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

“You—you scouted around inside?” I asked.

“Afraid so.” Blitz signed as he talked, since Hearth could not see his lips moving. “Alderman’s whole collection of rare stones and artifacts—gone. Along with all the gold. So, if the whetstone we’re looking for was somewhere in that house—”

It has been moved, Hearthstone signed. Part of his hoard.

The sign Hearth used for hoard was a grasping fist in front of his chin, like he was clutching something valuable: Treasure. Mine. Don’t touch, or you’ll die.

I swallowed a mouthful of sand. “And…did you find this hoard?” I knew my friends were brave, but the idea of them poking around inside the walls of that estate terrified me. Definitely it hadn’t been good for the local squirrel population.

“We think we found his lair,” Blitz said.

“Oh, good.” My voice sounded higher and softer than usual. “Alderman has a lair now. And, uh, did you see him?”

Hearthstone shook his head. Only smelled him.

“Okay,” I said. “That’s not creepy.”

“You’ll see,” Blitz said. “It’s easiest just to show you.”

That was one offer I definitely wanted to refuse, but there was no way I would let Hearth and Blitz go through those gates again without me.

“W-why haven’t the local elves done something about the estate?” I asked. “Last time we were here, they wouldn’t even tolerate us loitering. Haven’t the neighbors complained?”

I waved at the ruins. An eyesore like this, especially if it killed swans, rodents, and the occasional door-to-door sales elf, had to be against the rules of the neighborhood association.

“We talked to the authorities,” Blitz said. “Half the time we’ve been gone, we’ve been dealing with elfish bureaucracy.” He shuddered in his heavy coat. “Would it surprise you that the police didn’t want to listen to us? We can’t prove Alderman is dead or missing. Hearthstone doesn’t have any legal rights to the land. As for clearing the property, the best the police would do is put up those stupid warning signs. They aren’t going to risk their necks, no matter how much the neighbors complain. Elves pretend to be sophisticated, but they’re as superstitious as they are arrogant. Not all elves, of course. Sorry, Hearth.”

Hearthstone shrugged. Can’t blame the police, he signed. Would you go in there if you didn’t have to?

He had a point. Just the thought of traipsing through the property, unable to see whatever lurked in the tall grass, made jumping beans hop around in my stomach. The Alfheim police were great at bullying transients out of the neighborhood. Facing an actual threat in the ruins of a madman’s mansion…maybe not so much.

Blitzen sighed. “Well, no sense waiting. Let’s go find dear old Dad.”


I would have preferred another dinner with Aegir’s murderous daughters, or a battle to the death with a pile of pottery. Heck, I would have even shared guava juice with a pack of wolves on Uncle Randolph’s roof deck.

We climbed the gates and picked our way through the tall grass. Mosquitoes and gnats swarmed in our faces. The sunlight made my skin prickle and my pores pop with sweat. I decided Alfheim was a pretty world as long as it was manicured and trimmed and kept up by the servants. Allowed to go wild, it went wild in a big way. I wondered if elves were similar. Calm, delicate, and formal on the outside, but if they let loose…I really did not want to meet the new-and-unimproved Mr. Alderman.

We skirted the ruins of the house, which was fine by me. I remembered too well the blue fur rug in Hearthstone’s old room, which we’d been forced to cover with gold to pay the wergild for his brother’s death. I remembered the menu board of infractions on Hearthstone’s wall, keeping tally of his never-ending debt to his dad. I didn’t want to get near that place again, even if it was in ruins.

As we picked our way through the backyard, something crunched under my foot. I looked down. My shoe had gone straight through the rib cage of a small deer skeleton.

“Ugh,” I said.

Hearthstone frowned at the desiccated remains. Nothing but a few strips of meat and fur clung to the bones.

Eaten, he signed, putting his closed fingertips under his mouth. The sign was very similar to hoard/treasure. Sometimes sign language was a little too accurate for my liking.

With a silent apology to the poor deer, I freed my foot. I couldn’t tell what might have devoured the animal, but I hoped the prey hadn’t suffered much. I was surprised wildlife that large was even allowed to exist in the tonier neighborhoods of Alfheim. I wondered if the cops harassed the deer for loitering, maybe cuffing their little hooves and shoving them into the backs of squad cars.

We made our way toward the woods at the back of the property. The grounds had become so overgrown I couldn’t tell where the lawn stopped and the underbrush began. Gradually, the canopy of trees grew thicker, until the sunlight was reduced to yellow buckshot across the forest floor.

I estimated we weren’t far from the old well where Hearthstone’s brother had died—another place high on my Never Visit Again list. So, naturally, we stumbled right into it.

A cairn of stones covered the spot where the well had been filled in. Not a weed or blade of grass grew in the barren dirt, as if even they didn’t want to invade such a poisoned clearing. Still, I had no trouble imagining Hearthstone and Andiron playing here as children—Hearth’s back turned as he happily stacked rocks, not hearing his brother scream when the brunnmigi, the beast who lived in the well, rose from the darkness.

I started to say, “We don’t have to be here—”

Hearth walked to the cairn as if in a trance. Sitting at the top of the pile, where Hearthstone had left it during our last visit, was a runestone:



Othala, the rune of family inheritance. Hearthstone had insisted he would never use that rune again. Its meaning had died for him in this place. Even his new set of rowan runes, the ones he’d received as a gift from the goddess Sif, did not contain othala. Sif had warned him this would cause him trouble. Eventually, she’d said, he would have to return here to reclaim his missing piece.

I hated it when goddesses were right.

Should you take it? I signed. In a place like this, silent conversation seemed better than using my voice.

Hearthstone frowned, his gaze defiant. He made a quick chopping gesture—sideways then down, like he was tracing a backward question mark. Never.

Blitzen sniffed the air. We’re close now. Smell it?

I smelled nothing except the faint scent of rotting plant matter. What?

“Yeesh,” he said aloud. Human noses are pathetic.

Useless, Hearthstone agreed. He led the way deeper into the forest.