The Battle of the Labyrinth by Rick Riordan Page B

protested, and then he sneezed.
    Clarisse was wearing the gold laurels, but she didn’t even brag about winning them, which wasn’t like her. “A hole?” she said suspiciously. Annabeth took a deep breath. She looked around at the other campers.
    “Chiron…maybe we should talk about this at the Big House.”
    Clarisse gasped. “You found it, didn’t you?”
    Annabeth bit her lip. “I—Yeah. Yeah, we did.”
    A bunch of campers started asking questions, looking about as confused as I was, but Chiron raised his hand for silence. “Tonight is not the right time, and this is not the right place.” He stared at boulders as if he’d just noticed how dangerous they were. “All of you, back to your cabins. Get some sleep. A game well played, but curfew is past!”
    There was a lot of mumbling and complaints, but the campers drifted off, talking among themselves and giving me suspicious looks.
    “This explains a lot,” Clarisse said. “It explains what Luke is after.”
    “Wait a second,” I said. “What do you mean? What did we find?”
    Annabeth turned toward me, her eyes dark with worry. “An entrance to the Labyrinth. An invasion route straight into the heart of the camp.”

FOUR

    ANNABETH BREAKS
    THE RULES

    Chiron had insisted we talk about it in the morning, which was kind of like, Hey, your life’s in mortal danger. Sleep tight! It was hard to fall asleep, but when I finally did, I dreamed of a prison.
    I saw a goy in a Greek tunic and sandals crouching alone in a massive stone room. The ceiling was open to the night sky, but the walls were twenty feet high and polished marble, completely smooth. Scattered around the room were wooden crates. Some were cracked and tipped over, as if they’d been flung in there. Bronze tools spilled out of one—a compass, a saw, and a bunch of other things I didn’t recognize.
    The boy huddled in the corner, shivering from cold, or maybe fear. He was spattered in mud. His legs, arms, and face, were scraped up as if he’d been dragged here along with the boxes.
    Then the double oak doors moaned open. Two guards in bronze armor marched in, holding an old man between them. They flung him to the floor in a battered heap.
    “Father!” The boy ran to him. The man’s robes were in tatters. His hair was streaked with gray, and his beard was long and curly. His nose had been broken. His lips were bloody.
    The boy took the old man’s head in his arms. “What did they do to you?”
    then he yelled at the guards. “I’ll kill you!”
    “There will be no killing today,” a voice said.
    The guards moved aside. Behind them stood a tall man in white robes. He wore a thin circlet of gold on his head. His beard was pointed like a spear blade. His eyes glittered cruelly. “You helped the Athenian kill my Minotaur, Daedalus. You turned my won daughter against me.”
    “You did that yourself, Your Majesty,” the old man croaked. A guard planted a kick in the old man’s ribs. He groaned in agony. The young boy cried, “Stop!”
    “You love your maze so much,” the king said, “I have decided to let you stay here. This will be your workshop. Make me new wonders. Amuse me. Every maze needs a monster. You will be mine!”
    “I don’t fear you,” the old man groaned.
    The king smiled coldly. He locked his eyes on the boy. “But a man cares about his son, eh? Displease me, old man, and the next time my guards inflict a punishment, it will be on him!”
    The king swept out of the room with his guards, and the doors slammed shut, leaving the boy and his father alone in the darkness.
    “What shall we do?” the boy moaned. “Father, they will kill you!”
    The old man swallowed with difficulty. He tried to smile, but it was a gruesome sight with his bloody mouth.
    “Take heart, my son.” He gazed up at the stars. “I—I will find a way.”
    A bar lowered across the doors with a fatal BOOM , and I woke in a cold sweat.

    * * *

    I was still feeling shaky the next morning