Daughter of the Deep

by Rick Riordan

It must be hard work pulling me along, using me as a human shield while swimming backward toward his pontoon. I hope he drowns.

I swallow the metallic taste of fear. I’ve just been made acting captain of a ship with a crew of twenty freshmen, a dog, a dolphin, and one comatose adult.

As he rummages through the Blu-rays, an outraged howl erupts from one of the side corridors. A humanoid creature waddles into the room, flailing his furry orange arms. My god. It’s an orangutan. And he’s wearing a cooking apron decorated with smiley-face daisies. The orangutan bares his fangs at Robbie, then says in perfectly clear American Sign Language, NO TURN OFF MARY BERRY.

Top sits patiently at Ester’s feet. He doesn’t beg—he’s too clever for that. He just looks cute and sad, staring into the distance as if thinking, Alas, my poor stomach! Whenever someone slips him a scrap, which happens frequently, he looks surprised. For me? Well, if you insist. He is part emotional-support animal, part con artist.

Delicious, I say. Mary Berry would be proud. Jupiter calmly signs, I love you.

“Camouflage active, babe. I mean Captain. Captain babe.”