by Rick Riordan
I could almost discern its voice now: Yeah, okay. Mmm-hmm. I suppose. Like it was slowly warming up to me, getting over its resentment at being ignored.
Hearthstone rushed around the workstation, bringing Blitz extra materials and tools. Blitz was weaving a larger, more complicated piece of metal fabric. Whatever it was, he seemed pleased.
Finally, he set down his bezel roller and shouted, ‘Success!’
At the same moment, Junior suffered his most spectacular fail. His bodyguards had been standing close, ready for another kamikaze insect attack, but it made no difference. As Junior brought down his hammer for a master stroke, a dark speck zipped out of the sky. The horsefly bit Junior on the face so hard he spun sideways under the momentum of his hammer. Wailing and staggering, he knocked both his guards unconscious, destroyed the contents of two worktables and swept his third invention into the forge before he collapsed on the asphalt.
It shouldn’t have been funny – an old dwarf getting humiliated like that. Except that it was, kind of. Probably because that old dwarf was a spiteful, nasty piece of work.
In the midst of the commotion, Nabbi rang a hand bell. ‘The contest has ended!’ he announced. ‘Time for judging the items … and killing the loser!’
FORTY-FOUR
Junior Wins a Bag of Tears
Sam picked that moment to show up.
She shouldered through the crowd, her headscarf pulled low over her face. Her jacket was dusted with ash, as if she’d spent the night in a chimney.
I wanted to yell at her for being gone so long, but my anger evaporated when I noticed her black eye and swollen lip.
‘What happened?’ I asked. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Little scuffle,’ she said. ‘No worries. Let’s watch the judging.’
Spectators gathered around two tables on the sideline, where Junior’s and Blitzen’s crafts were on display. Blitzen stood with his hands clasped behind his back, looking confident despite his snapped braces, his grease-stained shirt and his sweat-soaked pork-pie hat.
Junior’s face was a bloody mess. He could barely hold himself up on his walker. The murderous gleam in his eyes made him look like a serial killer exhausted after a hard day’s work.
Nabbi and the other judges circled the tables, inspecting the crafted items and jotting notes on their clipboards.
At last Nabbi faced the audience. He arched his wriggly eyebrows and tried for a smile.
‘Well, then!’ he said. ‘Thank you all for attending this contest, sponsored by Nabbi’s Tavern, famous among taverns, built by Nabbi and home to Nabbi’s Stout, the only mead you’ll ever need. Now our contestants will tell us about their first items. Blitzen, son of Freya!’
Blitz gestured to his metal sculpture. ‘It’s a duck.’
Nabbi blinked. ‘And … what does it do?’
‘When I press its back …’ Blitzen did so. The duck swelled to three times its size, like a frightened pufferfish. ‘It turns into a larger duck.’
The second judge scratched his beard. ‘That’s it?’
‘Well, yes,’ Blitz said. ‘I call it the Expando-Duck. It’s perfect if you need a small metal duck. Or a larger metal duck.’
The third judge turned to his colleagues. ‘Garden knick-knack, perhaps? Conversation piece? Decoy?’
Nabbi coughed. ‘Yes, thank you, Blitzen. And now you, Eitri Junior, son of Edna. What is your first creation?’
Junior wiped the blood out of his eyes. He held up his flattened iron cylinder, with several springs and latches dangling from it. ‘This is a self-guiding troll-seeking missile! If it were undamaged, it could destroy any troll at a distance of half a mile. And it’s reusable!’
The crowd murmured appreciatively.
‘Um, but does it work?’ asked the second judge.
‘No!’ Junior said. ‘It was ruined on the final hammer stroke. But if it did work –’
‘But it doesn’t,’ observed the third judge. ‘So what is it at the moment?’
‘It’s a useless metal cylinder!’ Junior snarled. ‘Which isn’t my fault!’
The judges conferred and scribbled some notes.
‘So, in the first round,’ Nabbi summed up, ‘we have an expandable duck versus a useless metal cylinder. Our contestants are running very close indeed. Blitzen, what is your second item?’
Blitzen proudly held up his chain-mail neckware. ‘The bulletproof tie!’
The judges lowered their clipboards in perfect synchronicity.
‘What?’ asked Nabbi.
‘Oh, come now!’ Blitz turned to the audience. ‘How many of you have been in the embarrassing situation of wearing a bulletproof waistcoat without a matching bulletproof tie?’
In the back of the crowd, one dwarf raised his hand.
‘Exactly!’ Blitzen said. ‘Not only is this accessory fashionable, but it will stop anything up to a 30-06 round. It can also be worn as a cravat.’
The judges frowned and took notes, but a few audience members seemed impressed. They examined their shirts, maybe thinking how underdressed they felt without a chain-mail neckpiece.
‘Junior?’ asked Nabbi. ‘What is your second work of craftsmanship?’
‘The Goblet of Infinity!’ Junior gestured to a misshapen hunk of iron. ‘It holds a limitless amount of any liquid – great for road trips through waterless wastelands.’
‘Uh …’ Nabbi pointed with his pen. ‘It looks a bit crushed.’
‘Stupid horsefly again!’ Junior protested. ‘It bit me right between the eyes! Not my fault if an insect turned my brilliant invention into a slag heap.’
‘Slag heap,’ Nabbi repeated, jotting on his clipboard. ‘And, Blitzen, your final item?’
Blitzen held up a glittering length of woven-metal fabric. ‘The chain-mail waistcoat! For use with a three-piece suit of chain mail. Or, if you want to dress it down, you can wear it with jeans and a nice shirt.’
And a shield, Hearthstone offered.
‘Yes, and a shield,’ Blitzen said.
The third judge leaned forward, squinting. ‘I suppose it would offer some minor protection. If you were stabbed in the back at a disco, for instance.’
The second judge jotted something down. ‘Does it have any magical abilities?’
‘Well, no,’ Blitz said. ‘But it’s reversible: silver on the outside, gold on the inside. Depending on what jewellery you’re wearing, or what colour armour –’
‘I see.’ Nabbi made a note on his clipboard and turned to Junior. ‘And your final item, sir?’
Junior’s fists trembled with rage. ‘This is unfair! I have never lost a contest. All of you know my skills. This meddler, this poseur Blitzen has somehow managed to ruin my –’
‘Eitri Junior, son of Edna,’ interrupted Nabbi, ‘what is your third item?’
He waved impatiently at the furnace. ‘My third item is in there! It doesn’t matter what it was, because it’s now boiling sludge!’
The judges circled up and conferred. The crowd shifted restlessly.
Nabbi faced the audience. ‘Judging has been difficult. We have weighed the merits of Junior’s boiling sludge, slag heap and useless metal cylinder against the chain-mail waistcoat, bulletproof tie and Expando-Duck. It was a close call. However, we judge the winner of this contest to be Blitzen, son of Freya!’
Spectators applauded. Some gasped in disbelief. A female dwarf in a nurse’s outfit, possibly Bambi, famous among dwarf nurses, passed out cold.
Hearthstone jumped up and down and made the ends of his scarf do the wave. I looked for Sam, but she was hanging back at the edges of the crowd.
Junior scowled at his fists as if deciding whether to hit himself. ‘Fine,’ he growled. ‘Take my head! I don’t want to live in a world where Blitzen wins crafting contests!’
‘Junior, I don’t want to kill you,’ Blitzen said. Despite his win, he didn’t sound proud or gloating. He looked tired, maybe even sad.
Junior blinked. ‘You – you don’t?’
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‘No. Just give me the earrings and the rope as you promised. Oh, and a public admission that my father was right about Gleipnir all along. You should have replaced it centuries ago.’
‘Never!’ Junior shrieked. ‘You impugn my father’s reputation! I cannot –’
‘Okay, I’ll get my axe,’ Blitzen said in a resigned tone. ‘I’m afraid the blade is a little dull …’
Junior gulped. He looked longingly at the bulletproof necktie. ‘Very well. Perhaps … perhaps Bilì had a point. The rope needed replacement.’
‘And you were wrong to tarnish his reputation.’
The old dwarf’s facial muscles convulsed, but he managed to get out the words. ‘And I was … wrong. Yes.’
Blitzen gazed up into the gloom, whispering something under his breath. I wasn’t a good lip-reader, but I was pretty sure he said, I love you, Dad. Goodbye.
He refocused on Junior. ‘Now, about the items you promised …’
Junior snapped his fingers. One of his bodyguards wobbled over, his head newly bandaged from his recent encounter with a hammer. He handed Blitzen a small velvet box.
‘Earrings for your mother,’ Junior said.
Blitz opened the box. Inside were two tiny cats made from gold filigree like Brisingamen. As I watched, the cats stretched, blinking their emerald eyes and flicking their diamond tails.
Blitz snapped the box shut. ‘Adequate. And the rope?’
The bodyguard tossed him a ball of silk kite string.
‘You’re joking,’ I said. ‘That’s supposed to bind Fenris Wolf?’
Junior glowered at me. ‘Boy, your ignorance is breathtaking. Gleipnir was just as thin and light, but its paradox ingredients gave it great strength. This rope is the same, only better!’
‘Paradox ingredients?’
Blitz held up the end of the rope and whistled appreciatively. ‘He means things that aren’t supposed to exist. Paradox ingredients are very difficult to craft with, very dangerous. Gleipnir contained the footfall of a cat, the spittle of a bird, the breath of a fish, the beard of a woman.’
‘Dunno if that last one is a paradox,’ I said. ‘Crazy Alice in Chinatown has a pretty good beard.’
Junior huffed. ‘The point is, this rope is even better! I call it Andskoti, the Adversary. It is woven with the most powerful paradoxes in the Nine Worlds – Wi-Fi with no lag, a politician’s sincerity, a printer that prints, healthy deep-fried food and an interesting grammar lecture!’
‘Okay, yeah,’ I admitted. ‘Those things don’t exist.’
Blitz stuffed the rope in his backpack. He took out his pouch of tears and handed it to the old dwarf. ‘Thank you, Junior. I consider our bargain complete, but I would ask one more thing. Where is the island of Fenris Wolf?’
Junior hefted his payment. ‘If I could tell you, Blitzen, I would. I’d be happy to see you ripped apart by the Wolf like your father was! Alas, I don’t know.’
‘But –’
‘Yes, I said I checked on the rope from time to time. I lied! The truth is, very few gods or dwarves know where the Wolf’s island appears. Most of them are sworn to secrecy. How your father found the place, I really don’t know, but, if you want to find it, the best person to ask is Thor. He knows, and he has a big mouth.’
‘Thor,’ I said. ‘Where do we find Thor?’
‘I have no idea,’ Junior admitted.
Hearthstone signed, Sam might. She knows a lot about the gods.
‘Yeah.’ I turned. ‘Sam, get over here! Why are you lurking?’
The crowd parted around her.
As soon as Junior saw her, he made a strangled squawk. ‘You! It was you!’
Sam tried to cover her busted lip. ‘Sorry? Have we met?’
‘Oh, don’t play innocent with me.’ Junior scooted forward on his walker, his flushed scalp turning his grey hair pink. ‘I’ve seen shape-shifters before. That scarf is the same colour as the horsefly’s wings. And that black eye is from when I swatted you! You’re in league with Blitzen! Friends, colleagues, honest dwarves – kill these cheaters!’
I was proud that the four of us responded as a team. In perfect unison, like a well-oiled combat machine, we turned and ran for our lives.
FORTY-FIVE
I Get to Know Jack
I’m pretty good at multitasking, so I figured I could flee in terror and argue at the same time.
‘A horsefly?’ I yelled at Sam. ‘You can turn into a horsefly?’
She ducked as a steam-powered dart buzzed over her head. ‘Now is not the time!’
‘Oh, excuse me. I should wait for the designated talk-about-turning-into-horseflies time.’
Hearthstone and Blitzen led the way. Behind us, a mob of thirty dwarves was closing fast. I didn’t like their murderous expressions or their fine assortment of handcrafted weapons.
‘This way!’ Blitzen ducked down an alley.
Unfortunately, Hearthstone wasn’t watching. The elf barrelled straight ahead.
‘Mother!’ Blitz cursed – at least, I thought it was a curse until Sam and I reached the corner and faltered.
A few steps down the alley, Blitz was trapped in a net of light. He squirmed and cussed as the glowing web lifted him into the air. ‘It’s my mother!’ he yelped. ‘She wants her damnable earrings. Go! Catch up with Hearthstone! I’ll meet you –’
POP! Our dwarf disappeared in a flash.
I glanced at Sam. ‘Did that just happen?’
‘We’ve got other problems.’ She pulled out her axe.
The mob had caught up with us. They fanned out in an angry semicircle of beards, scowls, baseball bats and broadswords. I wasn’t sure what they were waiting for. Then I heard Junior’s voice somewhere behind them. ‘Hold on!’ he wheezed. ‘I –’ Wheeze. ‘Kill –’ Wheeze. ‘First!’
The mob parted. Flanked by his bodyguards, the old dwarf pushed his walker towards us.
He eyed me, then Sam.
‘Where are Blitzen and the elf?’ Junior muttered. ‘Well, no matter. We’ll find them. You, boy, I don’t care about so much. Run now and I might let you live. The girl is obviously a daughter of Loki. She bit me and ruined my crafting! She dies.’
I pulled off my pendant. The Sword of Summer grew to full length. The crowd of dwarves edged backwards. I guess they knew a dangerous blade when they saw one.
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ I said. ‘You’ll have to take on both of us.’
The sword hummed for attention.
‘Correction,’ I said. ‘You’ll have to take on all three of us. This is Sumarbrander, the Sword of Summer, crafted by … actually I’m not sure, but it is definitely famous among swords, and it is about to kick your collective butts.’
‘Thank you,’ said the sword.
Sam made a squeaking noise. The dwarves’ shocked expressions told me I hadn’t imagined hearing the sword’s voice.
I held up the blade. ‘You can talk? I mean … of course you can talk. You have many, uh, incredible abilities.’
‘That’s what I’ve been saying.’ The sword’s voice was definitely male. It emanated from the runes along the blade, which vibrated and glowed with every word like the lights on a stereo equalizer.
I gave the dwarves an arrogant look, like, Yeah, that’s right. I’ve got a talking disco sword and you don’t.
‘Sumarbrander,’ I said, ‘how do you feel about taking on this mob?’
‘Sure,’ said the sword. ‘You want them dead or …?’
The mob shuffled backwards in alarm.
‘Nah,’ I decided. ‘Just make them go away.’
‘You’re no fun,’ the sword said. ‘Okay, then, let go.’
I hesitated. I didn’t particularly want to hold a flashing, talking, humming sword, but dropping my weapon didn’t seem like the natural first step towards victory.
Junior must’ve sensed my reluctance.
‘We can take him!’ he yelled. ‘He’s one boy with a sword he doesn’t know how to use!’
> Sam snarled. ‘And a former Valkyrie with an axe she very much does know how to use.’
‘Bah!’ Junior said. ‘Let’s get ’em, boys! Granny Shuffler, activate!’
Rows of dagger blades extended from the front of his walker. Two miniature rocket engines fired in the back, propelling Junior towards us at a mind-boggling one mile an hour. His comrades roared and charged.
I let go of my sword. It hovered in the air for a split second. Then it flew into action. Faster than you could say son of Edna, every dwarf was disarmed. Their weapons were cut in half, split down the middle, knocked to the ground or diced into hors d’oeuvre-size cubes. The daggers and rockets were sheared off Junior’s walker. The severed ends of thirty beards fluttered to the ground, leaving thirty shocked dwarves with fifty per cent less facial hair.
The Sword of Summer hovered between the mob and me.
‘Anybody want more?’ the sword asked.
The dwarves turned and fled.
Junior yelled over his shoulder as he hobbled away, following his bodyguards, who were already a block ahead of him. ‘This isn’t over, boy! I’ll be back with reinforcements!’
Sam lowered her axe. ‘That was … Wow.’
‘Yeah,’ I agreed. ‘Thank you, Sumarbrander.’
‘De nada,’ said the sword. ‘But, you know, Sumarbrander is a really long name, and I’ve never liked it much.’
‘Okay.’ I wasn’t sure where to look when addressing the sword – the glowing runes? The tip of the blade? ‘What would you like us to call you?’
The sword hummed thoughtfully. ‘What is your name?’
‘Magnus.’
‘That’s a good name. Call me Magnus.’
‘You can’t be Magnus. I’m Magnus.’
‘Then what is her name?’
‘Sam. You can’t be Sam, either. It would be too confusing.’