The Hammer of Thor
Jack flew into action. It’s a rare sword that can remove caked-on pond scum, shave off calluses, trim gnarly toenails, and leave a pair of dwarf feet shiny clean without 1) killing said dwarf, 2) cutting off the flailing feet of said dwarf, or 3) cutting off the legs of the einherji who is holding said dwarf…and all the while singing “Can’t Feel My Face.” Jack is truly special.
“All right! All right!” Andvari shrieked. “No more torture! I’ll show you where the treasure is! It’s right under that rock!”
He pointed frantically to pretty much everything until his finger came to rest at a boulder near the edge of the waterfall.
Traps, Hearthstone signed.
“Andvari,” I said, “if I move that boulder, what sort of traps will I spring?”
“None!”
“What if I move it using your head as a lever, then?”
“All right, it’s booby-trapped! Exploding hexes! Trip wires to catapults!”
“I knew it,” I said. “How do you disarm them? All of them.”
The dwarf squinted with concentration. At least I hoped that’s what he was doing. Otherwise he was making a deposit in his moss diaper.
“It’s done.” He sighed miserably. “I’ve disarmed all the traps.”
I glanced at Hearthstone. The elf stretched out his hands, probably testing our surroundings for magic the way I could sense eels and guppies. (Hey, we all have different talents.)
Hearth nodded. Safe.
With Andvari still dangling from my hand, I walked to the boulder and flipped it over with my foot. (Einherji strength is also a good talent.)
Under the rock, a canvas-lined pit was filled with…Wow. I didn’t usually care about money. I’m not about that. But my saliva glands went into overdrive when I saw the sheer volume of gold—bracelets, necklaces, coins, daggers, rings, cups, Monopoly tokens. I wasn’t sure what the value of gold per ounce was these days, but I estimated I was looking at about a gajillion dollars’ worth, give or take a bazillion.
Jack squealed. “Oh, look at those little daggers! They’re adorable.”
Hearthstone’s eyes regained their alertness. All that gold seemed to have the same effect on him as waving a cup of coffee under his nose.
Too easy, he signed. Must be a catch.
“Andvari,” I said, “if your name means Careful One, why are you so easy to rob?”
“I know!” he sobbed. “I’m not careful! I get robbed all the time! I think the name is ironic. My mother was a cruel woman.”
“So this hoard keeps getting stolen, but you keep getting it back? Because of that ring you mentioned?”
“What ring? Lots of rings in that pile. Take them!”
“No, the super-magic one. Where is it?”
“Um, probably in the pile somewhere. Go look!” Andvari quickly pulled a ring off his finger and slipped it into his diaper. His hands were so filthy I wouldn’t have noticed the ring at all if he hadn’t tried to hide it.
“You just dropped it down your pants,” I said.
“No, I didn’t!”
“Jack, I think this dwarf wants a full Brazilian waxing.”
“No!” Andvari wailed. “All right, yes, my magic ring is in my pants. But please don’t take it. Getting it back is always such a hassle. I told you, it’s cursed. You don’t want to end up like a lottery winner, do you?”
I turned to Hearth. “What do you think?”
“Tell him, Mr. Elf!” said Andvari. “You’re obviously an elf of learning. You know your runes. I bet you know the story of Fafnir, eh? Tell your friend this ring will bring you nothing but trouble.”
Hearth gazed into the distance as if reading a list on some heavenly whiteboard: –10 GOLD FOR BRINGING HOME A CURSED RING. +10 GAJILLION GOLD FOR STEALING A GAJILLION GOLD.
He signed, Ring is cursed. But also key to treasure. Without ring, treasure will never be enough. Will always come up short.
I looked at the Jacuzzi-size stash of gold. “I don’t know, man. That seems like plenty to cover your wergild rug.”
Hearth shook his head. It will not be. Ring is dangerous. But we have to take it just in case. If we don’t use it, we can return it.
I twisted the dwarf to face me. “Sorry, Andvari.”
Jack laughed. “Hey, that rhymes, too!”
“What did the elf say?” Andvari demanded. “I can’t read those gestures!” He waved his grubby hands, accidentally signing donkey waiter pancake in ASL.
I was losing patience with the old slime-bucket, but I did my best to translate Hearth’s message.
Andvari’s moss green eyes darkened. He bared his teeth, which looked like they hadn’t been flossed since zombies inspired the Mayflower Compact.
“You’re a fool, then, Mr. Elf,” he growled. “The ring will come back to me eventually. It always does. In the meantime, it will cause death and misery to whoever wears it. And don’t think it will solve your problems, either. This won’t be the last time you have to come home. You’ve only delayed a much more dangerous reckoning.”
The change in Andvari’s tone unnerved me even more than his change from grouper to dwarf. No more wailing or crying. He spoke with cold certainty, like a hangman explaining the mechanics of a noose.
Hearthstone didn’t look rattled. He wore the same expression he’d had at his brother’s cairn—as if he was reliving a tragedy that had happened long ago and couldn’t be changed.
The ring, he signed.
The gesture was so obvious even Andvari understood it.
“Fine.” The dwarf glared at me. “You won’t escape the curse either, human. Soon enough you’ll see what comes of stolen gifts!”
The hairs on my arms stood up. “What do you mean?”
He grinned evilly. “Oh, nothing. Nothing at all.”
Andvari did the shimmy-shimmy-shake. The ring dropped out the leg hole of his diaper. “One magic ring,” he announced, “complete with curse.”
“There is no way,” I said, “that I a
m picking that up.”
“Got it!” Jack dove in and made like a spatula, scooping the ring out of the mud with the flat of his blade.
Andvari watched wistfully as my sword played paddleball, flipping the ring from one side of his blade to the other.
“The usual deal?” the dwarf asked. “You spare my life and take everything I own?”
“The usual sounds great,” I said. “What about all the gold in the pit? How do we carry it?”
Andvari scoffed. “Amateurs! The canvas lining of the pit is a big magical sack. Pull the drawstring and voila! I have to keep the stash ready for quick getaways for those few times I avoid getting robbed.”
Hearthstone crouched next to the pit. Sure enough, poking from a hole in the hem of the canvas was a loop of string. Hearth pulled it and the bag snapped closed, shrinking to the size of a backpack. Hearth held it up for me to see—a gajillion dollars’ worth of gold in a superconvenient carry-on size.
“Now honor your part of the deal!” Andvari demanded.
I dropped him.
“Humph.” The old dwarf rubbed his neck. “Enjoy your demise, amateurs. I hope you have pain and suffering and win two lotteries!”
With that vile curse, he jumped back into his pond and disappeared.
“Hey, señor!” called Jack. “Heads up!”
“Don’t you dare—”
He flipped the ring at me. I caught it out of reflex. “Aww, gross.”
Seeing as it was a magic ring, I half expected some big Lord of the Rings moment when it landed in my hand—cold heavy whispering, swirling gray mist, a line of Nazgûl doing the Watusi. None of that happened. The ring just sat there, looking very much like a gold ring, albeit one that had recently fallen from a thousand-year-old dwarf’s moss diaper.
I slipped the ring into my pants pocket, then studied the circle of slime residue on my palm. “My hand will never feel clean again.”
Hearthstone shouldered his expensive new backpack like Gajillionaire Santa Claus. He glanced at the sun, which was already past its zenith. I hadn’t realized just how long we’d been trekking through the wilds of Mr. Alderman’s backyard.
We should go, Hearth signed. Father will be waiting.
And If You Order Now, You Also Get This Cursed Ring!
FATHER WAS waiting, all right. He paced in the living room, sipping golden juice from a silver goblet while Inge stood nearby waiting for a spill to happen.
When we walked in, Mr. Alderman turned toward us, his face a mask of cold anger. “Where have you—?”
His isosceles jaw dropped.
I guess he didn’t expect to see us soaked in sweat, covered in grass and twigs, our slime-caked shoes leaving slug trails across his white marble floor. Mr. Alderman’s expression was one of the best rewards I’d ever gotten, right up there with dying and going to Valhalla.
Hearthstone plopped his canvas bag on the floor with a muffled clatter. He signed: Payment—palm up, brushing one finger toward his dad like he was flicking a coin at him. The way Hearth did it made it look like an insult. I liked that.