NEVER BE THE SAME . . . percy jackson

thirty five: the senate meeting.

THE SENATE HOUSE interior looked like a high school lecture hall. A semicircle of tiered seats faced a dais with a podium and two chairs. The chairs were empty, but one had a small velvet package on the seat.

Brooklyn, Percy, Hazel, and Frank sat on the left side of the semicircle. The ten senators and Nico di Angelo occupied the rest of the front row. The upper rows were filled with several dozen ghosts and a few older veterans from the city, all in formal togas. Octavian stood in front with a knife and a Beanie Babylion, just in case anyone needed to consult the god of cutesy collectibles. Reyna walked to the podium and raised her hand for attention.

"Right, this is an emergency meeting," she said. "We won't stand on formalities."

"I love formalities!" a ghost complained.

Reyna shot him a cross look.

"First of all," she said, "we're not here to vote on the quest itself. The quest has been issued by Mars Ultor, patron of Rome. We will obey his wishes. Nor are we here to debate the choice of Frank Zhang's companions."

"All four from the Fifth Cohort?" called out Hank from the Third. "That's not fair."

"And not smart," said the boy next to him. "We know the Fifth will mess up. They should take somebody good. Not that Hayward isn't good," he added quickly, making one of the corners of her mouth quirk up. As they should.

Dakota got up so fast, he spilled Kool-Aid from his flask. "We were plenty good last night when we whipped your podex, Larry!"

"Enough, Dakota," Reyna said. "Let's leave Larry's podex out of this. As quest leader, Frank has the right to choose his companions. He has chosen Brooklyn Hayward, Percy Jackson, and Hazel Levesque."

A ghost from the second row yelled, "Absurdus! Frank Zhang isn't even a full member of the legion! He's on probatio. A quest must be led by someone of centurion rank or higher. This is completely—"

"Cato," Reyna snapped. "We must obey the wishes of Mars Ultor. That means certain . . . adjustments."

Reyna clapped her hands, and Octavian came forward. He set down his knife and Beanie Baby and took the velvet package from the chair.

"Frank Zhang," he said, "come forward."

Frank glanced nervously at Percy. Then he got to his feet and approached the augur.

"It is my . . . pleasure," Octavian said, forcing out the last word, "to bestow upon you the Mural Crown for being first over the walls in siege warfare." Octavian handed him a bronze badge shaped like a laurel wreath. "Also, by order of Praetor Reyna, to promote you to the rank of centurion."

He handed Frank another badge, a bronze crescent, and the senate exploded in protest.

"He's still a probie!" one yelled.

"Impossible!" said another.

"Water cannon up my nose!" yelled a third.

"Silence!" Octavian's voice sounded a lot more commanding than it had the previous night on the battlefield. "Our praetor recognizes that no one below the rank of centurion may lead a quest. For good or ill, Frank must lead this quest — so our praetor has decreed that Frank Zhang must be made centurion."

Suddenly Brooklyn understood what an effective speaker Octavian was. He sounded reasonable and supportive, but his expression was pained. He carefully crafted his words to put all the responsibility on Reyna. This was her idea, he seemed to say.

If it went wrong, Reyna was to blame. If only Octavian had been the one in charge, things would have been done more sensibly. But alas, he had no choice but to support Reyna, because Octavian was a loyal Roman soldier.