Odin Blew Up My TV!

by Robert J. Harris

  “That’s a pretty old-style boat,” Dave the Lobster observed.

  “It’s a Viking longship,” said Lewis.

  The ship was long and sleek with two banks of oars rapidly chopping the water. With the dragonhead leading the way, it sped across the waves like a skimming stone.

  “They’re going at some lick!” Dave exclaimed. “Those boys must be rowing like the clappers.”

  “And they’re coming right for us,” said Lewis.

  The heads of the crew bowed and bobbed as they leaned forward and hauled back on the oars. Lewis was sure there was something strange about the rowers but he couldn’t make out any details at this distance. He felt a tingle down his spine, an instinctive warning of danger. He’d had plenty of experience with Viking magic and it always meant trouble.

  “I’ve got it,” said Dave the Lobster. “It must be some kind of historical re-enactment, you know, like all that Viking malarkey they do up in Shetland.”

  “We’re a long way from Shetland,” Lewis pointed out.

  “Yeah, well, I expect they got lost in that fog,” said Dave. “They should have used satnav.”

  As the speeding ship reached the harbour mouth, the excited cries of the students turned to gasps of horror. They turned tail and dashed back towards town with their gowns flapping about their legs.

  Dave the Lobster shouted after them, “It’s alright! They’re not real Vikings!” He turned to Lewis with a laugh and said, “Honestly, you’d think students would have a bit more sense.”

  “They’re maybe not as daft as you think.” Lewis gulped.

  As the ship pulled up alongside the pier, he could now see that the crew weren’t human. They were wolves.

  One of them tied the ship to a metal ring on the pier wall then they all filed up the stone stairway, walking on their hind legs. They wore shirts of chainmail, and each had a sword hanging at their side.

  They lined up along the pier and made an attempt to stand to attention like soldiers on guard. However, they remained hunched, ready to spring on unwary prey, ears alert for danger and teeth bared in a threatening snarl.

  The next figure to climb out of the longship was normal in comparison. From his red hair and small, pointed beard, his bright green suit and matching hat, you would have taken him for an overdressed businessman or a Las Vegas gambler.

  Lewis recognised him at once as Loki, the Viking god of magic and mischief. His first impulse was to run away. His second impulse was to run away even faster. However, he knew he had to hang around to find out what the villain was up to this time.

  Loki snapped his fingers and the wolf creatures fell into line behind him as he strolled up the pier, surveying the harbour as if he owned the place. The students had disappeared from sight but here and there passers-by were gathering in knots to stare at the strange new arrivals.

  Flanked by his wolf guards, Loki stepped off the pier onto the harbour path.

  “Wow those costumes are mega-cool!” Dave the Lobster exclaimed. “You’d almost think they were real wolves. Hey, do you think they could make me a lobster costume for the Marine Science Department’s Halloween party?”

  “Dave, I don’t think this is any sort of re-enactment,” said Lewis.

  “Oh, right,” said Dave with a grin. “They’re making a movie.” He glanced around eagerly. “Can’t see any cameras. They must have them hidden so they don’t spoil the shot.”

  Lewis realised the Viking god had spotted him. It was too late to run.

  Loki sauntered up to him with the wolves close behind. “Well, well, look who’s here,” he said with a smirk. “On your own this time, eh, squirt? Where’s that loudmouth brother of yours and that feisty girl?”

  Lewis swallowed hard. “They’re out of town for the day.” He knew Greg would have come up with a snappier answer so he added, “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Lucky for them, eh?” Loki chuckled. “But not so much for you.”

  “Say, Elvis, do you know this guy?” asked Dave the Lobster.

  Loki raised a scornful eyebrow. “And who is this clown?”

  “Dave the Lobster,” Lewis answered without thinking. “Sorry, Mr Eccles,” he apologised. “That’s what everybody at school calls you.”

  “No, it’s cool,” Dave beamed. “Dave the Lobster. Yeah, I like it.” He turned to Loki and offered a handshake. “And who might you be? All dressed up for St Patrick’s Day, are you? You’re a bit late.”

  Loki ignored the outstretched hand. “I am Loki,” he answered with an arrogant sneer. “Lord Loki, absolute ruler of this run-down burg—”

  “Hey, no need to diss the town,” Dave interrupted.

  Loki scowled and pressed on. “Ruler of this burg and all that lies beyond.” With a sweep of his arm he indicated all the countryside around St Andrews.

  “That’s a nice suit,” Dave the Lobster complimented him, “and I like the hat too. Could I try it on? I always fancied myself in a trilby.”

  “It’s not a trilby, it’s a fedora,” Loki snapped.

  “Alright, keep your hair on. I was only asking,” said Dave. He turned his attention to one of the guards. “That’s pretty neat make-up, Logan. What are they supposed to be? Werewolves?”

  “They’re wolflings,” Loki informed him testily, “children of Fenris the Great Wolf.”

  Dave let out a low whistle to show how impressed he was. “So all this, the ship and everything, is this a publicity stunt for your movie or are you filming now with secret cameras?”

  “This isn’t a film, you chump,” Loki barked. “I’m taking over. Get it? I’ve done away with Asgard, Odin and all the rest, and I’ve grabbed this little town of yours like it was a piece of candy.”

  Dave scratched his head. “I’m not sure I follow you, Logan. Have you got a hand-out or something you could give me?”

  The wolf guards growled and Dave took a step back. Lewis had a feeling he’d better distract the god of mischief before the wolves turned Dave into a snack.

  “Look, Loki, it’s only a matter of time before Thor or Odin comes along to pound on you,” he said, trying to sound reasonable. “So why don’t you give it up now and save everybody a lot of grief?”

  Loki gave an evil chuckle. “Don’t hold your breath waiting for any of those jokers to show up.”

  Lewis’ heart sank. If the other gods didn’t appear, and with Greg and Susie off to Dundee, it would be up to him to find a way to stop the god of mischief. He was wondering what on earth he could possibly do when he heard the sound of a car engine.

  A police car appeared from behind the fishermen’s cottages, honking its horn to clear people out of the way.

  “Hey, the cops!” Dave the Lobster exclaimed with a grin. “Don’t you worry, Elvis. They’ll sort this out.”

  “It will take more than a caution to deal with Loki,” said Lewis, “and arresting him could be tricky.”

  3. BIRD OF PREY

  There were murmurs of both amazement and annoyance among the passengers as the bus drove back into town and up City Road.

  Greg pulled out his phone. “I need to call Lewis and warn him,” he explained.

  “Good idea,” said Susie. “Maybe he’ll have some idea what’s going on.”

  Greg dialled a number. Instead of a ring, a chorus of high-pitched voices squeaked painfully. He pulled the phone away and stared at it as if it had just bitten him. “Great!” he groaned, switching it off. “The road’s blocked and my phone’s gone nuts. Try yours.”

  “I’ll call home,” said Susie, “and see if anything funny’s happening there.” When she dialled, a din of hunting horns blared from the phone.

  “Turn that row down!” growled the driver.

  Susie punched the ‘off ’ button and scowled. “Aliens!” she grumbled.

  “Look, I’ve tried to tell you, they’re not aliens,” said Greg. “Loki and the rest are ancient Norse gods.”

  “They come from some other world and they have
technology that lets them do all kinds of amazing stuff,” Susie insisted. “In my book that spells aliens.”

  When they got to the station the bus pulled into its stance and the driver slumped back in his seat with a gasp of relief. Shouldering their daypacks, Susie and Greg immediately jumped up and made for the door. When it opened, an angry supervisor climbed aboard, blocking their way.

  “What’s going on here, Dougie?” he demanded. “You should be well on your way to Dundee.”

  The driver pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow. “We had to turn back,” he said. “There was a… a… blockage on the road.”

  “There were trees in the road,” an old man called out. “Trees! It’s a total disgrace.”

  “Trees?” echoed the supervisor, screwing up his face in disbelief.

  “That’s right,” chimed a silver-haired lady in a green coat. Greg recognised her as Mrs Gillespie, a retired teacher from his primary school. “I’ve an appointment with my reflexologist in Dundee, and if I’m late I’ll expect the bus company to pay compensation.”

  “I don’t think anybody’s going to Dundee today,” Greg muttered under his breath.

  He and Susie worked their way around the supervisor and got off the bus.

  “Your tickets are still valid for the whole day,” the supervisor called after them.

  Greg and Susie looked anxiously about them, but there were no unexpected trees or wild animals to be seen. A couple of buses were parked at the stances, their engines idling, and there were people in the waiting room staring at timetables and reading magazines.

  “It all looks normal,” said Susie. “What do you suppose is going on?”

  “More of Loki’s capers,” said Greg. “He escaped Odin’s exile once before, so it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s done it again. But plonking a wood on the edge of town seems weird even for him.”

  A bus marked ‘Leven’ pulled into the station. There was a big fuss among the passengers and the driver’s face was a mixture of annoyance and astonishment.

  “I’ll bet you a million pounds that road is blocked as well,” said Susie as they headed towards the street.

  “The whole of St Andrews must be completely cut off,” said Greg.

  “We should head into town and have a nose about,” said Susie.

  When they reached the pedestrian crossing the traffic lights were blazing wildly, and not just the usual colours. They were flashing purple, orange and silver, as well as red, amber and green. Some cars had stopped, the drivers puzzling over whether they were allowed to carry on or not.

  “Come on, let’s nip across,” said Susie, leading Greg to the other side.

  They rounded the corner of Hope Park Church onto Market Street where some students were drinking coffee outside the Sombrero Café.

  “Well, no trolls or goblins so far,” said Greg. “That’s something at least.”

  “It doesn’t feel right, though,” said Susie. She pointed to the sky. “Look at the clouds. “Don’t they look funny to you?”

  Greg squinted up. “Yes, they’re kind of gold coloured.”

  They carried on down the street until they were halted by an outcry up ahead. A huge deer was charging at full speed towards them, scattering pedestrians out of its way. The great stag was as wild as the north wind, its proud head crowned with a magnificent set of antlers. There were flecks of gold in its thick brown fur and its eyes flashed a bright emerald green.

  As it hurtled up Market Street people leapt aside and jumped into shop doorways. Greg and Susie pressed themselves flat against the door of a stationary shop as the stag thundered by, its hooves clattering on the pavement like an angry drumbeat.

  Suddenly it pulled up and turned to face the window of a knitwear shop. In the centre of the window display, surrounded by jumpers, socks and bobble hats, was a copy of a famous painting of a stag called The Monarch of the Glen.

  The real beast stared at it, gave a furious snort, then lowered its antlers and crashed them through the window. As glass tinkled to the ground, the stag fixed the painting with a hard stare, as if challenging a rival. It sniffed a few times then, satisfied it had cowed its opponent, took off again, galloping down the road towards Kinburn Park.

  “That beastie must have come out of the forest just like the wild boar,” said Susie.

  “I think he’s as confused as we are,” said Greg. “Come on, we need to find Lewis before he gets eaten by a bear or something.”

  All around them the stag had left a buzz of excitement in its wake. A woman in a big hat was saying, “Somebody should phone the RSPCA.”

  At that moment a shadow passed across the sun. Susie glanced up and clutched Greg’s arm. “Look!”

  “Is that a bird?” Greg exclaimed.

  The creature was gigantic, swooping in from the south with its wings spread wide. Its scarlet and amber feathers made it seem like it was on fire.

  “Look at the size of it!” Susie gasped. “It must be as big as a fighter jet.”

  The fiery bird sailed closer. Skimming the roof of the Victory Memorial Hall, it gave a harsh caw and pointed its sharp beak directly down Market Street.

  “It’s coming this way,” said Susie.

  Greg yanked her into the doorway of the Briteco supermarket as the crimson bird shot up the street at rooftop height. The people below instinctively ducked as it whooshed over them.

  “It looks like a hawk to me,” Susie muttered. “In the past people used them for hunting.”

  “Yes, but what is this one hunting?” Greg wondered.

  At the far end of the street the bird banked and circled the roof of The Crispy Cod chip shop. Then it let out another screech and started back towards Greg and Susie. They retreated and the supermarket doors opened automatically behind them.

  “I don’t like the look of this,” said Greg as they took shelter inside.

  They crouched among the stacks of plastic baskets and watched the people in the street dashing about in panic as the giant bird dived lower.

  There was a hubbub inside the store as well.

  “I’m sorry,” one of the checkout girls was saying to a customer, “but according to my screen you owe…” She peered at the figures on the till, “…twelve gold pieces.”

  Another customer was waving a receipt in the manager’s face. “It says here,” he declared indignantly, “I’ve bought two goats and a barrel of ale.”

  “Things are getting crazier by the minute,” said Susie. “I think some kind of alien energy field is at work here. It’s disrupting communications and stuff like that.”

  “An alien energy field?” Greg repeated. “Spinny, where do you get these random ideas from?”

  “Oh, I suppose you’re going to tell me it’s a magic spell,” said Susie. “Yes, that’s very sensible!”

  Greg poked his head out the door and checked both ways down the street. “At least it looks like the hawk’s gone for now,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  They stepped outside and stared upward, but the sky was empty except for the gold-tinged clouds.

  “We need to find Lewis in a hurry,” said Susie.

  Turning a deaf ear to the lingering excitement in the street, they headed for the harbour.

  4. NOT IN KANSAS

  The police car rolled to a stop a short way from Lewis and Dave the Lobster. Two young police offers got out and paused to confer.

  “When somebody phoned in about a Viking ship,” said the policeman, “I thought it was a prank. But just look at this, Iona.”

  “Never mind how strange it is, Kenny,” said the policewoman, “just play it by the book.”

  They walked up to Loki and glanced warily at the wolflings. “Excuse me, sir,” said policeman Kenny, “but can I ask what is going on here?”

  “You can ask,” said Loki with a smirk, “but I don’t think you would understand. It’s a bit too cosmic for your puny human brain.” He twirled a finger in the air to illustrate just how cosmic it al
l was.

  “Maybe we should call Stephen Hawking,” Dave the Lobster suggested. “I’ll bet he could figure it out.”

  “Officers, maybe you should let me explain,” said Lewis.

  “You’d best keep out of the way, son,” said Kenny. “You too, sir,” he advised Dave the Lobster.

  “No problem, inspector,” said Dave.

  Iona the policewoman looked Loki boldly in the eye. “Do you have a licence for these creatures?” she demanded, pointing at the wolflings.

  Loki squinted at her. “What?”

  “You can’t import wild animals into Scotland without a licence,” she informed him stiffly.

  “I’ve got news for you, chief,” Loki responded with a smirk. “You’re not in Scotland any more.”

  Iona and Kenny exchanged glances.

  “I’m afraid you’re a little confused, sir,” said Kenny. “This is St Andrews, which is in Fife, which is in Scotland.”

  Loki shook his head. “We are not in Fife, we are not in Scotland, and we are definitely not in Kansas.”

  “Kansas, Logan?” said Dave the Lobster. “I think you’ve got your atlas a little mixed up.”

  “It’s a line from The Wizard of Oz, you dumb cluck,” Loki growled at him. He glanced at Lewis. “You know, I always thought your brother was a pain in the rump, but this guy…” With a jab of his thumb he motioned two of his wolf guards forward. “Toss him in the drink,” he commanded. “That should shut him up.”

  Dave took a startled step back as the creatures advanced on him. “Hey, let’s be cool,” he pleaded with a weak smile.

  The policewoman moved between them and raised a hand, causing the wolflings to pull up short.

  “Get on the radio, Kenny,” she said, “and call for backup.”

  The policeman ducked into the car and seized a radio from the dashboard.

  “Look, sister, let’s just be clear about this,” said Loki with a sweep of his arm. “This whole town and everything in it belongs to me now.”

  Lewis saw Iona take a deep breath. “Whatever it is you think you’re up to, sir, you’re just getting yourself into trouble.”