The Ship of the Dead by Rick Riordan

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.

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, señor, 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.

“Save me from what, my precious boy?” The dragon’s tone was tortured and ragged, almost human—or rather almost elfish. “How can you be here? He killed you!”

“No,”said the child. “He sent me to warn you.”

The dragon’s snout quivered. He lowered his head like a threatened dog. “He—he sent you? He is your enemy. My enemy!”

“No, Father,”said Andiron. “Please, listen. He has given me a chance to persuade you. We can be together in the next life. You can redeem yourself, save yourself, if you willingly give up the ring—”

“THE RING! I knew it! Show yourself, deceiver!”

The dragon’s neck was so close now. I could slide Jack’s blade right up to his carotid artery and—Jack hummed a warning in my mind: No. Not yet.

I wished I could see what was happening at the edge of the clearing. I realized Hearth had not just created a magic distraction. He had summoned the spirit of Andiron, hoping against hope that his brother might be able to save their father from his wretched fate. Even now, after all Alderman had done to him, Hearthstone was willing to give his dad a chance at redemption, even if it meant standing in his brother’s shadow one last time.

The clearing grew still and silent. In the distance, briars rustled.

Alderman hissed. “YOU.”

I could only imagine one person Alderman would address with so much familiar contempt. Hearthstone must have revealed himself.

“Father,”pleaded Andiron’s ghost. “Do not do this—”

“Worthless Hearthstone!” the dragon cried. “You dare use magic to sully your brother’s memory?”

A pause. Hearthstone must have signed something, because Alderman bellowed in reply, “Use your board!”

I clenched my teeth. As if Hearth would carry around that awful little board Alderman used to make him write on—not because Alderman couldn’t read ASL, but because he enjoyed making his son feel like a freak.

“I will kill you,” the dragon said. “You dare try to trick me with this grotesque charade?”

He barreled forward—too fast for me to react. His belly covered the nisser hole and plunged me into darkness. Jack lit his runes, illuminating the tunnel, but I was already disoriented from fear and shock. An opening in the dragon’s belly armor appeared just above me, but I had no idea how much of his body had charged past. If I struck now, would I hit his heart? His gallbladder? His lower intestine?

Jack hummed in my mind: No good! That’s the sixth chink! The dragon needs to back up!

I wondered if Mr. Alderman would respond to a politely worded request. I doubted it.

The dragon had stopped moving. Why? The only reason I could think of: Alderman was in the process of chewing Hearthstone’s face off. I panicked. I almost stabbed the beast in the sixth chink, desperate to get the dragon off my friend. Then, through the muffling bulk of the monster’s body, I heard a mighty voice yell:

“BACK OFF!”

My first thought: Odin himself had appeared in front of the dragon. He had intervened to save Hearthstone’s life so that his rune-magic training sessions would not go to waste. That commanding roar was so loud it had to be Odin. I’d heard jotun war horns less forceful.

The voice boomed again: “GET AWAY, YOU FOUL, SMELLY EXCUSE FOR A FATHER!”

Now I recognized the accent—a little Southie with a hint of Svartalf.

Oh, no. No, no, no. It wasn’t Odin.

“YOU’RE NOT GETTING ANYWHERE CLOSE TO MY FRIEND, SO PUT YOUR SMELLY DEAD-FROG CARCASS IN REVERSE!”

With crystal clarity, I envisioned the scene: the dragon, stunned and perplexed, stopped cold in his tracks by a new opponent. How such small lungs could possibly produce so much volume, I had no idea. But I was certain that the only thing standing between Hearthstone and fiery death was a well-dressed dwarf in a pith helmet.

I should have been amazed, impressed, inspired. Instead, I wanted to cry. As soon as the dragon recovered his senses, I knew he would kill my friends. He would blowtorch Blitzen and Hearthstone and leave nothing for me to clean up but a pile of fashionable ashes.

“GO!” Blitz bellowed.

Amazingly, Alderman slid backward, revealing the fifth chink in his armor.

Maybe he wasn’t used to being spoken to in such a manner. Perhaps he feared some sort of terrible demon was hiding under Blitz’s black mosquito netting.

“BACK TO YOUR SMELLY CAVE!” Blitzen yelled. “HYAH!”

The dragon snarled, but he retreated one more chink. Jack hummed in my hands, ready to do our job. Just one more section of belly armor to go…

“He’s only a stupid dwarf, Mr. Alderman,” the dragon muttered to himself. “He wants your ring.”

“I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR STUPID RING!” Blitz yelled. “SCAT!”

Maybe the dragon was stunned by Blitzen’s earnestness. Or maybe Alderman was confused by the sight of Blitzen standing in front of Hearthstone and the ghost of Andiron, like a father protecting his young. That instinct would have made as little sense to Alderman as a person who wasn’t motivated by greed.

He scooted back another few inches. Almost there…

“The dwarf is no threat, sir,” the dragon assured himself. “He’ll make a tasty dinner.”

“YOU THINK SO?” Blitz roared. “TRY ME!”

Hiss.

Alderman retreated another inch. The third chink came into view.

Fumbling and panicked, I positioned Jack’s point against the weak spot in the hide.

Then, with all my strength, I drove the sword into the dragon’s chest.