Percy Jackson and the Greek Heroes by Rick Riordan
‘Are you related to this pig?’ Theseus asked. ‘Because you look –’
‘That’s my pet, you idiot!’ the woman screamed. ‘What have you done?’
‘You must be Phaea.’
‘Yes! And that pig made me good money in the banditry business!’
‘Well, ma’am, I’m going to have to cite you for keeping livestock inside the Crommyon village limits. Also for killing, pillaging and being ugly without a licence.’
The woman raised her battleaxe. ‘Die!’
Pro tip: if you come across a well-armed hero who has just killed a giant sow, it is not smart to yell ‘Die!’ and charge him with an axe.
Soon, Phaea was lying dead alongside her pig. Theseus cleaned his sword on her sackcloth dress. He could’ve gone back to Crommyon and told the people what had happened, but he figured they’d find out soon enough. Also, there really wasn’t much to do in Crommyon once you’d killed the giant pig, so Theseus hit the road.
By this time, Theseus had developed a personal philosophy about killing things. He would only attack if he were attacked first. And, whenever possible, he would defeat his enemies the same way they tried to defeat him. Smack Theseus with a club? He’d take your club and kill you with it. Tie Theseus to a pine tree? He’d tie you to two pine trees. Not only was this system fair; it was fun. He only regretted that he couldn’t kill Phaea with her own giant pig, but philosophy will only take you so far.
One afternoon Theseus was strolling along the top of a hundred-foot cliff (because heroes do that sort of thing). The sea glittered far below. The sun felt warm and pleasant on his face.
It was so peaceful and relaxing that Theseus started to feel antsy.
Fortunately, about fifty feet in front of him, a bandit jumped out from behind a rock and yelled, ‘Stand and deliver!’
The guy was dressed in dusty black clothes, leather sandals (not as nice as Theseus’s) and a wide-brimmed black hat. A scarf covered the lower part of his face. He aimed a crossbow bolt at Theseus.
Theseus grinned. ‘Man, am I glad to see you.’
The guy’s crossbow dipped. ‘You are?’ he asked.
‘Yeah! I was bored.’
The bandit blinked. ‘Well … okay, then. This is a robbery! Give me all your goodies – that sword, that club, definitely those shoes. Those are nice shoes.’
‘I don’t suppose there’s any way to avoid a confrontation here? Because I’m trying not to kill people unless they attack me.’
The bandit laughed. ‘You kill me? Good one! I tell you what: if you wash my feet as a show of respect, I won’t kill you. I’ll take your valuables, but you’ll keep your life. That’s the best deal you’re going to get.’
The mention of foot-washing triggered Theseus’s memory. ‘Oh, my mom told me about you. You must be Sciron.’
The bandit puffed up his chest. ‘Of course I am! I’m famous! Sciron, son of Poseidon! Number six on the Forbes list of Top Ten Richest Bandits!’
‘Hey, I’m a son of Poseidon too,’ Theseus said. ‘You wouldn’t rob a brother, would you?’
‘Relatives are my favourite victims. Now, wash my feet! Right here at the edge of this cliff is good. Don’t worry. I won’t kick you off.’
Theseus peered over the edge. A hundred feet below, a massive round shape was moving under the waves. ‘Is that a huge turtle down there?’
‘Yes. That’s my pet.’
‘He doesn’t eat humans, does he? For instance, if you kicked your victims off this cliff like you said you wouldn’t do.’
‘My turtle is a she. Her name is Molly. And of course she doesn’t eat humans. What a silly idea!’
As if having a giant turtle named Molly wasn’t already silly.
Sciron levelled his crossbow. ‘Now, wash my feet or die! There’re a bucket and rag behind that rock. And bring the disinfectant spray. You’ll definitely need that.’
Theseus carefully set down his weapons. Sciron kept his crossbow trained on Theseus’s chest as the hero retrieved the foot-washing supplies and knelt in front of the bandit.
‘Have fun.’ Sciron planted his left foot on a rock, positioning himself so Theseus would have his back to the sea. One swift kick and Sciron would be able to send him over the edge.
Fortunately, Theseus was expecting that.
He whistled as he undid Sciron’s sandal straps. The bandit’s toes were hairy and caked with unknown substances. In the crevices of his big toenail, green algae were close to developing an agricultural society.
The disgustingness of the feet distracted Theseus, but since he was always distracted, it didn’t matter. He felt Sciron’s leg tense. Just before the bandit kicked, Theseus dropped sideways. Sciron stumbled, off balance, and Theseus booted him in the butt, sending him over the edge.
‘WAHHHHHHH!’ Sciron flailed his arms, but, sadly, Poseidon’s demigod children do not get the power to fly. The giant turtle’s head broke the surface. She opened her huge maw.
‘No, Molly!’ Sciron cried. ‘It’s me!’
GULP.
Molly apparently didn’t mind biting the hand that fed her … or swallowing the rest of him, either.
Theseus washed his own hands with antibacterial spray and continued on his way.
Finally he reached the end of the land bridge and crossed into Attica. (Annabeth tells me a narrow strip of land connecting two big chunks of land is called an isthmus. I can’t pronounce that, but there you go, geography freaks.)
Theseus arrived at the city of Eleusis, which was famous for its temple of Demeter, but instead of selling Demeter-themed tourist junk and offering guided tours of the site, the locals were screaming and running around looking for places to hide.
‘What’s going on?’ Theseus asked one guy.
‘The king! He’s insane! He wants to wrestle!’
Theseus frowned. His mom had warned him about Cercyon, the king of Eleusis. Apparently the guy was mean and strong and liked to kill travellers. But she hadn’t said anything about wrestling.
Theseus made his way to the ceremonial hearth in the middle of town. Usually that was the safest place in any Greek city. Travellers and ambassadors would go there to pledge their peaceful intentions and accept the town’s hospitality.
Now the town’s hospitality consisted of a bear of a man stomping around the hearth in a glittering gold cape, gold spandex briefs and a mask with big eyeholes that looked suspiciously like a pair of underwear.
‘WHO WILL WRESTLE ME?’ roared the underwear man. ‘I AM CERCYON, THE KING!’
‘Wow,’ Theseus said. ‘Your outfit is shiny!’
‘RAGH!’ Cercyon randomly darted across the street to the temple of Demeter, punched his fist through a marble column and collapsed the entire front porch.
‘Hey, now,’ said Theseus, ‘you shouldn’t be damaging temples. Also, that can’t be good for your fist.’
‘I am Cercyon!’ said Cercyon. ‘Defeat me at wrestling and you can be the king! Otherwise I will kill you!’
The king paused like he’d forgotten what he was doing. Probably the strain of putting so many words together had overheated his brain.
Theseus considered what to do. Obviously King Cercyon had gone off the deep end. Maybe the gods had cursed him with insanity for all those years he’d been killing travellers and building up his evil reputation. Theseus didn’t want to kill an insane person, but he also couldn’t have Cercyon terrifying the locals, destroying temples and rampaging around in gold spandex shorts.
‘So, if I beat you at wrestling,’ Theseus said, ‘I get to be king?’
‘Yes!’
‘Do I have to wear underwear on my head?’
‘Yes!’
Theseus set down his sword and club. ‘Do I have to kill you, or will you accept defeat if I just pin you down?’
‘That will never happen,’ Cercyon said, ‘because I will break your spine!’
Theseus winced. ‘I wish you hadn’t said that. See, I’ve got this philosophy –’<
‘RAGGGGR!’ Cercyon charged.
Theseus dodged the king’s first attack. Cercyon was big and strong, but he was as clumsy as a giant sow. Theseus was familiar with those.
Cercyon charged again. This time Theseus sidestepped. He kicked Cercyon in the back, the way he’d done with Sciron. The wrestler stumbled into the hearth and came out screaming, his glittery cape on fire.
‘Death!’ Cercyon yelled.
Theseus put his back to the temple. As Cercyon barrelled towards him, Theseus dived between the big man’s legs, and the wrestler obligingly ran face first into the marble wall.
The wall cracked. Cercyon’s face didn’t fare too well, either. He stumbled and collapsed. Summoning all his strength, Theseus picked up the groggy king and lifted him over his head.
Terrified townspeople came out of their hiding places. A crowd gathered as Theseus paraded the wrestler around the square.
‘Give up, Cercyon,’ said Theseus, ‘and I’ll spare your life.’
‘Never,’ mumbled the crazy man. ‘Break … your spine.’
Theseus sighed. ‘Well, folks, you heard him.’
He dropped the king over his knee in a total Bane-breaks-Batman move. Cercyon fell to the ground, dead.
Theseus ripped off the king’s mask. He held it up for the people to see.
‘Guys!’ he yelled. ‘You really should not follow orders from people who wear underwear on their heads! Also, the whole wrestling-to-the-death thing is stupid.’
‘Hail, our new king!’ someone cried.
‘Oh, no,’ Theseus said. ‘I’ve got my own gig. Who’s the smartest guy in town?’
The crowd hesitantly pointed to an old dude with a white beard, maybe the local philosopher.
‘You’re the king now,’ Theseus said. ‘Do a good job. Fix the temple. Dispose of this wrestler’s body. And never wear an underwear mask.’
‘I understand, hero,’ said the old man.
So Theseus left the town of Eleusis in much better hands and with a lot less spandex.
Theseus was so close to Athens he could smell it.
I mean that literally. Back then, sanitation wasn’t great. A city the size of Athens stank so bad you could smell it from twenty miles away.
Theseus was tired, though. The sun was going down. He figured he’d sleep on the road one more night and walk to Athens the next day.
He stopped at the worst, tackiest outlet mall on the entire highway. Outside the nearest shop, a big sign read: CRUSTY’S SLIGHTLY USED BEDS. STAY THE NIGHT WITH US!!
Theseus couldn’t tell if the place was a hotel or a mattress store or what, but, with a sign like that, he couldn’t resist checking it out. Plus, there were a lot of donkeys tied up in the parking lot, so he figured the place must be popular.
Strange thing: inside, he found no customers, just a dingy showroom with a low ceiling, guttering olive-oil lamps and two nasty old beds. One was about ten feet long. The other was about four feet long.
That must have really driven the Ancient Greeks crazy. Like I said, they were a bunch of Goldilockses. They always wanted the middle option that was ‘just right.’ At Crusty’s Slightly Used Beds, there wasn’t one – just a bed that was way too long and a bed that was way too short.
‘Welcome!’ The proprietor emerged from behind a curtain at the back.
At first, Theseus thought it was Sciron’s turtle, Molly. The guy had a huge leathery head with absolutely no hair. He wore a full-length black leather apron, like butchers wear, and as he walked over he wiped his hands like he’d just finished washing blood off them.
His name tag read: HI! I’M CRUSTY!
‘You’re Crusty?’ Theseus asked.
‘Why, yes, I am. My real name is Procrustes –’
‘Which means the Stretcher,’ Theseus noted. ‘Okay. I’ve heard of you. I didn’t recognize the name from just “Crusty”.’
‘Well, Crusty is easier for most people to remember. It looks better on the sign out front, too. Anyway, welcome to my humble mattress shop and motel! May I interest you in a slightly used waterbed?’
‘Waterbed?’
Crusty snapped his fingers. ‘Sorry. I forgot those haven’t been invented yet. But I do have two lovely standard models. These are our most popular choices.’
‘They are also your only choices,’ Theseus observed.
Crusty chuckled. ‘I can tell you’re a smart customer. So which model appeals to you – the Crusty XL or the Crusty Nano?’
Theseus examined the larger bed. ‘That’s the XL? It’s pretty long.’
‘Yes, but don’t worry! See those leather straps at the top and the bottom? If you don’t fit exactly, I will stretch you until you do.’
‘So you’ll stretch me until I’m ten feet long. And if I can’t survive that much elongation?’
‘Well, you’ll die, obviously. Those stains on the mattress are from previous customers who, um, came apart. I did say “slightly used”.’
Theseus examined the smaller bed. The baseboard and headboard were caked with dried brown gunk.
‘Your Crusty Nano looks kind of … crusty.’
‘If you don’t fit in the Nano, I just lop off the bits that hang out on either end.’ Crusty whipped out a knife from his apron pocket. ‘So what’ll it be?’
‘I suppose “just browsing” isn’t an option.’
‘Nope!’
‘How’s the firmness on the Nano mattress? I can’t sleep if it’s too soft.’
‘Oh, it’s excellent. A combination of memory foam and cushioned coils gives you perfect comfort for the few seconds you’re alive.’
‘Even for a big heavy guy like you?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Sorry, but I have trouble believing that. I’ve been scammed before in these tacky outlet malls.’
Procrustes scowled. He hated having his merchandise questioned. ‘I never lie about my products. Look!’
He sat down on the Crusty Nano. He bounced on the mattress. ‘See?’
‘Cool.’ Theseus swung his club off his shoulder. He smacked Procrustes so hard, he fell sideways and banged his skull on the headboard.
When the storekeeper woke up, he was securely tied to the Crusty Nano. His head stuck out of the top. His feet dangled from the bottom. ‘What is the meaning of this? I – I don’t fit!’
‘I can fix that.’ Theseus whipped out his sword and helped Procrustes to fit perfectly in his own bed. That’s where we get another old saying: You made your bed, now lie in it, and if you don’t fit we’ll cut off your head and legs.
Theseus spent the night in the Crusty XL, which was actually very comfortable if you could ignore the stains. In the morning he set off for Athens, ready to meet his royal father (as opposed to his godly father).
Things in Athens were not hunky-dory.
First problem: King Aegeus was getting old and weak. His influence extended about two feet beyond the royal palace. The rest of the city was ruled by rival gangs, headed by Aegeus’s many enemies.
Who were these wonderful enemies? The king’s relatives, naturally!
See, Aegeus had a younger brother named Pallas. (Not like Pallas Athena, the goddess; and yes, I know that’s confusing.) Aegeus and Pallas never got along. Pallas wanted to be king. Since he was the younger brother, he got nada.
So Pallas spent his whole life complaining and having children – fifty sons, to be exact. How does someone even have fifty sons? Pallas must have had a dozen wives or one really advanced cloning machine. The kids were sort of his revenge on his brother, like Oh, sorry, Aegeus. You couldn’t have any sons? I have FIFTY. IN YOUR FACE!
Anyway, his sons were known as the Pallantides, the sons of Pallas – kind of like the Sons of Anarchy, except without motorcycles. They’d all grown up to be major league jerks, and they all wanted their Uncle Aegeus dead.
They split into different gangs and took over various neighbourhoods. They had constant turf wars. Everybody in Athens was forced to pay pr
By the time Theseus arrived in Athens, the fifty Pallantides had established their gangs and were just waiting for Aegeus to die. Afterwards they planned on having a good old-fashioned civil war and letting the strongest Pallantide come out on top. Because of this, the city was even more dangerous than the open highway. If Theseus strolled in claiming to be a son of Aegeus, he’d become a pincushion for arrows before he ever reached the palace.
Second problem: King Aegeus had found himself a new wife – a sorceress named Medea. I’ll talk more about her in a later story. Anyway, she had promised Aegeus that her sorcery could grant him a male child, and the fifty Pallantides were not thrilled about that. They would’ve stormed the palace except the defences were good, the guards were well armed and there was a scary sorceress inside. So, even if Theseus got into the palace, Medea would kill him for messing up her plans.
Problem three: Athens was getting punked by a foreign superpower called Crete. Theseus didn’t know much about Crete – just some ridiculous rumours about a half-bull, half-human monster who lived in a big maze. But, from overhearing conversations on the road, he learned that Athens and Crete had been hating on each other since before Theseus was born.
The way it started: one of King Minos’s sons, Androgeus, had come to Athens twenty years ago for a local sports contest, and he was killed by some of the Pallantides.
Enraged, Minos summoned his navy and sailed to Athens. He besieged the city. He burned the harbour. He called on his father Zeus to send lightning and plagues and locusts and bedbugs.
Finally Aegeus was forced to surrender. Minos promised to lay off the destruction, but once every seven years Athens had to send their seven bravest young men and seven most beautiful young ladies to Crete as tributes, where they were fed to the Minotaur in the Labyrinth.
If you’re thinking that sounds like The Hunger Games, that’s because this story inspired that one. And, no, the Labyrinth wasn’t televised, but only because Daedalus hadn’t invented TV yet.