The Ship of the Dead (Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard #3)

“It?” Jack demanded. “Hey, lady, some respect. I’m Sumarbrander! The Sword of Summer! The weapon of Frey! I’ve been around for thousands of years! Also, I’m a dude!”

Annabeth frowned. “Magnus, when you told me about your magic sword, did you perhaps fail to mention that it—that he can speak?”

“Did I?” Honestly I couldn’t remember.

The past few weeks, Jack had been off on his own, doing whatever sentient magic swords did in their free time. Percy and I had been using standard-issue Hotel Valhalla practice blades for sparring. It hadn’t occurred to me that Jack might fly in out of nowhere and introduce himself. Besides, the fact that Jack talked was the least weird thing about him. The fact that he could sing the entire cast recording of Jersey Boys from memory…that was weird.

Alex Fierro looked like he was trying not to laugh. He was wearing pink and green today, as usual, though I’d never seen this particular outfit before: lace-up leather boots, ultra-skinny rose jeans, an untucked lime dress shirt, and a checkered skinny tie as loose as a necklace. With his thick black Ray-Bans and his choppy green hair, he looked like he’d stepped off a New Wave album cover circa 1979.

“Be polite, Magnus,” he said. “Introduce your friends to your sword.”

“Uh, right,” I said. “Jack, this is Percy and Annabeth. They’re demigods—the Greek kind.”

“Hmm.” Jack didn’t sound impressed. “I met Hercules once.”

“Who hasn’t?” Annabeth muttered.

“Fair point,” Jack said. “But I suppose if you’re friends of Magnus’s…” He went completely still. His runes faded. Then he leaped out of my hand and flew toward Annabeth, his blade twitching as if he was sniffing the air. “Where is she? Where are you hiding the babe?”

Annabeth backed toward the rail. “Whoa, there, sword. Personal space!”

“Jack, behave,” Alex said. “What are you doing?”

“She’s around here somewhere,” Jack insisted. He flew to Percy. “Aha! What’s in your pocket, sea boy?”

“Excuse me?” Percy looked a bit nervous about the magical sword hovering at his waistline.

Alex lowered his Ray-Bans. “Okay, now I’m curious. What do you have in your pocket, Percy? Inquiring swords want to know.”

Percy pulled a plain-looking ballpoint pen from his jeans. “You mean this?”

“BAM!” Jack said. “Who is this vision of loveliness?”

“Jack,” I said. “It’s a pen.”

“No, it’s not! Show me! Show me!”

“Uh…sure.” Percy uncapped the pen.

Immediately it transformed into a three-foot-long sword with a leaf-shaped blade of glowing bronze. Compared to Jack, the weapon looked delicate, almost petite, but from the way Percy wielded it, I had no doubt he’d be able to hold his own on the battlefields of Valhalla with that thing.

Jack turned his point toward me, his runes flashing burgundy. “See, Magnus? I told you it wasn’t stupid to carry a sword disguised as a pen!”

“Jack, I never said that!” I protested. “You did.”

Percy raised an eyebrow. “What are you two talking about?”

“Nothing,” I said hastily. “So I guess this is the famous Riptide? Annabeth told me about it.”

“Her,” Jack corrected.

Annabeth frowned. “Percy’s sword is a she?”

Jack laughed. “Well, duh.”

Percy studied Riptide, though I could’ve told him from experience it was almost impossible to tell a sword’s gender by looking at it.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Are you sure—?”

“Percy,” said Alex. “Respect the gender.”

“Okay, fine,” he said. “It’s just kinda strange that I never knew.”

“On the other hand,” Annabeth said, “you didn’t know the pen could write until last year.”

“That’s low, Wise Girl.”

“Anyway!” Jack interrupted. “The important thing is Riptide’s here now, she’s beautiful, and she’s met me! Maybe the two of us can…you know…have some private time to talk about, er, sword stuff?”

Alex smirked. “That sounds like a wonderful idea. How about we let the swords get to know each other while the rest of us have lunch? Magnus, do you think you can handle eating falafel without choking?”





WE ATE ON the aft spar deck. (Look at me with the nautical terms.)

After a hard morning of failing, I felt like I’d really earned my deep-fried chickpea patties and pita bread, my yogurt and chilled cucumber slices, and my side order of extra-spicy lamb kebabs. Annabeth had arranged our picnic lunch. She knew me too well.

My clothes dried quickly in the sunlight. The warm breeze felt good on my face. Sailboats traced their way across the harbor while airplanes cut across the blue sky, heading out from Logan Airport to New York or California or Europe. The whole city of Boston seemed charged with impatient energy, like a classroom at 2:59 P.M., waiting for the dismissal bell, everybody ready to get out of town for the summer and enjoy the good weather.

Me, all I wanted to do was stay put.

Riptide and Jack stood propped nearby in a coil of rope, their hilts leaning against the gunnery rail. Riptide acted like your typical inanimate object, but Jack kept inching closer, chatting her up, his blade glowing the same dark bronze as hers. Fortunately, Jack was used to holding one-sided conversations. He joked. He flattered. He name-dropped like a maniac. “You know, Thor and Odin and I were at this tavern one time…”

If Riptide was impressed, she didn’t show it.

Percy wadded up his falafel wrapper. Along with being a water-breather, the dude also had the ability to inhale food.

“So,” he said, “when do you guys sail out?”

Alex raised an eyebrow at me like Yeah, Magnus. When do we sail out?

I’d been trying to avoid this topic with Fierro for the past two weeks, without much luck.

“Soon,” I said. “We don’t exactly know where we’re headed, or how long it’ll take to get there—”

“Story of my life,” said Percy.

“—but we have to find Loki’s big nasty ship of death before it sails at Midsummer. It’s docked somewhere along the border between Niflheim and Jotunheim. We’re estimating it’ll take a couple of weeks to sail that distance.”

“Which means,” Alex said, “we really should’ve left already. We definitely have to sail by the end of the week, ready or not.”

In his dark lenses, I saw the reflection of my own worried face. We both knew we were as far from ready as we were from Niflheim.

Annabeth tucked her feet underneath her. Her long blond hair was tied back in a ponytail. Her dark blue T-shirt was emblazoned with the yellow words COLLEGE OF ENVIRONMENTAL DESIGN, UC BERKELEY.

“Heroes never get to be ready, do we?” she said. “We just do the best we can.”

Percy nodded. “Yep. Usually it works out. We haven’t died yet.”

“Though you keep trying.” Annabeth elbowed him. Percy put his arm around her. She nestled comfortably against his side. He kissed the blond curls on the top of her head.

This show of affection made my heart do a painful little twist.