the_blood_of_olympus_-_rick_riordan

‘Guys!’ Frank stood at the far end of the parking lot, waving at them to come over. Next to him,
Hazel sat astride her horse Arion, who had appeared unannounced as soon as they’d landed.
Saved by the Zhang, Leo thought.
He and Percy jogged over to meet their friends.
‘This place is huge,’ Frank reported. ‘The ruins stretch from the river to the base of that mountain
over there, about half a kilometre.’
‘How far is that in regular measurements?’ Percy asked.
Frank rolled his eyes. ‘That is a regular measurement in Canada and the rest of the world. Only you
Americans –’
‘About five or six football fields,’ Hazel interceded, feeding Arion a big chunk of gold.
Percy spread his hands. ‘That’s all you needed to say.’
‘Anyway,’ Frank continued, ‘from overhead, I didn’t see anything suspicious.’
‘Neither did I,’ Hazel said. ‘Arion took me on a complete loop around the perimeter. A lot of
tourists, but no crazy goddess.’
The big stallion nickered and tossed his head, his neck muscles rippling under his butterscotch
coat.
‘Man, your horse can cuss.’ Percy shook his head. ‘He doesn’t think much of Olympia.’
For once, Leo agreed with the horse. He didn’t like the idea of tromping through fields full of ruins
under a blazing sun, shoving his way through hordes of sweaty tourists while searching for a splitpersonality
victory goddess. Besides, Frank had already flown over the whole valley as an eagle. If
his sharp eyes hadn’t seen anything, maybe there was nothing to see.
On the other hand, Leo’s tool-belt pockets were full of dangerous toys. He would hate to go home
without blowing anything up.
‘So we blunder around together,’ he said, ‘and let trouble find us. It’s always worked before.’
They poked about for a while, avoiding tour groups and ducking from one patch of shade to the
next. Not for the first time, Leo was struck by how similar Greece was to his home state of Texas –
the low hills, the scrubby trees, the drone of cicadas and the oppressive summer heat. Switch out the
ancient columns and ruined temples for cows and barbed wire, and Leo would’ve felt right at home.
Frank found a tourist pamphlet (seriously, that dude would read the ingredients on a soup can) and
gave them a running commentary on what was what.
‘This is the Propylon.’ He waved towards a stone path lined with crumbling columns. ‘One of the
main gates into the Olympic valley.’
‘Rubble!’ said Leo.
‘And over there –’ Frank pointed to a square foundation that looked like the patio for a Mexican
restaurant – ‘is the Temple of Hera, one of the oldest structures here.’
‘More rubble!’ Leo said.
‘And that round bandstand-looking thing – that’s the Philipeon, dedicated to Philip of Macedonia.’
‘Even more rubble! First-rate rubble!’
Hazel, who was still riding Arion, kicked Leo in the arm. ‘Doesn’t anything impress you?’