta asked. "He'll be fine."
"Oh, right…."
That's when my head went under.
I held my breath at first. It's different to intentionally inhale water. Finally I couldn't breathe normally.
I walked down into the shoals. I shouldn't have been able to see through the murk, but somehow I could tell where everything was. I could sense the rolling texture of the bottom. I could make out sand-dollar colonies dotting the sandbars. I could even see the currents, warm and cold streams swirling together.
I felt something rub against my leg. I looked down and almost shot of the water like a ballistic missile. Sliding along beside me was a five-foot-long mako shark.
But the thing wasn't attacking. It was nuzzling me. Heeling like a dog. Tentatively, I touched its dorsal fin. It bucked a little, as if inviting me to hold tighter. I grabbed the fin with both hands. It took off, pulling me along. The shark carried me down into the darkness. It deposited me at the edge of the ocean proper, where the sand bank dropped off into a huge chasm. It was like standing on the rim of the Grand Canyon at midnight, not being able to see much, but knowing the void was right there.
The surface shimmered maybe a hundred and fifty feet above. I knew it should've been crashed by the pressure. Then again, I shouldn't have been able to breath. I wondered if there was a limit to how deep I could go, if I could sink straight to the bottom of the Pacific.
Then I saw something glimmering in the darkness below, growing bigger and brighter as it rose towards me. A woman's voice, like our mother's, called: "Percy Jackson."
As she got closer, her shape became clearer. She had flowing black hair. A dress made of green silk. Light flickered around her, and her eyes were so distractingly beautiful I hardly noticed the stallion-sized sea horse she was riding.
She dismounted. The sea horse and the mako shark whisked off and started playing something that looked like tag. The underwater lady smiled at me. "You've come far, Percy Jackson. Well done."
I wasn't quite sure what to do, so I bowed. "You're the woman who spoke to my sister, Ermis and I in the Mississippi River."
"Yes child. I am a Nereid, a spirit of the sea. It was not easy to appear so far upriver, but the naiads, my freshwater cousins, helped sustain my life force. They honor Lord Poseidon, though they do not serve in his court."
"And…you serve in Poseidon's court?"
She nodded. "It had been many years since a child of the Sea God has been born. We have watched you with great interest. Many love the closeness you have with your sister."
Suddenly I remembered faces in the waves off Montauk Beach when Atlanta and I were little kids, reflection of smiling women. Like so many of the weird things in our lives, I'd never given much thought before.
"If my father is so interested in me," I said, "Why isn't he here? Why doesn't he speak to me?"
A cold current rose out of the depths.
"Do not judge the Lord of the Sea too harshly," the Nereid told me. "He stands at the brink of an unwanted war. He has much to occupy his time. Besides, he is forbidden to help you directly. The gods may not show such favoritism."
"Even to their own children?"
"Especially to them. The gods can work by indirect influence only. That's why I give you a warning and a gift."
She held out her hand. Five white pearls flashed in her palm.
"I know you journey to Hades's realm," she said. "Few mortals have ever done this and survived: Orpheus, who had great music skill; Hercules, who had great strength; Houdini, who could escape even the depths of Tartarus. Do you have these talents?"
Atlanta always told me you can do anything I put my mind to, so I told her " That and more".
She smiled at me. "You are correct, Percy. You have gifts that you will continue to learn as you grow. The oracles have foretold a great and terrible future for you, should you survive to manhood. Poseidon would not have you die before your time. Therefore take these, and when you are in need, smash a pearl at your feet."
"What will happen?"
"That," she said, "depends on the need. But remember: what belongs to the sea will always return to the sea."
"What about the warning?"
Her eyes flickered with green light. "Go with what your heart tells you, or you will lose all. Hades seems to run on doubt and hopelessness, but in truth he distracts and tricks you if he can, make you mistrust your own judgement. Once you are in his realm, he will never willingly let you leave. Keep faith. Good luck to you and your sister, Percy Jackson."
She summoned her sea horse and rode toward the void.
"Wait!" I called. "At the river, you said not to trust the gifts. What gifts?"
"Good-bye, young hero," she called back, her voice fading into the depths. "You must listen to your heart." She became a speck of glowing green, and then she was gone.
I wanted to follow her down into the darkness. I wanted to see the court of Poseidon. But I looked up at the sunset darkening on the surface. Atlanta and our friends were waiting. We had so little time….
I kicked upward toward the shore.
When I reached the beach, my clothes dried instantly. I told everyone what had happened, and showed them the pearls.
Annabeth grimaced. "No gifts comes without a price."
"They were free."
"No." She shook her head. "'There is no such thing as a free lunch.' That's an ancient Greek saying that translated pretty well into American. There will be a price. You wait."
"Way to kill the mood, Annabeth," Atlanta said.
With that said, we turned our backs on the sea.
With some of the money from Ares, we took the bus into West Hollywood. I showed the driver the Underworld address slip I'd taken from Aunty Em's Garden Gnome Emporium, but he'd never heard of DOA Recording Studios.
"You and the other black haired girl remind of somebody I saw on TV," he told me. "You two children actors or something?"
"Uh…we're stunt doubles…for a lot of children actors," I said.
"Oh! That explains it."
We thanked him and got off quickly at the next stop.
We wandered for miles on foot, looking for DOA. Nobody seemed to know where it was. It didn't appear in the phone book.
Twice, we ducked into alleys to avoid cop cars.
Atlanta and I froze in front of an appliance-store window because a television was playing an interview with somebody who looked familiar-our stepdad, Smelly Gabe. He was talking to Barbara Walters-I mean, ad if we here some kind of huge celebrity. She wads interviewing him in our apartment, in the middle of a poker game, and there was a young blonde lady sitting next to him, patting his head.
A fake tear glistening on his cheek. He was saying, "Honest, Ms. Walters, if it wasn't for Sugar here, my grief counselor. I'd be a wreck. My stepson and stepdaughter took everything I cared. My wife…my Camaro…I-I'm sorry. I have trouble talking about it."
"There you have it, America." Barbara Walters turned to the camera. "A man torn apart. An adolescent boy with series issues, and a mysterious girl with no past or memories. Let me show you , again, the last known photo of this troubled young fugitive, taken a few weeks ago in Denver."
The screen cut to a grainy shot of all of us standing outside the Colorado diner, talking to Ares.
"Who are the other children in this photo?" Barbara Walters asked dramatically. "Who is the man with them? Is Percy and Atlanta Jackson delinquents, terrorists, or perhaps the brainwashed victims of a fighting cult? When we come back, we chat with a leading child psychologist. Stay tuned, America."
"C'mon," Grover told us. He hauled Atlanta and me away before we could punch a hole in the appliance-store window.
It got dark, and hungry-looking characters started coming out on the streets to play. Now, don't get me wrong. Atlanta and I are New Yorkers and she was homeless for a few months before we met. We don't get scared easy. But L.A. had a totally different feel from New York. Back home, everything seemed close. It didn't matter how big the city was, you could get anywhere without getting lost. The street pattern things worked. A kid could be safe as long as he wasn't stupid.
L.A. wasn't like that. It was spread out, chaotic, hard to move around. It reminded me of Ares. It wasn't enough for L.A. to be big; it had to probe it wads big by being loud and strange and difficult to navigate, too. I didn't know how we were ever going to find the entrance to the Underworld by tomorrow, the summer solstice.
We walked past gangbangers, bums, and street hawkers, who looked at us like they were trying to figure if we were worth the trouble of mugging.
As we hurried passed the entrance of an alley, a voice from the darkness said, "Hey, you."
Like an idiot, I stopped.
Before we knew it, we were surrounded. A gang of kids had circled us. Six of them in all0white kids with expressive clothes and means faces. Like the kids at Yancy Academy: rich brats playing at being bad boys.
Instinctively, I went to uncap Riptide but Atlanta stopped me.
She stood in front of me, arms crossed like so many times whenever someone wanted to start a fight with me. I don't know why or how she does it, but Atlanta always gives off this 'Don't mess with me" vibe about her. She once made an angry bodybuilder who kept trying to get our mother's number back off, just by standing still and crossing her arms. The kids backed off, but their leader was either really stupid or really brave, because he kept coming at Atlanta with a switchblade.
He made the mistake of swinging.
Atlanta moved to the side when he swung at her. She grabbed his wrist, twisted his whole body around and held his arm behind him as he started crying. She took the switchblade from him and pushed him back towards his friends. The leader stumbled and turned around staring at her. Atlanta put the switch blade in her back pocket.
I figured we had about three seconds before his shock turned to anger. I grabbed Atlanta's hand and screamed at our friends "Run!".
We pushed two kids out of the way and raced down the street, not knowing where we were going. We turned a sharp corner.
"There!" Annabeth shouted.
Only one store on the block looked open, its window glaring with neon. The sign above the door said something like CRSTU'S WATRE BDE ALPACE.
"Crusty's Water Bed Palace?" Grover translated.
"Don't like the sound of that," Ermis said.
"No choice," Atlanta said.
It didn't sound like a place I'd ever go except in an emergency, but this definitely qualified.
We burst through the doors, ran behind a water bed, and ducked. A split second later, the gang kids ran past outside.
"I think we lost them," Grover panted.
A voice behind us boomed, "Lost who?"
We all jumped.
Standing behind us was a guy who looked like a raptor in a leisure suit. He was at least seven feet tall, with absolutely no hair. He had gray, leathery skin, thick-lidded eyes, and a cold, reptilian smile. He moved towards us slowly, but I got the feeling he could move fast if he needed to.
His suit might've come from the Lotus Casino. It belonged back in the seventies, big-time. The shirt was silk paisley, unbutton halfway down his hairless chest. The lapels on his velvet jacket were as wide as landing strips. The sliver chains around his neck-I couldn't even count them.
"I'm Crusty," he said with a tartar-yellow smile.
I resisted the urge to say, "Yes, you are.
"Sorry to barge in," I told him. "We were just, um, browsing."
"You mean hiding from those no-good kids," he grumbled. "They hang around every night. I get a lot of people in her, thanks to them. Say, you want to look at a water bed?"
I was about to say, No, thanks, when he put a huge paw on mine and Atlanta's shoulders and steered us deeper into the showroom.
There was every kind of wood, different patterns of sheets; queen-sized, king-size, emperor-of-the-universe-size.
"This is my most popular model." Crusty spread his hands proudly over a bed covered with black satin sheets, with bult-in Lava Lamps on the headboard. The mattress vibrated, so it looked like oil-flavored Jell-O.
"Million-hand massage," Crusty told us. "Go on, try it out. Shoot, take a nap, I don't care. No business today, anyway."
"Um," I said. "I don't think…"
"Million-hand massage!" Grover cried, and dove in. "Oh, you guys! This is cool."
"Hmm," Vrusty said, stoking his leathery chin. "Almost, almost."
"Almost what?" I asked.
He looked at Annabeth and Atlanta. "Do me a favor and try this one over here, dears. Might fit."
Anabeth said, "But what-"
He patted them reassuringly on the shoulders and led them over to the Safari Deluce model with teakwood lions carved into the frame and a leopard-patterned comforter. When Annabeth and Atlanta didn't want to lie down, Crusty pushed them.
"Dude!" Atlanta yelled.
"Hey!" Annabeth protested.
I went to go help them and Crusty took the change to push me onto the bed too. I turned around to yell at him, but never got the chance.
Crusty snapped his fingers. "Ergo!"
Roped sprang from the sides of the bed, lashing around Atlanta, Annabeth, and me, holding us to the mattress.
Grover tried to get up, but ropes sprang from his black stain bed, too and lashed him down.
"N-not c-c-cool!" he yelled, his voice vibrating from the million-hand massage. "N-not c-cool a-at all!"
The giant looked at Atlanta, Annabeth, and me, then turned toward Ermis. "Almost, darn it."
I stranded my neck to watch, Ermis tried to step away, but Crusty's hand shot out and clamped around the back of his neck. Luckly the force didn't knock off his sunglasses. "Whoa, kid. Don't worry. We'll find you one in sec."
"Let my friends go," Ermis said.
"Oh, sure I will. But I got to make them fit, first."
"What do you mean?"
"All the beds are exactly six feet, see? Your friends are too short. Got to make them fit."
Atlanta, Annabeth, and Grover kept struggling, I somehow managed to stay calm.
"Can't stand imperfect measurements," Crusty muttered. "Ergo!"
A new set of ropes leaped out from the top and bottom of the beds, wrapping around our ankles, then around out armpits. The ropes started tightening, pulling me and me, my sister, and our friends from both ends.
"Don't worry," Crusty told Ermis. "These are stretching jobs. Maybe three extra inches on their spines. They might even live. Now why don't we find a bed you like, huh?"
"Ermes!" Grover yelled.
I could see Ermis panicking. He couldn't take on this giant water-bed salesman alone. He would snap his neck before he even got a chance to get that spear Ares had given him.
"You're real name's not Crusty, is it?" Ermis asked.
"Legally, its Procrustes," he admitted.
"The Stretcher," Ermis said.
I remembered the story: the giant who'd tried to kill Theseus with excess hospitality on his way to Athens.
"Yeah," the salesman said. "But who can pronounce Procrustes? Bad for business. Now 'Crusty', anybody can say that."
"You're right. It's got good ring to it."
What was he doing? Crusty's eyes lit up. "You think so?"
"Oh absolutely," I said. "And the workmanship on these beds? Fabulous!"
Okay, I get now he's 'Killing him with kindness'. Crusty grinned hugely, but his fingers didn't loosen on my neck. "I tell my customers that. Every time. Nobody bothers to look at the workmanship. How many built-in Lava Lamp headboards have you seen?"
None
"Not too many."
"That's right!"
"Ermis!" Annabeth yelled. "What are you doing?"
"Shut up," Atlanta hissed.
"He's has to be careful or we're all dead," I whispered.
"Well tell him to do it faster!" Annabeth hissed back.
"Don't mind her," Ermis told Procrustes. "She's impossible."
The giant laughed. "All of my customers are. Never six feet exactly. So inconsiderate. And then they complain about the fitting."
"What do you do if they're longer than six feet?"
"Oh, that happens all the time. It's simple fix."
Crusty let go of Ermis's neck, but before he could react, he reached behind a nearby sales desk and brought out a huge double-bladed brass axe. He said, "I just center the subject as best I can and lop off whatever hangs over on either end."
"Ah," Ermis said uncomfortable. "Sensible."
"I'm so glad to come across an intelligent customer!"
The ropes were really stretching us now. Annabeth was turning pale. Grover made gurgling sounds, like a strangled goose. Atlanta was biting her lip and trying to unlatch her prostic arm with no luck. I felt like I was going to throw up.
"So, Crusty…" Ermis said, trying to sound cheerful. He glanced at what I think was a sales tag on the valentine-shaped Honeymoon Special. "Does this one really have dynamic stabilizers to stop wave motion?"
"Absolutely. Try it out."
"Yeah, maybe I will. But would it work even for a big guy like you? No waves at all?"
"Guaranteed."
"No way."
"Way."
"Show me."
Got him.
Crusty sat down eagerly on the bed, patted the mattress. "No waves. See?"
Ermis snapped his fingers. "Ergo."
Ropes lashed around Crusty and flattened him against the mattress.
"Hey!" he yelled.
"Center him just right," Ermis said.
The ropes readjusted themselves at his command. I couldn't see Crusty's head, but his feet stuck out at the bottom.
"No!" he said. "Wait! This is just a demo."
Ermis took his spear off the keychain and it grow into his hand until it was as tall as Atlanta's Trident. "A few adjustments…"
Hopefully Ermis had no qualms about what he was about to do. If Crusty were human, he couldn't hurt him anyway. If Crusty was a monster, he deserved to turn into dust for a while.
"You drive a hard bargain," Crusty told Ermis. "I'll give you thirty percent off on selected floor models!"
"I think I'll start with the top." Ermis raised his spear.
"No money down! No interest for six months!"
Ermis stabbed the spear. Crusty stopped making offers. Ermis sliced the ropes of ours and Grover's beds. We got to out feet, groaning and winching and curing him a lot.
"You look taller," Ermis said, smirking.
"Very funny," Annabeth said. "Be faster next time."
I looked at the bulletin board behind Crusty's sales desk. There was an advertisement for Hermes Delivery Service and another for the All-New Compendium of L.A. Ares Monsters- "The only Monstrous Yellow Pages you'll ever need!" Under that, a bright orange flier for DOA Recording Studios, offering commissions for hero's souls. "We are always looking for new talent!" DOAs address was right underneath with a map.
"Come on," I told my sister and our friends.
"Give us a minute," Grover complained. "We were almost stretched to death!"
"Then we're ready for the Underworld," I said. "It's only a block from here."