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

His pale eyes moistened. With a shock, I realized he was crying. It may sound dumb, but elves were usually so in control and subdued about their emotions, it surprised me to know they were capable of tears.

Hearth wasn’t just angry. He didn’t want vengeance. Despite everything Alderman had done to him, Hearthstone didn’t want his dad to suffer as a twisted monster. Sif had warned Hearth that he would have to come back here to reclaim his lost inheritance rune. That meant closing the sad story of his family, putting Mr. Alderman’s tortured soul to rest.

“I get it,” I said. “I do. But let me strike the killing blow. You shouldn’t have that on your conscience, or your wyrd, or whatever.”

“Kid’s right,” Blitz said. “It won’t stain his destiny as badly. But you—killing your own dad, even if it’s a mercy? Nobody should ever have to face a choice like that.”

I thought Samirah and Alex might disagree. They might welcome the chance to put Loki out of our collective misery. But, generally speaking, I knew Blitz was right.

“Besides,” Jack chimed in, “I’m the only blade that can do the job, and I wouldn’t let the elf handle me!”

I decided not to translate that. “What do you say, Hearthstone? Will you let me do this?”

Hearthstone’s hands hovered in front of him like he was about to play air piano. At last, he signed, Thank you, Magnus—a gesture like blowing a kiss, then a fist with the thumb under three fingers, M, my name sign.

Normally he wouldn’t have bothered with my name. When you talk to somebody in ASL, it’s obvious who you are addressing. You just look at them or point. Hearth used my name sign to show respect and love.

“I got you, man,” I promised. My insides fluttered at the thought of killing the dragon, but there was no way I’d let Hearthstone take the fall for that act. His wyrd had already suffered enough, thanks to Mr. Alderman. “So how do we do this, preferably without acid dissolving me into a pile of Magnus foam?”

Hearth gazed at the cairn. His shoulders sagged, as if somebody were piling invisible rocks on top of him. There is a way. Andiron…He hesitated at his brother’s name sign. You know we used to play around here. There are tunnels, made by wild— Here he used a sign I’d never seen before.

“He means nisser,” Blitzen explained. “They’re like…” He held his hand about two feet off the ground. “Little guys. They’re also called hobs. Or di sma. Or brownies.”

I guessed he didn’t mean the Girl Scout Junior type of brownie, or the baked chocolate kind.

Hundreds used to live in the woods, Hearth signed, before Dad called exterminator.

A chunk of bread swelled in my throat. A minute before, I hadn’t even known brownies existed. Now I felt sorry for them. I could imagine Mr. Alderman making the call. Hello, Pest-Away? There’s a civilization in my backyard I’d like exterminated.

“So…the brownies’ tunnels are still there?” I asked.

Hearth nodded. They are narrow. But you could use one to crawl close to the cave. If we can taunt dragon to walk over the spot where you are hiding—

“I could strike from beneath,” I said. “Right into its heart.”

Jack’s runes glowed an angry scarlet. “That’s a terrible idea! You’ll get showered with dragon’s blood!”

I wasn’t crazy about the idea either. Hiding in a tunnel made by exterminated brownies while a five-ton dragon dragged himself overhead presented all kinds of possibilities for a painful demise. On the other hand, I wasn’t going to let Hearthstone down. Getting the whetstone now seemed almost beside the point. I had to help my friend get free of his horrible past once and for all, even if it meant risking an acid bath.

“Let’s try a dry run,” I said. “If we can find a good tunnel, maybe I’ll be able to stab the dragon quickly and scramble to the exit before I get splashed.”

“Hmph.” Jack sounded awfully grumpy. Then again, I was asking him to slay a dragon. “I suppose that means you’d leave me stuck in the dragon’s heart?”

“Once the dragon’s dead, I’ll come back and get you…uh, assuming I can figure out how to do that without getting destroyed by acid.”

Jack sighed. “All right, I suppose the idea’s worth exploring. Just, if you live through this, you’ll have to promise to clean me really well afterward.”

Blitzen nodded, as if Jack’s priorities made perfect sense to him. “We’ll still need a way to draw the dragon out of his cave,” he said. “To make sure he crawls over the right spot.”

Hearth rose. He walked to his dead brother’s cairn. He stared at it for a long while, as if wishing it would go away. Then, with trembling fingers, he reclaimed the othala rune. He held it out for us to see. He didn’t sign, but his meaning was clear:

Leave that to me.





IN VALHALLA, we spent a lot of time waiting.

We waited for our daily call to battle. We waited for our final glorious deaths at Ragnarok. We waited in line for tacos at the food court, because the Viking afterlife only had one taqueria, and Odin should really do something about that.

A lot of einherjar said waiting was the hardest part of our lives.

Normally, I disagreed. I was happy to wait for Ragnarok as long as possible, even if it meant long lines for my pollo asado fix.

But waiting to fight a dragon? Not my favorite thing.

We found a brownie tunnel easily enough. In fact, so many nisser holes peppered the forest floor I was surprised I hadn’t broken my leg in one already. The tunnel we scouted had an exit in the woods outside the clearing, and another only thirty feet from the cave entrance. It was perfect, except for the fact that the passage was claustrophobic and muddy and smelled of—I am not making this up—baked brownies. I wondered if the exterminator had used a blowtorch to eliminate the poor little guys.

Carefully, quietly, we laid branches over the hole nearest the cave. That’s where I would hide with my sword ready, waiting for the dragon to crawl over me. Then we did a few dry runs (which weren’t very dry in that damp crawlspace) so I could practice jabbing upward with my blade and scrambling out of the tunnel.

On my third try, as I crawled out gasping and sweaty, Jack announced, “Twenty-one seconds. That’s worse than last time! You’ll be acid soup for sure!”

Blitzen suggested I try it again. He assured me we had time, since ring dragons were nocturnal, but we were operating so close to the dragon’s lair I didn’t want to push our luck. Also, I just didn’t want to go back into that little hole.