Percy Jackson's Greek Gods by Rick Riordan, John Rocco Read Free Book Online Page B

down there in the darkness, and they’d been having kids of their own.
    The six young gods crept around until they found the maximum-security zone, surrounded by a high brass wall and patrolled by demons. In bat form the gods could fly over the wall easily; but once inside, they spotted the jailer and almost lost their nerve.
    Kronos had personally hired the most horrible monster in Tartarus to make sure his high-value prisoners never escaped.
    Her name was Kamp ê .
    I don’t know if Kronos found her on Craigslist or what, but if the worst creatures from your nightmares had nightmares of their own, they would probably dream about Kamp ê . From the waist up, she was a humanoid female with snakes for hair. (If that sounds familiar, it’s because the hairdo really caught on with other monsters later.) From the waist down, she was a four-legged dragon. Thousands of vipers sprouted from her legs like grass skirts. Her waist was ringed with the heads of fifty hideous beasts—bears, boars, wombats, you name it—always snapping and snarling and trying to eat Kamp ê’s shirt.
    Large, dark reptilian wings grew from her shoulder blades. Her scorpionlike tail swished back and forth, dripping venom. Basically, Kamp ê didn’t get invited on many dates.
    The gods watched from behind a pile of boulders as the monstrous jailer tromped back and forth, lashing the Elder Cyclopes with a fiery whip and stinging the Hundred-Handed Ones with her scorpion tail whenever they got out of line.
    The poor prisoners were forced to work without any break—no water, no sleep, no food, nothing. The Hundred-Handed Ones spent their time at the far end of the yard, quarrying stone blocks from the hard volcanic floor. The Cyclopes worked at the closer end. They each had a forge where they smelted metals and hammered out sheets of bronze and iron. If the Cyclopes tried to sit down, or even pause long enough to catch their breaths, Kamp ê would leave fresh burning lash marks across their backs.
    Even worse, the prisoners weren’t allowed to finish anything they started. As soon as the Hundred-Handed Ones had a goodly stack of building blocks, Kamp ê forced them to break their quarried stone into rubble. Whenever the Cyclopes were on the verge of finishing a weapon or a shield or even a tool that might be dangerous, Kamp ê confiscated it and threw it into the bubbling pits of magma.
    You’re probably thinking: Hey, there were six big dudes and only one Kampê. Why didn’t they overpower her?
    But Kamp ê had the whip. The venom in her tail could incapacitate even an Elder Cyclops for hours, leaving him writhing in pain. The dragon lady was straight-up terrifying, and the prisoners were chained around their feet so they couldn’t run far.
    Besides, the Hundred-Handed Ones and the Cyclopes were gentle souls. Despite their looks, they were builders, not fighters. Give these dudes a bucket of Legos, and they’d be happy for days.
    Zeus waited until Kamp ê marched to the far end of the prison yard. Then he sneaked up to the nearest Cyclops.
    “Psst!” he called.
    The Cyclops lowered his hammer. He turned toward Zeus, but his one big eye had been staring into the flames so long, he couldn’t see who was talking.
    “I am not Psst,” the Cyclops said. “I am Brontes.”
    Oh, boy, Zeus thought. This may take a while.
    “Hey, Brontes.” Zeus spoke slowly and cheerfully, like he was trying to coax a puppy out of its box. “I’m Zeus. I’ve come to rescue you.”
    Brontes scowled. “I have heard that before. Kronos tricked us.”
    “Yeah, I know,” Zeus said. “Kronos is my enemy too. Together, we can get revenge and throw him down here. How does that sound?”
    “Sounds good,” Brontes said. “But how?”
    “First we need weapons,” Zeus said. “Can you make us some?”
    Brontes shook his head. “Kamp ê is always watching. She will not let us finish any project.”
    “How about you each make a different part of each weapon?” Zeus