“What was I thinking?” Chiron cried. “I can’t let you get away without this.”
He pulled a pen from his coat pocket. It was an ordinary disposable ballpoint, black ink, removable cap. Probably thirty cents.
Gee,” I said. “Thanks.”
”Percy, that’s a gift from your father. I’ve kept it for years, not knowing you were who I was waiting for. But the prophecy is clear to me now. You are the one.”
I remembered the field trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, when I’d vaporized Mrs. Dodds. Chiron had thrown me a pen that turned into a sword. Could this be…?
I took off the cap, and the pen grew longer and heavier in my hand. In half a second, I held a shimmering bronze sword with a double-edged blade, a leather-wrapped grip, and a flat hilt riveted with gold studs. It was the first weapon that actually felt balanced in my hands.
”The sword has a long and tragic history that we need not go into,” Chiron told me. “It’s name is Anaklusmos.”
”Riptide,” I translated, surprised the Ancient Greek came so easily.