These days Thor is a household name.
But Marvel isnt the only one remixing Norse mythology.
Luckily, this is Norse mythology were talking about, where dead heroes get sent to Valhalla.
Magnus became aneinherjar, one of Odins chosen warriors.
Whats the significance of that?
RICK RIORDAN:I always venture to go where the myths take me.
Norse mythology, even more than Greek, is very focused on who stole my stuff?
That myth serves as a general story arc for Magnus second adventure.
A good weapon would have a name, and be imbued with the spirits of ancestors or defeated enemies.
Magnus certainly seems more comfortable at the beginning of this book.
How has his situation changed, physically and mentally, sinceThe Sword of Summer?
It feels like just a few months sinceThe Sword of Summercame out.
How soon do you start planning the next book in a series once you finish one?
This can make it tough to change gears, but I like a challenge.
No one forced me to do two series back to back.
I do it because I really enjoy writing these stories and I guess I thrive on being busy.
This chapter introduces the idea of a barrow-wight.
It is a bigger ask to expect readers to come along on a Norse adventure, yes.
Those stories are not as familiar except in the distorted (though enjoyable) Marvel versions.
Now it seems readers are quite familiar!
(Technically Im already dead, which means the wholelife-and-deaththing didnt apply, but still .
Sam sounded anxious.)
She hadnt yet arrived when I got to the Thinking Cup on Newbury Street.
The place was packed as usual, so I queued up for coffee.
A few seconds later, Sam flew in,literally, right over the heads of the cafe patrons.
Nobody batted an eye.
A green hijab covered her hair.
An ax hung from her belt.
I was pretty sure the ax wasnt standard dress code.
She was swaying on her feet.
Hey, I said.
Nice to see you, too, Magnus.
No, I mean .
not terrible likedifferent than normalterrible.
Just terrible like exhausted.
Should I get you a shovel so you’re free to dig that hole a little deeper?
I raised my hands in surrender.
Where have you been the last month and a half?
My workload this semester has been killing me.
Im tutoring kids after school.
You kids today and your busy schedules.
On top of all that .
We shuffled forward with the line.
You candothat at sixteen?
Her eyes sparkled with excitement.
My grandparents could never have afforded it, but the Fadhlans have this friend who runs a flight school.
They finally convinced Jid and Bibi
Ah.
So the lessons were a gift from Amir.
Those lessons were the most thoughtful, the most considerate .
But enough of that.
I didnt bring you here to talk about my schedule.
We have an informant to meet.
This could be the break Ive been waiting for.
If his information is good
Sams phone buzzed.
She fished it out of her pocket, checked the screen, and cursed.
I have to go.
You just got here.
Possible code three-eight-one: heroic death in progress.
Youre making that up.
what, somebody thinks theyre about to die and they text youGoing down!
Need Valkyrie ASAP!followed by a bunch of sad-face emoticons?
I seem to recall takingyoursoul to Valhalla.
You didnt text me.
No, but Im special.
Just get a table outside, she said.
Ill be back as soon as I can.
I dont even know what your informant looks like.
Youll recognize him when you see him, Sam promised.
Also, get me a scone.
She flew out of the shop like Super Muslima, leaving me to pay for our order.
I got two large coffees and two scones and found a table outside.
Spring had arrived early in Boston.
Flowery pastel clothing dis- plays bloomed in the windows of high-end boutiques.
Tourists strolled by enjoying the sunshine.
Last March, I had been scrounging from Dumpsters.
Then, two months ago, I died fighting a fire giant.
Id woken up in the Hotel Valhalla as one of Odins einherjar warriors.
Now I had clean clothes.
I took a shower every day.
I slept in a comfortable bed every night.
Since my rebirth, Id gotten used to a lot of weird stuff.
Id scored a magical sword that presently hung around my neck in the form of a runestone pendant.
Apparently North America was lousy with ancient gods.
We had a full-blown infestation.
All of that Id learned to accept.
But being back in Boston on a nice spring day, hanging out like a regular mortal kid?
I wondered what kind of information this guy had, and why Sam considered it life-and-death.
My gaze fixed on a storefront at the end of the block.
Over the doorway, the brass-and-silver sign still gleamed proudly:Blitzens Best, but the shop was shuttered.
Id been hoping to ask Samirah about that.
I had no idea why my old friend Blitz had abruptly disappeared.
One day a few weeks ago, Id just walked by the shop and found it closed.
Since then, thered been no word from Blitzen or Hearthstone, which wasnt like them.
But Sam was correct: He kind of stood out.
Its not every day you see a goat in a trench coat.
A porkpie hat was wedged between his curly horns.
A pair of sunglasses perched on his nose.
His trench coat kept getting tangled in his back hooves.
Despite his clever disguise, I recognized him.
Otis, I said.
Shhh,he said.
Im not sure thats howincognitoworks, but okay.
Otis, aka Otis, climbed into the chair Id reserved for Sam.
He sat on his back haunches and put his front hooves on the table.
Where is the Valkyrie?
Is she incognito, too?
He peered at the nearest pastry bag as if Sam might be hiding inside.
Samirah had to go reap a soul, I said.
Shell be back soon.
It must be nice having a purpose in life, Otis sighed.
Well, thank you for the food.
Thats not for
Otis snapped up Sams scone bag and began to eat it, paper and all.
At the table next to us, an older couple glanced at my goat friend and smiled.
Maybe their mortal senses perceived him as a cute child or a funny pet dog.
You had something to tell us?
Its about my master.
If I worked for the thunder god, I would have flinched when I heard Thors name, too.
Otis and his brother, Marvin, pulled the gods chariot.
They also provided Thor with a never-ending supply of goat meat.
Each night, Thor killed and ate them for dinner.
Each morning, Thor resurrected them.
I finally have a lead, Otis said, on thatcertain objectmy master is missing.
You mean his ham?
Dont say it aloud!
I flashed back to January, when Id first met the thunder god.
Otis clacked his front hooves on the tabletop.
Well, notofficially, of course.
Weve been searching for months with no luck.
Thors enemies are getting bolder.
They sense weak- ness.
Otis got a faraway look in his yellow slit-pupil eyes.
I think thats when my traumatic stress started.
This was my cue to spend the next several hours talking to Otis about his feelings.
Being a terrible person, I did not do that.
Hes not exactly defenseless.
No, but the staff is not as good as the .
It doesnt inspire the same fear in the giants.
Also, Thor gets cranky trying to watch his shows on the staff.
The screen is tiny and the resolution is terrible.
I dont like it when Thor is cranky.
It makes it hard for me to find my happy space.
So Thor wants our help, I guessed.
Well all have to wear trench coats and glasses.
Thats an excellent idea, Otis said.
Anyway, I told the Valkyrie I would keep her updated since she is in charge of Odins .
you know, special missions.
This is the first good lead Ive gotten to the location of thecertain object.
My source is reliable.
Hes another goat who goes to the same psychiatrist.
He overheard some talk in his barnyard.
You want us to track down a lead based on barnyard gossip you heard in your psychiatrists waiting room.
That would be great.
Otis leaned so far forward I was afraid he might fall out of his chair.
But youre going to have to be careful.
It took all my effort not to laugh.
Id played catch-the- lava-ball with fire giants.
Id eagle-skied over the rooftops of Boston.
Id pulled the World Serpent out of Massachusetts Bay and defeated Fenris Wolf with a ball of yarn.
Now this goat was telling me to be careful.
So where is theham?
Otiss sunglasses slipped sideways on his snout.
But thehamis in a different dangerous location.
Provincetown, I repeated.
On the tip of Cape Cod.
I had vague memories of the place.
My mom had taken me there for a weekend one summer when I was about eight.
I remembered beaches, saltwater taffy, lobster rolls, and a bunch of art galleries.
The most dangerous thing wed encountered was a seagull with irritable bowel syndrome.
Otis lowered his voice.
There is a barrow in Provincetown awightsbarrow.
Is that like a wheelbarrow?
Well, a wight is a powerful undead creature that likes to collect magical weapons.
A wights tomb is called aabarrow.
Sorry, I have a hard time talking about wights.
They remind me of my father.
That raised another batch of questions about Otiss childhood, but I decided to leave them for his therapist.
Are there a lot of lairs of undead Vikings in Provincetown?
Only one, as far as I know.
If thecertain objectis there, it will be difficult to retrieveunderground, and guarded by powerful magic.
Youll need your friendsthe dwarf and the elf.
That would have been great, if I had any idea where those friends were.
I hoped Sam knew more than I did.
Why doesnt Thor go and check this barrow himself?
He doesnt want to draw attention.
Or he wants us to have a chance to be heroes.
Or its hard work and he has some shows to catch up on.
To be fair, Otis said, the new season ofJessica Jonesdid just start streaming.
Its not the goats fault,I told myself.He does not deserve to be punched.
Fine, I said.
When Sam gets here, well talk strategy.
Im not sure I should wait with you.
Otis licked a crumb off his lapel.
I should have mentioned this earlier, but you see, someone .
.has been stalking me.
The hairs on my neck tingled.
You think they followed you here?
Im not sure, Otis said.
Hopefully my disguise threw them off.
Oh, great,I thought.
I scanned the street but saw no obvious lurkers.
Did you get a good look at this someone-slash-something?
No, Otis admitted.
But Thor has all sorts of enemies who would want to stop us from getting hishishamback.
They would not want me sharing information with you, especially this last part.
You have to warn Samirah that
THUNK.
I lunged across the table to help him.
But as soon as I touched Otis, I sensed that it was too late.
The ax had pierced his heart.
His head lolled backward.
His porkpie hat rolled across the pavement.
The lady sitting behind us screamed as if just now noticing that Otis was not a cute puppy dog.
He was, in fact, a dead goat.
I scanned the rooftops across the street.
Judging from the angle of the ax, it must have been thrown from somewhere up there .
So much for a leisurely cup of coffee.
I yanked the magical pendant from my neck chain and raced after the goat assassin.
