“Graecus,” Hazel said. “Once you’ve been here awhile, you’ll start understanding Latin. Demigods have a natural sense for it. Graecus means Greek. ”
“Is that bad?” Percy asked.
Frank cleared his throat. “Maybe not. You’ve got that type of complexion, the dark hair and all. Maybe they think you’re actually Greek. Is your family from there?”
“Don’t know. Like I said, my memory is gone. ”
“Or maybe…” Frank hesitated.
“What?” Percy asked.
“Probably nothing,” Frank said. “Romans and Greeks have an old rivalry. Sometimes Romans use graecus as an insult for someone who’s an outsider—an enemy. I wouldn’t worry about it. ”
He sounded pretty worried.
They stopped at the center of camp, where two wide stone-paved roads met at a T.
A street sign labeled the road to the main gates as via praetoria. The other road, cutting across the middle of camp, was labeled via principalis. Under those markers were hand-painted signs like berkeley 5 miles; NEW ROME 1 MILE; OLD ROME 7280 MILES; HADES 2310 MILES (pointing straight down); RENO 208 MILES, AND CERTAIN DEATH: YOU ARE HERE!
For certain death, the place looked pretty clean and orderly. The buildings were freshly whitewashed, laid out in neat grids like the camp had been designed by a fussy math teacher. The barracks had shady porches, where campers lounged in hammocks or played cards and drank sodas. Each dorm had a different collection of banners out front displaying Roman numerals and various animals—eagle, bear, wolf, horse, and something that looked like a hamster.
Along the Via Praetoria, rows of shops advertised food, armor, weapons, coffee, gladiator equipment, and toga rentals. A chariot dealership had a big advertisement out front: CAESAR XLS W/ANTILOCK BRAKES, NO DENARII DOWN!
At one corner of the crossroads stood the most impressive building—a two-story wedge of white marble with a columned portico like an old-fashioned bank. Roman guards stood out front. Over the doorway hung a big purple banner with the gold letters SPQR embroidered inside a laurel wreath.
“Your headquarters?” Percy asked.
Reyna faced him, her eyes still cold and hostile. “It’s called the pri
ncipia. ”
She scanned the mob of curious campers who had followed them from the river. “Everyone back to your duties. I’ll give you an update at evening muster. Remember, we have war games after dinner. ”
The thought of dinner made Percy’s stomach rumble. The scent of barbecue from the dining hall made his mouth water. The bakery down the street smelled pretty wonderful too, but he doubted Reyna would let him get an order to go.
The crowd dispersed reluctantly. Some muttered comments about Percy’s chances.
“He’s dead,” said one.
“Would be those two who found him,” said another.
“Yeah,” muttered another. “Let him join the Fifth Cohort. Greeks and geeks. ”
Several kids laughed at that, but Reyna scowled at them, and they cleared off.
“Hazel,” Reyna said. “Come with us. I want your report on what happened at the gates. ”
“Me too?” Frank said. “Percy saved my life. We’ve got to let him—”
Reyna gave Frank such a harsh look, he stepped back.
“I’d remind you, Frank Zhang,” she said, “you are on probatio yourself. You’ve caused enough trouble this week. ”
Frank’s ears turned red. He fiddled with a little tablet on a cord around his neck. Percy hadn’t paid much attention to it, but it looked like a name tag made out of lead.
“Go to the armory,” Reyna told him. “Check our inventory. I’ll call you if I need you. ”
“But—” Frank caught himself. “Yes, Reyna. ”
He hurried off.
Reyna waved Hazel and Percy toward the headquarters. “Now, Percy Jackson, let’s see if we can improve your memory. ”
The principia was even more impressive inside. On the ceiling glittered a mosaic of Romulus and Remus under their adopted mama she-wolf (Lupa had told Percy that story a million times). The floor was polished marble. The walls were draped in velvet, so Percy felt like he was inside the world’s most expensive camping tent. Along the back wall stood a display of banners and wooden poles studded with bronze medals—military symbols, Percy guessed. In the center was one empty display stand, as if the main banner had been taken down for cleaning or something.
In the back corner, a stairwell led down. It was blocked by a row of iron bars like a prison door. Percy wondered what was down there—monsters? Treasure? Amnesiac demigods who had gotten on Reyna’s bad side?
In the center of the room, a long wooden table was cluttered with scrolls, notebooks, tablet computers, daggers, and a large bowl filled with jelly beans, which seemed kind of out of place. Two life-sized statues of greyhounds—one silver, one gold—flanked the table. Reyna walked behind the table and sat in one of two high-backed chairs. Percy wished he could sit in the other, but Hazel remained standing. Percy got the feeling he was supposed to also.
“So…” he started to say.
The dog statues bared their teeth and growled.
Percy froze. Normally he liked dogs, but these glared at him with ruby eyes. Their fangs looked sharp as razors.