Daughter of Wine

Piper

I'm not surprised when the snake people arrive.

All week, I've been thinking about our encounter with Sciron the bandit, when Calli stood on the deck of the Argo II after escaping a giant destructo-turtle, and made the mistake of saying "we're safe."

Instantly an arrow hit the mainmast, an inch away from her nose.

I learned a valuable lesson from that: Never assume you're safe, and never, ever tempt the Fates by announcing that you think you're safe.

So when the ship docks at the harbor in Piraeus, on the outskirts of Athens, I resist the urge to breathe a sigh of relief. Sure, we finally reached our destination. Somewhere nearby, past these rows of cruise ships, past these hills crowded with buildings, we'll find the Acropolis. Today, one way or another, our journey will end.

But that doesn't mean I can relax. Any moment, a nasty surprise might come flying out of nowhere.

As it turns out, the surprise is three dudes with snake tails instead of legs.

I'm on watch while my friends gear up for combat. They're checking their weapons and armor, loading the ballistae and catapults. I spot the snake guys, slithering along the docks, winding through crowds of mortal tourists who pay us no attention.

"Um... Annabeth?" I call.

Annabeth and Percy come to my side.

"Oh, great." Percy says. "Dracaenae"

Annabeth narrows her eyes. "I don't think so. At least not like any I've seen. Dracaenae have two serpent trunks for legs. These guys just have one."

"You're right." Percy says. "These look more human on top too. Not all scaly and green and stuff. So do we talk or fight?"

I'm tempted to say fight. I can't help thinking about a story I told Jason, about a Cherokee hunter who broke his taboo and turned into a snake. These three look like they've broken their taboos.

Weirdly, the one in the lead reminds me of my dad when he grew a beard for his role in King of Sparta. The snake man holds his head high. His face is chiseled and bronze, his eyes black as basalt, his curly dark hair glistening with oil. His upper body ripples with muscles, covered only by a Greek chlamys, a white wool cloak loosely wrapped and pinned at the shoulder. From the waist down, his body is one giant serpent trunk, about eight feet of green tail undulating behind him as he moves.

In one hand he carries a staff topped with a glowing green jewel. In his other, he carries a platter covered with a silver dome, like an entree for a fancy dinner.

The two guys behind him appear to be guards.They wear bronze breastplates and elaborate helmets topped with horsehair bristles. Their spears are tipped with green stone points. Their shields are emblazoned with a large Greek letter K, a kappa.

They stop a few yards from the Argo II. Their leader looks up and studies us. His expression is intense but inscrutiable. He might be angry or worried or terribly in need of a restroom.

"So, who are these guys?" Calli asks, walking up on my other side. Her hair is wet, like she's just come out of the shower. She's wearing her skull and crossbones tank top with a pair of wine-colored shorts. I can't decide if the skull is a fashion choice or her own little version of a joke.

Before I can answer her, the snake king speaks.

"Permission to come aboard." His rasping voice makes me think of a straight razor being wiped across a strop, like in my granddfather's barbershop in Oklahoma.