Whoa, Shea, steady, he remarked to himself. You're talking yourself into a state of melancholy, which is, as Chalmers once remarked, of no philosophical or practical value. Too bad old Doc wasn't along, to furnish a mature intellect and civilized company. The intelligent thing to do, was not to bemoan the past but to live in the present. He lacked the physical equipment to imitate Thor's forthright approach to problems. But he could at least come somewhere near Loki's sardonic and intelligent humour.
And speaking of intelligence, had he not already decided to make use of it in discovering the laws of this world? Laws which these people were not fitted, by their mental habit, to deduce?
He turned suddenly and asked: "Didn't that dwarf say the fire fetched the dragon our of hibernation?"
Skrymir yawned, and spoke. "Yeah. What about it, snotty?"
"The fire's still here. What if he, or another one comes back during the night?"
"Prob'ly eat you, and serve you right." He cackled a laugh.
"The niggeling speaks sooth," said Loki. "It were best to move our camp."
The accent of contempt in the voice made Shea wince. But he went on: "We don't have to do that, do we, sir? It's freezing now and getting colder. If we take some of that Snow and stuff it into the cave, it seems to me the dragon would hardly come out across it."
Loki slapped a knee. "Soundly and well said, turnip-man! Now you and Thjalfi shall do it. I perceive you are not altogether without your uses, since there has been a certain gain in wit since you joined our party. Who would have thought of stopping a dragon with snow?"
Thor grunted.
SIX
When Shea awoke he was still sniffling, but at least his head was of normal weight. He wondered whether the chlorine he had inhaled the previous evening might not have helped the cold. Or whether the improvement were a general one, based on his determination to accept his surroundings and make the most of them.
After breakfast they set out as before, Skrymir tramping on ahead. The sky was the colour of old lead. The wind was keen, rattling the branches of the scrubby trees and whirling an occasional snowflake before it. The goats slipped on patches of frozen slush, plodding uphill most of the time. The hills were all about them now, rising steadily and with more vegetation, mostly pine and spruce.
It must have been around noon—Shea could only guess at the time — when Skrymir turned and waved at the biggest mountain they had yet seen. The wind carried away the giant's words, but Thor seemed to have understood. The goats quickened their pace towards the mountain, whose top hung in cloud.
After a good hour of climbing, Shea began to get glimpses of a shape looming from the bare crest, intermittently blotted out by the eddies of mist. When they were close enough to see it plainly, it became clearly a house, not unlike that of the bonder Sverre. But it was cruder, made of logs with the bark on, and vastly bigger — as big as a metropolitan railroad terminal.
Thjalfi said into his ear: "That will be Utgard Castle. Ye'll need whatever mite of courage ye have here, friend Harald." The young man's teeth were chattering from something other than cold.
Skrymir lurched up to the door and pounded on it with his fist. He stood there for a long minute, the wind flapping his furs. A rectangular hole opened in the door. The door swung open. The chariot riders climbed down, stretching their stiff muscles as they followed their guide. The door banged shut behind them. They were in a dark vestibule like that in Sverre's house but larger and foul with the odour of unwashed giant. A huge arm pushed the leather curtain aside, revealing through the triangular opening a view of roaring yellow flame and thronging, shouting giants.
Thjalfi murmured: "Keep your eyes open, Harald. As Thjodolf of Hvin says:
All the gateways Ere one goes out
Thoughtfully should a man scan;
Uncertain it is Where sits the unfriendly
Upon the bench before thee."
Within, the place was a disorderly parody of Sverre's. Of the same general form, with the same benches, its tables were all uneven, filthy, and littered with fragments of food. The fire in the centre hung a pall of smoke under the rafters. The dirty straw on the floor was thick about the ankles.
The benches and the passageway behind them were filled with giants, drinking, eating, shouting at the tops of their voices. Before him a group of six, with iron-grey topknots and patchy beards like Skrymir's, were wrangling. One drew back his arm in anger. His elbow struck a mug of mead borne by a harassed-looking man who was evidently a thrall. The mead splashed onto another giant, who instantly snatched up a bowl of stew from the table and slammed it on the man's head.
Down went the man with a squeal. Skrymir calmly kicked him from the path of his guests. The six giants burst into bubbling laughter, rolling in their seats and clapping each other on the back, their argument forgotten.
"Hai, Skridbaldnir!" Skrymir was gripping another giant on the bench by the arm. "How's every little thing wit' you? Commere, I wantcha to meet a friend of mine. This here guy's Asa-Thor!"
Skridbaldnir turned. Shea noticed that he was slenderer than Skrymir, with ash-blond hair, the pink eyes of an albino, and a long, red ulcerated nose.
"He's a frost giant," whispered Thjalfi, "and that gang over there are fire giants." He waved a trembling hand towards the other side of the table, where a group of individuals like taller and straighter gorillas were howling at each other. They were shorter than the other giants, not much more than eight feet tall. They had prognathous jaws and coarse black hair where their bodies were exposed. They scratched ceaselessly.
Halfway down the hall, at one side, sat the biggest hill giant of all, in a huge chair with interwoven serpents carved on the legs and arms. His costume was distinguished from those of the other giants in that the bone skewers through his topknot had rough gold knobs on their ends. One of his lower snag teeth projected for several inches beyond his upper lip. He looked at Skrymir and said: "Hai, bud. I see you got some kids witcha. It ain't a good idea to bring kids to these feeds; they learns bad language."
"They ain't kids," said Skrvmir. They're a couple of men and a couple of Æsir. I told 'em they could come wit' me. That okay, boss?"
Utgardaloki picked his nose and wiped his fingers on his greasy leather jacket before replying; "I guess so. But ain't that one with the red whiskers Asa-Thor?"
"You are not mistaken," said Thor.
"Well, well, you don't say so. I always thought Thor was a big husky guy."
Thor stuck out his chest, scowling. "It is ill to jest with the Æsir, giant."
"Ho, ho, ain't he the cutest little fella?" Utgardaloki paused to capture a small creeping thing that had crawled out of his left eyebrow and crack it between his teeth.
"A fair arrangement," murmured Loki in Shea's ear. "They live on him; he lives on them."
Utgardaloki continued ominously: "But whatcha doing here, you? This is a respectable party, see, and I don't want no trouble."
Thor said; "I have come for my hammer, Mjöllnir."
"Huh? What makes ya think we got it?"
"Ask not of the tree where it got its growth or of the gods their wisdom. Will you give it up, or do I have to fight you for it?"
"Aw, don't be like that, Öku-Thor. Sure, I'd give you your piddling nutcracker if I knew where it was."
"Nutcracker! Why you —"
"Easy!" Shea could hear Loki's whisper. "Son of Odinn, with the strong use strength; with the liar, lies." He turned to Utgardaloki and bowed mockingly: "Chief of giants, we thank you for your courtesy and will not trouble you long. Trusting your word, lord, are we to understand that Mjöllnir is not here?"
"'Taint here as far as I know," replied Utgardaloki, spitting on the floor and rubbing his bare foot over the spot, with just a hint of uneasiness.
"Might it not have been brought hither without your knowledge?"
Utgardaloki shrugged. "How in hell should I know? I said as far as I knew. This is a hell of a way to come at your host."
/> "Evidently there is no objection should the desire come upon us to search the place."
"Huh? You're damn right there's objections! This is my joint and I don't let no foreigners go sniffing around."
Loki smiled ingratiatingly. "Greatest of the Jötun, your objection is but natural with one who knows his own value. But the gods do not idly speak; we believe Mjöllnir is here, and have come in peace to ask it, rather than in arms with Odinn and his spear at our head, Heimdall and his great sword and Ulir's deadly bow. Now you shall let us search for the hammer, or we will go away and return with them to make you such a feasting as you will not soon forget. But if we fail to find it we will depart in all peace. This is my word."
"And mine!" cried Thor, his brows knitting. Beside him Shea noticed Thjalfi's face go the colour of skimmed milk and was slightly surprised to find himself unafraid. But that may be because I don't understand the situation, he told himself.
Utgardaloki scratched thoughtfully, his lips working. "Tell you what," he said at last. "You Æsir are sporting gents, ain't you?"
"It is not to be denied," said Loki guardedly "that we enjoy sports."
"I'll make you a sporting proposition. You think you are great athaletes. Well, we got some pretty tough babies here, too. We'll have some games, and if you beat us at even one of 'em; see, I'll let you go ahead and search. If you lose, out you get."
"What manner of games?"
"Hell, sonny, anything youse want."
Thor's face had gone thoughtful. "I am not unknown as a wrestler," he remarked.
"Awright," said Utgardaloki. "We'll find someone to rassle you down. Can you do anything else?"
Loki spoke up. "I will meet your best champion at eating and our man Thjalfi here will run a race with you. Asa-Thor also will undertake any trial of strength you care to hold."
"Swell. Me, I think these games are kid stuff, see? But it ought to be fun for some of the gang to see you take your licking. HAI! Bring Elli up here; here's a punk that wants to rassle!"
With a good deal of shouting and confusion a space was cleared near the Fire in the centre of the hall. Thor stood with fists on hips, waiting the giant's champion There came forward, not a giant, but a tall old woman. She was at least a hundred, a hunched bag of bones covered by thin, almost transparent skin, as wrinkled as the surface of a file.
Thor shouted: "What manner of jest is this, Utgardaloki? It is not to be said that Asa-Thor wrestles with women." "Oh, don't worry none, kid. She likes it don'tcha, Elli?"
The crone bared toothless gums. "Yep," she quavered. "And many's the good man I put down, heh, heh."
"But—" began Thor.
"Y'aint scared to work up a reputation, are you?"
"Ha! Thor afraid? Not of aught the giant kindred can do." Thor puffed out his chest.
"I gotta explain the rules." Utgardaloki put a hand on the shoulder of each contestant and muttered at them.
Shea felt his arm pinched and looked into the bright eyes of Loki. "Great and evil is the magic in this place," whispered Uncle Fox, "and I misdoubt me we are to be tricked, for never have I heard of such a wrestling. But it may be that the spells they use are spells against gods alone and not for the eyes of men. Now I have here a spell against spells, and while these contests go forward you shall take it." He handed Shea a piece of very thin parchment, covered with spidery runic writing.
"Repeat it forward, then backward, then forward again, looking as you do at the object you suspect of being an illusion. It may be you will see on the wall the hammer we seek.
"Wouldn't the giants hide it away, sir?"
Not with their boasting and vainglorious habit. It —"
"Awright," said Urgardaloki in a huge voice, "go!"
Thor, roaring like a lion, seized Elli as though he intended to dash her brains out on the floor. But Elli might have been nailed where she was. Her rickety frame did not budge. Thor fell silent, wrenching at the crone's arms and body. He turned purple in the face from the effort; the giants around murmured appreciatively.
Shea glanced at the slip Loki had given him. The words were readable, though they seemed to consist of meaningless strings of syllables — "Nyi — Nidi — Nordri — Sudri, Austri — Vestri — Altjof — Dvalinn." He obediently repeated it according to the directions, looking at a giant's club that hung on the wall. It remained a giant's club. He turned back to the wrestling where Thor was puffing with effort, his forehead beaded with sweat.
"Witch!" Thor shouted at last, and seized her arm to twist it. Elli caught his neck with her free hand. There was a second's scuffle and Thor skidded away, falling to one knee.
"That's enough!" said Utgardaloki, stepping between them. "That counts as a fall; Elli wins. I guess it's a good job you didn't try to rassle with any of the big guys here, Thor, old kid?" The other giants roared an approval that drowned Thor's growl.
Utgardaloki continued: "Awright, you, stand back! Get back, I say, or I'll cut the blood-eagle on a couple of you! Next event's an eating contest. Bring Loki up here. We got some eating for him to do."
A fire giant shuffled through the press. His black hair had a reddish tinge, and his movements were quick and animallike. Is it lunch time yet?" he rasped. "Them three elk let for breakfast just kinda got my appetite going."
Utgardaloki explained and introduced him to his opponent. Please to meetcha," said Logi. "I always like to see a guy what appreciates good food. Say, you ought come down to Muspellheim sometime. We got a cook there what knows how to roast a whale right. He uses charcoal fire and bastes it with bear grease —"
"That'll do, Logi," said Utgardaloki. You get that guy talking about the meals he's et and he'll talk till the Time comes."
Shea was pushed back by giants as they crowded in. An eddy of the crowd carried him still farther away from the scene of action as the giants made way for a little procession of harried-looking slaves. These bore two huge wooden platters, on each of which rested an entire roasted elk haunch. Shea stood on tiptoe and stretched Between a pair of massive shoulders he glimpsed Utgardaloki taking his place at the middle of a long table, at each end of which sat one of the contestants.
A shoulder moved across Shea's field of vision, and he glanced up at the owner. It was a comparatively short giant, who bulged out in the middle to make up for his lack of stature. A disorderly mop of black-and-white hair covered his head.
But the thing that struck Shea was that, as the giant turned profile to watch the eaters, the eye that looked from under the piebald thatch was bright blue.
That was wrong. Fire giants, as he had noted, had black eyes, hill giants grey or black eyes, frost giants pink. Of course, this giant might have a trace of some other blood — but there was a familiar angle to that long, high-bridged nose and something phony-looking about the mop of hair. Heimdall!
Shea whispered behind his hand: "How many mothers did you have, giant with the uncombed thatch?"
He heard a low chuckle and the answer came back: Thrice three, man from an unknown world! But there is no need to shout; I can hear your lightest whisper, even your thoughts half formed."
"I think we're being tricked," continued Shea. He didn't say it even in a whisper this time, merely thought it, moving his lips.
The answer was pat: "That is what was to be expected, and for no other reason did I come hither. Yet I have not solved the nature of the spells."
Shea said; "I have been taught a spell" — and remembered Heimdall's enmity to Loki and all his works, just in time to keep from mentioning Uncle Fox — "which may be of use in such a case."
"Then use it," Heimdall answered, "while you watch the contest."
"Awright, ready, you two?" Utgardaloki shouted. "Go!"
The giants gave a shout. Shea, his eyes fixed on Loki, was repeating: "Nyi — Nidri — Nordri — Sudri." The sly god bounced in his oversize chair as he applied his teeth to the elk haunch. The meat was disappearing a hunks the size of a mans fist at the rate of two hunks per second. Shea
had never seen anything like it, and wondered where Loki was putting it all. He heard Thjalfi's voice, thin in the basso-profundo clamour of the giants: "Besit yourself, Son of Laufey!!"
Then the bone, the size of a baseball bat, was clean. Loki dropped it clattering to the platter and sat back with a sigh. A whoop went up from the assembled giants. Shea saw Loki start forward again, the eyes popping from his head. Utgardaloki walked to the opposite end of the table. He bellowed; Logi wins!"
Shea turned to look at the other contestant. But his head bumped a giant's elbow so violently that he saw stars. His eyes beaded with tears. For one fleeting second he saw no Logi there at all, only a great leaping flame at the opposite end of the table. A flicker — the teardrop was gone, and with it the picture.
The Compleat Enchanter: The Magical Misadventures of Harold Shea Page 8
