The Ship of the Dead (Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard #3)(2)

I scanned for major injuries. When you’re an einherji, you get pretty good at listening to your own pain. You can stagger around the battlefield in Valhalla, mortally wounded, gasping your last breath, and calmly think, Oh, so that’s what a crushed rib cage feels like. Interesting!

This time I’d broken my left ankle for sure. The right one was only sprained.

Easy fix. I summoned the power of Frey.

Warmth like summer sunlight spread from my chest into my limbs. The pain subsided. I wasn’t as good at healing myself as I was at healing others, but I felt my ankles beginning to mend—as if a swarm of friendly wasps were crawling around inside my flesh, mud-daubing the fractures, reknitting the ligaments.

Ah, better, I thought, as I floated through the cold darkness. Now, there’s something else I should be doing….Oh, right. Breathing.

Jack’s hilt nudged against my hand like a dog looking for attention. I wrapped my fingers around his leather grip and he hauled me upward, launching me out of the harbor like a rocket-powered Lady of the Lake. I landed, gasping and shivering, on the deck of Old Ironsides next to my friends.

“Whoa.” Percy stepped back. “That was different. You okay, Magnus?”

“Fine,” I coughed out, sounding like a duck with a chest cold.

Percy eyed the glowing runes on my weapon. “Where’d the sword come from?”

“Hi, I’m Jack!” said Jack.

Annabeth stifled a yelp. “It talks?”

“It?” Jack demanded. “Hey, lady, some respect. I’m Sumarbrander! The Sword of Summer! The weapon of Frey! I’ve been around for thousands of years! Also, I’m a dude!”

Annabeth frowned. “Magnus, when you told me about your magic sword, did you perhaps fail to mention that it—that he can speak?”

“Did I?” Honestly I couldn’t remember.

The past few weeks, Jack had been off on his own, doing whatever sentient magic swords did in their free time. Percy and I had been using standard-issue Hotel Valhalla practice blades for sparring. It hadn’t occurred to me that Jack might fly in out of nowhere and introduce himself. Besides, the fact that Jack talked was the least weird thing about him. The fact that he could sing the entire cast recording of Jersey Boys from memory…that was weird.

Alex Fierro looked like he was trying not to laugh. He was wearing pink and green today, as usual, though I’d never seen this particular outfit before: lace-up leather boots, ultra-skinny rose jeans, an untucked lime dress shirt, and a checkered skinny tie as loose as a necklace. With his thick black Ray-Bans and his choppy green hair, he looked like he’d stepped off a New Wave album cover circa 1979.

“Be polite, Magnus,” he said. “Introduce your friends to your sword.”

“Uh, right,” I said. “Jack, this is Percy and Annabeth. They’re demigods—the Greek kind.”

“Hmm.” Jack didn’t sound impressed. “I met Hercules once.”

“Who hasn’t?” Annabeth muttered.

“Fair point,” Jack said. “But I suppose if you’re friends of Magnus’s…” He went completely still. His runes faded. Then he leaped out of my hand and flew toward Annabeth, his blade twitching as if he was sniffing the air. “Where is she? Where are you hiding the babe?”

Annabeth backed toward the rail. “Whoa, there, sword. Personal space!”

“Jack, behave,” Alex said. “What are you doing?”

“She’s around here somewhere,” Jack insisted. He flew to Percy. “Aha! What’s in your pocket, sea boy?”

“Excuse me?” Percy looked a bit nervous about the magical sword hovering at his waistline.

Alex lowered his Ray-Bans. “Okay, now I’m curious. What do you have in your pocket, Percy? Inquiring swords want to know.”

Percy pulled a plain-looking ballpoint pen from his jeans. “You mean this?”

“BAM!” Jack said. “Who is this vision of loveliness?”

“Jack,” I said. “It’s a pen.”

“No, it’s not! Show me! Show me!”

“Uh…sure.” Percy uncapped the pen.

Immediately it transformed into a three-foot-long sword with a leaf-shaped blade of glowing bronze. Compared to Jack, the weapon looked delicate, almost petite, but from the way Percy wielded it, I had no doubt he’d be able to hold his own on the battlefields of Valhalla with that thing.

Jack turned his point toward me, his runes flashing burgundy. “See, Magnus? I told you it wasn’t stupid to carry a sword disguised as a pen!”

“Jack, I never said that!” I protested. “You did.”

Percy raised an eyebrow. “What are you two talking about?”

“Nothing,” I said hastily. “So I guess this is the famous Riptide? Annabeth told me about it.”

“Her,” Jack corrected.

Annabeth frowned. “Percy’s sword is a she?”

Jack laughed. “Well, duh.”

Percy studied Riptide, though I could’ve told him from experience it was almost impossible to tell a sword’s gender by looking at it.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Are you sure—?”

“Percy,” said Alex. “Respect the gender.”