Hammer of the Gods

by B. D. MacCallum

  Thor opened the door, and the grateful dog licked his other hand before rushing down the corridor. I was kind of hoping it was the knowledge of the universe!

  He went to the bathroom to scrub his face and hands before lunch. He scratched the two-day-old stubble on his chin, thought of shaving, and decided to wait until after the evening shower. He flexed his toes until they cracked, then put his sandals back on. If people did not appreciate his cut-off shorts and brightly-printed shirt during lunch, they need not look!

  He opened the door, and was startled by Mio sitting on the other side, wagging his tail furiously. Then Thor caught a whiff of lavender soap, and Mio panted and whined. “Show me,” Thor whispered, closing the door.

  The dog trotted down the corridor, turning his head a few times to make sure he was being followed. He wound his way left, then right, and down two decks, stopping in front of Lindsay’s door. Mio tilted his head, as if listening, then panted. The scent of lavender soap was overwhelming.

  Thor concentrated on the amulet around his neck. The only time he removed it now was while he slept; if it did not cause relentless nightmares, and waking more tired than when he went to be, it would not even be then.

  Thor determined there was no controlling the amulet; three days of continuous headaches proved that. The best thing to do was concentrate on nothing – which is more difficult than it sounds – or focus all of his attention on the amulet, and let it show him what he needed to know.

  “Why isn’t this fucking phone working?” he heard Lindsay curse. The satellite feeds are jammed, that’s why. She must have thrown something, there was a small crash. It better not be the phone I bought for her! “Now what am I supposed to do?” Lindsay screamed. Interesting question. I’ll have to work on an answer for you.

  Thor felt something warm touch his cheek. The lavender scent dissipated, and Mio began to whine. “Shit!” Thor said to himself, giving Mio the “bad dog” look.

  Thor knocked on the door. “Hey, Lindsay, you in there?” He could hear her shuffling about.

  A few seconds later, Lindsay stood in the doorway. “What’s up, Thor?”

  “Just heading up for lunch,” he said with a smile. “I thought I’d show up with a good looking girl on my arm.” Where the Hel did that come from?

  The sandy-haired woman smiled. “Lead the way, smooth-talker.” Lindsay closed the door behind her. Oddly, Thor heard the lock catch as the door closed.

  Mio stayed close as the made their way to the dining room; a thing he rarely did when food was involved.

  This is getting more interesting by the minute!

  Chapter 15

  The ship was moving again, and it had been over an hour since the sounds of artillery died; Thor said it was safe to go on deck once more. What was that boy planning, now! Whatever it was, it was as secretive as the rest of that young man’s life. Bryndis said the man never lied to any of them, but he never spoke of anything he did not want to either.

  Christelle Lejeune rested against the counter to catch her breath. She removed her tall chef’s hat, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. She had been told she would eventually get her sea legs, and the light-headedness would no longer affect her. Eight years later, she was still waiting! People were not meant to be tossed about by waves. If they were, God would have made them much better swimmers!

  The sounds of thumping music and the clack of wood on wood filtered into the kitchen from the weight room down the corridor as Thor and Michelle tried to hit each other with sticks. Sometimes I think those two are insane! She believed spending six years in a mental institution made her qualified to make that statement.

  Domenic rushed to her side, his brow furrowed. Christelle absentmindedly shooed away the old fils d’un bouc. The fool worried about her too much. Honestly, men can be more trouble than they are worth! You have sex with them a few times a month, and they think they are obligated to be your savior!

  She already had one savior in her life: Thor Odinsson – without whom, she would have died, or really gone insane in that asylum years ago – she did not need another. She would do anything for that boy with the pretty blue eyes. Anything! Even if it did mean going to the land of gypsies and vampires.

  Christelle had no idea why Thor needed to travel to Romania of all places. She only sensed he was worried, and the other women were downright scared for his safety.

  Being in an asylum taught her to sense things like that. She could sense things; feelings, emotions, good and bad. Being afraid was good! Most people she was locked away with were afraid. The ones not scared to death, were the ones you had to watch out for! Those were the ones that came for you when no one was watching, and did things to you. Sometimes she would wake up screaming, remembering those things.

  Life on Mjölnir had been good to her. She had fiends that turned into family. She could cook: the thing she loved most in life, and she was safe; she sensed that the first time she met that sweet boy, Thor. But she missed everything about her old life; her apartment, her restaurant, her friends and family, her…Paris!

  She shook her head. Most of all, she missed going somewhere, anywhere, without a disguise. She was proud of who she was, and where she came from. She had been just twenty-nine when she opened her first restaurant. Two years later, she received her third – THIRD! – Michelin star. Fuck her goddamned, bastard brother for taking it all away! I sincerely hope he rots in Hell, and is ass-raped, daily, by the Devil himself!

  As awful as her mood was at the moment, it was considerably better than it had been during their time in Paris a few weeks ago. Staring out at her beloved city through glass windows was slightly less torturous than the padded cells, or restraints she endured for ridding the world of a blood-sucking leech.

  Thor – bless that man’s wonderful heart – devised dozens of plans to get her out into the city; brilliant plans, from a brilliant mind, but she had been too terrified to go through with any of them.

  She did make it as far as the gangway with Thor and Michelle; dressed as American tourist of all things – no one pays attention to tourists, beyond the money they spend – with every grotesque article of clothing that could be found. As soon as her foot touched the dock, Christelle went into a panic-attack. She fell to her knees, and could not catch her breath. She shook so violently, Thor had trouble carrying her to the secret room.

  Twice after that, she spent hours in the safety of the smuggler’s hold, with Julia holding her hand as she wept uncontrollably. Julia is a good woman, even if she is slightly more insane than the court accused me of being.

  Christelle took a deep breath, held it for the count of ten, and let it out slowly. All this dredging up of the past was counter-productive, and there was too much to be done before dinner. The potatoes still needed peeling, and she needed to go up to the garden for some chives and parsley.

  Domenic held out a small glass of cognac. He was a good man, but he drank too much – even for a Frenchman. She took the glass with a smile, and he returned to the sauce pans.

  The liquor made her feel warm all over, like a blanket on a cold winter’s night. It actually numbed the pain she sometimes got in her shoulder where her brother stabbed her, but she would never tell Domenic that; the man would most likely start medicating her food with it. Too bad it could not erase memories as well!

  She watched one of the crew members, Abiodun, empty the dishwasher. He was a handsome man – not to say the rest of the men were not, but Abiodun was so handsome he was on the verge of being pretty. The dark-skinned man looked her way and smiled at her. He has such a beautiful smile!

  “Miss Christelle,” Abiodun said. She told all of them to drop the “Miss”, but they continued. “Where would you like your new knife placed?”

  New knife… What new knife?

  Christelle shook her head. “I haven’t purchased a new knife in years.”

  “I apologize, Miss Christelle,” he said quickly. “But I don’t remember seeing this one bef
ore.” He held the knife before him.

  The chef’s knife was long, custom-made in in a small shop in Hamburg. The rosewood handle bore an intricate rose next to the initials C.L. She recognized the blade immediately; it was a gift from her father, on the day she opened her restaurant. It had cost more money than the old man made in a month. It was her prized possession, and she loved it…right up until her brother tried to kill her with it!

  This was impossible! That knife was tucked away in an evidence locker, and destroyed after her trial!

  She felt the same terror she felt that fateful night. The only difference was, this time her brother was not rushing toward her, and she did not have a meat-cleaver in her hand.

  She dropped to her knees, screaming: “NOOOOO!”

  * * *

  This was one of those times Thor felt like a pinball bouncing from one bumper to the next. Most of the morning involved endless preparations to set sail, then showing Iona how to charge the turbines. He left lunch early – which irritated Christelle – and checked a few more things, before practicing with his new Barrett M82. He was amazed at how easy it was to consistently obliterate a quarter-sized target from the length of the ship; after he learned to listen to the pull of the amulet. Too bad it took a hundred rounds to start listening!

  He had a headache, a stomach ache, he was tired, and his right shoulder was throbbing. Now Mikki was putting him through Hel.

  And some people think I have a glamorous life!

  The song I love it shook the dining room as Thor shifted to his left; barely avoiding being hit by Mikki’s shinai. He spun around, bringing up his shinai just in time to keep Mikki from landing a blow to the top of his head. Men or no men, the lengths of bamboo left your eyes blurry, and your ears ringing for a long time.

  It had been a long time since he and Mikki had practiced kendo; though Mikki seemed to be doing surprisingly well. His bōgu felt heavy and awkward, but it beat getting welts all over your body; the former MMA fighter was wailing on him like he owed her money – a lot of money. It was his fault, though; he was the one that told her not to hold back. But I didn’t say: Try to split my head open like a melon!

  Mikki tucked and rolled, holding a crouched position at the end, her bamboo sword at the ready. It was… interesting to practice any sort of fighting with Mikki. The woman had way of breaking-down every style to its simplest form, and transform it into something uniquely hers.

  Thor lunged, knocking her shinai to the side with his. She flattened out on the floor before he could swing back at her head, and kicked his feet from under him. He fell flat on his back with a thud, and the heel of her foot crashed down on his right thigh, sending waves of pain through his body. He started to spring to his feet, but it was too late; Mikki’s other foot caught him in the armpit, just before cracking her sword into his facemask.

  So, that’s how you want to play!

  “Had enough, pussy?” she said with a laugh.

  “I’m just beginning to have fun,” Thor said through gritted teeth. So far, Thor had taken it easy on Mikki; height, weight, reach, and experience were all on his side. If she wanted to play dirty, so could he.

  He rolled across the floor, sprang to his feet at a safe distance. He saw Mikki’s shinai coming toward his face just in time to catch the blade with his gloved hand – Damn, that hurt worse than I thought it would – pulled Mikki to him, and he spun. Momentum carried Mikki into Thor’s shoulder; she lost her grip, and went flying across the room. After a series of tumbles, she lay motionless in a crumpled heap.

  Thor tossed the shinai. The wooden weapon skidded across the floor, hitting Mikki in the side. “If you think I’m falling for that shit, you’ve lost your mind!”

  There was no movement.

  “I think you really hurt her, mate,” Jennifer said, rising from her chair. Else put a hand on her arm, wagging a finger.

  “If you need a rest, all you have to do is say so!” Thor said to Mikki.

  “I had to give it a shot, Sugah,” Mikki said, snatching up the practice sword. “Why would I need a rest? I’m winning!”

  Thor smiled. “I’ll bring you breakfast in bed for a week if you win.”

  “I like two croissants and orange juice with my café,” Mikki said, rushing toward him, her shinai spinning furiously.

  The point of Thor’s shinai struck the center of Mikki’s chest plate. He ducked, thrusting the weapon upward with all of his strength, sending Mikki over his head to land on her back with a resonating thud. This time, Thor stood over Mikki with his hand out to help her up.

  Suddenly there was a terrifying scream coming from the kitchen.

  Thor dashed toward the sound, stripping his helmet and gloves, letting them fall as he ran.

  Christelle was curled into a ball, frantically swatting at Domenic and one of the crew – Thor would drag each of their names out of them, if it killed him – as she continued to scream.

  “What happened!” Thor demanded as he made his way to her.

  “I don’t know!” Domenic said, shaking his head. He looked at Thor, worry in his eyes.

  “The knife!” the crewman exclaimed. “She screamed when she saw the knife!” He said pointing to the blade on the counter.

  Thor rushed to Christelle’s side, pushing both men away easily. He knelt down next to her. ‘Christelle,” he said, his voice as calm and reassuring as he could manage. He ignored the strikes to the face and chest as she swung wildly. “Christelle. Cʹest moi, Thor.” He gently raised her chin.

  Christelle, reluctantly, opened her tear-filled eyes. At first, there was no sign of recognition; but when there was, her arms were around his neck, squeezing the life out of him. “He’s here, Thor,” she said, trembling. “He’s here!”

  “Who’s here?” Thor whispered in her ear.

  Christelle clutched him tighter, and wriggled until she had herself safely in Thor’s arms. “Robert,” she said so quietly, Thor barely made out the name.

  “Non, mon ami,” Thor said stroking her hair. “Robert est mort.” Christelle began to rock back and forth. Thor cradled her as a child, looking up at the gathered crowd.

  A few more crewmen stood in the kitchen, guns in hand and scanning the scene. Domenic appeared ready to vomit. Bryndis, Jennifer and Else had tears streaming down their faces. Mikki was trying to hide her rage, but her green-eyed stare was death waiting to pounce.

  Thor eyed the knife on the counter, and Bryndis slipped it behind her back. He met Mikki’s stare. “Where’s Lindsay?” he signed.

  Mikki slipped from the room, Bryndis and Else close behind.

  Thor scooped up Christelle, then headed for the smuggler’s hold, his blood boiling. To his surprise, two of the crewmen gave him respect-filled nods before leading the way, two more fell in behind. When he got his friend to sleep, Hel would be paid.

  * * *

  Mikki – she hated being called Michelle – Acier hit the floor hard, her breath leaving her body like a balloon popping. She swore her spine was broken, though she knew it wasn’t, she could still feel her toes. They ached, as did the rest of her body. I should’ve seen that one coming, she chided herself. And I was so looking forward to having Thor serve me breakfast in bed!

  This wasn’t the first time she was flat-back on the mat, but no matter how many times it happens, no one says you have to like it. Being flung like a rag doll after making a fucking rookie mistake just made things worse. The girls from Icona Pop may not care, but I sure the fuck do!

  She waited for the spots and pretty colors to vanish. Thor was standing over her with an outstretched hand, ready to help her to her feet. He was a good man, if a bit insane, the things he did to the Donnelly family proved that. Insane or not, a girl couldn’t ask for a better friend, even if that friend did inadvertently start blood-bath… No one worth a shit died!

  She was afraid for Thor. As long as she had known him, he pushed himself too hard, and spread himself too thin. If there was someone to save, that idiot jumpe
d in to help with both feet; to hell that it was the shallow end and filled with sharp rocks. Every woman onboard this floating palace, including her, was proof of that. Now he was going to Romania, after turning down that Lazarovici bitch so many times before. For what, that ugly necklace that he wears constantly, now?

  Mikki knew Thor was afraid, he’d never say it, but it was in his eyes. He had every right to be scared shitless. Mikki saw the gruesome pictures on that tablet. Each pile of goo that used to be a man was ten times the hunter Thor is. So, why the fuck did Thor think he would succeed where they failed? I’ve always known he was arrogant, I never thought him a complete fool… until now!

  If she knew Thor at all – and she knew him as well as the taste of the blood currently in her mouth – that portable cannon he’d been playing with had a lot to do with his “master plan”. He’d better be careful, Hitler had a master plan, too, and we all know how well that worked out for him.

  Mikki reached for Thor’s hand. This time she wasn’t holding back. There was no way in Hell she was serving that bastard breakfast in bed. Though there was a time I would’ve gladly been his breakfast!

  A blood-curdling scream came from the kitchen. There was too much panic behind the sound to tell who was screaming, but Mikki was sure it was Christelle.

  Thor was gone in an instant. Mikki’s kendo armor hit the floor faster than a prom dress in a cheap motel. The last thing she needed was to be slowed down by a confining suit if she needed to teach someone a hard lesson. She trailed after the girls, pissed-off that they would get there before her.

  Christelle was balled-up on the floor, shaking like a leaf in the wind. Domenic and Abiodun – she thought that was his name – were doing their best to comfort Christelle, but the French woman seemed beyond reasoning.

  Thor tossed Dominic and Abiodun aside like ragdolls, and knelt down next to Christelle. He spoke to her in French, which made Mikki a little jealous; every time Mikki spoke in French, Christelle said it sounded like a goat passing gas.