The Ship of the Dead Read online

  “Bragi,” I said. “Is he braggy?”

  Mallory signed, Don’t ruin things, idiot. “Magnus is only kidding. Of course he knows that brag literally means to recite poetry. Which is why Bragi is a lovely name. Bragging is a fantastic skill.”

  I blinked. “Right, I knew that. So anyway, Miss Gunlod, you said something about prying the seam?”

  “Yes, I think it might be possible,” she said. “With two blades, you might be able to wedge the doors apart just enough for me to get a glimpse of your faces, have a breath of fresh air, maybe see sunlight again. That would be quite enough for me. Do you still have sunlight?”

  “For now, yeah,” I said, “though Ragnarok may be coming up soon. We’re hoping to use the mead to stop it.”

  “I see,” Gunlod said. “I think my son Bragi would approve of that.”

  “Then if we manage to pry the doors apart,” I said, “do you think you could pass us the mead through the opening?”

  “Hmm, yes. I have an old garden hose here. I could siphon the mead from the vat, as long as you have a container to put it in.”

  I wasn’t sure why Gunlod would have an old garden hose lying around in her cave. Maybe she grew mushrooms in there, or maybe the hose was to activate her Slip ’N Slide.

  Sam pulled a canteen from her belt. Of course the fasting girl was the only one who had remembered to bring water. “I’ve got a container, Gunlod.”

  “Wonderful!” Gunlod said. “Now you’ll need two blades—thin and very strong. Otherwise they’ll break.”

  “Don’t look at me!” Jack said. “I’m one thick blade, and I’m too young to break!”

  Mallory sighed. She unsheathed her knives. “Miss Gunlod, it so happens I have two thin, supposedly unbreakable daggers. You might want to step back from the doors now.” Mallory jammed the points of her weapons into the seam. They were just narrow enough to wedge inside, almost up to the hilts. Then Mallory pushed the grips away from each other, prying the doors apart.

  With a vast creaking sound, the doors parted, forming a V-shaped crack no more than an inch wide where the knives crossed. Mallory’s arms trembled. She must have been using all her einherji strength to keep the seam open. Beads of perspiration dotted her forehead.

  “Hurry,” she grunted.

  On the other side of the doors, Gunlod’s face appeared—pale but beautiful icy blue eyes framed by wisps of golden hair. She inhaled deeply. “Oh, fresh air! And sunlight! Thank you so much.”

  “No problem,” I said. “So, about that old hose…”

  “Yes! I’ve got it ready.” Through the crack, she fed the end of an old black rubber hose. Sam fit it into the mouth of her canteen, and liquid began gurgling into the metal container. After so many challenges trying to win the Mead of Kvasir, I hadn’t expected the sound of victory to make me want to find a urinal.

  “Okay, that’s it,” Gunlod said. The hose retracted. Her face reappeared. “Good luck stopping Ragnarok. I hope you become wonderful braggers!”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Are you sure we can’t try to free you? We’ve got a friend back at our ship who’s good with magic.”

  “Oh, you’d never have time,” Gunlod said. “Baugi and Suttung will be here any minute.”

  Sam squeaked, “What?”

  “Didn’t I mention the silent alarm?” Gunlod asked. “It triggers as soon as you start messing with the doors. I imagine you have two, maybe three minutes before my father and uncle swoop down on you. You should hurry. Nice meeting you!”

  Mallory pulled her knives out of the seam. The doors clunked together once more.

  “And that,” she said, wiping her brow, “is why I don’t trust nice people.”

  “Guys.” I pointed north, toward the tops of the mountains. Gleaming in the Norwegian sunlight, growing larger by the second, were the forms of two massive eagles.

  “WELP,” I SAID, which was usually how I started conversations about ways to save our butts from certain destruction. “Any ideas?”

  “Drink the mead?” Mallory suggested.

  Sam rattled her canteen. “Sounds like there’s only one swig in here. If it doesn’t work fast enough, or it wears off before Magnus faces Loki…”

  A squadron of tiny T.J.s started bayoneting my gut. Now that we’d gotten the mead, my looming challenge with Loki felt too real, too imminent. I forced that fear to the back burner. I had more immediate problems.

  “I don’t think poetry is going to help with these guys,” I said. “Jack, what are our odds in combat?”

  “Hmmm,” Jack said. “Baugi and Suttung. I know them by reputation. Strong. Bad. I can take down one of them, most likely, but both at once, before they manage to squash you all flat…?”

  “Can we outrun them?” I asked. “Outfly them? Get back to the ship for reinforcements?”

  Sadly, I already knew the answer. Watching the eagles fly, seeing how big their forms had gotten in the past minute, I knew they’d be on us soon. These guys were fast.

  Sam slung the canteen over her shoulder. “I might be able to outfly them, at least as far as the ship, but carrying two people? Impossible. Carrying even one will slow me down.”

  “Then we divide and conquer,” Mallory said. “Sam, take the mead. Fly back to the ship. Maybe one giant will follow you. If not, well, Magnus and I will do our best against both of them. At least you’ll get the mead back to the others.”

  Somewhere off to my left, a little voice chirped: The redhead is smart. We can help.

  In a nearby tree sat a murder of crows. (That’s what you call a group of them. You learn useless facts like that in Valhalla.) “Uh, guys,” I told my friends, “those crows claim they can help.”

  Claim? squawked another crow. You don’t trust us? Send your two friends back to the ship with the mead. We’ll give you a hand here. All we ask for in return is something shiny. Anything will do.

  I related this to my friends.

  Mallory glanced toward the horizon. The giant eagles were getting awfully close. “But if Sam tries to carry me, I’ll slow her down.”

  “The walnut!” Sam said. “Maybe you can fit inside—”

  “Oh, no.”

  “We’re wasting time!” Sam said.

  “Gah!” Mallory fished out the shell and opened the halves. “How do I—?”

  Imagine a silk scarf getting sucked into the nozzle of a vacuum cleaner, disappearing with a rude slurp. That’s pretty much what happened to Mallory. The walnut closed and dropped to the ground, a tiny voice inside yelling Gaelic curses.

  Sam snatched up the nut. “Magnus, you sure about this?”

  “I’m fine. I’ve got Jack.”

  “You’ve got Jack!” Jack sang.

  Sam shot skyward, leaving me with just my sword and a flock of birds.

  I looked at the crows. “Okay, guys, what’s the plan?”

  Plan? cawed the nearest crow. We just said we’d help. We don’t have a plan, per se.

  Stupid misleading crows. Also, what kind of bird uses the term per se?

  Since I didn’t have time to murder the entire murder, I contemplated my limited options. “Fine. When I give you guys the signal, fly in the nearest giant’s face and try to distract him.”

  Sure, chirped a different crow. What’s the signal?

  Before I could think of one, a huge eagle plummeted down and landed in front of me.

  The only good news, if you could call it that: the other eagle kept flying, pursuing Sam. We had divided. Now we needed to conquer.

  I hoped the eagle in front of me would morph into a small, easy-to-defeat giant, preferably one who used Nerf weapons. Instead, he rose to thirty feet tall, his skin like chipped obsidian. He had Gunlod’s blond hair and pale blue eyes, which looked very strange with the rocky volcanic skin. Ice and snow flecked his whiskers like he’d been face-diving in a box of Frosted Flakes. His armor was stitched from various hides, including some that looked like endangered species: zebra, elephant, einherji. In the giant
’s hand glittered an onyx double-sided ax.

  “WHO DARES STEAL FROM THE MIGHTY SUTTUNG?” he bellowed. “I JUST FLEW IN FROM NIFLHEIM, AND BOY, ARE MY ARMS TIRED!”

  I couldn’t think of any response that did not involve high-pitched screaming.

  Jack floated right up to the giant. “I don’t know, man,” he volunteered. “Some dude just swiped your mead and took off that way. I think he said his name was Hrungnir.” Jack pointed in the general direction of York, England.

  I thought that was a pretty good fake-out, but Suttung only frowned.

  “Nice try,” he rumbled. “Hrungnir would never dare cross me. You are the thieves, and you have pulled me away from important work! We are about to launch the great ship Naglfar! I can’t be flying home every time the alarm goes off!”

  “So Naglfar is close, then?” I asked.

  “Oh, not too far,” Suttung admitted. “Once you cross into Jotunheim, you follow the coast to the border of Niflheim and…” He scowled. “Stop trying to trick me! You are thieves and you must die!”

  He raised his ax.

  “Wait!” I yelled.

  “Why?” demanded the giant.

  “Yeah, why?” demanded Jack.

  I hated it when my sword sided with a giant. Jack was ready to fight, but I had bad memories of Hrungnir, the last stone giant we’d faced. He hadn’t been an easy slice-and-dice. Also, he exploded on death. I wanted every advantage I could get against Suttung, including the use of my murder of unhelpful crows, for whom I had not yet thought of a signal.

  “You claim we’re thieves,” I said, “but how’d you get that mead, thief?”

  Suttung kept his ax suspended over his head, giving us an unfortunate view of his blond underarm hair in his obsidian armpits. “I am no thief! My parents were slain by two evil little dwarves, Fjalar and Gjalar.”

  “Ah, I hate those guys,” I said.

  “Right?” Suttung agreed. “I would have slaughtered them as payback, but they offered me Kvasir’s Mead instead. It is mine by right of wergild!”

  “Oh.” That kind of took the wind out of my argument. “Still, that mead was created from the blood of Kvasir, a murdered god. It belongs to the gods!”

  “So you would make things right,” the giant summed up, “by stealing the mead yet again for yourself? And killing my brother’s thralls in the process?”

  I may have mentioned that I don’t like giant logic.

  “Maybe?” I said. Then, in a stroke of genius, I thought of a signal for my avian allies: “EAT CROW!”

  Sadly, the crows were slow to recognize my brilliance.

  Suttung yelled, “DIE!”

  Jack tried to intercept the ax, but it had gravity, momentum, and the force of a giant behind it. Jack did not. I dove aside as the ax split the field where I’d been standing.

  Meanwhile, the crows had a leisurely conversation.

  Why did he say “eat crow”? one cawed.

  It’s an idiomatic expression, another explained. It means: to admit you were wrong.

  Yes, but why did he say it? asked a third.

  “RARRRR!” Suttung yanked his ax from the ground.

  Jack flew into my hand. “We can take him together, señor!”

  I really hoped those were not going to be the last words I ever heard.

  Crows, one of the crows said. Hey, wait a minute. We’re crows. I bet that was the signal!

  “Yes!” I yelped. “Get him!”

  “Okay!” Jack yelled happily. “We will!”

  Suttung raised his ax over his head once more. Jack pulled me into battle as the murder of crows rose from their tree and swarmed Suttung’s face, pecking at his eyes and nose and Frosted Flakes beard.

  The giant roared, stumbling and blind.

  “Ha, HA!” Jack yelled. “We have you now!”

  He yanked me forward. Together, we plunged Jack into the giant’s left foot.

  Suttung howled. His ax slipped from his hands, the heavy blade impaling itself in the skull of its owner. And that, kids, is why you should never use a battle-ax without wearing your safety helmet.

  The giant fell with a thunderous THUD, right on top of the pile of thralls.

  The crows settled on the grass around me.

  That wasn’t very chivalrous, one remarked. But you’re a Viking, so I guess chivalry doesn’t apply.

  You’re right, Godfrey, another agreed. Chivalry was more of a late-medieval concept.

  A third crow cawed: You’re both forgetting about the Normans—

  Bill, just stop, said Godfrey. No one cares about your doctoral thesis on the Norman invasion.

  Shiny things? asked the second crow. We get shiny things now?

  The entire murder peered at me with beady, greedy black eyes.

  “Uh…” I only had one shiny thing—Jack, who was presently doing his victory dance around the giant’s corpse, singing, “Who killed a giant? I killed a giant! Who’s a giant killah? I’m a giant killah!”

  As tempting as it was to leave him with the crows, I thought I might need my sword the next time a giant had to be stabbed in the foot.

  Then I glanced at the pile of dead thralls.

  “Right over there!” I told the crows. “Nine extremely shiny scythe blades! Will those do?”

  Hmm, said Bill. I’m not sure where we’d put them.

  We could rent a storage unit, suggested Godfrey.

  Good idea! said Bill. Very well, dead mortal boy. It was nice doing business with you.

  “Just be careful,” I warned. “Those blades are sharp.”

  Oh, don’t worry about us, squawked Godfrey. You’ve got the most dangerous path ahead of you. You’ll only find one friendly port between here and the Ship of the Dead—if you can even call the fortress of Skadi friendly.

  I shivered, remembering what Njord had told me about his estranged wife.

  It’s a wretched place, Bill cawed. Cold, cold, cold. And no shiny things, like, at all. Now if you’ll excuse us, we have to start picking our way through all this carrion to get at those shiny blades.

  I love our job, said Godfrey.

  Agreed! squawked the other crows.

  They fluttered over to the pile of bodies and went to work, which was not something I wanted to watch.

  Before the murder could murder themselves on the scythe blades and blame me for it, Jack and I began our long hike back to the Big Banana.

  OUR CREW had taken care of the other giant.

  I could tell because of the badly hacked-up, decapitated giant body sprawling on the beach next to our dock. His head was nowhere to be seen. A few fishermen made their way around the corpse, holding their noses. Maybe they thought the giant was a dead whale.

  Samirah stood grinning on the dock. “Welcome back, Magnus! We were getting worried.”

  I tried to match her smile. “Nah. I’m fine.”

  I explained what had happened with the crows and Suttung.

  The hike to the ship had actually been pleasant—just me and Jack enjoying the meadows and rural back roads of Norway. Along the way, goats and birds had made critical comments about my personal hygiene, but I couldn’t blame them. I looked like I’d trekked through half the country and rolled down the other half.

  “Kid!” Blitzen came running down the gangplank, Hearthstone right behind him. “I’m glad you’re okay—Oh, yikes!” Blitz stepped back hastily. “You smell like that Dumpster on Park Street.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “That’s the smell I was going for.”

  I couldn’t tell much about Blitz’s condition since he wore his anti-sun netting, but he sounded cheerful enough.

  Hearthstone looked much better, like a solid day of sleep had taken the edge off our experiences in Alfheim. The pink-and-green scarf from Alex looped jauntily across his black leather lapels.

  Stone was useful? he signed.

  I thought about the pile of dead bodies we’d left in the valley. We got the mead, I signed. Couldn’t have done it without the w
hetstone.

  Hearth nodded, apparently satisfied. You do smell, though.

  “So I’ve been told.” I gestured at the corpse of the giant. “What happened here?”

  “That,” Sam said, her eyes twinkling, “was all Halfborn Gunderson.” She yelled toward the deck of the ship, “Halfborn!”

  The berserker was having a heated conversation with T.J., Alex, and Mallory. He looked relieved to come to the railing.

  “Ah, there he is!” Halfborn said. “Magnus, would you please explain to T.J. that those thralls had to die? He’s giving Mack a hard time about it.”

  Three things struck me about this:

  The nickname Mack had been officially adopted.

  Halfborn was defending Mallory Keen.

  And, oh, right. It figured that T.J., being the son of a freed slave, might have a wee bit of a problem with us slaughtering nine thralls.

  “They were slaves,” T.J. said, his voice heavy with anger. “I get what happened. I get the reasoning. But still…you guys killed them. You can’t expect me to be okay with that.”

  “They were jotuns!” Halfborn said. “They weren’t even human!”

  Blitz cleared his throat. “A gentle reminder, berserker. Hearth and I aren’t human, either.”

  “Ah, you know what I mean. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Mack did the right thing.”

  “Don’t defend me,” Mallory snapped. “That makes it so much worse.” She faced Thomas Jefferson Jr. “I’m sorry it had to happen that way, T.J. I really am. It was a bloody mess.”

  T.J. hesitated. Mallory so rarely apologized that when she did, it carried a lot of force. T.J. gave her a grudging nod—not like everything was okay, but like he would at least consider her words. He glared at Halfborn, but Mallory put her hand on the infantryman’s shoulder. I remembered what Sam had said about T.J. and Halfborn once being enemies. Now I could see just how much they needed Mallory to keep them on the same team.

  “I’m going below.” T.J. glanced over at the corpse of the giant. “The air is fresher down there.” He marched off.

  Alex puffed out her cheeks. “Honestly, I don’t see that you guys had much choice. But you’ll have to give T.J. some processing time. He was already pretty miffed since we spent our morning searching Fläm and found nothing but tourists and troll souvenirs.”

  Blitzen grunted. “At least we have the mead now. So this wasn’t all for nothing.”

  I hoped he was right. Whether I could defeat Loki in a flyting…that remained to be seen, and I had the feeling that no matter how magical the mead was, my