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

Then something happened that was not my death.

Angry pressure built in my stomach—a certainty that all this fighting had to stop, must stop if we were going to complete our mission. I roared even louder than Halfborn Gunderson.

Golden light exploded outward in all directions, blasting across the deck of the ship, ripping swords from their owners’ hands, turning projectiles in midair and sending them hurtling into the sea, stripping entire battalions of their spears and shields and axes.

I staggered to my feet.

The fighting had stopped. Every weapon within the sound of my voice had been violently blasted out of its owner’s reach. Even Jack had gone flying somewhere off the starboard side, which I imagined I’d be hearing about later if I survived. Everyone on the ship, friend and enemy, had been disarmed by the Peace of Frey, a power I’d only managed to invoke once before.

Wary giants and confused zombies backed away from me. Alex and Sam ran to my side.

My head throbbed. My vision swam. One of my molars was missing, and my mouth was full of blood.

The Peace of Frey was a pretty good party trick. It definitely got everyone’s attention. But it wasn’t a permanent fix. Nothing would stop our enemies from simply retrieving their weapons and returning to the business of healer-slaughter.

But before the moment of empty-handed awe wore off, a familiar voice spoke somewhere to my left: “Well, now, Magnus. That was dramatic!”

The draugr parted to reveal Loki in his crisp white admiral’s uniform, his hair the color of autumn leaves, his scarred lips twisted in a grin, his eyes bright with malicious humor.

Behind him stood Sigyn, his long-suffering wife, who had spent centuries collecting serpent venom in a cup to keep it from dripping into Loki’s face—a duty which was totally not covered in your typical marriage vows. Her pale, emaciated face was impossible to read, though bloodred tears still streamed from her eyes. I thought I detected a slight tightness in her lips, as if she were disappointed to see me again.

“Loki…” I spat blood. I could barely make my mouth work. “I challenge you to a flyting.”

He stared at me as if waiting for me to complete the sentence. Maybe he expected me to add: a flyting…with this other guy who’s good at insults and way more intimidating than I am.

Around us, the endless ranks of warriors seemed to be holding their breath, even though the zombies had no breath to hold.

Njord, Frigg, Skadi—all of them had assured me that Loki would have to accept my challenge. That was tradition. Honor demanded it. I might have a busted mouth, a ringing head, and no guarantee that the Mead of Kvasir would weave poetry with my vocal cords, but at least I would now get my shot to defeat the trickster in a war of words.

Loki lifted his face to the cold gray sky and laughed.

“Thanks anyway, Magnus Chase,” he said. “But I think I’ll just kill you.”





SAM LUNGED. I guess she was the least surprised that Loki would pull a sleazeball move like refusing my challenge.

Before her spear could hit her father’s chest, a loud voice roared, “STOP!”

Sam stopped.

My mind was still fuzzy. For a second, I thought Loki had shouted the order, and Sam had been forced to obey. All Sam’s training and practice, her fasting and confidence, had been for nothing.

Then I realized Loki hadn’t given the order at all. In fact, he looked quite annoyed. Sam had stopped of her own free will. Crowds of draugr and giants parted as Captain Hrym limped toward us. His ax was missing. His fancy rib-cage shield was dented with an impression that might have been made by a very large duck’s bill.

His ancient face wasn’t any prettier up close. Wisps of icicle-white beard clung to his chin. His pale blue eyes gleamed deep in their sockets like they were melting their way into his brain. His leathery mouth made it difficult to tell if he was glowering at us or about to spit out a watermelon seed.

And the captain’s smell: yeesh. Hrym’s moldy white furs made me nostalgic for the regular “old man” odors of Uncle Randolph’s closet.

“Who called for a challenge?” Hrym boomed.

“I did,” I said. “A flyting against Loki, unless he is too scared to face me.”

The crowd murmured, “Ooooohhhhh.”

Loki snarled. “Oh, please. You can’t bait me, Magnus Chase. Hrym, we don’t have time for this. The ice has melted. The way is clear. Smash these trespassers and let’s sail!”

“Now wait a minute!” Hrym said. “This is my ship! I am captain!”

Loki sighed. He took off his admiral’s hat and punched the inside, obviously trying to control his temper.

“My dear friend.” He smiled up at the captain. “We’ve been through this. We share command of Naglfar.”

“Your troops,” Hrym said. “My ship. And when we are in disagreement, all ties must be broken by Surt.”

“Surt?” I gulped down another mouthful of blood. I wasn’t thrilled to hear the name of my least favorite fire giant—the dude who’d blasted a hole in my chest and knocked my flaming corpse off the Longfellow Bridge. “Is, uh, Surt here, too?”

Loki snorted. “A fire giant in Niflheim? Not likely. You see, my dense young einherji, Surt technically owns this ship—but that’s just because Naglfar is registered in Muspellheim. More favorable tax laws.”

“That’s not the point!” yelled Hrym. “Since Surt is not here, final command is mine!”

“No,” Loki said with strained patience. “Final command is ours. And I say our troops need to get moving!”

“And I say a properly issued challenge must be accepted! Those are standard rules of engagement. Unless you are too cowardly, as the boy claims.”

Loki laughed. “Cowardly? Of facing a child like this? Oh, please! He’s nothing.”

“Well, then,” I said. “Show us your silver tongue—unless that got burned along with the rest of your face.”

“Ooooohhhhh!” said the crowd.

Alex raised an eyebrow at me. Her expression seemed to say That was not as lame as I might have expected.

Loki gazed at the heavens. “Father Farbauti, Mother Laufey, why me? My talents are wasted on this audience!”

Hrym turned to me. “Will you and your allies abide by a cease-fire until the flyting is done?”

Alex responded, “Magnus is our flyter, not our leader. But, yes, we will hold off our attacks.”

“Even the ducks?” Hrym asked gravely.

Alex frowned, as if this was a serious request indeed. “Very well. Even the ducks.”

“Then it is agreed!” Hrym bellowed. “Loki, you have been challenged! By ancient custom, you must accept!”

Loki bit back whatever insult he was going to fling at the captain, probably because Hrym was twice as tall as he was. “Very well. I will insult Magnus Chase into the deck boards and smear his remains under my shoe. Then we will sail! Samirah, dear, hold my hat.”

He tossed his admiral’s cap. Samirah let it fall at her feet.

She smiled at him coldly. “Hold your own hat, Father.”