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

We retreated to the cairn, where Hearthstone had been practicing his magic in private. He wouldn’t tell us what he’d been doing or what he was planning. I figured the guy had been traumatized enough without me interrogating him. I just hoped his dragon lure worked, and he wasn’t going to be the bait.

We waited for nightfall, taking turns napping. I couldn’t sleep much, and when I did, my dreams were bad. I found myself back on the Ship of the Dead, though now the deck was strangely empty. In his admiral’s uniform, Loki paced back and forth in front of me, tsking as if I’d failed a uniform inspection. “Sloppy, Magnus. Going after that silly whetstone with so little time remaining?” He got in my face, his eyes so close I could see flecks of fire in his irises. His breath smelled of venom poorly masked with peppermint. “Even if you find it, what then? Your uncle’s idea is foolishness. You know you can never beat me.” He tapped my nose. “Hope you’ve got a Plan B!”

His laughter crashed over me like an avalanche, knocking me to the deck, squeezing the air from my lungs. Suddenly I was back in the nisser tunnel, little brownie dudes frantically pushing at my head and feet, screaming as they tried to get past. The mud walls collapsed. Smoke stung my eyes. Flames roared at my feet, roasting my shoes. Above my head, drops of acid ate through the mud, sizzling all around my face.

I woke with a gasp. I couldn’t stop shaking. I wanted to grab my friends and get out of Alfheim. Forget the stupid whetstone of Bolverk. Forget Kvasir’s Mead. We could find a Plan B. Any Plan B.

But the rational part of me knew that wasn’t the answer. We were following the most insane, horrifying Plan A imaginable, which meant it was probably the right one. Just once I wished I could go on a quest that involved walking across the hall, pushing a SAVE THE WORLD button, and going back to my room for a few more hours’ sleep.

Around sunset, we approached the dragon’s lair. We’d now spent over a day in the forest, and we didn’t smell so good. This brought back memories of our homeless days, the three of us huddled together in filthy sleeping bags in the alleys of Downtown Crossing. Ah, yes, the good ol’ bad times!

My skin crawled with grime and sweat. I could only imagine how Blitz felt in his heavy anti-sun outfit. Hearthstone looked as clean and spotless as ever, though the Alfheim evening light tinted his hair the color of Tizer. As usual, being an elf, the most pungent body odor he produced was no worse than diluted Pine-Sol.

Jack weighed heavily in my hand. “Remember, se?or, the heart is located at the third chink in the armor. You have to count the lines as the dragon drags itself overhead.”

“Assuming I can see?” I asked.

“I’ll glow for you! Just remember: stab quick and get out of there. That blood will shoot out like water from a fire hose—”

“Got it,” I said queasily. “Thanks.”

Blitzen clapped my shoulder. “Good luck, kid. I’ll be waiting at the exit to pull you out. Unless Hearth needs backup…”

He glanced at the elf as if hoping for more details besides I have it covered.

Hearthstone signed, I have it covered.

I took a shaky breath. “If you guys have to run, run. Don’t wait for me. And if—if I don’t make it, tell the others—”

“We’ll tell them,” Blitzen promised. He sounded like he knew what I wanted to say to everybody, which was good, because I didn’t. “But you will make it back.”

I hugged Hearth and Blitz, which they both tolerated despite my BO.

Then, like a great hero of old, I crawled into my hole.

I wriggled through the nisser tunnel, my nose full of the smell of loam and burnt chocolate. When I reached the opening near the dragon’s lair, I balled myself up, grunting, shoving, and turning my legs until my head was facing the way I’d come. (As bad as crawling out of this tunnel would be, crawling out backward, feetfirst, would’ve been even worse.)

I lay faceup, staring at the sky through the lattice of branches. Carefully, so as not to kill myself, I summoned Jack. I positioned him along my left side, his hilt at my belt, his point resting against my collarbone. When I stabbed upward, the angle would be tricky. Using my right hand, I would have to lever the sword diagonally, guide the tip to the chink in the dragon’s belly armor, then thrust it through, into the dragon’s heart, with all my einherji strength. After that, I’d have to scramble out of the tunnel before I was sautéed in acid.

The job seemed impossible. Probably because it was.

Time passed slowly in the muddy tunnel. My only companions were Jack and a few earthworms that were crawling across my calves, checking out my socks.

I started to think the dragon wouldn’t go out for dinner. Maybe he’d call for pizza instead. Then I’d end up with an elfish Domino’s delivery guy falling on my face. I was about to lose hope when Alderman’s putrid smell hit me like a thousand burning frogs kamikaze-diving into my nostrils.

Above, the woven branches rattled as the dragon emerged from his cave.

“I’m thirsty, Mr. Alderman,” he growled to himself. “And hungry, too. Inge hasn’t served me a proper dinner in days, weeks, months? Where is that worthless girl?”

He dragged himself closer to my hiding place. Dirt rained on my chest. My lungs constricted as I waited for the whole tunnel to collapse on top of me.

The dragon’s snout eclipsed my hole. All he had to do was look down and he’d see me. I’d be toasted like a nisser.

“I can’t leave,” Mr. Alderman muttered. “The treasure must be guarded! The neighbors, can’t trust them!”

He snarled in frustration. “Back, then, Mr. Alderman. Back to your duties!”

Before he could retreat, from somewhere in the woods a bright flash of light painted the dragon’s snout amber—the color of Hearthstone’s rune magic.

The dragon hissed. Smoke curled between his teeth. “What was that? Who is there?”

“Father.” The voice turned my marrow to ice. The sound echoed, weak and plaintive, like a child calling from the bottom of a well.

“NO!” The dragon stomped on the ground, shaking the earthworms off my socks. “Impossible! You are not here!”

“Come to me, Father,” the voice pleaded again.

I’d never known Andiron, Hearth’s dead brother, but I guessed I was hearing his voice. Had Hearthstone used the othala rune to summon an illusion, or had he managed something even more terrible? I wondered where elves went when they died, and if their spirits could be brought back to haunt the living….

“I have missed you,” said the child.

The dragon howled in agony. He blew fire across my hiding place, aiming for the sound of the voice. All the oxygen was sucked from my chest. I fought down the impulse to gasp. Jack buzzed gently against my side for moral support.

“I am here, Father,” the voice persisted. “I want to save you.”

“Save me?” The dragon edged forward.

Veins pulsed on the underside of his scaly green throat. I wondered if I could stab him in the gullet. It looked like a soft target. But it was too far above me, out of my blade’s reach. Also, Jack and Hearthstone had been very specific: I had to aim for the heart.