Percy woke with a feeling of dread in his stomach. Something wasn't right. He could smell it in the air, he could taste it on his tongue, he could feel it on his skin. It was the feeling you got just before the unexpected happened. Right now that feeling was like a swarm of hornets buzzing in his cranium. The soldier's sense, as his mentor would have said. Despite all this, he lay in his bed, unmoving, relaxed, and for all the world knew, a peacefully sleeping boy. In truth he was anything but. After a while he dismissed the entire encounter and prepared to get back to sleep. That was when he heard it. A faint clang in the darkness, a series short hurried breaths, and the unmistakable sound of a cackle.

Percy slid out of bed silently, and then made his way to the window. From the safety of the shadows, he looked undetected at the scene unfolding below.

There was a man garbed in a great black cloak, and above him were three huge, winged … flying ladies? At first he couldn't believe what he was seeing and suspected that one of his school mates had given him some hallucinogen. He quickly discounted the idea for two reasons. First was the fact that he would have easily tasted or smelt such a drug in his food or around his person. Second was the fact that this was boarding school, and at boarding school all kinds of freaky things happened. It was a rule that affected every boarder, which is why there were so many myths and legends at boarding schools all over the world. It was probably some bored guys trying to start their own myth and get into the pages if history. There was something odd, however, and that was the cloaked man looked familiar. Somehow. He couldn't quite place it, but he knew that somewhere in his memory there were facts bursting to get out. This kind of feeling couldn't be created by hallucinogens, no matter how powerful a drug it may be. And neither could pranksters be this good. This was beyond a child's level and way into the George Lucas/Stephen Spielberg level.

His facial expression unchanging, Percy watched one of the three flying … thingies suddenly lash a flaming whip at the cloaked figure, only to miss by centimetres. No, not miss, Percy decided at once. He could see from the way the grotesque … whatever held her whip that she had practised her skill for a long time, and that such a miss would be beyond her to commit. No, the cloaked figure had moved out of the way, a fluid nearly imperceptible movement, like water. At that thought, pain suddenly seared through Percy's head, like a migraine coupled with three extremely bad headaches. He grabbed his head between his hands, silently writhing in pain. Even with his eyes closed, black and red spots moved in front of his eyes, and all he could do was grit his teeth as the feeling of ten thousand knives plunging into his brain surfaced simultaneously with another cackle from the winged … thing.

With agonising effort, he opened his eyes and put all his concentration to focusing on the events below. A vein in his temple pulsed visibly as a slight southern breeze sprang up, and with it came the words of the conversation taking place below. The sound of the cloaked figure's voice, definitely male, sounded frustratingly familiar. If he could only remember!

"Get out of our way," hissed the lead lady.

"No," the man replied calmly.

To take his mind off the pounding his head was receiving, he took the pause in the extremely short conversation to study the three winged apparitions. He studied all their features, their appearance, they way the spoke, and generally their being. He came to one conclusion, one impossible and utterly insane conclusion. They were Furies. It fit. All of it. Their bat-like wings, the flaming whip, the hissing voice, the yellow teeth and the agonising heat, fire and pain that radiated from their eyes. Percy shook his head, disbelieving.

Maybe I did get pranked with some drugs, he thought almost wistfully. I wouldn't put it past that ghastly Nancy Bobofit.

Despite his ability to keep calm under stressful situations, this was too much, even for him. And with this now extreme headache, it was impossible even more so. He closed his eyes, and took deep breathes. There was a rational explanation for what he was seeing, and all he had to do was separate the truth from the false, and he would soon have his answer. The only way to do this was to go down there and get as close to the scene as possible. He hesitated a moment, weighing up the pros and the cons. The most rational thing he could do now was go to sleep and forget this ever happened. It was never a good thing to meddle in affairs that didn't concern you. Another lesson his mentor had imparted unto him. For all he knew, George Lucas and Steven Spielberg were shooting a movie down there. So all he had to do was turn round, get into bed, and shut his eyes. That's it. Those three simple steps. Nothing complicated whatsoever. But with Percy, nothing was ever simple. Shaking his head at his own stupidity, Percy made his way toward the door, and making sure to shut it behind himself; he took the familiar dark corridors and stairs down to the ground floor.

Besides, he thought to himself, how am I supposed to sleep with this pounding headache?!

Taking a side exit, he made his way round the building and instantly took cover behind some bushes. Already he could feel the adrenalin pumping through his system, and affecting his thinking. It was always like this, ever since he could remember. Whenever he got into situations he thought were very threatening, his senses simply overloaded and all of a sudden he would become hyperactive … well, as more hyperactive as a guy with ADHD could be. But his mentor had taught him how to make that an advantage instead of a blight that made him blunder even more. The key thing was … well, to stay in control.

With this in mind, he spirited from bush to bush, indiscernible from his surroundings, just another nocturnal creature not to be paid heed to. Within minutes he was mere metres from where the Furies and the cloaked men where. Easing himself onto the earth, he listened intently to the conversation he had intruded upon, watching the scene from a gap in the branches and leaves of the bushes. Was it his imagination or did the hood of the man's cloak twitch a notch in his direction?

"… get involved?" asked the leading Fury?

"I am not getting involved in your business," the man replied tonelessly. "You are the ones invading my territory. There is something of value that I seek here as well."

"Aha!" the Fury exclaimed, with triumph on her face. "So you are after it as well, are you? You are after the Lord's gratitude, aren't you? … or are you simply after it for your own ends…?" By the end of her short speech, more distrust had crept into her voice and eyes, and she slightly tensed, as if expecting a confrontation to occur. Perhaps she was right, and if Percy had trusted his instincts and common sense like he had been taught to, he would have fled back to bed and ignored whatever sounds he might have heard. Then, he might have been safe from his fate, if only for a short while. As it was, Percy was about to be dragged into a world he had never fully believed existed, and he would hate himself all the more for the consequences his actions would bring. However, at that moment in time, he was blissfully unaware of what his future had in store for him.

The man suddenly tensed. "I am after no Lord's gratitude, and I'm certainly no bounty hunter! I am my own master!" Percy, ever attuned to others, was instantly aware that the man had said the something wrong. Apparently, so did the man. The man raised his hands in a placating gesture, and Percy was sure words were forming on his lips, but if they were, the Furies gave him no chance to speak them. With speed belying their bulk, two went straight for the dorm building, straight for his window, he noticed, while the lead whip-carrying Fury went straight for the cloaked figure, a snarl on her lips.

"Die, Half-Creature!" the Fury hissed. Whatever the man had been about to say or do died there and then as he jumped away from the angry Fury. Percy saw the man suddenly draw a massive bronze sword from within his black cloak and brandish it expertly it the ready position. Perfect form, Percy noted. Kind of like … whatever answer his mind was about to supply was cut short by a lancing pain in his brain. This was followed by howls of anger from the other two Furies, an explosion, and the unmistakable sound of rubble hitting the ground. The battle thereafter was short and decisive. From his point of view, Percy saw an effective plan put to use. The cloaked man, with the cover of darkness, drew two small shining bronze knives. When the Fury came attacking, he used the momentum of her attack to spin himself round and cover his own throwing action. The next thing the two other Furies who were coming to the aid of their sister knew was seeing a flash of light, followed by a dull pain in their heads. From Percy's point of view, he saw the two knives embed themselves in the Furies' skull, followed by an explosion of colour. The two Furies were gone and there was a clang of metal as the knives dropped to the ground. As Percy stood and made his way toward where the two knives had dropped, he saw drops of blood on the ground near the cloaked man.

The remaining Fury looked at what she had inadvertently caused, and rounded upon the man with … well, fury in her eyes. That was a mistake. As Percy had learned, never fight with emotion ruling your movements. He saw how letting himself be wounded had served the man two advantages. First, he got rid of two opponents, and second he gained the upper hand against the remaining threat. The Fury attacked, but this time the man had another surprise. When they were feet from each other, the man simply sheathed his sword. Not meeting the resistance she had expected, the Fury lost her balance and tipped to the side. Her left wing scraping hard against the concrete, her own momentum carried her into another bronze knife. She howled before, she too, disappeared. Percy was pretty sure she was looking at him in her final moments. Bending down to pick up the two knives, Percy whispered, "Good show." Even before the words, "Thank you," were whispered from behind him, he was pivoting on his right heel, the knife in his right hand aiming for where an ordinary man's heart would be. But his arm moved straight through empty air. Using his own momentum, Percy kept on pivoting on his heel and came lightly to his feet, facing the direction he originally had been. A cold shiver went down his spine. There was no way anyone could be that fast. A man who had been standing fifty feet away from him had managed, somehow, to go behind him, and then dodge his attack and go to stand ten feet away from him. No way.

"I would love to stay and chat, but I have other engagements," the man said apologetically. Without another word, the man raised his right arm from the shadows of his cloak. Percy tensed. The man clicked his fingers. A sudden pain flared brightly in his brain, followed by an encroaching darkness. Before he fell unconscious, Percy thought; no way. Tomorrow is the beginning of the summer holidays. How could this happen? As usual, nothing was ever simple with Percy Jackson.