Percy Jackson's Greek Gods (Percy Jackson and the Olympians companion #5.5) - Rick Riordan Page 0,122

the cows…

He waded across the meadow in his new shoes. He managed to separate the herd, shooing fifty of the fattest, juiciest cows away from the rest. Those fifty he drove sideways toward the beach.

Once they reached the sand, Hermes snapped his fingers and whistled to get the cows’ attention. When all fifty of them were looking at him, their tails facing the ocean, he said, “Okay, guys. Now back it up. Back it up!”

Ever tried to get fifty cows walking backward? It’s not easy. Hermes kept their attention on him, whistling and making back-up noises like, “BEEP, BEEP, BEEP!” while he waved his arms and advanced toward the water. The cattle shuffled backward, right into the surf. Then Hermes turned them south and herded them a few hundred yards through the waves before leading them onto dry land again.

When he looked back, he had to appreciate his own trickery. It looked as if fifty cows had marched out of the sea and joined the main herd. No one would be able to tell where the missing cows had gone. Hermes had left no footprints that could be traced to him.

He led the cows south through the fields of Greece.

By this time it was after midnight, so Hermes figured he wouldn’t be seen. Unfortunately, one old mortal farmer named Battus was out tending his grapevines. Maybe Battus couldn’t sleep, or maybe he always pruned his grapes at night; but when he saw this little baby leading fifty cows down the road, the old dude’s eyes bugged out of his head.

“What?” he warbled. “How?”

Hermes forced a smile. “’Sup?” He considered killing the old man. He didn’t want any witnesses. But Hermes was a thief, not a murderer. Besides, he already had the blood of an innocent tortoise on his hands. “I’m just taking my cows for a walk. What’s your name, old-timer?”

“Battus.” Battus couldn’t believe he was having a conversation with a baby. Maybe he was still asleep in bed, dreaming.

“Well, Battus,” said Hermes, “it would be best if you forgot you saw me. Anybody asks, I was never here. Do that, and I’ll make sure you get some awesome blessings when I take my place on Mount Olympus, okay?”

“Erm…okay.”

“Cool. And, hey, is that a knife in your belt? Could I borrow that?”

Battus gave the baby god his pruning knife, and Hermes led his cattle onward.

Finally Hermes found a nice cave where he could hide the stolen cows. He penned forty-eight of them inside so he could eat them later, or maybe sell them on the black market. He hadn’t decided yet. Then he used the old man’s knife to butcher the last two.

Again, a pretty creepy image—a baby god with a knife, slaughtering cows—but Hermes wasn’t squeamish. He built a fire and sacrificed the best cuts of meat to the Olympian gods (including himself, naturally). Then he put more meat on a spit, roasted it, and stuffed himself with tasty beef.

“Aw, that was good!” Hermes belched with appreciation. “Man, it’s getting late. Or early, I guess. I’d better get home.”

He cleaned up in a nearby stream, because he didn’t think his mom wanted to see her newborn child covered in blood. Then, just for fun, he took a couple of cow bones, hollowed them into flutes, and tied them together at one end in a V so that he could play them both simultaneously (because just one flute is boring). He waddled home with a full belly, playing soft music on his new double flute to keep himself awake. He got back to Maia’s cave just before dawn, crawled into his cradle, and tucked his V-flute under his blankets with his lyre. Then he passed out. Even for a baby god, it had been a long first night.

The next morning, Apollo flew to Pieria to count his cows. He always liked to start the day by admiring his cattle.

When he realized that fifty of them were missing, he freaked. He ran around yelling, “Here, cows! Here, cows!” He found hoofprints leading out of the sea, as if his cattle had gone for a swim and then returned, but that made no sense. He saw some huge, shallow indentions in the sand, like a very thin guy with size twenty-five shoes had been walking around—but again, that made no sense.

Apollo searched most of the morning, until finally he came across the old farmer Battus, who was still pruning his vines. After the “talking baby” incident, Battus hadn’t been able to get