Jake & The Giant (The Gryphon Chronicles, Book 2) (7 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Miss Langesund’s Surprise

Miss Langesund led their group across campus and through the university gardens, until they finally approached the little wooden museum that sat all alone at the end of the path.

Th
e building resembled a church, and when Jake asked if it used to be one, she said no. Since her father’s big discovery had to do with Norwegian history, they had modeled the building to house the exhibit on a traditional style of architecture that could be seen all over Norway in the small wooden stave churches that dated back to medieval times.

When they reached the little
museum, which was presently closed to the public, she unlocked the wooden double doors and then turned to face the group. “Now then, children,” she said with a dramatic flair worthy of the ancient Norse bards, “prepare yourselves to step back in time nearly a thousand years to the tenth century—and the golden age of the Vikings!”

Then she opened the door. It swung with a heavy creak.

Though they all were eager to see the surprise, Jake stepped forward first into the shadows.

Inside the hushed space of the museum, the fading light of sunset slanted in through
the gothic windows to reveal the long, wooden remnants of a magnificent Viking ship.

The children were awestruck as they filed in, staring at it.

“My father discovered it buried on the shores of Oslo Fjord. The ship is sixty-seven feet long, with twelve pairs of oars, all made of oak.”

“This is amazing,” Dani murmured.

Miss Langesund smiled. “Indeed. A thousand years ago, these long-boats were the technological wonder of their time. The Vikings crossed the seas in these boats. But as you can see, the keels are shallow enough that they could travel up rivers, too. No place was safe from their invasions.”

“They certainly came to England,” Henry said for the benefit of the children. “Stone monuments covered in Viking runes can be found throughout the British Isles. I daresay we’ve all got some Viking blood in our veins.”

“Probably so,” Miss Langesund agreed.

Jake homed in on a mysterious
, shadowed walkway that led down into the museum floor beneath the ship. He pointed at it. “May we go down there?”

“O
f course,” Miss Langesund said, gesturing in welcome. “Down there, you can see what the hull looks like from below. This allows us to learn more about the Vikings’ shipbuilding methods. Or you can climb up on the catwalk above us, if you want to look down at the inside of the ship.”

“But don’t touch anything!” Henry warned
once again.

The kids scarcely heard, immediately running around to view the ancient ship from all angles. Miss
Langesund stepped out of their way and proceeded to explain how her father’s team had dug it up painstakingly and moved it bit by bit into this sanctuary, where it would be preserved for future generations of Norwegians to ponder the courage and skill of their seafaring ancestors.

“Any idea who it belonged to?” Henry asked while the children ooh’ed and ahh’ed.

“No, I’m afraid any trace of him is long gone. But it would have been a warlord of some kind, a chief or a nobleman, maybe even a king. If you’d like to step over here and look at the other grave goods we found, you can see by his personal property that he was certainly someone of high rank.”

They gathered around a table where the smaller grave goods of the ship’s anonymous owner were on display. An incredible sword covered in runes. A drinking horn carved from a massive antler. A cloak brooch, intricately worked in pure silver.
A marvelous helmet with a chain-mail tunic, and a round shield whose colors had long since faded. There were jewels, too.

“The Vikings traded with people as far away as the Ottoman Empire,” Miss
Langesund was explaining.

But Jake was staring at the faint blue glow around some of the grave goods.
Uh-oh…

Of course, no one else could see
what he could.

“Why did they bury their stuff with them when they died?” Dani asked, gazing at the chain mail.

“They thought their dead would need these items in the afterlife. In this warlord’s case, no doubt, he went straight to Valhalla.”

“Viking heaven?” Jake supplied.

“That’s correct.”

“I say, did the
Vikings also have a bad place, I mean, where bad people went after they died?”

“Oh, yes, indeed! Neiflheim,” she replied
. “A realm of fire and brimstone beneath the earth.”

“Neffle-hime?” Jake echoed.

“That’s right. Neiflheim was the realm of the trickster god, Loki.”

H
e furrowed his brow. “The Vikings had a trickster for a god?”

“Loki wasn’t their top god,” she explained. “That was Odin the Wise, the
All-Father, as he was called. Odin was the king of the gods, as well as the patron of warriors, death, wisdom, runes, and prophecy.”

“Busy chap,” Henry said.

She smiled. “Valhalla means the ‘Hall of Odin,’ you see. Odin was always said to be wandering around the earth in disguise, looking for great warriors and heroes that he could recruit for Valhalla after their death.”

“What, Vikings still have to fight battles even after they’re dead?” Dani exclaimed.

“Only one…” Miss Langesund adopted an ominous tone, though she was smiling. “The greatest battle of all, at the end of time. You see, the ancient Viking bards wrote about a final, mighty battle between good and evil that would bring on the end of the world. It was called the Battle of Ragnarok. On one side, Odin would lead his Valhalla army of all the dead great heroes of men to fight on the side of good.”

“Who’s on the bad side? Thor?” Jake asked, wid
e-eyed as he tried to imagine it.

“Heavens, no. Thor’s the Norse people’s favorite.” Miss
Langesund smiled fondly. “He’s Odin’s right-hand man and favorite son—the god of thunder. Thor ruled the weather and the sea—two very important concerns for a seafaring people who built ships like this, as you can imagine. No, the leader on the bad side in the Battle of Ragnarok would be our troublemaker Loki, commanding an army of giants.”

“Giants?” Dani echoed
while the rest of them grinned.

“Oh, my dear, we love our giants and our trolls here in Norway,” Miss
Langesund said with a chuckle that told them she obviously thought such things were mere legends, like the old Norse gods.

Jake dearly
hoped that she was right.

The
lady-archeologist folded her arms across her chest and leaned casually against her desk while Henry stood nearby, hands in pockets, gazing at her with a smitten smile.

“L
oki was always the troublemaker,” she continued. “He loved causing chaos and could change forms at will—”

“A shapeshifter?” Archie blurted out.

When Miss Langesund nodded, all four children tried very hard not to look at Henry.

His smile turned brittle,
but he managed not to give his secret away to his lady friend. He cleared his throat, lowered his gaze, and said nothing.

Miss
Langesund resumed their lesson on Norse mythology. “Loki was a very interesting fellow—more mischievous than evil—though in some of the old stories, he could be pretty rotten. You didn’t want Loki for an enemy, to be sure. But personally, I always saw him more as a free-thinker.”

“Why do you say that?” Archie asked as he admired one of the daggers the archeologists had dug up.

She shrugged. “Loki never really followed all the usual Viking rules. He liked to experiment.”

“Really?” Archie glanced over
in surprise.

She nodded. “
Once he turned himself into a woman for a while, just to see what it was like. The ultra-manly Thor was, of course, horrified.”

The others laughed, but Jake had gone stock-still, staring past the table.
He alone was not surprised when a nearby stack of brochures suddenly flew off the table and fluttered in all directions, strewn across the floor.

“Oh, I’m so clumsy!” the lady-archeologist burst out in embarrassed surprise, since she had been standing nearest to the papers. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me! I do
this sort of thing all the time!”

While she blushed crimson,
Henry and Archie instantly stooped to help her pick up the scattered papers. But Jake stood rooted to his spot, staring at the bluish spectral figure looming behind the table. The hairs on his nape stood on end; goosebumps tingled down his arms.

“With all the delicate work we do, have you ever heard of anything so silly as a clumsy archeologist?” poor Miss
Langesund was muttering, looking rather humiliated.

“It’s all right,
Astrid,” Henry was saying gently.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” she mumbled as he and Archie helped her gather up her things.

Dani glanced at Jake, noticing his sudden stillness. But for his part, he didn’t even blink, riveted by the sight of the towering ghost who presently stepped out of the wall wearing a horned helmet.

Blimey.

Ghosts didn’t usually scare him, but this one looked terrifying, with his rough beard and tangled long hair with thin braids in front, flowing over his massive shoulders.

Tattoos of Norse knots and Viking runes covered his massive shoulders and arms that bulged li
ke those of a circus strongman.

Scariest of all was the look of his bluish, spectral face—a glare of icy rage.

Jake gulped, rather sure he had just found the original owner of the Viking ship. Indeed, if he were not scared speechless, he could have told Miss Langesund,
You’re not clumsy.

You’re haunted.

CHAPTER NINE

The Shield King’s Wrath

“
WHO DARES DISTURB MY SLUMBER?”

The little ship museum reverberated with the booming spectral voice, but nobody reacted. No one else could h
ear.

That honor belonged to Jake
alone, thanks to the unusual talent he had inherited from his mother.

Henry and Archie c
ontinued helping Miss Langesund pick up her things while the mighty Viking warrior ghost stormed past them.

Jake watched him warily, unsure what to do. The phantom must have used up most of his energy throwing down Miss
Langesund’s stack of papers, for thankfully, he didn’t have much effect on anything else—which only seemed to frustrate him more.

Isabelle glanced around, as though sensi
ng strong anger from someone in the room.

Una
ware of the ghost nearby, she must have assumed it was coming from one of their party. Predictably, she raised her hand to her temple with a slight wince.

T
he ghost was growing angrier by the minute. The less they paid attention, the more furious the Viking chief became. Jake could barely believe his eyes as he watched the mighty blue spectral figure pick up a ghostly version of his battle axe on display and try to cut Henry in half with it.

Of course, it didn’t work. Seeing that his weapon had no effect, the ghost muttered a curse. “By Odin’s beard!” He hurled the axe aside and reached this time for his sword, picking up a translucent
, bluish copy of it, while the real, solid one remained lying on the table.

Wide-eyed, Jake watched the Viking warlord menace his cousins with the phantom weapon—until he noticed Miss
Langesund. He gave her a leer, let out a laugh, and tried to grab the lady-archeologist, as if to carry her off like his stolen brides of centuries ago.

But his giant, muscled arms whooshed right through her, so he whirled away in frustration, only to notice next that Archie was fingering his dagger.

“How dare you trifle with my things, you brazen cub? Put that down or I’ll teach you to mind your elders!” The Viking ghost strode over to Archie and tried to smack his hand away from the knife, to no avail.

A
rchie could neither see nor hear him, nor feel the rap on his knuckles. The ghost was so outraged at being ignored by everyone that he let out a wordless roar, and then flew up onto his ship.

Jake finally snapped out of his daze from watching the ghos
t. “Er, Henry, a word, please?”

Having just finished helping Miss Astrid pick up her papers, Henry straightened up again. “Yes?”

Jake pulled their tutor aside by his elbow, and, in a hushed tone, hastily explained the situation.

Henry stared at him, absorbing this news. “Oh, dear.”

“I can try and talk to him, but you have to get the others out of here. Maybe I can reason with him, find out what he wants. At least let me try. It’s either that or he’s going to continue raging around these artifacts. He seems furious, and of any ghost I’ve seen, he looks the most capable of doing serious damage.”

Henry frowned, then glanced around the ship museum, as though trying to spot the ghost, but of course, he didn’t have that ability.

“What if he does something to harm Miss Langesund or her father when they’re in here working alone?” Jake urged. “He could knock the ship down on them when they’re underneath studying it or push them off the walkway.” He nodded up at the elevated gallery. “If you give me a few minutes alone to talk to him, I’ll find out what he wants and try to calm him down.”

Henry considered his proposal with a worried glance at his lady friend. He obviously wanted her and her father to be safe when they were in here working.

He looked at Jake again. “You’re sure about this?”

Jake nodded.

“Very well,” Henry said reluctantly. He started to turn away, then he got an idea. “Maybe you could interview this Viking ghost for Astrid and get more information on the ship. He could be an incredible source of scholarly—”

Jake just looked at him, and Henry’s words broke off.

“Right,” the tutor mumbled. “Astrid is a scientist. She’ll think we’re both daft. Never mind.” Henry gave Jake a wry smile. “Very well, then. If you’re sure you want to do this, I’ll make an excuse and get everyone out of here. Then you can slip back in by yourself. But please be careful, Jake. Don’t do anything to provoke this Viking ghost. Get out of here if he becomes too threatening, understand? When he was alive, this man was probably a killing machine.”

Jake nodded. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“Have a care with the artifacts, too. If anything is damaged, I’m afraid we both might get to witness Miss Astrid’s inner Valkyrie.”

“Huh? What’s that?”

“Never mind, I’ll tell you later. And Jake, take care to mind your manners. The warrior who owned this ship was likely a king or a chieftain. Be sure and show respect.”

“Believe me, I will.”

Henry nodded and walked back to the others. Jake followed, but he could not stop staring at the Viking ship, for it had been transformed by the presence of its former master.

With the Viking warrior at the helm, the ship was restored to a bluish, spectral version of its former glory, complete with a single striped sail and a carved dragon figurehead arching off the prow.

Jake was riveted. What a terrifying sight it must have been to peaceful inland farm villages in medieval times—a horde of Viking raiders rowing up the river!

Jake wished the others could have seen it like this, all filled in with faintly-shining spectral energy.
He sucked in his breath as the warlord’s phantom followers materialized out of the air and picked up their oars. Jake scarcely dared to blink, unwilling to miss a second of it.

Right there in the museum, he could feel the wind and the pitching waves as the Viking chief and his men took to the seas. He could hear the
ir chants as they rowed—though, of course, it was getting them nowhere.

They must all still be attached somehow to the ship, he thought.

Henry announced it was time to go get ready for the Welcome Dinner and began herding the kids outside, but Jake hung back.

The tutor gave him a private nod and covered his retreat back into the building while the others were distracted.

Jake stepped out of sight behind a display case as Miss Langesund locked the door to the museum. He wasn’t sure how long he might have. There was no time to waste.

The Viking warrior was standing at the bow of his ship, looking pleased that the intruders had retreated.

Jake swallowed hard, then steeled his courage and walked cautiously toward the ghost. “Sire! A word with you, if I may?”

The brawny spirit turned and stared at him in shock. “You, boy! You can see me?” The Viking leader came over to the bluish edge of his ship, propping one laced-up boot up on the low bulwark.

“I can,” Jake affirmed. “Is this your ship?”

“My ship. My weapons,” he growled, nodding at the table with the dagger that Archie had been handling. “My people. My lands! And who are you?”

“Jake Everton, sir. The seventh Earl of Griffon.” It still felt awfully strange to him to be twelve years old and a lord. But his title seemed to impress his fellow nobleman, who nodded in begrudging approval.

“
Ves heill
. Health and good luck be to you, young master.”

“And to you,” Jake answered cautiously. “Might I ask your name, sir?”

“My name?” The Viking warlord threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, that’s a good one! As if you don’t already know!”

“Er, no. Sorry, sir. No idea.”

“Come, what sort of prank is this? You know perfectly well who I am. Kingdoms tremble at my name!”

Jake just looked at him.

The Viking scowled. “Well, that’s just insulting. I can tell by your accent that you hail from Angle-land, where I terrorized the eastern coast, and yet you claim you never heard of me? You, boy Earl, must be from a puny, backwater village, indeed, if you have never heard of Ragnor the Punisher, Shield King of the North!”

His crew
cheered his announcement of his name with hearty bellows.

“Now, admit you’ve heard of my glory! Was it not I and my men who plundered all the lands of our enemies? I made all my warriors rich, and gave out gifts like a very son of Odin! It was I who made the Gauls cower and the Danes beg for mercy, I who sailed to unknown continents, built ships that sea serpents tall as trees could not sink! I who defeated the foul ice grendels—”

His men cheered wildly like the most committed fans at a rugby match.

“That’s right!” he vaunted. “And it was I, let it never been forgotten, who wrestled the treacherous Loki to the ground and tattooed his very cheek, so that my people would always know him, no matter what form he took. Then they would never be deceived!”

“Wait—you tattooed Loki’s cheek?” Jake exclaimed, startled by this claim, considering he had just met a mad prince with a tattoo on his cheek.

But…
no, it couldn’t be! Loki was just a legend!

His question went unheard in the general ruckus of the happy warriors cheering and the Viking chief still singing his own praises.

Absently, Jake remembered Dani reading aloud to them from her Norway book about how outrageous bragging had been a major form of entertainment in the old Viking mead halls.

Jake was getting a bit tired of it all.

“Of me, the bards sang tales in every great hall throughout the Norse kingdoms—”

“Sorry, but I’ve never heard of you,” he interrupted impatiently, determined to press on with the business at hand. “Can we get on with it, please—”

“NEVER HEARD OF ME!”

Every Viking warrior ghost aboard threw down his oar and growled, looking ready to pile on Jake.

“I-I’m sorry, sire, I don’t mean any insult. It’s just that you’ve been dead for nearly a thousand years!”

This shocked the Viking chieftain into silence.

“Really?” he asked after a long moment. “Has it been that long?”

Jake nodded.

“Hmm. Time flies when you’re in Valhalla. Doesn’t it, boys?” he muttered to his men, and they all grunted agreement, nodding at each other. But the Shield King of the North was most displeased. “Well, I might be forgotten, but I’m not gone. They have no right to plunder my grave! It’s unthinkable, a sacrilege! Why, I will never allow it! Warn them of my fury, boy, for I will drive them out, each and every one of them! I will terrorize them, and
make them pay!
”

More fierce roaring in agreement
followed, a general clamor from his henchmen.

“But s
ire, this place is called a museum. If you allow them to put your treasures on display, there will be a plaque telling of your great deeds and conquests. Then your name will truly be immortal. People will come from everywhere to, er, pay homage to your glory. Far from being an insult, this place will be a monument to all your victories in life!”

“Hmm, w
ell, if you put it that way…. You have a smooth tongue. You must have some bardic blood in your veins, Earl of Griffon. One moment.” He flew over to confer quietly with his warriors.

Jake waited to see if they would approve.

The Viking ghosts were arguing among themselves, some sounding offended by the opening of the grave, others shrugging, nodding, as though the chance at fame sounded fairly reasonable to them.

Jake recalled something
else Dani had read to him, about votes being important to Vikings even back in ancient times. It wasn’t such a new invention as everyone thought, he recalled her saying.

Any mighty man of courage who showed enough brains and leadership to win his men’s respect could eventually set himself up as a king back then if he tried. You didn’t have to be born to it like nowadays.

At last came the verdict.

Ragnor the Punisher returned to the railing of the ghost ship and gave Jake a nod.

“Very well. My men still say it’s sacrilege, but for glory’s sake, we will stop haunting these grave robbers, provided they tell your world of my, er,
our
great deeds.” He glanced over his shoulder at his warriors, then looked at Jake again. “In the meanwhile, we will go in peace for now and return to Valhalla, for we find your world frankly rather bewildering, Earl of Griffon. But,” the Viking warned, “I will personally be back from time to time to check on their progress here—and they had better not break my things.”

Jake nodded. “Yes, Sire, I will tell them. I’m sure they’ll take good care of it all.”

“You have put my mind at ease, Earl of Griffon. Farewell.”

“Wait! Sir? King Ragnor?” Jake followed him toward the ship.

“What is it, boy?”

“What are ice grendels?” he blurted out, so full of questions
he barely knew where to begin.

But Ragnor the Punisher turned around with a hearty laugh. “Ha! Trust me, boy, you don’t want to know.”