THE BATTLE OF THE LABYRINTH Percy Jackson ... - No one's invited.
THE BATTLE OF THE LABYRINTH Percy Jackson ... - No one's invited.
THE BATTLE OF THE LABYRINTH Percy Jackson ... - No one's invited.
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Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html<br />
“What is this place?” I muttered. “It looks—”<br />
“Roman,” Annabeth said.“Those mosaics area bout two thousand years old.”<br />
“But how can they be Roman?” I wasn’t that great on ancient history, but I was pretty sure the Roman<br />
Empire never made it as far as Long Island.<br />
“The Labyrinth is a patchwork,” Annabeth said. “I told you, it’s always expanding, adding pieces. It’s<br />
the only work of architecture that grows byitself .”<br />
“You make it sound like it’s alive.”<br />
A groaning noise echoed from the tunnel in front of us.<br />
“Let’s not talk about it being alive,” Grover whimpered. “Please?”<br />
“All right,” Annabeth said. “Forward.”<br />
“Down the hall with the bad sounds?”Tyson said. Even he looked nervous.<br />
“Yeah,” Annabeth said. “The architecture is getting older. That’s a good sign.Daedalus’s workshop<br />
would be in the oldest part.”<br />
That made sense.But soon the maze was toying with us—we went fifty feet and the tunnel turned back<br />
to cement, with brass pipes running down the sides. The walls were spray-painted with graffiti. A neon<br />
tagger sign read MOZ RULZ.<br />
“I’m thinking this is not Roman,” I said helpfully.<br />
Annabeth took a deep breath,then forged ahead.<br />
Every few feet the tunnels twisted and turned and branched off. The floor beneath us changed from<br />
cement to mud to bricks and back again. There was no sense to any of it. We stumbled into a wince<br />
cellar—a bunch of dusty bottles in wooden racks—like we were walking through somebody’s basement,<br />
only there was no exit above us, just more tunnels leading on.<br />
Later the ceiling turned to wooden planks, and I could hear voices above us and the creaking of<br />
footsteps, as if we were walking under some kind of bar. It was reassuring to hear people, but then<br />
again, we couldn’t get to them. We were stuck down here with no way out. Then we found our first<br />
skeleton.<br />
He was dressed in white clothes, like some kind of uniform. A wooden crate of glass bottles sat next to<br />
him.<br />
“A milkman,” Annabeth said.<br />
“What?” I asked.<br />
“They used to deliver milk.”<br />
“Yeah, I know what they are, but…that was when my mom was little, like a million years ago. What’s