The Odd Ferryman and the Arrival at the Realm of the Dead

They stood in the shadows of Valencia Boulevard, looking up at gold letters etched in black marble: DOA RECORDING STUDIOS. Underneath, stenciled on the glass doors: NO SOLICITORS. NO LOITERING. NO LIVING.

It was almost midnight, but the lobby was brightly lit and full of people. Behind the security desk sat a tough-looking guard with sunglasses and an earpiece.

Percy turned to my friends. "Okay. You remember the plan?"

 "The plan?" Grover gulped. "Yeah. I love the plan."

 Annabeth said, "What happens if the plan doesn't work?"

Albert interjected, "Don't think negative... Please."

"Right..." the girl said, surprisingly in agreement. "We're like... about to enter the literal Land of the Dead, and I shouldn't think negative. You're right."

Percy took the pearls out of his pocket, the three milky spheres the Nereid had given him in Santa Monica. They didn't seem like much of a backup in case something went wrong, but they were better than nothing.

Annabeth put her hand on his shoulder. "You're right... we'll make it. It'll be fine."

She even gave Grover a little nudge trying to cheer up a little because the tension was heavy.

 "Yeah, yeah!" Grover chimed in. "We got this far. We'll find the master bolt and save your mom. No problem."

Percy looked at them all, and felt really grateful. He also looked a bit hesitant as if something was still bothering him, he felt guilty.

"This isn't just about your mom, Jackson," Albert said suddenly, "You know that right? You know that we all chose to come with you, but not just because we want to help you get your mom back. This isn't just about you and her. This a matter that concerns all of us directly, we are here to prove your innocence and avoid a war between the two. No, maybe all of the three realms."

The others looked at Percy and all shared looks that said the same.

Percy looked at him like a deer caught in the lights. His look was as intense as before, but not as angry. He gave the boy a reassuring nod and slipped the pearls back into his pocket. "Let's whup some Underworld butt."

They walked inside the DOA lobby.

Muzak played softly on well-concealed speakers. The carpets and the walls were colored steel gray. Pencil cactuses grew in the corners like skeleton hands popping out of the ground. The furniture was black leather, and every seat was taken. People were sitting on couches, people standing up, people staring out the windows or waiting for the elevator. Nobody moved or talked, or did much of anything really. Out of the corner of Percy's eye, he could see them all just fine, but if he focused on any one of them in particular, they started looking off... transparent, shimmering. Gradually, it got to the point where he could see right through their bodies.

The security guard's desk was a raised podium, so they had to look up at him.

 He was tall and elegant, with chocolate-colored skin and bleached-blond hair shaved military style. He wore tortoiseshell shades and a silk Italian suit that matched his hair. A black rose was pinned to his lapel under a silver name tag.

The security guard's desk was a raised podium, so we had to look up at him.He was tall and elegant, with brown colored skin and bleached-blond hair shaved military buzzcut style. He wore tortoiseshell shades and a silk Italian suit that matched his hair. A black rose was pinned to his lapel under a silver name tag.

Albert knew that by all means he shouldn't have been surprised to see this modernized version of Chiron after he saw the drunkard dad bod Dionysus or the gangster moto biker Ares, but still, he still felt disbelief seeing god-like beings presenting themselves so... mundanely. They could look like anything.

Percy read the name tag, then looked at him in bewilderment. "Your name is Chiron?"

The guy leaned across the desk. They couldn't see anything in his glasses except their own reflections, but his smile was sweet and cold, like a python's, right before it eats you. He was another weirdo. Why there were so many of them?

"What a precious young lad." He said amused in a strong British accent, "Tell me, mate, do I look like a centaur?"

"N-no."

"Sir," he added smoothly.

"Sir," Percy said.

The guy pinched the name tag as he ran his finger under the letters and made a face. "Can you read this, mate? It says C-H-A-R-O-N. Say it with me: CARE-ON."

"Charon."

"Amazing! Now: Mr. Charon. Let's have so manners."

"Mr. Charon," Percy said, with his lips twitching.

"Well done." Charon sat back. "You don't know how I hate being confused with that old horse-man. And now, how may I help you little dead ones?"

His question caught Percy off guard as he looked at Annabeth and Albert for support.

"We want to go to the Underworld," she said.

"Really?"Charon's mouth twitched. "Well, that's... refreshing."

"It is?" she asked.

"Well, of course not, he is being sarcastic, duh," Albert interjected with a snort. "Mr. Charon is the ferryman of the dead. He is responsible for carrying the souls of the deceased across the rivers Styx and Acheron, which separate the world of the living from the Underworld."

 "Oh, to be recognized! Straightforward and honest. No screaming. No 'There must be a mistake, Mr. Charon.'" He looked them over. "How did you die then, children?"

Percy nudged Grover.

"Oh," he said. "Um... drowned... in the bathtub."

 "All four of you?" Charon asked with evident distrust while terribly amused.

 Still, though, all of the kids nodded. Shamelessly.

"What a big bathtub..." Charon looked mildly impressed. "I don't suppose you have coins for passage. Normally, with adults, you see, I could charge your American Express, or add the ferry price to your last cable bill. But with children... alas, you never die prepared. I suppose you'll have to take a seat for a few centuries."

"Oh, but we have coins." Percy set four golden drachmas on the counter, part of the stash they looted at Crusty's office. He wouldn't need them anyway.

"Well, now look at you..." Charon moistened his lips with his tongue. "Real golden drachmas. Pure golden drachmas. I haven't seen these in..." His fingers hovered greedily over the coins.

They were so close.

Then Charon looked at Percy. That cold stare behind his glasses seemed to bore a hole through the boy's chest. "Here now, kid," he said. "You couldn't read my name correctly. Are you dyslexic perhaps, lad?"

"No, sir..." Percy said. "I'm just dead."

Charon obviously did not buy it and leaned forward and took a sniff. "You're not dead. I should've known. You're a godling. Three of you at that... err, and here I thought things were gonna be easier today."

"We have to get to the Underworld," Albert suddenly announced. "We have come to speak with Lord Hades, sir. Please, he even sent the Furies - Kindly Ones- you get it. He wants to see us too."

Charon made a growling sound deep in his throat, definitely unhappy and unwilling.

 Immediately, all the people in the waiting room got up and started pacing, agitated, lighting cigarettes, running their hands through their hair, or checking their wristwatches in annoyance. Like they were at one of those dreadful Target lines on a Black Friday.

"The Olympians and their messes... It never ends. Leave while you still can godlings," Charon tiredly suggested. "I'll just take these and forget I saw you. I am feeling generous today. Be grateful for that too."

The ferryman started to go for the coins, but Percy snatched them back without missing a beat.

"No service, no tip." He tried to sound braver than he actually felt. "This is America."

Charon growled again—a deep, blood-chilling sound, like breaking glass. The spirits of the dead started pounding on the elevator doors in fright.

"It's a shame, too," Albert sighed. "We had more than just those four little ones to offer though, right, guys?"

Percy held up the entire bag from Crusty's stash, while Albert took out what was left from Medusa's and his own. They took out a fistful of drachmas and let the coins spill through their fingers.

Charon's growl changed into something more like a lion's roar to a cat's pleased purr. "Do you think I can be bought, godlings? Eh... just out of curiosity, how much have you got there?"

"A lot," Percy stated. "I bet Hades doesn't pay you well enough for such hard work, look at that line!"

"Oh, you don't know the half of it! This is an ungrateful job. How would you like to babysit these spirits all day? Always 'Please don't let me be dead' or 'Please let me across for free.' I haven't had a pay raise in three thousand years!" The ferryman dramatically explained. "Do you imagine suits like this come cheap?! This one is a Brioni custom-made for me!"

"You deserve better," The boy readily agreed. "A little appreciation. Respect. Good pay!"

With each word, he stacked another gold coin on the counter confidently.

Charon glanced down at his silk Italian suit as if imagining himself in something even better. "I must say, lad, you're making some sense now. Just a little."

Albert stacked another few coins. "I could mention a pay raise while we talk to Lord Hades, sir."

Charon contemplated the offer for a while then sighed. "The boat's almost full, anyway. I might as well add you four and be off." He stood, scooped up the golden drachmas, and said, "Come along... children!"

Barely believing in the deal, they pushed through the crowd of waiting spirits, who started grabbing at our clothes like the wind, their voices whispering things they couldn't make out.

Charon shoved them out of the way, grumbling, "Freeloaders begone!"

The tall ferryman escorted them into the elevator, which was already crowded with souls of the dead, each one holding a green boarding pass. Charon grabbed two spirits who were trying to get on with them and ruthlessly pushed them back into the lobby, sneering under his breath.

"Right. Now, no one gets any funny ideas while I'm gone," he announced to the waiting room with a warning tone. "And if anyone moves the dial off my easy-listening station again, I'll make sure you're here for another thousand years. Capiche?"

Charon then quickly shut the doors and put a eery key card into a slot in the elevator panel and we started to descend.

"What happens to the spirits waiting in the lobby, sir?" Annabeth asked unable to hide her curiosity.

"Nothing," Charon said. "Obviously."

"Oh... For how long?" She tried again.

"Forever, or until I'm feeling generous.

"Oh," she said. "That's... fair."

Charon raised an eyebrow at her as if confused. "Whoever told you death is fair, young miss? Wait until it's your turn and you'll see it. You'll die soon enough, where you're going, anyways."

"We'll get out alive," Percy stated firmly.

"Ha!" Charon scoffed in disdain. "You godlings always overestimating yourselves... I don't even remember when one of you actually managed to go in and out from there."

Suddenly, they got a weird, peculiar dizzy feeling. They weren't going down anymore, but forward. The air turned misty and humid. The Spirits around them started changing shape. Their modern clothes flickered, turning into gray hooded robes, all the same. The floor of the elevator began swaying.

Albert's eyes widened in shock as he felt a very very strange thing happening. He couldn't be sure, but he... he felt in the Mist. They had crossed into another Realm. Another dimension. They had entered the Underworld. The Mist itself felt different, it was hard to explain, it was more wild and less forgiving, colder and less loud. The boy wasn't sure if this was a decent way to explain it.

Charon's creamy suit had been replaced by a long black robe that moved without wind. His tortoiseshell glasses were gone, vanished into nothing. Where his eyes should've been were empty sockets—like Ares's eyes, except Charon's were totally dark, full of night and death and despair.

He noticed their looks, and said, "Well, what now?"

"Nothing, sir." Percy managed.

"Huh... if you don't mind me asking, Mr. Charon," Albert carefully asked. "Are you a God? I think I read somewhere that you are a son of the great primordials, Nyx and Erebus, but I am not sure."

Albert thought he was grinning for some reason, but that wasn't it. The flesh of his face was becoming transparent, letting him see straight through to his skull. "I don't think a godling ever asked me that in all my existence... Usually, I keep my personal life and professional lives separate, but this time is gonna be an exception. The answer is both yes and no. I am a god-like being, not a monster or a mortal, and I was created by the primordials you mentioned, but not in the way you probably assumed. Like your parents created you all. I am their son, but only because they made me together. This is hard to explain... err."

"I got it, sir."

The floor kept swaying. When they blinked again, the elevator wasn't an elevator anymore. It had transformed and they were standing in a wooden barge. Charon was poling us across a dark, oily river, swirling with bones, dead fish, and other, stranger things—plastic dolls, crushed carnations, soggy diplomas with gilt edges.

"The River Styx," Annabeth murmured in awe. "It's so... so..."

"Polluted? Yeah, I think so too!" Charon said, for someone with empty sockets and deathly features, he was very expressive. "For thousands of years, you godlings and the humans have been throwing in everything as you come across in this river—hopes, dreams, wishes that never came true. An irresponsible waste management, if you ask me. It wasn't like that in the beginning. It used to look less unpleasant."

The Mist curled off the filthy inky black water. Above them, almost lost in the gloom, was a ceiling of stalactites, no sky. Ahead, there was a far shore that glimmered with greenish light, the color of poison.

Percy suddenly started to silently panic, probably he had realized where he was standing, only now truly understanding the situation. Annabeth grabbed hold of his hand and reassured him. Albert felt conflicted about doing something to help or not, choosing the latter.

Percy Jackson already had enough comfort, he didn't need his. It's not like he wasn't destined to end up with Annabeth anyway, he thought, surprising himself for a second.

Why did he think of that like that? He would rather ignore this nonsense for the time being. 

The shoreline of the Underworld finally came into view. Huge craggy rocks and black volcanic sand stretched inland about a hundred yards to the base of a high stone wall, which marched off in either direction as far as the eyes could see. A sound came from somewhere nearby in the green gloom, echoing off the stones—the howl of a large animal.

"Old Three-Face is hungry, they must have forgotten to feed him again," Charon said with a smirk. His smile turned skeletal in the greenish light. "Bad luck for you, godlings."

The bottom of our boat slid onto the black sand. The dead began to disembark. A woman holding a little girl's hand. An old man and an old woman hobbling along arm in arm. A boy no older than them was, shuffling silently along in his gray robe. They finally realized that all these people were actually dead dead. Not just for funsies, but actually, literally dead!

Charon said, "I'd wish you luck, mates, but there isn't any down here. Mind you, don't forget to mention my pay raise. You said you would."

 He counted our golden coins into his pouch, then took up his pole. Charon warbled something that sounded like exactly Fast Car by Tracy Chapman as he ferried the empty barge back across the river.

"Who would have thought the ferryman of the dead who has a British accent liked country music?" Albert said out loud mildly amused. "I really love that song."

"It is a great song, right?" Percy suddenly joined with a chuckle. "My mom played in the car when I was little, back when we used to go to Montauk for vacations. She likes to sing along to it with all her chest and makes me do the same."

"...Let's go get your mom back, Percy."

"You didn't call me 'Jackson' this time," The boy noticed with a glint in his eyes.

"Don't make me regret it so fast."

They followed the spirits up a well-worn path. They weren't sure what they were expecting—Pearly Gates, or a big black portcullis, or some grim Gothic Gates, something. But the entrance to the Underworld looked... not like that. Three separate entrances under one huge black archway said YOU ARE NOW ENTERING THE UNDERWORLD. Each entrance had a pass-through metal detector with security cameras mounted on top. Beyond this were toll booths manned by black-robed ghostly beings like Charon.

The howling of the hungry animal was really loud now, but they couldn't see where it was coming from. The three-headed dog, Cerberus, who was supposed to guard Hades's door, was nowhere to be seen.

The dead queued up in the three lines, two marked ATTENDANT ON DUTY, and one marked EZ DEATH. The EZ DEATH line was moving right along. The other two were crawling.

"What do you figure?" Percy asked out loud.

"The fast line must go straight to the Fields of Asphodel," Annabeth said. "No contest. They don't want to risk judgment from the court, because it might go against them."

"There's a court for dead people?" The boy asked.

 "Yeah," The girl hummed in agreement, before explaining, "Three judges. They switch around who sits on the bench. King Minos, Thomas Jefferson-after Olympus the gods moved to the New World-, Shakespeare— you know... people like that. Sometimes they look at a life and decide that person needs a special reward—the Fields of Elysium. Sometimes they decide on The Fields of Punishment. but for most people, well, they just lived mundane, common lives. Nothing special, not too good or too bad. So they mostly go to Asphodel."

"And do what?"

Grover let out a big sigh and explained, "Imagine standing in one of those wheat fields in Kansas. Now imagine doing that for like... Forever and Ever."

"Harsh," Percy concluded.

Albert couldn't help but feel a bit left out.

The other three shared a fundamental thing, they all were born and raised in the U.S., and they get each other better than he ever could. Albert, on the other hand, was an outsider. In more ways than they could ever imagine, in more ways he even understood. He decided that these thoughts were a bit depressing so he decided to imagine where most of the music stars who died ended up between the Three Fields.

Sure, most of them deserved Elysium just by sharing such great iconic songs, right? Would that even count as a good deed? He didn't know, but privately believe it should.