فصل 41

Blitz Makes a Bad Deal

I HAD TO HAND IT TO NABBI. He served good near-death nachos.

I was halfway through my plate of guacamole-enhanced tastiness when Junior showed up. On first sight, I wondered if it would be faster just to drain Boom Daddy and go boom, because I didn’t like our chances of bartering with the old dwarf.

Junior looked about two hundred years old. Scraps of gray hair clung to his liver-spotted head. His beard gave scraggly a bad name. His malicious brown eyes flitted around the bar as if he were thinking, I hate that. I hate that. And I really hate that. He wasn’t physically intimidating, shuffling along with his gold-plated walker, but he was flanked by a pair of dwarven bodyguards, each so burly that they could’ve been used as NFL tackle dummies.

The other customers got up and quietly left, like in a scene from an old Western. Blitzen and I both stood.

“Junior.” Blitz bowed. “Thank you for meeting with us.”

“Some nerve,” Junior snarled.

“Would you like my seat?” Blitzen offered. “It is Keister-Home, made by—”

“No, thanks,” Junior said. “I’ll stand, compliments of my walker, Granny Shuffler, famous among geriatric products, made by Nurse Bambi, my private assistant.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. I doubted that laughing would be good diplomacy.

“This is Magnus, son of Natalie,” Blitzen said.

The old dwarf glared at me. “I know who he is. Found the Sword of Summer. You couldn’t wait until after I died? I’m too old for this Ragnarok nonsense.”

“My bad,” I said. “I should have checked with you before I got attacked by Surt and sent to Valhalla.”

Blitzen coughed. The bodyguards appraised me like I might have just made their day more interesting.

Junior cackled. “I like you. You’re rude. Let’s see this blade, then.”

I showed him my magic pendant trick. In the dim neon lights of the barroom, the blade’s runes glowed orange and green.

The old dwarf sucked his teeth. “That’s Frey’s blade, all right. Bad news.”

“Then, perhaps,” Blitzen said, “you’ll be willing to help us?”

“Help you?” Junior wheezed. “Your father was my nemesis! You besmirched my reputation. And you want my help. You’ve got iron guts, Blitzen, I’ll give you that.”

The tendons in Blitz’s neck looked like they might bust his well-starched collar. “This isn’t about our family feud, Junior. This is about the rope. It’s about securing Fenris Wolf.”

“Oh, of course it is.” Junior sneered at his bodyguards. “The fact that my father, Eitri Senior, was the only dwarf talented enough to make Gleipnir, and your father, Bil?, spent his life questioning the quality of the rope—that has nothing to do with it!”

Blitzen clenched his pouch of red gold tears. I was afraid he might smack Junior upside the head with it. “The Sword of Summer is right here. In just six Midgardian nights, Surt is planning to free the Wolf. We’re going to do our best to stop him, but you know the rope Gleipnir is beyond its expiration date. We need information about the Wolf’s bindings. More importantly, we need a replacement rope just in case. Only you have the talent to make one.”

Junior cupped his ear. “Say that last part again.”

“You’re talented, you crusty old—” Blitzen stopped. “Only you have the skill to make a new rope.”

“True.” Junior smirked. “It so happens I have a replacement rope already made. Not because of any problems with Gleipnir, mind you, or because of any of your family’s scandalous accusations about its quality—just because I like to be prepared. Unlike your father, I might add, going off alone to check on Fenris Wolf like an idiot and getting himself killed.”

I had to step in front of Blitzen to keep him from attacking the old dwarf.

“Okay, then!” I said. “Guys, this isn’t the time. Junior, if you’ve got a new rope, that’s great. Let’s talk price. And, um, we’ll also need a nice set of earrings.”

“Heh.” Junior wiped his mouth. “Of course you will. For Blitzen’s mother, no doubt. What are you offering in payment?”

“Blitzen,” I said, “show him.”

Blitz’s eyes still danced with rage, but he opened the pouch and spilled some red gold tears into his palm.

“Huh,” said Junior. “An acceptable price…or it would be, if it wasn’t from Blitzen. I’ll sell you what you want for that pouch of tears, but first my family’s honor must be satisfied. It’s high time we settled this feud. What do you say, son of Freya? A contest—you and me. The traditional rules, the traditional wager.”

Blitzen backed into the bar. He squirmed so badly I could almost believe he had evolved from maggots. (ERASE. Bad, long-term memory. ERASE!)

“Junior,” he said, “you know I don’t—I couldn’t possibly—”

“Shall we say tomorrow at mossglow?” Junior asked. “The panel of judges can be headed by a neutral party—perhaps Nabbi, who I’m sure is not eavesdropping behind the bar right now.”

Something banged against the catwalk. From below the counter, Nabbi’s muffled voice said, “I would be honored.”

“There you are, then!” Junior smiled. “Well, Blitzen? I have challenged you according to our ancient customs. Will you defend the honor of your family?”

“I…” Blitzen hung his head. “Where should we meet?”

“The forges in Kenning Square,” Junior said. “Oh, this will be amusing. Come on, boys. I have to tell Nurse Bambi about it!”

The old dwarf shuffled out with his bodyguards in tow. As soon as they were gone, Blitzen collapsed on Keister-Home and drained Golden Bowl.

Nabbi emerged from behind the counter. His caterpillar eyebrows wriggled with concern as he refilled Blitz’s goblet. “This one’s on the house, Blitzen. It’s been nice knowing you.”

He went back to the kitchen, leaving Blitz and me alone with Taylor Swift singing “I Know Places.” The lyrics took on a whole new meaning in a subterranean dwarf world.

“Are you going to explain what just happened?” I asked Blitz. “What is this contest at mossglow? Also, what is mossglow?”

“Mossglow…” Blitzen stared into his cup. “Dwarf version of dawn, when the moss begins to glow. As for the contest…” He swallowed back a sob. “It’s nothing. I’m sure you’ll be able to continue the quest without me.”

Just then the barroom doors burst open. Sam and Hearthstone tumbled inside like they’d been pushed from a moving car.

“They’re alive!” I jumped up. “Blitz, look!”

Hearthstone was so excited he couldn’t even sign. He rushed over and almost tackled Blitzen off his stool.

“Hey, buddy.” Blitz patted his back absently. “Yeah, I’m glad to see you, too.”

Sam didn’t hug me, but she managed a smile. She was scratched up and covered with leaves and twigs, but she didn’t look badly hurt. “Magnus, glad you haven’t died yet. I want to be there for that.”

“Thanks, al-Abbas. What happened to you guys?”

She shrugged. “We hid under the hijab as long as we could.”

With all the other stuff going on, I’d forgotten about the scarf. “Yeah, what was that about? You’ve got an invisibility hijab?”

“It doesn’t make me invisible. It’s just camouflage. All Valkyries are given swan cloaks to help us hide when necessary. I just made mine a hijab.”

“But you weren’t a swan. You were tree moss.”

“It can do different things. Anyway, we waited until the squirrel left. The barking left me in bad shape, but, thankfully, Hearth wasn’t affected. We climbed Yggdrasil for a while—”

A moose tried to eat us, Hearth signed.

“Excuse me?” I asked. “A moose?”

Hearth grunted in exasperation. He spelled out: D-E-E-R. Same sign for both animals.

“Oh, that’s much better,” I said. “A deer tried to eat you.”

“Yes,” Sam agreed. “Dvalinn or maybe Duneyrr—one of the stags that roam the World Tree. We got away, took a wrong turn into Alfheim…”

Hearthstone shuddered, then simply signed, Hate.

“And here we are.” Sam eyed Blitzen, whose expression was still blank with shock. “So…what’s going on?”

I told them about our visit with Freya, then our conversation with Junior. Hearthstone steadied himself on the bar. He spelled with one hand: M-a-k-i-n-g? Then he shook his head vehemently.

“What do you mean, making?” I asked.

“A making,” Blitz muttered into his goblet, “is the dwarven contest. It tests our crafting skills.”

Sam tapped her fingers on her ax. “Judging from your expression, I’m guessing you don’t trust your skills.”

“I am rubbish at crafting,” Blitzen said.

Not true, Hearth protested.

“Hearthstone,” Blitzen said, “even if I was excellent at crafting, Junior is the most skilled dwarf alive. He’ll destroy me.”

“Come on,” I said. “You’ll do fine. And if you lose, we’ll find another way to get that rope.”

Blitzen looked at me mournfully. “It’s worse than that, kid. If I lose, I pay the traditional price: my head.”