Chapter 57 Don't forget

He grimaced but eventually sighed and stared at them with boredom. "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. Suppose you'll have to take a seat for a few centuries."

"Oh, but we have coins." Andromeda set three golden drachmas on the counter, which was part of the stash they'd found in Crusty's office desk.

"Well, now…" Charon moistened his lips. "Real drachmas. Real golden drachmas. I haven't seen these in…"

His fingers hovered greedily over the coins.

They were so close.

Then Charon looked at Andromeda. That cold stare behind his glasses seemed to bore a hole through her chest. "Here now," he said. "You couldn't read my name correctly. Are you dyslexic, girl?"

"No," Andromeda said. "I'm dead."

"We don't have time for this shit." Jakob muttered, marching forward and he somehow managed to grab Charon and nearly pull him over podium. "Listen here, Ferryman. We request an audience with Hades himself. Now you can either let us in now... or I'll make us a way in after I put my Axe through your skull."

Jakob took off the Leviathan Axe and lined it with Charon's skull in emphasis. Charon's eyes flickered between the Axe and Jakob and they soon widened.

"You're the Aesir everyone's talking about!" Charon realized. "The Son of Thor!"

"Yes. I'm pretty sure Hades is just as curious himself, now are you going to let us in?" Jakob asked with a serious look.

"Um... s-sure, I'll load you four on... five if we include the severed head on your hip." Charon nodded, to which Jakob nodded back while ignoring Mimir's grumbling, and released the Ferryman. "Come along."

They pushed through the crowd of waiting spirits, who started grabbing at their clothes like the wind, their voices whispering things they couldn't make out. Charon shoved them out of the way, grumbling, "Freeloaders."

He 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 pushed them back into the lobby.

"Right. Now, no one get any ideas while I'm gone." He announced to the waiting room. "And if anyone moves the dial off my easy-listening station again, I'll make sure you're here for another thousand years. Understand?"

He shut the doors. He put a key card into a slot in the elevator panel and we started to descend.

"What happens to the spirits waiting in the lobby?" Annabeth asked.

"Nothing," Charon said.

"For how long?"

"Forever, or until I'm feeling generous."

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

Charon raised an eyebrow. "Whoever said death was fair, young miss? Wait until it's your turn. You'll die soon enough, where you're going."

"We will get out with our lives and souls intact." Jakob said seriously.

"Ha."

Jakob shook his head when his vison went dizzy for a second. That had stopped going down, and were now moving forward. The air turned misty. The spirits around them started changing shape. Their modern clothes flickered, turning into grey hooded robes. The floor of the elevator started swaying.

It was then Charon's creamy Italian suit had been replaced by a long black robe. His tortoiseshell glasses were gone. 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. The flesh of his face was becoming transparent, letting you see straight through to his skull.

The floor kept swaying.

Grover said, "I think I'm getting seasick."

The elevator wasn't an elevator anymore. They were standing in a wooden barge.

Charon was now poling them across a dark, oily river, swirling with bones, dead fish, and other stranger things – plastic dolls, crushed carnations, soggy diplomas with gilt edges. To Jakob, it was the worst river that he'd ever looked at. The Lake of Souls in Alfheim was more beautiful than this.

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

"Polluted," Charon said. "For thousands of years, you humans have been throwing in everything you come across – hopes, dreams, wishes that never came true. Irresponsible waste management if you ask me."

Mist curled off the filthy water. Above them, almost lost in the gloom, was a ceiling of stalactites. Ahead, the far shore glimmered with greenish light, the colour of poison.

Jakob felt a hand slip into his right, and then one slip into his left. He glanced down and saw a hand clutching his own. One belonged to Annabeth, the other belonging to Andromeda. He supposed they just wanted reassurance somebody else in the boat was alive with them and he gave their hands a reassuring squeeze.

The shorelines of the Underworld came into view. 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 group could see.

A sound came from somewhere nearby in the green gloom, echoing off the stone – the howl of a large animal.

"Old Three-Face is hungry," Charon said. His smile turned skeletal in the greenish light. "Bad luck for you, godlings."

The bottom of their 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 together arm in arm. A boy no older than they were, shuffling silently along in his grey robe.

Charon said, "I'd wish you luck, mate, but there isn't any down here."

"if it helps, we'll mention a pay rise to Hades for you." Andromeda offered, hoping that it would let them get a free trip back out when they were done with Hades.

Charon smirked at that and nodded. "Don't forget to mention it then."

He started to sing something that sounded like a Barry Manilow song as he ferried the empty barge back across the river.

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