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"You are in so much trouble," Clarisse said.
They'd just finished a ship tour they didn't want, through dark rooms overcrowded with dead sailors. They'd seen the coal bunker, the boilers and engine, which huffed and groaned like it would explode any minute.
They'd seen the pilothouse and the powder magazine and gunnery deck (Clarisse's favorite) with two Dahlgren smoothbore cannons on the port and starboard sides and a Brooke nineinch rifled gun fore and aft—all specially refitted to fire celestial bronze cannon balls.
Everywhere they went, dead Confederate sailors stared at them, their ghostly bearded faces shimmering over their skulls. Bronte was nervous that they would cause trouble, but they were more interested in Percy, because his name was Jackson—like the Southern general, but then he ruined it by telling them he was from New York. They all hissed and muttered curses about Yankees.
Tyson was terrified of them. All through the tour, he insisted Bronte hold his hand, which she didn't mind.
Finally, they were escorted to dinner. The CSS Birmingham captain's quarters were about the size of a walk-in closet, but still much bigger than any other room on board.
The table was set with white linen and china. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, potato chips, and Dr. Peppers (which Bronte was very glad about) were served by skeletal crewmen.
"Tantalus expelled you for eternity," Clarisse told them smugly. "Mr. D said if any of you show your face at camp again, he'll turn you into squirrels and run you over with his SUV."
"I think I'm fast enough to get away from his SUV— wait Mr. D has an SUV?" Bronte asked, her brows furrowing.
"There's no way you're fast enough to outrun an SUV," Annabeth scoffed.
"Bet you five bucks I can," Bronte said with a smirk.
"Did they give you this ship?" Percy asked, ignoring the two girls bickering.
"'Course not. My father did," Clarisse explained, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Ares?"
Clarisse sneered. "You think your daddy is the only one with sea power? The spirits on the losing side of every war owe a tribute to Ares. That's their curse for being defeated. I prayed to my father for a naval transport and here it is. These guys will do anything I tell them. Won't you, Captain?"
The captain stood behind her looking stiff and angry. His glowing green eyes fixed Bronte with a hungry stare. She backed away, leaning towards Percy. "If it means an end to this infernal war, ma'am, peace at last, we'll do anything. Destroy anyone."
