by Dave Freer
"He's killed her?"
"No. She lies as if dead, but she is not. She is somewhere between death and life. She will lie like that forever, unbreathing, but undying, untouched by the passing of days, forever, until the Time itself."
"Where... Lamont will go spare. Is there anyway of getting to her? Of waking her?"
"Oh yes," said Thrúd. "If you can get to her. She lies in a great hall on a mountaintop in Midgard, guarded by a wall of flame. If the thorn of sleep is drawn out of her neck she will wake to be the bride of the hero that has dared this mighty deed."
"Her husband is going to be mighty unimpressed, if it's anyone but him," said Liz dryly. "But at least she's not dead. I'm less sure about Jerry."
"Jerry?"
"My boyfriend," said Liz. "Your one-eyed friend took him off to question. He was just going to check on someone called Loki first."
"Then we'd all better get out of here," said another voice, nearly startling Liz out of ten years growth.
"Uncle Fox!" said Thrúd incredulously.
A flame flared in the darkness. Liz found herself looking at an impish grin that dominated an otherwise handsome but scarred face. "Liz, I presume?" he said coolly. "And my little Thrúd." There was considerably more warmth in that.
Thrúd hugged him.
"Easy on my ribs, girl. You don't know your own strength."
"Where is Sigyn?" demanded Thrúd. "If you've left her behind..."
"Behind these boxes," said a female voice.
Loki looked at Heimdall's horn. "Payment for services rendered? We were watching your little carouse from the gallery."
Liz swallowed. "It wasn't what it looked like," she said. "And now if you'll excuse me I must go and see if I can get Jerry free."
Loki shook his head, and put himself between her and the door. "Explain what it was then," he said, standing there with his arms crossed. "Before you go out and call One-eye and his henchmen down on us."
Liz shrugged, feeling herself coloring. "I got dressed up in this Valkyrie outfit and came across from Thor's home to look for Marie and Jerry. I didn't... quite realize what I might be in for. Heimdall pulled me onto his lap when I tried to walk past. So... I played the part. And tried to get him fall-down drunk. We were having down-downs competitions out of this stupid horn. Only I kept pulling the plug out, while, uh, distracting him," she coughed, "and letting the drink run out, before I pretended to drink it. See. The side of my dress is soaked."
"And then," said Sigyn, coming out from behind the boxes.
"Then I saw Jerry, and that ass decided to rape me. Jerry came to rescue me, I got knocked under the table. And the lights went out."
"My work," said Loki. "When Helblindi thinks about it, he'll realize that. And then?"
"Then the guy with one eye was there. I was under a table with the horn, and I saw them take Jerry away. More to stop gold-teeth from finding this horn of his than anything else—One-eye told him to—I hid it under a meat platter and tried to follow them. But I took the wrong door and collided with Thrúd. She brought me in here."
Loki looked at Sigyn. "Well, I don't know. I suppose it is possible. Look, we'll take you with us. And the horn. That's a prize and a half."
"Leave me behind," said Liz.
Loki shook his head. "When Odin finds I am gone there will be a manhunt such as Asgard has never seen. Jerry, to whom we have sworn an oath, will be guarded by enough of the Einherjar to stop Thor, let alone you. But that horn might do for the ransom."
Thrúd looked a little doubtfully at it. "Maybe," she said, "but Ragnarok comes. And the Ás will need the horn, Uncle Fox. "
Loki's eyes danced in the flame-light. "Ah. But I reached a compromise with Jerry, Thrúd. A compromise that will hopefully avoid the need for Ragnarok entirely. It does rather depend on getting this Jerry free to fulfill his side of the bargain. If I swap the horn for Jerry, I won't mind, because gold-teeth won't need to use it. It'll do him no good."
Thrúd still looked doubtful. "I suppose we can take it along," she said, reluctantly. "But I don't trust you, Uncle Fox. I like you, yes, but I don't trust you. Not that you always cause ill on purpose," she condescended, "But it does follow you around."
"But you can trust me, Thrúd," said Sigyn, practically. "And this Midgarder did convince me. I agreed. I will settle for vengeance on those who killed Narfi, and who bespelled Vali. If I can have that without Ragnarok, so be it."
Thrúd raised her eyebrows. "That makes this 'Jerry' the most valuable hostage in the nine worlds. "
"That's the way it should be," said Liz.
"The way it should be is that we get out of here," said Loki. "With Gjallarhorn, or he's doomed and not worth anything."
Thrúd nodded. "Through the kitchens. I wish we had horses, but we'll just have to steal some from the Einherjar."
"Lodin gave me your little mare to ride over here," said Liz, guiltily. "She's lovely."
Thrúd blinked. "Old stumpy let you ride Snowy?"
"Yes. I'm sorry. He did make special arrangements for her to be looked after."
Thrúd shook her head. "It's all right. I'm just surprised."
"Well, can you be surprised later," said Loki impatiently. "I hear shouting."
Liz did too.
"Put the horn in that little kettle," Thrúd said decisively.
The "kettle" was what Liz would have called a pot. And yes, it was black, and so were the contents. Loki picked it up, frowned, and said : "You'd better take it. I might need to organize a distraction."
"No wholesale destruction," said Thrúd.
"I had thought of setting the kitchen ablaze."
Sigyn and Thrúd raised their eyes to heaven.
"No," said Liz firmly, pushing him ahead of her. "Jerry is somewhere in the building. And if part catches fire, it will all burn."
"The fires under the pork," said Sigyn. "And make everything else go out."
Loki smiles nastily. "It'll be a pleasure to ruin their dinners anyway. Let's go."
Liz found herself hustled down the passage. There was definitely something going on in the main hall. It sounded like a enormous disturbed beehive.
At the door to the acre of kitchen—a well-orchestrated bedlam of fires and enormous pots, spits and other mysterious implements of torture—Loki paused. Then, fixed his gaze on a huge black pot in the corner. It reminded Liz more than anything else of one of those cartoon pots that had four missionaries boiling in it.
The pot erupted into a fountain of flames. Loki shrugged apologetically to the others. "Spontaneous pork combustion. Walk. Don't run."
With the kitchen staff trying to put out the fire in the pot, and smoke as thick as tar pouring from it, and the torches and fires in the place somehow burning less well than they had been, they edged their way to a small door at the back, and out into a passage that led to the stables. They paused in the doorway.
By the sounds of it, the stable-hands had already adjourned to the hayloft with some beer for the night. The Einherjar obviously did not go night-riding.
Loki transformed into an owl, fluttered up to a trapdoor and obviously took a look around. He transformed again on the ladder as Liz tried to persuade her brain not to disbelieve her eyes. The mythworlds were hell on a hardened empirical scientist. Still, it was useful to have someone quietly close the trapdoor, and take the ladder down.
They walked the horses out as quietly as possible, and two minutes later were on the grassy slope leading back to Bilskríner.
Chapter 20
The one-eyed god shook Jerry so hard that he was afraid his head would come off. "Where has he gone?" he demanded, bubbly spittle spraying Jerry.
There was no point in trying to pretend that he didn't know who Odin was talking about, and anyway Jerry was less than sure that he cared. He didn't really care about anything right now. He thought it very odd that this hall decked with shields seemed to look like a weedy parking lot with the very recognizable Museum of Science and Industry in the
background. If only the pain would end.
The one-eyed god stared at him furiously. "Who stabbed him?"
"It must have happened in the melee, Allfather," said a distant voice.
"Hel. I need answers out of him. I can't let him die yet. Get me Idun. And put him down on that bench. I will need my gambanteinn...."
And it all faded into darkness. Noisy darkness, with occasional visions of a sunny parking lot, with dandelion heads nodding, spreading their seed like drifting stars across the great darkness. Then there was a taste of spring, scents and flavors he'd never known that he'd encountered, but stirring things from the recesses of his mind. Smells of wet dogs, and mushrooms and blossoms, and somehow the icy freshness of a water drunk from a mountain stream. It was from somewhere in his youth. Somewhere very early in life with his grandfather, and his grandfather's dog, neither of which he had a conscious memory of. Something had triggered all these things with a feeling of wellness... and apple.
Apple? He wasn't even that fond of apples. Well, not store-bought ones. He could remember, now, picking one and eating it straight from the tree, together with an old man with white hair and a wet dog that seemed to grin at him. This apple in his mouth tasted more like that. He chewed, weakly, and the juice flowed into his mouth.
Somehow with it came strength. Not a lot, but enough to chew again.
He'd been stabbed. Surely he shouldn't be eating? He swallowed the juice anyway. It was both sweet and tart, and something about it had brought an old man and his spaniel out of a photograph he'd barely remembered back to mind. Jerry's grandfather had died before Jerry turned four. So why was he giving his grandson an apple again? This one was even better tasting than that one had been. Jerry swallowed the mouthful. He could remember, now, that he'd implicitly trusted the old man. So he swallowed. It was all an illusion anyway. He was dying. Funny. He hadn't realized that you'd feel better when you died. He opened his eyes to see if there really was a clear white light at the end.
The woman was beautiful enough to be an angel, which was awkward for a self-avowed atheist. But Odin, standing behind, her bore no similarity to either Jerry's grandfather, or St Peter.
"You have some questions to answer," said Odin, grimly.
"Not until he has finished eating the apple," said the woman, her voice calm and sweet. She handed him an apple, with one slice off it. "Eat," she said.
So Jerry took a bite. He just hoped that Idun's apple wouldn't take him all the way back to teen acne again. But he was sure that it had brought him back from the very brink of death. He chewed very slowly and very deliberately. He might not have a lot of time to think after this. Besides, it was a very good apple.
"Thank you," he said, once he'd swallowed. "It is the best apple I've ever eaten."
She dimpled. "Asgard forgets. Enjoy," and she walked away.
Jerry took another bite. Odin wasn't going to wait for him to finish it though. He grabbed Jerry again, and lifted him with two hands by the remains of Jerry's jacket. "Where. Is. Loki!?" he hissed into Jerry's face.
Jerry still had half of the apple in his hand and a fair amount in his mouth. And this apple was just too precious to waste. He managed to push it into his pocket, and store the bite in his cheek. Jerry was sure Loki would not still be on the gallery. "Minstrel's gallery," he managed to gasp out.
Odin put him down. "Bind him and guard him. We've searched every inch of this building, and I think that Loki has escaped, from what happened in the kitchen. But I'll check."
So Jerry was tied up and left to finish chewing the piece of apple. He had a feeling he'd better enjoy it, and that the next while was going to be rough.
He was dead right.
Odin came back, fuming. And then began a long, exhausting, unrelenting interrogation. The only thing Jerry had to hold on to was what Loki had told him: to tell Odin what he wanted to know was also to die. And there were no two ways about it, that bit of apple had done him the world of good. He wasn't ready to die.
Gradually the questioning shifted. Now Odin wanted to know how Jerry had helped Loki to free himself. And just what Jerry had done with Kvasir's mead and Heimdall's horn.
At least it was easy not to betray anything about the last two. But what he did say was enough to convince Odin that he was a very powerful sorcerer. Or maybe it was whatever Skadi—still apparently stuck in Loki's pit under an enchanted and only slightly used handkerchief—had said to Odin.
Eventually, after what seemed like several eternities, Odin stopped questioning him, and Jerry was put into a fairly ordinary cell under constant guard. It would appear that whatever Odin had said to his Einherjar it had included some pretty harsh words on the value of staying sober and not ending up in the pit with Skadi.
* * *
The Krim registered protests with the Device. The Krim-possessed god needed some self-will. It was no pleasure, no vicarious experience otherwise, to enjoy the pain and death energies, to revel in the flesh. But this one had far too much and it was as stupid as it was devious. Yes. There was a need for the belief-constructs necessary to animate this Ur-world, but this prukrin-energy source had threatened the Krim before. It must die, and die soon. As soon as possible!
The Device was not designed to agree or disagree with the masters. But if it could have nodded its head it would have. The energy requirement of keeping a prukrin transfer portal active were too high when there was no fresh material to input.
Fortunately, from what it had gleaned of the physiology of the victim species, what the local god planned would perhaps not be fatal for a god, but was going to be rapidly so for a man.
Chapter 21
"I've been thinking," said Cruz, herding them all ahead of him like a flock of geese, "that we'd better stay indoors and away from the windows for a while. Professor Tremelo says we can camp out here in his Chicago headquarters for a while. And, uh, I told the dragons they could hold, and probably eat—with permission and ketchup—anyone they caught sneaking around this place. We're awkward witnesses. And I got the feeling from the PSA crowd that this business they dragged us into, isn't really legit. And the other thing I got was that they don't care about staying within the limits of what is. That Megane clown, for sure. Whether he's acting on orders from higher up or not, who knows?"
Mac hugged Arachne again. "If the Pissants don't go over the Colonel's head and suddenly get us posted to Colombia or Afghanistan or something
There was a tremendous uproar outside.
"Keep back. Keep low." Cruz moved up to window along the wall and took a careful look outside. Then, grinned. "It's okay. The next wave of the Seventh cavalry just arrived. Maybe Prof Tremelo should have told the guys on entry control that Bes was on his way. I'd better go down and get him to put them down."
"Bes!" said Throttler, delightedly. "Let's go."
The dwarf-god from Punt, the Egyptian god of protection, was standing just outside the building with two MPs and they were making the racket for him. People tend to do that when you hold them upside down by one leg and swing them around.
Bes still wore a loin-cloth and a cloak made from a very short, wide leopard. He still had a top-knot with bobbing ostrich feathers. He'd acquired a broad wrestling championship belt, and an awful lot of gold bling since they'd last seen him. His laugh and his beard were as broad as ever. "Cruz!" he said delightedly. "And my favorite lady friend!"
Throttler blushed. "Hello handsome," she said coyly, as Bes dropped the two dazed men and leaped to hug them. It was almost as dangerous as an affectionate squeeze from a dragon.
"The Prof sent for him," said Cruz to one of the victims, who was reaching for a sidearm.
Bes looked sternly at the man. "Never ever call a man 'shorty' unless you are very sure that he is."
Cruz shook his head at the MP. "Man, are you crazy! Look, confirm it if you like, but this is Bes. As the guys from the WWF will explain, you don't get in his way or mess with him."
"He assaulted us!"
"
So you've got a story to tell your grandkids one day," said Cruz with a grin. "And you're alive to tell it," said Bes with a growl. "It appears that I'm acquiring believers here. So... how does that American saying go, friend Cruz? Yeah. Go ahead," he said cheerfully to the MP fumbling with his sidearm. "Take that weapon out. Make my deus."
"Don't let's get hasty, Bes. He was just trying to do his job," said Throttler. "I wonder how many riddles he knows?"
"He's not kidding," said Cruz, quietly, to the other MP. "Nobody got too badly hurt, yet. Let's just call it a day. He's a sort of special bodyguard the Prof called in."
The guy blinked and shook his head. "I saw him on 'The Best Damned Sports Show Ever.' I thought it was faked. Hey, Dodson, cool off, willya? It's just misunderstanding, I guess, and like you said, nobody got hurt too badly." He turned to Bes. "You wouldn't autograph something for me?"
"Sure," said Bes, showing how fast Las Vegas had accustomed him to certain American customs.
They moved into the building to fill Bes in on developments, using the service garage entrance at the back. The garage had the only door big enough for Throttler to pass through. Cruz couldn't help noticing that Throttler had a wing protectively over him. As if anyone needed it less!
When Bes had heard the whole story, in various choruses, and had somehow gotten Tina to sit on his knee—when she wouldn't go too close to anyone else—he said: "Well? When do we leave. The sphinx-image in Vegas will do for a point of departure. It's about time I popped back in to Egypt anyway. I need to tell Harmakhis to sit on anyone he sees going near his nose. Best way to teach them the meaning of 'fundamentalism'."
Cruz had think who Harmakhis was—oh, yeah. The Egyptian sphinx. With a nose, Jerry had explained, that had been hacked off by some Muslim fanatic in the fifteenth century. Being sat on by a sphinx might put his ideas about defacing other people's monuments into a new perspective.
