across the hangar floor, carefully skirting some of his more dangerous projects. In his two months at Camp Half-Blood, Leo had spent most of his time at Bunker 9. After all, he’d rediscovered the secret workshop. Now it was like a second home to him. But he knew his friends still felt uncomfortable here.
He couldn’t blame them. Built into the side of a limestone cliff deep in the woods, the bunker was part weapons depot, part machine shop, and part underground safe house, with a little bit of Area 51–style craziness thrown in for good measure. Rows of workbenches stretched into the darkness. Tool cabinets, storage closets, cages full of welding equipment, and stacks of construction material made a labyrinth of aisles so vast, Leo figured he’d only explored about ten percent of it so far. Overhead ran a series of catwalks and pneumatic tubes for delivering supplies, plus a high-tech lighting and sound system that Leo was just starting to figure out.
A large magical banner hung over the center of the production floor. Leo had recently discovered how to change the display, like the Times Square JumboTron, so now the banner read: Merry Christmas! All your presents belong to Leo!
He ushered his friends to the central staging area. Decades ago, Leo’s metallic friend Festus the bronze dragon had been created here. Now, Leo was slowly assembling his pride and joy—the Argo II .
At the moment, it didn’t look like much. The keel was laid—a length of Celestial bronze curved like an archer’s bow, two hundred feet from bow to stern. The lowest hull planks had been set in place, forming a shallow bowl held together by scaffolding. Masts lay to one side, ready for positioning. The bronze dragon figurehead—formerly the head of Festus—sat nearby, carefully wrapped in velvet, waiting to be installed in its place of honor.
Most of Leo’s time had been spent in the middle of the ship, at the base of the hull, where he was building the engine that would run the warship.
He climbed the scaffolding and jumped into the hull. Jason and Piper followed.
“See?” Leo said.
Fixed to the keel, the engine apparatus looked like a high-tech jungle gym made from pipes, pistons, bronze gears, magical disks, steam vents, electric wires, and a million other magical and mechanical pieces. Leo slid inside and pointed out the combustion chamber.
It was a thing of beauty, a bronze sphere the size of a basketball, its surface bristling with glass cylinders so it looked like a mechanical starburst. Gold wires ran from the ends of the cylinders, connecting to various parts of the engine. Each cylinder was filled with a different magical and highly dangerous substance. The central sphere had a digital clock display that read 66:21 . The maintenance panel was open. Inside, the core was empty.
“There’s your problem,” Leo announced.
Jason scratched his head. “Uh…what are we looking at?”
Leo thought it was pretty obvious, but Piper looked confused too.
“Okay,” Leo sighed, “you want the full explanation or the short explanation?”
“Short,” Piper and Jason said in unison.
Leo gestured to the empty core. “The syncopator goes here. It’s a multi-access gyro-valve to regulate flow. The dozen glass tubes on the outside? Those are filled with powerful, dangerous stuff. That glowing red one is Lemnos fire from my dad’s forges. This murky stuff here? That’s water from the River Styx. The stuff in the tubes is going to power the ship, right? Like radioactive rods in a nuclear reactor. But the mix ratio has to be controlled, and the timer is already operational.”
Leo tapped the digital clock, which now read 65:15 . “That means without the syncopator, this stuff is all going to vent into the chamber at the same time, in sixty-five minutes. At that point, we’ll get a very nasty reaction.”
Jason and Piper stared at him. Leo wondered if he’d been speaking English. Sometimes when he was agitated he slipped into
He couldn’t blame them. Built into the side of a limestone cliff deep in the woods, the bunker was part weapons depot, part machine shop, and part underground safe house, with a little bit of Area 51–style craziness thrown in for good measure. Rows of workbenches stretched into the darkness. Tool cabinets, storage closets, cages full of welding equipment, and stacks of construction material made a labyrinth of aisles so vast, Leo figured he’d only explored about ten percent of it so far. Overhead ran a series of catwalks and pneumatic tubes for delivering supplies, plus a high-tech lighting and sound system that Leo was just starting to figure out.
A large magical banner hung over the center of the production floor. Leo had recently discovered how to change the display, like the Times Square JumboTron, so now the banner read: Merry Christmas! All your presents belong to Leo!
He ushered his friends to the central staging area. Decades ago, Leo’s metallic friend Festus the bronze dragon had been created here. Now, Leo was slowly assembling his pride and joy—the Argo II .
At the moment, it didn’t look like much. The keel was laid—a length of Celestial bronze curved like an archer’s bow, two hundred feet from bow to stern. The lowest hull planks had been set in place, forming a shallow bowl held together by scaffolding. Masts lay to one side, ready for positioning. The bronze dragon figurehead—formerly the head of Festus—sat nearby, carefully wrapped in velvet, waiting to be installed in its place of honor.
Most of Leo’s time had been spent in the middle of the ship, at the base of the hull, where he was building the engine that would run the warship.
He climbed the scaffolding and jumped into the hull. Jason and Piper followed.
“See?” Leo said.
Fixed to the keel, the engine apparatus looked like a high-tech jungle gym made from pipes, pistons, bronze gears, magical disks, steam vents, electric wires, and a million other magical and mechanical pieces. Leo slid inside and pointed out the combustion chamber.
It was a thing of beauty, a bronze sphere the size of a basketball, its surface bristling with glass cylinders so it looked like a mechanical starburst. Gold wires ran from the ends of the cylinders, connecting to various parts of the engine. Each cylinder was filled with a different magical and highly dangerous substance. The central sphere had a digital clock display that read 66:21 . The maintenance panel was open. Inside, the core was empty.
“There’s your problem,” Leo announced.
Jason scratched his head. “Uh…what are we looking at?”
Leo thought it was pretty obvious, but Piper looked confused too.
“Okay,” Leo sighed, “you want the full explanation or the short explanation?”
“Short,” Piper and Jason said in unison.
Leo gestured to the empty core. “The syncopator goes here. It’s a multi-access gyro-valve to regulate flow. The dozen glass tubes on the outside? Those are filled with powerful, dangerous stuff. That glowing red one is Lemnos fire from my dad’s forges. This murky stuff here? That’s water from the River Styx. The stuff in the tubes is going to power the ship, right? Like radioactive rods in a nuclear reactor. But the mix ratio has to be controlled, and the timer is already operational.”
Leo tapped the digital clock, which now read 65:15 . “That means without the syncopator, this stuff is all going to vent into the chamber at the same time, in sixty-five minutes. At that point, we’ll get a very nasty reaction.”
Jason and Piper stared at him. Leo wondered if he’d been speaking English. Sometimes when he was agitated he slipped into
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