Rick Riordan
Rick Riordan
Richard Russell "Rick" Riordan, Jr. is an American author known for writing the Percy Jackson & the Olympians series, which is about a twelve-year-old who discovers he is a son of Poseidon. His books have been translated into 37 languages and sold more than 30 million copies in the US. Twentieth Century Fox has adapted the first two books of his Percy Jackson series as part of a series of films. His books have spawned related media, such as graphic novels...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionYoung Adult Author
Date of Birth5 June 1964
CountryUnited States of America
my sword reappeared in my pocket. yeah,great timing.now i could attack the walls all i wanted.my cell had no bar,no window,not even a door
Happy Birthday!' I yelled, 'Now, shut up!
I’d been to the British museum before. In fact I’ve been in more museums than I like to admit—it makes me sound like a total geek. [That’s Sadie in the background, yelling I am a total geek. Thanks, Sis.]
Could I just use the loo?” I asked the nice officer. “No.” She closed the door in my face, As if I might rig an explosion in the toilet. Honestly.
It’s hard to look in charge when you’re hunched over like Quasimodo.
My face felt like my normal face, as if that part of me hadn’t transformed into a bird. [Fine, Sadie. Call me the Carter-headed chicken. Happy?]
Amos stopped before the entrance, which was the size of a garage door—a dark heavy square of timber with no visible handle or lock. “Carter after you.” “Um, how do I—” “How do you think?” Great another mystery. I was about to suggest we ram Amos’s head against it and see if that worked.
I got ready for bed and crawled in. The covers were comfortable and warm, but the pillow was just too weird. It gave me neck cramps, so I put it on the floor and went to sleep without it. My first big mistake.
Right,” I said. “So the baboon, the crocodile…any other pets I should know about?” Amos thought for a moment. “Visible ones? No, I think that’s it.
Amos sipped his coffee. The faraway look on his face reminded me of my dad. “I don’t want to scare you.” “Too late.
Why didn’t you sleep with the headrest?” I shrugged. “It was uncomfortable.” I looked at Sadie for support. “You didn’t use it, did you?” Sadie rolled her eyes. “Well, of course I did. It was obviously there for a reason.
We were alone in a strange mansion with a baboon, a crocodile, and a weird cat. And apparently, the entire world was in danger. I looked at Sadie. “What do we do now?
The first thing we pulled out was a lump of white gunk. “Wax,” Carter pronounced. “Fascinating.
There’s nothing here,” Carter said. “What do you want?” I asked. “We’ve got wax, some toilet papyrus, an ugly statue.