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Informationen zum Autor Michael Dahl, the author of more than a dozen non?ction books, has also published poetry and plays. The Viking Claw is Dahl's fourth Finnegan Zwake mystery. The earlier titles in the series are The Horizontal Man, The Worm Tunnel, and The Ruby Raven. Dahl is also the author of Scooter Spies, a series of mysteries for younger readers, whose titles include The Wheels That Vanished and The Ghost That Barked. A theater director, actor, and comedian in Minneapolis, Dahl has a wide variety of unusual creatures in his household: Venus's-?ytraps, ?ddler crabs, African dwarf frogs, an elementary school teacher, and an Australian red-heeler named Gus. He can be e-mailed at ?nnswake@aol.com. Klappentext Finn!" he said! "Don't go in." What was his problem? After days of climbing and trudging through the snow! I wasn't going to turn around now. I pushed past Uncle Stoppard into the cave and then froze. The murky light from the mouth of the tunnel gleamed on something a few feet in front of me. Something white lay on the floor of the cave. Bones. Finn and his mystery-writer uncle head to Iceland in search of the Haunted City of Tquuli! where Finn's archaeologist parents were last seen before their odd disappearance eight years ago. Finn doesn't believe the creepy legends about the Haunted City and the ancient Vikings who lived there -- until a member of the rock-climbing expedition vanishes from inside a sleeping bag...one that was dangling a hundred feet from the base of an icy cliff! Then another climber disappears! leaving a trail of footprints that abruptly end in a eld of snow. Is it modern-day murder! or the revenge of phantom Viking warriors? Chapter One: Thor's Mountain Ping, ping. Uncle Stoppard tightened his seat belt. He turned to me and said, "That's the five-thousand-foot signal." Through the plane window I saw a vast field of greenish-blue water. We were descending over the Atlantic Ocean. I squashed my face against the clear plastic and stretched my eyeballs to get a glimpse of our destination. A brown shore of jagged jigsaw pieces was rushing toward us. Farther away the sun was rising over dark, sharp-edged mountains. Volcano country. "You should put that away," said Uncle Stoppard. "If we have a bumpy landing, those papers will fly all over the cabin." He was referring to my journal. Ever since we took off from the Minneapolis airport, six hours ago, I had held the journal on my lap. It was my dad's idea. Like father, like Finn, says Uncle Stop. Last year I had discovered my dad's journal in Uncle Stoppard's storage room in the basement. It had been sitting down there for the past eight years, ever since Mom and Dad had dropped me off with Uncle Stop before they flew to Iceland, hunting for the Haunted City of Tquuli. You say it too-cool-ee. Maybe you read about my parents' expedition; it was written up in Peephole magazine. Legends say that Tquuli is the site of a lost Viking colony hidden somewhere in the mountains of Iceland. On the slope of one of those mountains, the Thorsfell, my parents' footprints ended abruptly in a field of new snow. Just ended! When I first started living with Uncle Stoppard, I would think about those footprints and my parents all the time. Now I only think about them every day. My parents went searching for Tquuli because they were archeologists. I mean, are archeologists. I mean, both. Both are both. They're considered legally dead since they've been missing so long, but they're still alive. Don't ask me how I know, I just know. Dad kept a detailed record in his journal of the archeological digs he and my mom worked on around the world. I thought it would be a good idea to keep my own record of everything that happens to me and Uncle Stoppard in Iceland. So far my journal has maps of Iceland, ar...
