Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Chalice of the Gods(8)

I was afraid he’d subcontract his delivery business to me, and I’d end up bearing cups all over the world.

“My most important symbol of office . . .” Ganymede said. “Can you guess what it is?”

I figured this must be a trick question. “Since you’re cupbearer of the gods, I’m going to guess . . . a cup?”

“Not just any cup!” Ganymede cried. “The chalice of the gods! The goblet of ultimate flavor! The only cup worthy of Zeus himself! And now . . .”

“Oh,” Annabeth said. “It’s missing, isn’t it?”

“Not missing,” said Ganymede miserably. “My cup has been stolen.”





Ganymede put his face in his hands and started to weep.

I looked at Annabeth and Grover, who both seemed as unsure as I was about how to comfort a crying god. I patted his shoulder. “There, there.”

That did not seem to help.

One of the Himbo Juice employees came over, his smile crumbling around the edges. “Is the smoothie not okay, sir? I can make you something else.”

“No.” Ganymede sniffled. “It’s just . . .” He gestured weakly at our juice drinks. “I can’t stand seeing so many cups. It’s too soon. Too soon.”

The employee flexed his pecs nervously, then made a hasty retreat.

“You know,” Grover said, “the kids at Camp Half-Blood make some great arts-and-crafts projects. They could probably fashion you a new goblet.”

The god shook his head. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

“Or you could look into single-serving cups made from recyclable material.”

“Grover,” Annabeth chided. “He wants his special cup.”

“I’m just saying, single servings might be more hygienic. All those gods sipping from the same goblet—?”

“You said it was stolen,” I interrupted. “Do you know who took it?”

Ganymede scowled. For the first time, I saw godly anger glowing in his eyes—a sign that this guy had more to him than just good looks and bling.

“I have some ideas,” he said. “But first, you have to promise that this remains confidential. The goblet makes drinks taste good to the gods. But if a mortal got hold of it . . . one sip from it would grant them immortality.”

Suddenly my Salty Sailor didn’t taste so special. My first thought was about all the random people who might find that cup, take a drink, and become immortal. The evil-eyed lady who served fish sticks at the AHS cafeteria. The dude who screamed at me to buy ice cream every time I passed his Mr. Happy Treat on First Avenue. The Wall Street broker who always cut in line at the coffee shop and assumed every order was his.

Based on my past experience, the last thing this world needed was more gods.

My second thought was: Why do the gods keep losing their magic items? It was like a job requirement for them: 1) become a god, 2) get a cool magic thing, 3) lose it, 4) ask a demigod to find it. Maybe they just enjoyed doing it, the way cats like knocking things off tables.

My next thought: “If it’s so powerful, why would you trust us to get it back?”

Ganymede stared at me. “I couldn’t trust anyone else! You’ve already turned down immortality once, Percy Jackson.”

He said this as if I had done something completely inexplicable, like ordering blueberries on a pizza. (Although come to think of it . . . that could work.)

And, I mean, yes, I did turn down immortality once. Zeus had offered me a minor godship after I saved Mount Olympus from the Titans a few years ago (certain rules and restrictions may apply). But I’d chosen systemic change instead. I’d asked the gods to stop ignoring their demigod kids.

Turns out that’s another way the gods are like cats. They’re not so great at learning new tricks.

“Okay,” I told Ganymede. “Totally confidential.”

“And these others?” Ganymede gestured to Grover and Annabeth.

“These others know how to keep a secret,” Annabeth said. “Loose lips are never a good strategy.”

“Totally,” Grover said.

“They’re my best friends,” I said. “You can trust them as much as you can trust me.”

Which, come to think of it . . . was kind of open to interpretation, but Ganymede relaxed his shoulders. He wiped his tears away with his gold-ringed fingers.

“Fine,” he said. “I suspect someone on Olympus is trying to embarrass me, make me look bad in front of Zeus. If he finds out I lost my cup . . .” The god shuddered. “No. I have to recover it.”

“You have enemies?” I asked. It was hard for me to imagine how the drink server of the gods would make people mad.

“Oh, yes,” Ganymede said. “Hera, for one. She’s hated me since the day Zeus snatched me up to Olympus. Zeus was always complimenting me, you see—how handsome I was, how much I brightened up the palace. It’s not my fault I have nicer legs than she does.”

Annabeth grimaced. “Let’s hope it’s not Hera.”

“No . . .” Ganymede stared into his smoothie. “Probably not. She would consider it beneath her.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. If messing with my life wasn’t too petty for the queen of the gods, I wasn’t going to rule out her stealing beverage containers.